“You sent the dress.”
“I didn’t know if you’d wear it.” He looked vulnerable, standing there in his impeccably tailored tuxedo. The powerful Creative Director was gone. This was just Luca.
“It was the right dress,” she said softly.
He held out his hand. Not to shake it, but an open, public offering.“Dance with me.”
It was a line, drawn in the shimmering air of the gala. To take his hand was to step over it, to announce to everyone that they were more than colleagues. Isla looked at his hand, then into his eyes, seeing the apology, the respect, the awe from the night of the kiss.
She placed her hand in his.
A subtle, collective intake of breath seemed to ripple through the crowd nearest to them as he led her to the dance floor. Whispers started, cameras flashed. Luca ignored it all, his focus entirely on her as he drew her into his arms.
“I was wrong,” he murmured into her hair, his voice for her alone.“About Rhiannon. Your idea was brilliant. I was being a narrow-minded, arrogant prick. I’m sorry.”
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back.“You were.”
“I’m not used to being challenged,” he admitted, his hand warm on the small of her back.“And I’m certainly not used to being challenged by someone I’m in love with. I handled it terribly.”
They moved together, a small island of truth in a sea of fabrication. The secret was out. The hierarchy, for this moment, was dissolved.
“I’m not done being challenging,” she whispered.
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, the first real one she’d seen in days.“Good.”
As they danced, the whispers and the stares no longer felt threatening. They felt like a victory. He had chosen her, publicly and unequivocally, over his own pride and the office’s gossip mill. The crack was still there, but as he held her in the shimmering light of the gala, she knew they had just begun the work of repairing it. Together.
Chapter 8:
A Rival's Eye
The morning after the gala, the Chroma office was a symphony of sidelong glances and hushed conversations that died the moment Isla walked by. The secret was out, and the ecosystem of the magazine was adjusting to the new apex predator. Most of the staff seemed cautiously accepting, even amused. But not everyone.
Sebastian Croft, the Deputy Creative Director, watched the new dynamic with the cold, still eyes of a predator whose territory had been encroached upon. He was a man of sharp angles and sharper ambition, who had long seen himself as Luca’s natural successor. Isla’s rapid ascent from junior editor to Luca’s apparent equal was a direct threat.
He cornered her by the coffee machine, his smile a thin, unpleasant line.“Isla. Quite the performance last night. Who knew you were such a… talented dancer.”
The insinuation was as clear as it was crude.“It was a gala, Sebastian. People tend to dance,” she replied, keeping her voice level as she stirred her coffee.
“Of course,” he purred.“Though some partnerships are more… strategically advantageous than others. Tell me, does Luca still prefer his coffee black, or have you convinced him to try a little… sugar?”
Isla felt a hot flush of anger but refused to give him the satisfaction.“If you have a question about the Vanguard layout,Sebastian, I’d be happy to discuss it. Otherwise, I have work to do.”
She walked away, her spine straight, feeling his gaze boring into her back. The encounter left a sour taste in her mouth. Luca’s public declaration had been a victory, but it had also made her a target.
The real test came a week later in a high-level strategy meeting. The publisher was present, a stern woman named Anya Sharma who valued profit above all else. The topic was the declining newsstand sales of the beauty supplement.
Sebastian presented first, a slick, data-driven proposal to partner with a controversial, mass-market cosmetics brand for a lucrative cover wrap.“It’s guaranteed revenue, Anya. We can’t afford to be precious.”
Anya nodded, her expression unreadable.“Luca? Your thoughts.”
Luca leaned forward.“It’s safe. But Chroma isn’t about safe. It cheapens the brand.” He glanced at Isla, a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.“Isla has an alternative.”
All eyes turned to her. Sebastian’s were icy with contempt.
Isla took a steadying breath.“Sebastian’s data is right. We’re losing casual buyers. But instead of chasing them with a product that conflicts with our ethos, we create something they can’t get anywhere else.” She laid out her proposal: a limited-run, collectible beauty box curated with the most avant-garde, independent brands Chroma was championing in its editorials.“We don’t follow the market. We make the market follow us. We turn our readers into collectors.”
There was a moment of silence. Anya Sharma’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles.“It’s a risk. But it’s an interesting one. It has… a point of view.” She turned to Luca.“I like it. Make it happen.”
