Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: Cait| Though she be little, she be fierce

Caitriona Emerson sucked in a deep, glorious breath of air and smiled. Amidst the crisp warmth and chemical notes of exhaust was a hint of greatness.

She could almost taste it.

For as long as she could recall, she'd dreamt about this moment...taking her first steps into the hearth and home of Vogue Paris. To see the hallowed halls where magic happened. Where dreams were forged. And now she was going to walk those halls, touch those dreams in a chance of a lifetime meeting with the editor-in-chief herself and she was seconds away from opening those doors and taking a vital step closer.

Standing on Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, one of the world's most fashionable streets, the headquarters for Vogue Paris was nestled with the most iconic labels of high fashion flanking her doors like apostles. She tried to imagine walking this street every morning, enjoying a pain-au-chocolat, looking vibrant in a colourful blazer and sky-high heels, strutting towards some unknown destination like a model on the runway with a Beyoncé song on blast as she set out to conquer the world. To own it.

There would some who called her dreams both colourful and unrealistic, but Caitriona wasn't one to pay attention to the opinions of others. She had plans. Plans to be someone important. Someone visionary and independent and iconic.

The kind of woman who would inspire others: unique, focused, competent and unafraid. The kind who took life by the horns and brought the bitch to heel before riding off into the sunset with her Hermes scarf flapping in a dramatic breeze.

With damp palms, she reached for the handle and opened the door, catching her reflection in the polished glass. Her pixie hair dyed silver grey and dressed in a vibrant yellow suit, teal pocket square and black on white striped tie.

Crossing the marble lobby, she checked in with security and rode the near empty elevator in humming, exhilarated silence while internally squealing with fangirlish delight. As the doors pinged open and there he stood.

Evan Holloway, Vogue's Creative Director whom she'd met and flirted with during various Fashion Week events between New York, Paris and Milan last year.

"There's my girl," he said, dark and dreamy with mischievous brown eyes and knowing smirk.

Cait leaned into him, air kissing his cheeks and savouring the close contact with his hard build. "It's been ages."

"Too long," he agreed, the cultured London adding the weight of sophistication. "I'm glad you could accommodate the short notice."

Sliding her arm through his, she fell into step as he led her down corridor, walls paneled with blown-up covers of the most recent editions. Every facet of her being wanted to dig in her heels so she could stop, stare and drool. Or whip out her phone for a selfie.

Maybe later, on the way out, and she could blame it on the rabid demands of her hundred thousand Instagram followers...

"How was Dubai?"

"Breathtaking." Fresh back in after a stint in Dubai as content editor for an up and coming menswear line, she'd spent three gorgeous months on contract in the Arab Emirates, soaking up the culture and architecture with rapt fascination. "You wouldn't believe such a place existed unless you saw it with your own eyes. Everything is vibrant. Vivid. Honestly, if Paris didn't already have my heart, I would have traded in my passport and never come home."

"Alas, there is only one Paris. And considering the latest buzz surrounding what you accomplished out there, I'd say Paris is very happy you elected to return to us."

"Thank you." She smiled up at him, lifting her Prada shades away from her eyes. A hint of silver threaded his groomed facial hair, and played spectacularly off his grey summer wool suit, etched with lines of fuchsia. "I think it's going to be some of my best work."