Page 59 of I Want You

And when they step out into the icy breeze of the Chicago night to cross the hotel lobby, they both walk with their heads held high, impeccable on the outside, but knowing that inside they carry the fire of something that nothing and no one at Velvet & Silk will ever be able to extinguish again.

Chapter 21

Victoria knows that Eleanor Sterling intends to make things difficult for her the moment they walk through the doors of her office.

The meeting begins at nine o’clock sharp on a gray, freezing Monday in New York, just a few hours after the company’s private jet brought them back from Chicago. Victoria still feels the lingering exhaustion clinging to the back of her neck and a treacherous burning in her eyes, but Harper looks like a commercial for freshly brewed coffee. She’s sitting to her right, laptop at the ready, a folder full of samples, and that smile she flashes when she’s prepared to fight for an idea to the bitter end.

“How I envy her. And she looks so beautiful,” Victoria thinks.

Eleanor, on the other hand, watches them from the other end of the table, a cup in her hands.

“So you really have struck gold,” she begins a short while later, tossing out the phrase without further ado.

Victoria exchanges a fleeting glance with Harper.

“That’s what you told us to do, Eleanor,” Victoria replies.

“I said to look for voices with potential. Not to come back trying to turn Velvet & Silk into an experimental lab,” Eleanor corrects, emphasizing every syllable.

Harper leans forward, resting her forearms—neatly clad in a cream-colored sweater—on the table.

“We haven’t submitted the final breakdown yet, Eleanor. We just sent you a draft with the profiles.”

“I’ve read your email. Twice,” the boss interrupts. “At three in the morning.”

“Then you’ll know there’s nothing irresponsible about the proposal,” Harper replies without losing her smile or her composure.

Eleanor raises an eyebrow. Victoria notices the subtle tension in Harper’s jaw, the slight urge to bite her lip to hold back a retort. In the past, Victoria would have seized on that moment of hesitation from her rival to speak up, subtly upstage her, and take the credit. Today, however, she feels the opposite impulse.

“Let’s start with Naomi Reeves,” Victoria interjects, reaching for the remote and turning on the room’s panoramic screen.

The portraits from the museum gala flood the room. The impeccable lighting, the unretouched bare skin, and the defiant gazes of those women over fifty fill the space.

“Twenty-seven years old, Detroit,” Victoria explains. “Her project explores female maturity without resorting to digital retouching.”

Eleanor studies the central photograph, tilting her head slightly.

“But she has no experience with editorial work. And that’s not exactly what I’m looking for.”

“And that’s exactly why it makes sense, Eleanor,” Harper jumps in immediately. “If we just hire the usual photographers from the scene, no one will notice the freshness we want to bring to the issue.”

“There’s a world of difference between discovering talent and giving six pages to an inexperienced kid,” Eleanor declares, fixing her gaze on her.

Victoria doesn’t wait for the tension to escalate.

“Julian will be directing the shoot on set, and my team will handle the concept. We can mentor her and immerse her fully in this world.”

Eleanor turns her eyes toward Victoria.

“And are you comfortable leaving the aesthetic of the section in the hands of someone so inexperienced, Victoria?”

Victoria doesn’t even have to blink to answer.

“Yes. Completely. Because usually, these artists are discovered through word of mouth or at traditional galleries. But if we feature her in our issue… imagine how many people might knock on our door to collaborate on future issues.”

Eleanor leans back, interlacing her fingers in her lap.

“Wow. I didn’t expect to see an idea defended with such passion.”