Her eyes widened slightly.“Vincenzo money?”she asked.
The question landed sharper than it should have.
I shook my head.“Goodness, no.That’s over.”
Her shoulders eased.“Okay,” she said, a hint of relief threading her voice.“I had to ask.”
“I wouldn’t dare allow you anywhere near that account if it wasn’t,” I added lightly.
My phone rang.
As I reached for it, I said, “You’re good to go.The sooner you pay off the remaining debts, the sooner we can close the agency once and for all after the holidays.”
The sooner I closed that chapter with the Vincenzo family, the better.
“Of course,” Celine said, and paused.Just a beat, like she was about to say something.Then she smiled, nodded once, and left quietly.
When the door clicked shut, I sat back in my chair and said into the receiver, “Hi, Mommy.Happy holidays.”
* * *
THE CONFERENCE ROOMhummed with low conversation and the muted clink of coffee cups as my team filtered in, tablets tucked under arms, notebooks already open.End-of-year evaluations always carried a particular charge—equal parts nerves and anticipation and today was no different.
I took my place at the head of the table, posture easy, grounded.The screen behind me glowed with mockups for the Spring edition—clean lines, bold color stories, layouts that felt like momentum.
“Alright,” I said, scanning the table.“Let’s get into it.”
Creed stood at the back of the room, near the glass wall, arms loosely crossed, expression unreadable.He wasn’t looming.He wasn’t intruding.He was simply there, stillness among motion.The CEO was observing.
I launched into the agenda, my voice steady as I walked the team through performance highlights, growth areas, promotions that had been earned.I asked questions.I listened.I challenged them gently, praised them precisely.The room leaned toward me, engaged.
Every so often, I felt that awareness, like pressure behind my ribs.Not disruptive.
Present.
I caught a flicker of movement in the reflection of the screen.Creed shifted his weight, his gaze tracking the room.
Tracking me.
Not in the way that used to make me brace.In the way that felt...measured.Like he was learning the shape of this version of me without trying to reshape it.
When the discussion turned to the Spring cover, the energy sharpened.
“Nope.I want risk here,” I said, tapping the mockup.“Not chaos.Intention.If we’re going to push, we push with purpose.”
Heads nodded.Pens moved.Someone smiled.
From the back of the room, Creed’s jaw tightened with recognition.
He didn’t interrupt.Didn’t step in.Didn’t claim the moment.
That was new.
An observer.
That alone told me this mattered.
“All right,” I said, breaking the quiet.“Spring Fashion Show.This is not just an event—it’s a statement.We’re setting the tone, not following trends.”
