“Careful with the curls.” Myla’s hair stylist hissed, tapping her apprentice's hand away. “No, no, not that pin. Use the diamond-crusted one Mr Beck gifted her this morning.”

Myla sat in front of a vanity mirror while three different teams worked on her simultaneously.

Tonight was the Woman of the Year gala, and the house had been in complete chaos since sunrise, with her preparation team taking over a suite on the second floor. 

Even the soft music playing over the speakers in ...