Chapter 51
Chloe had just returned from her lunch break, her heels clicking against the polished tiles of StoneTech’s design floor.
She tossed her bag onto her desk with a dramatic sigh, flipping through a stack of fabric swatches she had abandoned that morning. The vibrant silks and soft satins no longer looked as exciting as they had before Ms. Laurent dropped her bombshell the day before.
The very thought of Damian’s name was enough to sour her mood. She knew he’d come. He always came when he had something to prove. She wasn’t wrong.
His footsteps were measured, purposeful, and all too familiar. When she glanced up, there he was—immaculately dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, that seemed to be his favorite, his expression cool, collected, and infuriatingly calm.
“Miss Smith,” he said evenly, stopping at the edge of her desk. His voice was polite, clipped, but there was a glimmer in his eyes she immediately recognized—annoyance barely hidden beneath civility. “I believe we should discuss how we’ll be dividing the workload for the annual event. You might think we have time but I assure you,vwe don’t p>
Chloe leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. She tilted her head, letting a mocking smile curve her lips. “Workload?” she echoed sweetly. “You mean how I’ll be doing all the work while you sit back and nitpick? Because if that’s the case, we’ve already saved time p>
Why did he think she’d even want to work with him? Weren’t he the one that had first opposed? Why wasn’t he thinking of a way to push her out and was here instead?
Perhaps, this was his way?
Damian looked at Chloe and his jaw ticked, just slightly, though he didn’t rise to her bait. “We don’t have the luxury of wasting days bickering, Miss Smith. The event is twelve weeks away, and Ms. Laurent expects the strongest designs StoneTech has ever presented. That requires collaboration. She already made that clear enough p>
“Collaboration,” she repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. You mean me handing you my ideas so you can shred them apart and call them ’lacking structure’ or ’unrealistic’ while you parade your stiff, lifeless suits like they’re masterpieces p>
Damian’s brows lifted, though the rest of his face remained infuriatingly composed. “Lifeless suits p>
Chloe leaned forward, tapping one of his sketches that she’d seen pinned on the inspiration board earlier. “That jacket looks like it belongs in a funeral parlor, not a runway. But of course, you’ll argue it’s ’timeless minimalism,’ won’t you?” The rıghtful source is
For the first time, his lips curved—not into a smile, but something sharper. “And your designs? Overindulgent, flamboyant, practically screaming for attention. Not everything needs to be drowned in sequins and feathers to make an impact p>
She gasped, feigning offense, though her eyes sparkled with challenge. “Sequins and feathers are drama. Drama is life. People remember drama. No one remembers boring gray suits, Mr. Cross p>
His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, Chloe thought she had finally cracked his icy demeanor. But then he exhaled slowly, straightening his cuffs. “Regardless of our differing tastes, Ms. Laurent’s decision is final. We work together. Unless, of course, you’d rather explain to her why you refused p>
Chloe smiled. So this was why he was here. To act like the good guy and piss her off into going to tell Miss Laurent she wouldn’t work with him so she’d take all the blame?
He knew she wouldn’t risk her position—not when she’d fought so hard to earn her place here. But she also wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
She leaned back again, smirking. “Fine. We’ll ’work together.’ But don’t expect me to play nice. I don’t take orders from you p>
Damian’s gaze sharpened, his voice dropping lower. “Nor do I from you. Although I’m your superior, I’m willing to lower myself and see you as an equal in this project. And if you truly want to prove your worth and make me stop criticize your designs, perhaps you should focus less on dramatics and more on craftsmanship p>
Her mouth fell open, indignation sparking hot in her chest. “Craftsmanship? Excuse me, Mr. Ice Cube, but if you think my work lacks craftsmanship, then clearly, you’ve been too busy admiring your reflection to notice real creativity p>
His jaw tightened again, but instead of snapping back, he did something worse—he smiled faintly. A calm, deliberate, maddening smile. “Then prove it, Miss Smith. Show me something worth admiring p>
Chloe glared, her blood simmering. “Oh, I will. And when the audience gasps at my designs and yawns at yours, don’t come crying to me p>
“Crying?” His tone was almost amused now, though his eyes stayed cool. “I don’t cry, Miss Smith. I win p>
She pushed up from her chair, closing the space between them until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. “Not this time, you won’t p>
The air between them hummed with tension, sharp as a drawn blade. For a heartbeat too long, neither of them moved, neither willing to step back first. Then Chloe huffed and plopped back into her chair, deliberately turning her attention to her sketches.
“Fine,” she said breezily. “Let’s see how long you last before running back to Ms. Laurent, begging to be reassigned p>
Damian didn’t flinch. He simply gave a curt nod. “I’ll have my drafts ready for review by tomorrow morning. I expect yours to be, too p>
Chloe waved a hand dismissively, pretending his words didn’t sting her competitive streak. “Don’t lose sleep waiting. Unlike you, I actually need my beauty rest p>
He didn’t bother replying. With a final, cool glance, he turned and walked away, every movement precise, unhurried.
Chloe watched him go, her heart hammering against her ribs. She hated him. She hated his arrogance, his condescension, his ability to make her feel like she had to prove herself every second.
And yet—
Some part of her thrilled at the challenge.
This wasn’t just about designs anymore. This was about beating Damian Cross at his own game.
She picked up her pencil, sketching with furious energy, her lips curving into a determined smile.
“Fine, Mr. Cross,” she muttered under her breath. “You want collaboration? You’ll get a war p>
Now she couldn’t wait to see what he’d bring for review tomorrow.