I would like to think that I am a strong, capable woman. Most days I can convince myself of this. However the moment that I dropped him off, I barely managed to hold myself together before I made it to my office building and burst into tears.

I had to unlock the door myself, since everyone else had apparently decided to take a vacation over the Holiday weekend as well. I stormed into my office, throwing on light switches everywhere, heading generally in the direction of my bar cart. I had spent far too long out there on the Cape with all the alcohol influencing my decisions, feelings, and whatever other stupid things I did or heard to be sober now.

After fixing a drink I sat down in my chair and put my heels up on the desk, leaning back in the lime green leather chair. I am going to sit here and pretend that I really do run an empire and not just a couture line that may or may not actually fully take off and become a house hold name like Dior or Chanel. But honestly those were all probably in vain and I'd end up being like a lesser Zach Posen, only really known by people who know fashion or at least pay attention to the brands that aren't being shouted in their face. The real reason why though, which I am just now realizing for the first time as I sit here in my chair with a cocktail, is... because of the Cape. I live a life far too comfortable to create any real fashion. I have never actually been broke, I have never had to live in a tiny crummy little apartment, and I have never had to take crappy jobs because I needed a pay check. Hell, someone gets mad at me I run off to the Cape or another state, someone threatens me I use the legalese that I was brought up hearing because my father is a fucking judge. I have no real merits that I could use. If my parent's bank accounts were for some reason frozen I would be absolutely screwed. Maybe the fucker was right. I am just a socialite. But a really crappy one at that because I hardly ever go to parties or premiers... I just dress a few of the better socialites. Why does Jake have to be right. Of course now that I think about it, I need the Jackie Kennedy to my Lilly Pulitzer. I need to get one of my friends that are far higher up on the social food train and their dinner doesn't consist of a bottle Dom and a snort of cocaine like its the 80s and Wham! is about to go on in five minutes. I picked up my cell phone and scrolled through it until I found the number that would do the trick.

"Hey deary, now I know that this is a bit unusual, but let's face it you are a bit unusual, in a good way of course, I have a proposition for you." there was silence on the end of the line for a moment as I held my breath. "What sort of a proposition?" "Well Harper, the last time you were at dinner with my parents I distinctively remember you saying that you absolutely hated the clothes that your stylist picked for you and that they never fit right..." "Erin you are a sweetie, but you know just as well as I do that I have a limited budget for clothing during campaign season." "No, I will pay you, but we collaborate on the design... and you wear them while you are campaigning with William," "I'm not sure how..." "Look we can have lawyer look some sort of deal or I can chop down the price of my clothes and say it is friends and family... look I just need a new platform... a new way to get stuff out there." I heard her sigh, "well I have always liked what you've done... I suppose there cannot really be anything bad that can come from me wearing clothes made by a Bostonian... I do think we need to speak to a lawyer and make sure we aren't breaking any government rules..." "absolutely, I will talk to my lawyer, you can talk to yours and we will get back together soon," "This will be the start of something fun, won't it?" "absolutely Harper, not a drop of dull in sight." I hung up and finished off my drink. That was a very grown up move that I made, very professional and sage seeming.

I woke up with three drawings and a sticky note stuck to my face. I glanced at the clock on the wall and tried to shoot up like a jack-in-the-box. However I felt much more like a dead rat in a box, and no one should ever open that box. I needed to get coffee desperately so I did slowly manage to get upright and standing, before I realized that I needed to change and freshen up because I smelled a bit like the ocean, which I don't mind on the Cape, because everything does, but here, here it does not. I changed into what could only be called a highly pretentious outfit, (which was really only pretentious because of the jacket and normally would have been fine without, but I wasn't quite sure the swipe of deodorant I had on would actually last me long enough to get to a coffee shop) grabbed my purse and was about to head out the door when I caught a glimpse of my face and realized that I had in fact, cried over Jake last night, before I created that genius plan that should get me put on a map... some sort of map, even if it's just one of those really ugly, poorly made pieces of paper that you can find at a hotel that gives a brief map of the city in black and white and has the monuments blown up so your kids know what they are looking for instead of just teaching them the proper names. I mean why do parents suddenly expect the world to just bend for them? One second they are this free as a bird thing seem to have absolutely no strings attached or any sort of a history that could later complicate a hell of a lot of things and then the next they are racing to pull on their clothes because they regained custody of a kid they haven't seen in over a year. I shouldn't have drove him, I shouldn't have slept with him, and more importantly, I shouldn't have started to actually fall for him. I mean it was the sex, it had to be, it was great... which is why it screwed everything up, it fabricated emotions with those endorphins and adrenaline. I just have to keep reminding myself that it was all just made up. The Cape jut served as like a sleep away camp and you get that camp boyfriend and everything is fine while you're there and then you know that your parents are half an hour away from picking you up so you break up only to get together next summer until he stops coming to camp and then you stop going to camp and the next thing you know you're graduating high school and college and you're a twenty something closer to thirty than eleven with no husband, no fiancé, and not even a hint of a boyfriend in the air. I should have never gone to camp.