Aim to Please (wlw)

ch. 5 • growing attraction

While the world of fashion was not quiet, our little corner of it had slowed down to a snail's pace. It was welcomed, of course. This break allowed us to prepare for the string of galas across Europe. While we weren't presenting any pieces, showing face was equally as important.

If not more so.

People have accused me of being aggressive, demeaning, domineering. Truly, I just throw what they've portrayed back into their faces. No one with an ugly soul likes to look in a mirror for long.

Am I a perfectionist? Yes. Will each of my designers, myself, and my assistant be dressed to kill? Absolutely. Will I accept anything less?

No.

"Ms. Montague?" A little mouse's voice called for me. I turned around to see my assistant's head peeking from behind the door. "The regional sales team leads are waiting in the boardroom."

"Thank you, Mackenzie," I said with a smile. "I will be there soon."

She nodded and closed my door softly. I chuckled at the situation at hand. In all my years, I never quieted myself for anyone. But when Mackenzie is around, I find that I dim down my aggressiveness.

Ever since the day of her interview, I noticed a tide change in my personality. The way she looked up at me over her glasses, her eyes wide and innocent, truly une belle biche— I wanted to keep her close. No one was more deserving of this job than Mackenzie Williams.

It saddened me to think about her hiding her potential behind a computer screen in a cubicle that could barely fit a desk.

I sighed and gathered my things. A 10 AM meeting that would inevitably lead into a 4 PM meeting that will turn into a meeting next week...

With a terse nod, I collected myself into the persona that everyone expected of me.

•

"Can you believe it?" Mackenzie shouted from across the apartment. "The audacity of claiming we stole ideas?"

"It is fucking insane," I called back.

Fuming. For the past 12 hours, we had been playing damage control against the media. There was no end in sight. Defamation in both forms, slander and libel, were spewed from the lips and fingertips of idiots.

Mackenzie was, in all meanings of the phrase, the brick wall between the feral, desperate press and the company. She held herself so well for someone that is usually soft and meek. Her anger and resolve when it came to protecting the designers and myself were admirable.

With the long day seemingly unable to end, she took my offer to stay at my apartment in the guest suite. We swiftly journeyed to her apartment to gather up her essentials and then sped to mine.

We were preparing for a confabulation between us, accompanied with glasses of wine and Indian takeout. The promise of spice that matched the indignation within me was tempting.

"Ms. Montague, would you like me to plate your food?"

Her need to call me so formally caused me to roll my eyes. "Mackenzie, darling, ask me again."

Silence.

"Ms. Monta—"

I stuck my head out of my bedroom and gave her a stern look. She lifted her eyebrows and smirked at me. My eyes registered what they were looking at and I quickly leaned back upright.

"Please, just bring what you would normally sleep in, doll."

Apparently that was a thin-strapped camisole and boyshorts. I gulped and lightly tapped my head against the doorframe. Of all times for this familiar, deep-seated need to occur, why now?