I swallow. “The structure is intentional. It’s meant to convey strength.”
“Strength doesn’t need to shout.” She sets the fabric down as if it disappointed her. “I don’t see this moving in my store.”
For a second, the room feels too bright. Too loud. The hum of conversations presses in on me.
I tell myself a truth. Not everyone will love my designs.
I know that. I do. But knowing it and hearing it are two different things.
“Thank you for your honesty,” I say, because professionalism is armor too.
She inclines her head and glides away.
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding—and nearly jump out of my skin when Tony appears at my side.
“I caught that,” he says quietly.
I force a shrug. “She thinks my designs shout.”
“They do,” he says. “In the best way.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Zara, your pieces aren’t meant for women who hide behind beige. They’re too good for that boutique anyway.”
A reluctant smile curves my lips. “You’re biased.”
“Damn right I am. And I’m also right.”
Confidence settles back into place—not perfect, but steadier. Lila loved the line. Others will too. Fashion isn’t about pleasing everyone. It’s about finding your people.
When the session ends, Tony and I gather our materials and step out into the hallway.
Piston is waiting, massive and immovable. Beside him stands Arson, all dark hair and lazy menace, leaning against the wall.
Two women in designer heels slow as they pass, eyes dragging over both men.
“Are they with you?” one whispers—not quietly enough.
Piston pushes off the wall, Arson straightening beside him, and just like that, we’re escorted down the corridor—our own dangerous runway.
“What’s next?” Arson asks.
“Press interviews,” Tony says with a groan. “I hate talking about myself.”
I laugh. “You love talking about yourself.”
He grimaces. “Yeah, but they aren’t interested in me. They’re all interested in my father, so the questions are all the same. How does your father think about you going into design instead of following in his footsteps? What did your father say when you told him you were going to design clothes instead of playing football?”
“Football?” Arson asks him.
Tony shrugs. “My Dad used to play for the Steelers.”
“Got it. So, being a designer instead of a sports star…?” Piston queries.
“My dad doesn’t care. He’s proud of me. He knows I’ll never be interested in sports. He never pushed me to be anything but what I am.”
“Good. Fathers should always support their kids' dreams,” Arson chimes in.
“He does. He’s a great dad.”
“Where is this coffee shop?” Arson asks.
