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“Do you want to share something with us, Julian?” she shoots at him immediately. “Because now’s the time.”

Julian shakes his head with frankly insulting innocence, though his eyes sparkle at the hilarious scene he’s witnessing.

“I would never dare interrupt such an enriching creative exchange. I’m just observing. It’s a fascinating educational experience.”

“We need another contrast,” Victoria continues, oblivious to everything else. “More spontaneity, more texture. And less of this overly studied perfection. Just like we did in the new sketch.”

“But that sketch didn’t take two weeks of preliminary work, Victoria.”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To change whatever needs changing,” she snaps at her.

“What’s with the sudden change of heart?” Harper wonders.

Harper taps the tip of her pen rhythmically against her notebook.

“The magazine has been winning back readers and advertisers for four years because we’ve created a strong, recognizable visual identity,” Harper reminds her, emphasizing every word. “An identity that people seek out, that they expect, and that they can spot on a newsstand among fifty other publications. That doesn’t happen overnight.”

“A visual identity that doesn’t evolve becomes a formula. And that’s why the trend is declining internationally. Need I remind you that we’re supposed to merge our visions?” Victoria retorts without batting an eye.

“Damn you, Victoria Vance,” Harper thinks to herself.

Victoria has been in New York for three days, three days of weighing in on decisions that, until last Friday, were Harper’s to make. She knows the board brought her here to “revolutionize” the magazine. She knows it. But a part of her—the part that signed the divorce papers years ago—interprets each of Victoria’s corrections as a personal judgment. As if she were saying, “See, Harper? You can’t do this right either.”

Victoria clasps her hands together and gives a small smile.

“Well? Are we in agreement or not?”

Solange clears her throat loudly. Julian, for his part, scratches his chin thoughtfully, as if he were watching a train wreck in slow motion.

“This isn’t going to be resolved overnight,” Harper replies.

“We have a deadline,” Victoria reminds her. “We can’t keep arguing about these points of view forever.”

“No, we can’t.” Harper sets down her pen and interlaces her fingers on the table. “Let’s get one thing straight. If you’ve come back thinking that five years in France make you the ultimate authority on everything, we’re going to have a problem. A problem that has to do with respecting the work that’s already been built here.”

Victoria clenches her jaw. For a second, her armor cracks, and a glimpse of the woman Harper shared a bed with for years becomes visible. Her eyes darken.

“And if you think your experience gives you the final say, you’re wrong.”

“Enough already. Please.”

Everyone had forgotten that Eleanor Sterling was sitting across from them. She’s been watching them throughout the entire meeting, her hands folded over her folder. Enjoying the battle. She even seems amused, especially because a subtle, Machiavellian curve adorns her lips.

“Are you done yet?” she asks.

Harper sighs.

“I am. For now.”

Eleanor tilts her head, satisfied, as if she’d just witnessed a boxing match.

“Excellent.” The woman clears her throat and looks around at the entire team. “There’s one thing that’s undeniable: together, you’re raising the tension in this room to levels we haven’t seen since 2019. The problem is that you aren’t channeling that tension into what truly matters: the magazine. And Velvet & Silk doesn’t pay your salaries to feed anyone’s ego. It pays for excellence.”

“I’m not feeding anything…” Harper begins to protest.

Victoria lets out a little chuckle. Harper turns her head toward her so quickly that she almost strains her neck.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”