CHAPTER 242: CHAPTER 243 BONUS CHAPTER 3: INDUSTRY ROUNDTABLE

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. ‘He doesn’t have time to take a coffee break, let alone chase skirt. We’re colleagues. If you keep accusing me, I’m going to get pissed off.’

‘Fine,’ he muttered. ‘But no more rides in his car. Take the metro like everyone else.’

‘Done.’

He didn’t hang up.

He just kept talking.

Five minutes in, I started sliding down the headboard.

Ashton’s voice dropped. ‘Tilt the phone down.’

I did, yawning. ‘What now?’

He didn’t speak.

I followed his line of sight, glanced down, saw the collar of my nightshirt gaping wide open.

I rolled my eyes. ‘Perv.’

I yanked the phone back up.

He made a complaining noise.

‘I’m going to bed now. Night, Ash.’

‘No, wait—just one more second. Lower it a bit, let me see—’

‘Use your imagination.’

I hung up.

***

I was supposed to meet Ashton at the airport, but Valmont & Cie were hosting a small industry roundtable at their HQ, and I couldn’t bail.

I sent him the address to my place and told him to let himself in.

The event was hosted by the French jewellery guild, invitation-only, and packed with senior designers from the major brands.

On paper, it looked like a friendly networking session.

In reality, everyone was silently trying to outshine each other.

No one made eye contact unless it was a challenge.

Valmont & Cie, being the crown jewel of the lot, usually hosted.

That day was no exception.

Fabrizio didn’t normally bother with events like this, but he figured I might want to see how the locals played.

He blocked off his afternoon and walked me down to the conference room.

There were already about a dozen designers inside, seated in clusters.

Just as we reached the door, a man’s voice came through.

‘Valmont’s autumn-winter line is going to tank this year.’

Fabrizio stopped dead.

The door wasn’t soundproof, and the glass panel offered a clear view of the guy speaking.

He was blond, narrow-shouldered, wearing a scarf indoors.

Another voice jumped in. ‘They’ve gone downhill. Last year’s launch was trash, and this year looks even worse.’

A third one snorted. ‘Heard Marchetti’s been running the place into the ground. Half the team’s already walked out.’

‘Should be fun watching him crash and burn.’

I looked up at Fabrizio.

He didn’t pretend not to have heard them, but his features still maintained their usual calm, unshakeable poise, yet another trait I admired in the man.

‘The one mouthing off, that’s Jean-Baptiste,’ he said. ‘He used to be a senior designer with us. Quit last year. Made a mess of it on the way out.’

I leaned in closer. ‘Messy how?’

‘He took a team with him, started his own brand. He’s been coasting off the Valmont name ever since. Landed a few decent contracts. He actually just stole a project out from under us last week.’ Fabrizio tilted his chin. ‘The ones buzzing around him in there? All his people.’

I thought about Nyx Collective and Violet Lin.

It wasn’t the same thing, yet I could relate.

Fabrizio looked tired for half a second. Just a crack.

‘Valmont looks stable from the outside, but it’s a mess behind the scenes. Internal turnover, shrinking margins, investors breathing down my neck. To be honest, I’m not confident about the autumn-winter launch. That’s why I reached out to you.’

Well. That explained a lot.

He must’ve caught my face because he added, quickly, ‘I’m not trying to pressure you. Just telling you how it is. Anyway, ignore them. They’re just flapping their mouths. Doesn’t matter. Come on.’

‘Alright.’

We walked in.

Jean-Baptiste spotted Fabrizio immediately.

He dipped his head and whispered something to the man next to him.

One of them glanced at me, leaned closer and muttered in French: ‘That’s her? The new girl from Skyline? She looks twenty. Other than a pretty face, what’s she supposed to know?’

‘Probably can’t even speak French. Good luck getting anything useful out of her.’

They didn’t bother lowering their voices, assuming I wouldn’t understand a word.

I walked up to Jean-Baptiste.

‘My French is shit, but I understand enough. So thanks for calling me young and pretty. As for the rest... this job isn’t about age or face. It’s about work. And you haven’t seen mine.’

His mouth twitched.

The smug tilt in his posture disappeared.

He sat up.

‘You—’

I turned and walked off.

I took a seat beside Fabrizio just as the host stepped onstage.

People quieted immediately.

The format was standard.

Each brand took turns presenting their design concept and latest pieces.

Most of the slides were outdated, recycled from old press decks.

I leaned forward anyway.

It was the first time I’d been to one of these.

Eventually, Valmont’s guy got up.

He wasn’t a designer, more of a corporate mouthpiece.

Everyone assumed he’d trot out the same tired slideshow from spring.

Then he clicked to a new slide.

The words ‘Autumn/Winter 2025 – Lead Designer: Mirabelle Vance’ appeared on screen.

There was a pause.

From Jean-Baptiste’s side came a loud, deliberate clicking of his tongue.

‘They’re putting all their chips on some nobody. Are they that desperate?’

Everyone heard him.

The speaker ignored it and started flipping through my earlier collections.

Each slide filled the giant screen: sketches, colour palettes, stone specs.

Gradually, the noise faded.

Exactly as I said—let the work speak.

Even Jean-Baptiste blinked hard at the screen.

‘It’s... fine,’ he muttered. ‘Bit basic, maybe.’

Next slide showed his design.

His signature still sat in the bottom corner, in that ridiculous brush script.

‘This was from one of our former designers,’ the presenter said, stony-faced. ‘You can compare it to Miss Vance’s. The conclusion is obvious. She’s leading this year’s autumn-winter line. We’re excited for what’s ahead.’

Silence.

Then whispering, a few nods.

Someone said ‘clean work’.

Someone else muttered something about colour restraint.

Jean-Baptiste turned pink.