CHAPTER 44: CHAPTER 44: DEPARTMENT DINNER

"Ms. Lowell."

Tim Sawyer was dressed in a white V-neck sheath dress, showing off curves as smooth and promising as her rising career.

Her figure was excellent, black hair cascading on both sides, and her pearl earrings added to her aura.

Then, looking over at Sophia Lowell.

She was just wearing white sneakers, skinny jeans, and a light blue, almost off-shoulder wool sweater.

One fresh-faced, one mature.

She twirled around in her chair, enjoying the comfort high up in the building.

"Manager Sawyer."

"Don’t be so formal, just call me Tim Sawyer in private."

"Alright."

She didn’t stand on ceremony either.

For the next ten minutes, Tim Sawyer and Sophia chatted about random, harmless things, which Sophia found odd.

She was sure they’d overheard the earlier conversation, yet Tim seemed so relaxed?

And Tim Sawyer seemed to have heard something from somewhere, too.

She said Zane Sterling didn’t have anyone he liked, and for the past half month, he hadn’t even given Sophia a proper look, let alone developed anything else.

So maybe it really was like Sophia joked before, that every woman in the office has a thing for Zane Sterling, and Sophia’s crush is just one of many.

Especially like earlier.

She didn’t pose any threat, so Tim felt reassured.

——

Saturday, she slept until noon.

She arrived at Grandpa Sterling’s little courtyard around three in the afternoon.

She carefully ironed the finished suit jacket, and two white dress shirts.

She lifted the sleeve of one shirt, her nude nail tracing the collar, with a white, hand-embroidered tulip—she pursed her lips and smiled.

Her embroidery skills were really impressive; she’d won quite a few heritage awards.

"You put a lot of thought into designing these two sets of menswear, didn’t you?" Grandpa Sterling held his teacup, standing beside her and inspecting the clothes. "With your talent, you shouldn’t just be a junior designer under him. Or is his eyesight that bad?"

Sophia glanced sideways and smirked. "I just want some peace and quiet. I’m happy just being a designer."

"Why don’t you come work for me? I’m in my seventies or eighties, can’t handle this anymore." Grandpa Sterling’s meaning was obvious—he wanted Sophia to take over his studio.

Sophia’s hands trembled.

This studio had been running for decades, hugely famous, and even the big names struggled to get a single custom piece here.

Monthly profits went into the tens of millions, jobs were accepted completely on whim—absolute luxury.

Grandpa Sterling just said a couple casual sentences and wanted to hand this massive enterprise to her?

"Grandpa, are you sure that tea isn’t 52-proof?"

Sophia pouted, folded the clothes, and carefully put them in a bag.

Grandpa Sterling chuckled.

Dinner was still in the courtyard.

Before heading to T-Bar, she changed into a modified dress she’d made herself.

Off-the-shoulder cut showing off her delicate collarbones, the lower half styled like a slit cheongsam.

Pale yellow gourd buttons neatly closed up the slit, perfectly placed.

True to that saying: a waist as slender as a willow swaying in the wind.

She put on the pearl necklace that Grandpa Sterling gave her a few days ago: three pearls, one big and two small.

Her earlobes also dangled two pearls.

Grace and elegance came alive on her.

She smoothed her hair and pinned it up with a simple hairpin.

When it comes to gatherings, the design and publicity departments are always the wildest—Sophia’s outfit was actually pretty modest.

At eight, Grandpa Sterling got picked up by the butler, and Sophia drove off toward T-Bar.

Barely started and trouble struck.

She got rear-ended.

And the one who rear-ended her was Faye Ellison.

The two waited inside while his assistant handled things.

"Where are you headed?" He was in a tracksuit, as energetic as ever.

"Department dinner," Sophia pursed her lips, pretending to check the time, "I’ve got to go first, the tow truck’s on its way."

"Okay." Faye cocked his lips, said no more.

She grabbed a Chanel-style jacket from the passenger seat, picked up her bag, and quickly switched to a pair of white heels.

She nodded at Faye, then casually hailed a cab and left.

"Mr. Ellison, this crash is going to cost, what, tens of thousands? Just a few words and then it’s solved..."

His assistant sounded a little amazed—wealthy folks’ run-ins were something to envy.

"Was it your money?" He snorted.

——

Good thing she made it, or people would say she was playing diva.

Ever since she got back from The S Republic, she’d been extra careful at work, afraid of stirring up more drama.

The private room was deafening—they’d all started drinking already.

She glanced around; the room was quite big, pretty much everyone from both departments was there.

She found a random seat and sat down.

"What’s that?" Wyatt Nash somehow popped up next to her and peered inside. "Classic fashion! Ms. Lowell, didn’t know you were loaded! That jacket alone must be worth tens of thousands! Is it a designer jacket? A single one’s got to be over a hundred grand..."

Sophia sipped her cocktail and whispered, "All that glitters is not gold!"

She opened the bag—inside was the Chanel-style piece she’d made for herself.

Wyatt wanted to open it, but she stopped him.

"Hey, manners! A girl’s belongings aren’t for peeking, you’ll get a stye."

"Okay, okay!" Wyatt didn’t doubt it much.

After all, in their eyes, Sophia was just a regular employee, stuck with a fixed salary—how could she afford clothes worth tens of thousands?

Through the first round, everyone intentionally tried to get to know Eli Young and Tim Sawyer; Sophia also raised her glass and joined in for a couple drinks.

Later on, things got rowdy, especially among the publicity crew mixing with the design team.

Sophia didn’t get wild with them; instead, she sang karaoke with a few ladies from the publicity department.

"Ms. Lowell!" Supervisor Coleman from finance marched over, interrupting her singing.

Sophia smiled and put down the mic.

Guy sure was polite.

"Hello, Supervisor Coleman."

Evan Coleman had met her a few times—over payroll, sometimes in the elevator.

He was a little tipsy, the acne scars on his face aging his thirty-something appearance to closer to forty.

They chatted briefly, then he asked for her WhatsApp. Sophia didn’t really know how to refuse, so she reluctantly added him.

She checked her phone, lips pressed together; she had a new friend request from [Eli Young].

She glanced up, spotting Eli Young in the crowd, holding his wineglass, elbows resting on his knees.

He was slowly sipping wine, listening to Tim Sawyer talking nearby, and his eyes met Sophia’s by chance.

He lifted his glass politely, nodded to Sophia, then took a sip.

Sophia nodded back and accepted.

Eli Young looked calm—typical rich kid looks, handsome, in a suit, spoke with some humor, surrounded by plenty of girls.

"Why aren’t you drinking? No work tomorrow—come have fun!" Lily Ellison, drunk on seven or eight shots, dragged Sophia and plopped her down next to Wyatt Nash.

"Whoa!" She hadn’t expected it, almost bumping into Wyatt.

Wyatt looked doting: "Careful."

"Girl, get a grip—this is just a team dinner, not a night out on the town, chill on the booze!"

Sophia faked a smile.

Then sent Lily’s boyfriend a message on WhatsApp.