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Summary
“Oscar, for fuck’s sake, why won’t you listen to me? The only thing your impeccably tailored suits need is a body like the model I’m telling you about. At least look at the magazine.”
Oscar drew a deep breath, then let the air escape in a long, audible exhale.
“Leave it on my desk. I’ll look at it. And give me his comp card, along with a list of every fashion show he’s walked in, is walking in, or is scheduled to walk in.”