Julian's smile was slow and genuine. "Actually," he said, "I'm beginning to think I might be more interested in the present."
2
Julian
I watched Vivienne settle back into her chair, and something inside my chest loosened at her agreement to stay. I'd meant what I said about preferring her perspective to Rebecca's selfish questions, but the relief I felt at her acceptance surprised me with its intensity.
When was the last time someone's answer actually mattered to me?
It had to be fate that led me to intervene at the bar tonight. I didn't believe in coincidence—not in my line of work, not in my carefully controlled life. But something about her had caught my attention in a way that defied logic. I was a man who rarely found himself interested in people, preferring the predictable patterns of fabric and design over the messy complications of human nature. Yet here I was, genuinely curious about what this woman might say next, hanging on her words like they contained some secret I'd been searching for without knowing it.
She's got me hooked,I realized with something between amusement and alarm.And I've known her for all of ten minutes.
Around the table, my dinner companions shifted with barely concealed irritation. Rebecca's jaw was tight with wounded pride, David was checking his phone with pointed concentration, and Jane had that frozen smile that meant she was calculating how to salvage the evening's networking potential. Only Trevor seemed genuinely curious about this unexpected turn in the conversation.
I didn't care. For the first time in months, I was truly interested in what someone had to say.
A server appeared at that moment, pad in hand. "How are the appetizers? Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?"
I glanced around the table. "Let's start with drinks. Vivienne?"
I watched her consider the question, and I could see the exact moment she made her decision. There was something decisive in her expression now, a quiet confidence that hadn't been there when I'd first approached her at the bar.
"Do you carry Woodford Reserve?" she asked.
The server nodded. "Of course."
"I'll take two fingers, neat, please."
I felt my eyebrows rise slightly. Around the table, I caught the subtle shift in expressions—Rebecca's perfectly arched eyebrow, David's barely concealed surprise. They'd all been expecting wine, maybe a cocktail. Something more... predictable.
"Excellent choice," I said, and meant it. "Make that two."
Vivienne glanced at me with a smile that held a hint of mischief. "It's my dad's favorite," she explained to the table. "I buy him a bottle every year for his birthday. It's become sort of a tradition—we sit on his back porch and have a glass together while he tells me stories about when he was my age."
"How... quaint," Jane said, the word carrying just enough edge to make it sound like something less than a compliment.
I saw Vivienne's spine straighten slightly, but her voice remained pleasant. "I suppose it is. But some of my best memories are made over good whiskey and even better conversation. There's something honest about it—no pretense, just quality and time."
There it is again,I thought.That backbone.
"So," David said, clearly eager to steer the conversation back to business, "Julian, we should discuss the demographic targeting for the fall campaign. The research suggests—"
"Actually," I interrupted, my attention still fixed on Vivienne, "I'm more interested in hearing about historical fashion influences. You mentioned teaching cultural history?"
Vivienne nodded, "I try to show my students how fashion reflects social change. What we wear tells the story of who we are, what we value, what we're fighting for."
"And what story do you think contemporary fashion is telling?" I asked.
She considered the question seriously, and I found myself leaning forward slightly, genuinely curious about her answer. It had been a long time since someone had made me wait for their response, since someone had taken the time to think rather than immediately launching into whatever they thought I wanted to hear, or pushing their own agenda.
"I think we're in a period of identity crisis," she said finally. "Fast fashion has made clothing disposable, but at the same time, there's this hunger for authenticity, for piecesthat mean something. People want to express individuality while also belonging to something larger. It's... contradictory."
"Interesting perspective," Trevor chimed in with the smooth confidence he used throughout his years selling luxury goods. "But at the end of the day, fashion is about aspiration. People buy into a lifestyle, an image of who they want to be."
"I disagree," Vivienne said, and I felt the subtle shift around the table.Here we go.My colleagues weren't used to being challenged, especially not by someone outside our industry.
"I think," she continued, seemingly unaware of the tension she'd created, "That fashion at its best is about revelation, not aspiration. It's about helping people discover who they already are, not selling them someone else's dream."
