Zoe's POV
By noon, my patience had completely run out. I had already tried calling Zara three times that morning. Each time, the result was the same: "Ms. Zara isn't available to take calls right now." The polite but cold voice of her secretary echoed in my ears like a warning bell. Zara never refused calls on a day like this unless something was terribly wrong.
This meant two things:
1. She was furious.
2. I was about to make everything worse.
My ankle throbbed faintly beneath the thick bandage wrapped around it. I shifted slightly on the bed, grabbing the crutches Brandon had left beside me earlier that morning and leaning them against the wall within reach. I hated how useless I felt. The rehearsals, the fittings, the meetings—everything important for the London Fashion Fest was happening today, and I was stuck here like a broken mannequin. If Zara found out before I could explain—
