Someone asked, “And press access?”
“Controlled,” Manny said.“Exclusivity sells better than exposure.”
I nodded once.“We’ll build the story around restraint.Mystery.Power.”
His gaze flicked back to me, impressed.“You get it.”
Then—too casually—“I prefer collaborating with women who don’t need permission.”
The room went still.
I felt it like a pressure shift, as if every instinct in Creed tightened at once.I didn’t look at him.
I didn’t need to.
“I don’t ask for permission,” I said evenly.“I make decisions.That’s why you’re here.”
A beat.
Then Manny laughed soft, and appreciative.“Exactly why I agreed.”
He gathered his things.“I’ll send preliminary concepts for the magazine layout directly to you.”
Not your team.
To you.
“I’ll expect your notes within forty-eight hours.”
“You’ll have them,” I said.
He paused at the door, glancing back once more.“This will be...unforgettable.”
Then he was gone.
The room exhaled.
“All right,” I said smoothly.“Let’s get to work.”
And we did.
We wrapped twenty minutes later, decisions made, next steps assigned.Chairs scraped back as the team stood, conversations bubbling up again.
“Great work,” I said.“Celine will follow up with notes by the end of the day.”
As the room cleared, I finally let myself glance toward the back.
The conference room emptied in layers, voices returning, tension dissipating, work resuming.I gathered my tablet, steady, composed.
Creed was still at the back, watching me.I turned, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
“He’s dangerous,” Creed said finally.
He was very observant.
“I know,” I replied.“That’s why he’s effective.”
His jaw tightened.“He was assessing boundaries.”
