“Celeste,” he huffs out, rolling his eyes. But he doesn’t deny a thing. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’msitting. In my office. Minding my business.You’rethe one who barged in looking like you lost a fight with a fitted sheet.”
A muscle jumps in Greg’s jaw as he clenches it, carving sharp angles beneath his skin. He’s still handsome, I’ll give him that. The bastard ages like fine wine while I’m over here schedulingpreventative Botox appointments like they’re dental cleanings. Silver threading through his dark hair, laugh lines that make him look “distinguished” while mine make me look “tired.” The injustice of male aging never fails to astound me.
“Well, pardon me but I never know when you’re here. I stopped by twice already to a locked, empty office. It’s agitating trying to hunt you down. I’m the CEO of this company. I shouldn’t have to beg to get on your calendar.”
I lift my gaze to match his. “I’m sorry, are you complaining that your ex-wife, whom you cheated on, humiliated, then divorced, is no longer at your beck and call? Because as far as narcissism goes…”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes clamped together to theatrically convey his irritation. “Fine. I’m the asshole. I get it. But I don’t feel like taking your verbal lashings today. I stopped by to talk about the Monroe meeting.” He pauses. “Care to explain?”
Ah. There it is. I was wondering how long it would take.
“Explain what?”
“I hired Hailey Monroe to study under you. She’s practically been sleeping at the office, tirelessly working on her portfolio which you treated like a joke. She came to my office in tears right after your meeting this morning. I spent my entire morning comforting her.”
“Oh.” I nod in understanding. “So, Hailey was the gym session. Got it.”
“Celeste, who I’m intimate with is none of your concern?—”
“Itismy concern, when all of a sudden your dick is making decisions for my company.” I poke my chest so hard it hurts. “My designs. My brand. My name.You just go back to sleeping on the pile of money you made off the empireI built. Creative direction always has been and always will bemydecision. Her designs were unimpressive. I gave her another chance for revisions.”
He glances at the chair in front of my desk but knows better than to sit in it. “Are you sure you’re making smart business decisions? Or petty ones?”
My nostrils flare as I take a deep, steadying breath. Now I glance at the guest chair. “Sit,” I command.
He does, but so hesitantly, you’d think I lined the chair with invisible pushpins.
I pull Hailey’s portfolio from my drawer, a once-pristine folder now transformed into a sea of neon Post-its. My handwritten critiques crowd each design like aggressive little islands, leaving only slivers of her original work visible beneath my surgical dissection.
“You eviscerated her,” he mumbles, flipping through the folder. “Did you say anything nice?”
“The fact that this presentation isn’t in the trash is the nice part.”
“Celeste, you’re so far up your own?—”
“Ass?” I finish for him. “That’s what you think? Because if it were up to you and all your favorite Gen Z acquaintances, my spring/summer collection would look like Avril Lavigne’s closet from two thousand two. Since when does retro punk rock say, ‘luxury fashion’?”
“Punk rock? That’s what all these buckles are?” Greg continues to flip through pages. “I’ll admit, it’s a little juvenile. But surely there’s something you could salvage. Instead of being a boss, how about you be a mentor?”
“Mentor?” I echo, then take yet another controlling breath. If Greg keeps popping into my office, I’ll need a certified yoga instructor on-call to coach me through my rage-breathing. “Greg, we can sit here and debate my leadership style all day. But cut the shit for a minute. That’s not why you’re really here. What did you promise her when you hired her?”
His expression shifts. There it is—the tell. The slight flex of his nostrils, the way his shoulders creep toward his ears. He’s not angry about my mentoring or design choices. He’s angry that he got in trouble because I didn’t roll over. Because I dared to have an opinion that contradicted something he’s personally invested in.
And I do meanpersonally.
“I promised Ms. Monroe that at least three of her designs would be featured in our fall/winter collection. There’s no time for her to work on a new set of ideas. Surely there’s something in here that’s workable.” He stops on a page of the portfolio and taps the simple white shift dress with the lace collar. “How about this? Plain but it’s elegant. In fact, all of the designs from this section have good bones,” he muses, leafing through the back half of the portfolio.
“Flip back, Greg. Did you read her marketing pitch for the spring line?”
“You’re talking about the ‘Only White’ slogan,” he surmises, like it’s supposed to be a gotcha. “I’m aware. She explained the concept. It’s about purity of design. Minimalism. The absence of color as a statement.”
“Theabsence of color.” I let out a thick scoff. “Please tell me you’re not that delusional. You realize how ‘Only White’ might be interpreted.”
“It’s fashion. It’s art. Context matters.”
“Contextdoesmatter. And the context is that we live in a world where launching a collection called ‘Only White’ would get us dragged across every social media platform in existence within approximately four minutes of the press release. And we’d deserve it for being tone-deaf and reckless.” I shake my head. “I’m not tanking this company’s reputation because someone was too myopic to consider the optics.”
