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“We’re working. And I’m being extremely professional.”
“That excuse is starting to lose its validity by the minute,” Harper jokes.
They arrive at the roundtable discussion on sustainability and settle into the back row with a couple of glasses of champagne that Victoria snagged on the fly. They listen intently to the presentations on regenerative fabrics and carbon footprints. Victoria leans toward Harper.
“I think the idea of digital passports for clothing is brilliant,” she whispers in her ear. The warm air of her breath makes the hairs on the back of Harper’s neck stand on end. “The idea that the buyer knows exactly who sewed their clothes.”
“We could do a special on transparency,” Harper replies, trying not to let her nerves show in her voice. “Three brands: a luxury brand, an up-and-coming brand, and one that does everything wrong, just for comparison.”
“And no hidden advertising,” Victoria adds. “Eleanor would fire us if it looked like an advertorial.”
Harper glances at her out of the corner of her eye, raising her glass.
“I know how to do my job.”
“I’m just making sure you keep up with me,” her ex-wife challenges her.
“Keep provoking me, and I’ll leave you stranded here.”
Victoria takes a sip from her glass, looking at her over the rim with an intensity that makes Harper’s pulse race.
“You wouldn’t do that. You’d have no one left to argue with.”
Harper smiles despite herself, fixing her gaze on the stage once more. It’s alarmingly easy to be like this with her. It’s no longer just their professional rapport; it’s the instinctive way she seeks Victoria out with her eyes, how she leans toward her without realizing it, or the satisfaction she feels when Victoria laughs at her jokes.
After the presentations, they lean against the railing on the upper level, watching the bustle of the gala.
“I never thought we’d end up like this,” Victoria remarks casually. “You and me. In Chicago. Scouting for talent instead of fighting tooth and nail for a position.”
Harper turns to look at her. The stunning green dress fits Victoria like a script written just for her.
“Me neither,” Harper admits. “If someone had told me this six months ago, I would have laughed in their face.”
They laugh at the same time. The sound of their laughter blends with the murmur of the music.
“Some things never change,” Victoria murmurs, looking her in the eyes.
“I hope others do,” Harper replies without thinking.
Victoria freezes for a moment, holding her gaze, but the PA announcement signaling the start of dinner breaks the spell.
The main dining room is lit by candles and decorated with impossible botanical structures. Harper looks for their table and, to her complete lack of surprise, finds their name cards placed together. Not scattered around the table to win over more potential partners.
“Eleanor,” Harper mutters under her breath.
Victoria lets out a little giggle as she sits down next to her.
“You’re attributing divine powers to her. It could be a coincidence.”
“Eleanor doesn’t believe in coincidence, Victoria. She’d alter the Earth’s orbit if it guaranteed she could meet a deadline.”
“Harper Brooks.”
A man’s voice makes her look up. It’s Sebastian Ward, the former creative director of a European firm Harper worked with years ago. He approaches with open arms and gives her two effusive kisses.
“Sebastian, it’s so good to see you.”
As they part, the man’s eyes fall on Victoria, and his smile turns mischievous in an instant.
