Page 127 of Brutal Heir

“They love it as well, and once we get final approval, they even want to rework a few of the pieces to give them a lighter, trendier look to match the designs.”

“What about the designers?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t reached out to any of them yet—but who would refuse the House of Diamanti?”

He cast me a sly smile before returning to study the mood boards.

He continued to chew on his eyeglasses. “It’s a bold move,” he murmured. “Could backfire.”

I remained silent, letting my work and ideas speak for themselves.

Finally, he put his glasses on as he leaned forward. “Well done, Sabrina.”

My shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”

He looked at the open doorway before lowering his voice. “I don’t mind telling you, I had my reservations, given your lack of experience, but I should have trusted Signore Diamanti. He obviously saw your true potential.”

I wasn’t going to do it…

I wasn’t going to belittle this moment by picking apart the reasons why Sebastian had hired me.

I would take the win.

Florian rose and, as if reading my mind, said, “Don’t take your victory lap just yet. You still have to convince Signore Diamanti.”

I rose with him and collected the mood boards.

There was still a great deal of work to do on my ideas before they would reach Sebastian’s desk. Partnership agreements with the designers. Photographers to interview. The final jewelry designs.

Florian turned at the door threshold. “Some of us are going for an aperitivo after work if you’re interested.”

My hands stilled over the mood boards.

Whether in New York, Paris, or Rome, it was all the same.

An invitation to happy hour after work meant I was being accepted into the fold.

I was becoming one of them.

After my meeting, I left his office and headed over to the small empty desk in the corner of the main floor. I’d found it a few days in and had used it as my own as often as I could.

Although incredibly chic and beautiful, I hated the office next to Sebastian’s. For one, it set me apart in a really obnoxious way from the rest of the stylist department.

And even though I hated to admit it, I found working that close to Sebastian a huge distraction.

I flipped open my laptop and prepared a spreadsheet of all the designer names and pieces I wanted to use in the upcoming shoot, then I went in search of contact information.

Tonight, while at drinks with the rest of the crew, I’d feel out who would be best to approach to help me with the contact phone calls and emails since I didn’t want to just assume all these designers spoke English.

I was so focused on my task that I didn’t notice the change in the atmosphere of the office until it was too late—when a large masculine hand slowly shut my laptop screen.

Looking past him, I realized the entire office floor had gone silent.

With his palms braced on the smooth top of the desk, he leaned down and spoke low enough for only my ears. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Working,” I whispered back, knowing full well that was not what he meant.

Straightening to his full height, he snatched my laptop off my makeshift desk as well as my mood boards and marched out of the room.