On Monday morning, I stand in front of the mirror and give myself the once-over. Since Stefan said PR is all about glitz and glam, I’m using today as an opportunity to wear one of the outfits I created during the Teen Design Diva competition — my final winning design. I slip into the monochromatic tailored shift dress, complete with metallic accents, and do a spin in front of the mirror.

Once I get to the Stefan Meyers headquarters, though, my nerves get the best of me. Every time I start to feel comfortable in a department, it’s time to embark on a new challenge. I wish Laura, Taylor, or even Stefan were here to make today’s transition easier.

I take a deep breath and open the door to the lobby. You got this, Chloe, I tell myself.

“Good morning, Miss Montgomery,” says Ken, the security guard.

“Good morning,” I say, showing my ID card.

Ken’s familiar face usually puts me at ease, but today my stomach is participating in a full-on gymnastics competition. I pull out my phone and check the e-mail Stefan sent me with instructions, then head to the elevator and press the button for the twelfth floor.

When the elevator stops at my floor and the doors slide open, I’m shocked at what I see. Laura’s and Taylor’s departments had inspiration boards, mannequins, and fabric in every corner, but they were relatively quiet. People were either cutting material, sketching, or measuring garments. This floor is more organized, but it’s loud. Everyone is either on the phone or typing something on the computer or shouting to someone else.

I glance at the e-mail, but it doesn’t say where I can find Michael. “Excuse me,” I say to a woman in one of the cubicles, “is Michael here?”

“One sec,” she says. At almost the same moment, someone with a British accent says, “I’m right here.”

I spin around. The man facing me has black hair that’s tied back neatly in a ponytail. His warm amber eyes twinkle when he smiles. “I’m Michael Travers,” he says, extending his hand.

“Chloe Montgomery,” I reply, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Chloe,” Michael says. “I’ve heard good things about you so far. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Me too,” I say. His accent sounds so proper, I feel like I should be watching my grammar or something.

“Splendid.” Michael claps his hands. “What do you know about PR?”

I feel dumb already. All I know is that Stefan said something about glamour and celebs. “Um… not much,” I admit.

Michael grins as though that’s the greatest news he’s ever heard. “That’s wonderful! Truly wonderful!” he says. “The worst is an overly confident college kid who thinks he knows more than I do. You, my dear, are a blank slate.”

“Um, thanks?” I’m glad he finds my ignorance useful.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Michael says. “I’m here to teach you.” He leads me into his office and motions for me to sit in one of the empty chairs. “Sorry for the mess.”

Michael’s definition of mess is very different from mine. All the papers on his desk are neatly organized into piles, his trash is nowhere near overflowing, and his coffee cup is resting on a coaster. There are dressers lining the office from door to window, each one chock full of Stefan’s dresses, pantsuits, and denim items. I’d take a mess like this any day. If Laura had an office that looked like this, she’d be thrilled.

“It’s amazing,” I say.

“I suppose, but all this stuff is driving me batty.” He sighs. “Thank goodness you’ll be helping me with some of it today.”

I’m confused. “Did you want me to organize all this for you?”

Michael looks surprised. “Goodness, no! This is as organized as it’s going to get. You’ll be assisting with clothing transport. It’s not a very teachable moment, I’m afraid, but it’s a necessity.”

“Transport to where?” I ask.

“We’ve secured a placement in Vogue for some of Stefan’s new pieces,” Michael explains, “but I just received an e-mail saying they need the designs today instead of next week.”

“Oh, wow,” I say.

“I know — tight deadline,” Michael agrees. “We’ll start by going through these racks. I’ll pick out five pieces that will show well, and then I’ll be sending you to Laura and Taylor to pick up additional garments. Normally, we package and send things over. But because of the tight deadline and our proximity to Vogue, we’ll get them ready, and you’ll carry them yourself. Clear?”

I nod. The thought of my arms loaded with heavy clothes as I walk the streets of New York City is slightly overwhelming. I become extra conscious of today’s outfit. It’s perfect for dinner at an upscale club. Trudging through the heat, saddled like a mule? Not so much.

Just then Michael notices my heels. “Tell me you have other shoes,” he says, sounding concerned.

I shake my head. “Not with me.”

“Then let’s hope those are more comfortable than they look.”