Monday morning was settling in. The smell of fresh coffee drifted through the air, mixing with the low buzz of computers and the soft tap-tap of keyboards. Printers hummed quietly somewhere nearby, and the occasional murmur of coworkers chatting over their mugs floated around. Outside, the sky was still waking up, but inside, the office was already moving—slowly but surely.
Zoe sat at her desk, posture sharp but mind a few seconds behind. Her weekend still clung to her shoulders—Bea, the bar, the woman in the silk blouse, and the ache that never really left.
She blinked, refocused on her screen, and called out without looking up.
"Diane, are we good with the report I asked for last week?"
Diane, her efficient junior associate, stepped into view holding a file folder and a tablet.
"Yes, Ms. Zoe. I've already consolidated the data from Mr. Clinton's team. It's all in here," she said, handing her the folder.
Zoe took it, flipping through a few pages.
"Looks good. Thanks."
Just then, her laptop pinged—a soft chime indicating a new email.
Zoe glanced down.
Subject: Meeting — 2PM Today
Location: Boardroom B
From: Nichole Stanford, Director of Creative Strategy
She looked at it for a moment, brow slightly raised. If Nichole put something on the calendar, it usually meant there was something worth talking about.
The boardroom smelled faintly of fabric samples and coffee—sterile but not cold, lit by soft track lighting. Moodboards lined one side of the wall, pinned with swatches of silk, sketches, color palettes, and campaign references.
Zoe took her usual seat, tablet in front of her, stylus in hand, already skimming through the notes she'd prepared. She adjusted her blazer, her expression unreadable but alert. Her mind was already halfway into the coming season.
Nichole Stanford, Director of Creative Strategy, stood at the front beside a screen filled with moodboard slides.
"Alright, let's begin."
She clicked to the first slide: Fall/Winter Strategy – Brand Positioning, Market Fit, and Global Rollout.
"We're eight weeks out from pre-launch. The buyers' previews went better than expected, but we still have gaps to tighten—especially with the campaign execution and regional adjustments."
She scanned the room.
"First up, the Atelier line. Zoe, where are we on final concept alignment?"
Zoe didn't glance at her notes.
"The narrative's clean. The design team aligned the tailoring direction with the updated muse board—more androgyny, less romanticism. Materials are finalized, and styling notes are already with the campaign team. The lookbook mock-up will be ready for review on Wednesday."
Nichole nodded, satisfied.
"Perfect. And we're still on track for the capsule reveal in Milan?"
"Yes," Zoe said. "Provided production sticks to the updated schedule. I've already escalated the issue with the wool supplier."
He moved to the next slide: Spring Concept Development.
"We're also prepping for the Spring preview. Visual tone, early mood—Diane, give us a quick rundown."
Diane, seated beside Zoe, clicked her iPad and nodded.
"We're leaning into color—specifically muted primaries. Zoe suggested a 'controlled chaos' approach. Structured silhouettes with unexpected color breaks. Think Haider Ackermann meets post-pandemic dopamine dressing."
A few chuckles and nods around the table. Zoe gave a faint smile.
"It's still early," she added, "but we want to avoid chasing trends. This needs to feel inevitable, not reactive."
Nichole gave her a look of approval, then clicked to a final slide: Branding & Industry Visibility.
"Lastly—tomorrow. Elora Grand is hosting the Fashion Futures Conference. We're invited to the strategy roundtable—10AM sharp. Six other houses will be there."
A ripple of interest moved through the room.
"We'll be discussing brand innovation, sustainability initiatives, and how creative strategy is shifting post-digital fatigue."
She looked around.
"Questions?"
Silence. A few scribbled notes. One or two exchanged glances.
"Alright, that's it. Everyone else, you're free to go."
Chairs pushed back. Heels clicked on the tile. Zoe stood to leave.
"Zoe, stay for a sec." Nichole's voice was calm but clear.
She paused, watching the others leave, then sat back down.
Nichole closed the presentation window and turned toward her, arms crossed loosely.
"I want you representing us at Elora."
Zoe tilted her head.
"As in, with you?"
"Yes. You'll speak on design direction and creative sustainability. You're one of the few here who gets both artistry and execution—and that makes you the sharpest person in the room. I want you there."
She hesitated, caught off guard—not by the responsibility, but the reminder: she was still moving forward. Still getting chosen, even if not by the one who once promised she always would be.
"Okay. I'll be there."
"Wear something sharp. Not safe. Something that says we know where the future's going—because we are the future."
Zoe gave a small, wry smile.
"No pressure."
Nichole grinned.
"Pressure's good for diamonds."
Zoe stood, gathering her tablet and notebook. She was halfway to the door when she paused and looked back.
"Thanks for the trust."