Serena’s POV
I smoothed down my custom-tailored blazer, giving myself a final once-over in the mirror before eting with Kruse. The outfit was perfect—professional yet creative, with just enough edge to make a statent. The subtle Dreamland Studio pin on my lapel caught the light as I turned. I needed to look impeccable for this negotiation, especially after seeing those sketches.
"Ready for battle," I murmured to myself, grabbing my portfolio and heading out to et Ivy.
She was waiting outside my hotel, her vibrant red curls catching the London sunlight. There was sothing in her posture—a slight tension in her shoulders—that my instincts imdiately picked up on. This wasn’t just a professional eting for her; there was desperation lurking beneath her composed exterior.
"You look stunning, Mrs. Quinn," Ivy greeted .
As our cab navigated through London’s busy streets, I decided to test the waters.
"So, how long have you been with Kruse?" I asked casually, watching her reaction carefully.
Ivy’s fingers twisted in her lap—a nervous tell. "Three years now. I was brought on to revitalize their evening wear line."
"And how’s that been working out for you?"
She hesitated, then sothing in her seed to break. Perhaps it was the genuine interest in my tone, or maybe she was simply at her breaking point.
"If I’m being honest, not as well as I’d hoped," she admitted, her professional mask slipping. "These past few months have been... challenging. The creative direction keeps shifting, designs get rejected without explanation, and Matthews—" She stopped herself, shaking her head.
"Matthews?" I prompted gently.
"Our branch director. He’s... difficult, to put it mildly." She looked out the window, her reflection showing a flash of vulnerability. "I used to love designing. Now I dread going into the studio each morning."
I recognized the look in her eyes—I’d seen it in my own reflection during my darkest days with Ryan. That trapped feeling, that sense of having your creativity smothered.
"Mrs. Quinn," she turned to suddenly, her voice low and intense, "if I hadn’t t you yesterday, I honestly wouldn’t know what to do anymore. Those designs you saw—they’ve been rejected three tis already. Fashion Week is tomorrow, and we’re still finalizing details that should have been locked in weeks ago."
I studied her for a mont, sensing an opportunity.
"After Fashion Week concludes, do you plan to continue working with Kruse?" I asked directly.
Ivy froze, her eyes widening as she caught my aning. "Mrs. Quinn, are you suggesting—"
"Join Dreamland Studio," I said without hesitation. "I need designers with your talent. Whatever requirents you have, we can discuss them. I may be the boss, but my team mbers are never shortchanged, and they certainly don’t face the kind of stress you’re dealing with at Kruse."
I could see the hope blooming in her eyes.
"I’m not asking for your answer now," I added softly. "Think about it carefully. After Fashion Week, we can talk more."
Ivy nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "I will. Thank you."
When we arrived at Kruse’s London branch, the building was impressive—all glass and chro, projecting an image of sleek modernity. Ivy led through security and up to the executive floor, her steps becoming more hesitant the closer we got to our destination.
"Matthews’s office is just down here," she murmured. "He should be expecting us."
As we approached, I could hear a harsh voice through the partially open door. Matthews was on the phone, his tone angry and dismissive.
"I don’t care what Paris thinks! This is my branch, my decision. If they wanted input, they should have—" He cut himself off, noticing us at the doorway. With a frustrated growl, he ended the call abruptly.
The tension in the room was palpable.
"Mr. Matthews," Ivy began tentatively, "this is Mrs. Quinn from Dreamland Studio."
He took a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself before standing to greet .
"Mrs. Quinn, hello." His handshake was firm but brief, his eyes evaluating with undisguised skepticism. "Please, have a seat."
I remained standing, noticing how he hadn’t offered Ivy a seat. These power gas were familiar territory to .
"Ivy, shouldn’t you be at the venue ensuring everything is ready for tomorrow?" he asked pointedly, dismissing her presence entirely.
I watched Ivy’s face fall slightly, though she maintained her professional composure. "Mr. Matthews, Mrs. Quinn is here specifically to discuss Fashion Week. A potential collaboration."
His eyebrow arched. "Is that so?"
I smiled coolly. "If you’re too busy to hear the proposal, I understand. My ti is valuable as well." I turned slightly as if preparing to leave.
The dismissive tone worked.
"Mrs. Quinn, forgive my manners," he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I’ve had so frustrating news this morning. Please, sit down."
I glanced at Ivy, making it clear I expected her to be included in this conversation, before taking a seat.
"What kind of collaboration did you have in mind?" Matthews asked, getting straight to the point.
I matched his directness. "I propose that Ivy’s evening wear designs share the runway with Dreamland Studio’s accessories. A joint presentation, combining our strengths."
Matthews let out a short, dismissive laugh. "You must be joking. In all my years at London Fashion Week, I’ve never heard of such an arrangent."
I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping to a more challenging tone. "And now you have." I held his gaze steadily, letting my natural dominance as a Quinn show through. "You’re the branch director here, so I assu you’re perceptive enough to see that Ivy’s designs have... gaps that need addressing. Dreamland’s pieces would complent them perfectly."
Matthews’s expression hardened as he shot an accusatory glance at Ivy. "Mrs. Quinn, what exactly are you implying? Have you seen our design drafts? Those are strictly confidential materials." His tone beca threatening. "As soone in the industry, you should understand the importance of confidentiality."
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