Catherine took the elevator up to the Design Department and walked down the long, bright hall. Yukki trailed behind her like a shadow, and Catherine felt herself growing impatient with the eager assistant. Outside the Design Department, a short, balding man waited for her. He wore an impeccable three-piece suit, tortoise-shell glasses, and Italian loafers. An old fashioned pocket watch hung from his vest.

"Hello, Mrs. Blair," he greeted her. "I'm Jackson Atwood—the temporary manager of the Design Department."

​​

"Nice to meet you," she said. "Your name sounds familiar—did you work with my father?"

"I did," he said.

"I'm happy to hear that," she said. "In the last few years, the designs here have been suffering. I want to restore this department to the way it was back in my father's day."

Jackson looked up at her through his glasses. "That's rather ambitious," he said coolly. "Do you know much about design?"

"Only a bit," she answered honestly. "But I'm very interested in it. In fact, I'm going to study fashion design at King's College next month.'

"I see," Jackson said, pursing his lips. "You're a hobbyist. Well, I assure you, everyone in this department has years of training and experience."

"That may be so," she answered calmly. "But that doesn't make them good. I'd like you to gather some samples of their work and show them to me."

Jackson scowled at her and nodded. He snapped his fingers, and a secretary appeared. Though it was early in the morning, she looked like she'd been working all night. Strands of red hair fell from her bun, and her clothes were wrinkled.

"Bring me some of the archives from the last three seasons," Jackson said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Mrs. Blair here wants to review them."

She followed him through the department past workers sketching busily by hand, drawing on their computers, and examining different fabric samples. As she passed, they all greeted her politely but nervously. Jackson showed her into a meeting room, and the secretary brought an armful of files.

She placed them on the table and explained, "The green folders are designs that Mr. Atwood approved, and the red are the designs he rejected."

Catherine nodded and began to flip through the files. Though the designs in the green files were plain and dull, she had to admit they were much better than the rejected designs.

"You have a good eye, Mr. Atwood," she finally said. "But these designs aren't good enough."

"Aren't good enough?" he sniffed.

"No," she answered. "They're repetitive and unimaginative."

"They're affordable to make," he replied. "Our customers can't afford the designers—we give them what we can."

She shook her head, "Every other brand on the market is outperforming our stores. There has to be another way. I want to see the elegance in our stores again. I want to see trendy and fashionable items—a real beauty."

Jackson looked as if he was sucking on a lemon.

"I know it's not impossible," she continued. "I've seen the designs from my father's days. Tell all the designers to stop work on their current projects, and begin fresh. Tell them I want to see real creativity and beauty."

Jackson opened his mouth to object just as his secretary came in.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Blair," the secretary said. "But Andy is looking for you."

"Tell him I'll be down in ten minutes," she said.

"Actually, he's waiting for you outside," the secretary replied.

Catherine sighed and followed the secretary out of the meeting room. Andy stood in the hall, carrying a folder tucked under his arm.

"There you are," he said. "I need Mr. Blair to sign off on this document. Can you take it over to him?"

Catherine stared at him, "Can't you ask a courier to do it?"

"It's a very important document," Andy said, avoiding her eye. "And I believe you said you wanted to have a true intern experience."

"I did say that," she agreed. "But I don't think any of the interns here have ever delivered a piece of mail or run errands in the history of the company."

Andy looked uncomfortable, "It would be better if you delivered it, Mrs. Blair."

She bit her tongue and grabbed the folder, wondering what he and Sean were up to. With the folder stuffed into her satchel, she hailed a cab and watched the city glide by the windows. The cab pulled to a stop outside a glass and steel building, and she craned her neck to gaze up at it. She flashed her ID at the security guard, and he immediately buzzed the gates open for her. On the elevator up to the top floor, she tried to control her frustration, but her anger only grew.

As the elevator doors slid open, she marched out, ignored his secretary, and opened the door to his office. His office was huge but bare. Behind him, a solid glass wall revealed a stunning view of the city and the Thames below. He sat behind a large but simple desk, typing at a computer.

He had taken his jacket off and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. There was a slight crease in his brow as he worked. She took a deep breath. Sitting behind the huge desk, he exuded pure power.

Without taking his eyes off the computer screen, he snapped, "What's the matter?"

"Andy asked me to bring all of these to you," she said, crossing the room and tossing the folder on his desk.

He looked up with surprise and smiled at her.

"You're the prettiest messenger he's sent me so far," he said.

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Can you just sign the document?"

"In a minute," he said, glancing down at the folder.

"Tell me something—did you miss me?" he asked with a smirk.

"What?" she asked.

"Did you miss me?" he repeated.

"What? No!" she said. "It's only been a few hours."

"Well, I missed you," he said, getting up from his chair.

He crossed to the other side of the desk and pulled her tight against his chest, kissing the top of her head before tilting her chin up to kiss her softly on the lips. She pulled away and glared at him.

"Did you ask Andy to send me?" she asked.

He smirked, "Maybe."