Studying, drawing and designing felt like the only thing I had amid the chaos in my childhood. The second I came home with a perfect report card and saw the smiles on my parents’ faces I knew how badly I wanted to make them smile like that again. I wanted to keep proving to them, and myself, that I could be more,domore.
The past three summers, I’ve been working closer with my parents at Voss, and I finally thought they were ready to give me a job as a designer. I’ve been working toward this my entire life, perfecting designs and testing them out with any spare fabric left in the design studio. I know I could shine there if they just gave me the chance.
As much as they encourage me, I know Wren and Kennedy think it’s insane how hard I’m gunning for a real position at Vossinstead of settling as an assistant for a few years before growing into a more active role. Until I have the spot at the table I’ve been working toward, I’ll keep pushing. Because when I close my eyes at night, I can see myself ten years from now, still wanting to pin my report card on the fridge. Sometimes I think that feeling will never go away.
So, I’m going to speak to them.
Today.
Right after this class that isthisclose to sending me to sleep.
The seat beside me squeaks, and I don’t even have to look to my left to know who has just sat beside me. Because there’s only one person in this world that enjoys getting under my skin just as much as I enjoy getting under theirs.
Evan Branson has been making my life a living hell just byexistingat the same time as me. As the youngest children in our respective empires, I have no reason to like the man. B&Co have been rivals with Voss for decades, and they’ve been known to poach potential clients, steal ideas, and turn every event and gala into something about them.
The Bransons are vultures, and I’ve been trying my best to keep things civil at college, but I’m competitive. I was born with a competitive edge, and Evan is an idiot if he thought our families’ rivalries wouldn’t extend to us in the classroom.
If we had it my dad’s way, things would be a lot more tense with the Bransons, like they were a few years ago, but it’s my mom who is the one who’s really calling the shots and keeping the peace. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let tall, blond Evan Branson make a fool of me in the classroom.
“Scarlett,” he greets, and I take a deep breath in before meeting his gaze. He’s wearing a navy-blue suit, his black tie is loose around his neck, his top buttons undone like he got ready on the way to campus. A questionable look for someone whosefamily owns a million-dollar clothing franchise. Dark-green eyes stare into mine. “How are you this fine morning?”
I smile politely, briefly, evilly. “I was great up until you showed up.”
He laughs darkly, turning to face the front of the lecture hall. “Always a pleasure, angel.”
“Stop calling me that,” I bite out, punching out each word with a backspace on my laptop. He’s barely been here two minutes and he’s already distracting me.
“That’s what you are, aren’t you? You know, to everyone but me.”
“It’s funny. It’s almost like there’s a reason for that,” I say dryly.
His eyes are on me again, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of showing it bothers me. “What? Because our families hate each other so youhaveto be mean to me? Is that the reason?” I don’t respond. I don’t have to. Still, he pushes again. “Come on, Scarlett, you can admit it’s pathetic by now. Didn’t your parents ever teach you how to forgive and forget?”
I scoff. “It’s not pathetic. It’s necessary,” I say, cutting him a glance before looking back at my screen. “Forgive me for thinking a spoiled, entitled little rich boy like you would know anything about family loyalty.”
“Spoiled?” Evan repeats, sucking in a breath like he’s been hurt. “Now that’s an understatement. I’m offended.”
I roll my eyes, focusing back on my work as Professor Lawrence gives us the brief on what today’s class is going to cover. I’m already slightly behind on the work and thanks to the girls’ study session that didn’t work out, I have no previous notes for today’s topic. Perfect. There’s nothing I love more than being underprepared.
It’s days like today that are supposed to keep me on my toes, but all I can think about is going to my parents’ house later.
I don’t live with them anymore, so it’s not like they can kick me out or anything. But they might cut me off for evensuggestingthat they don’t care about me or my ideas.
I’ve had everything planned for days now. I’m going to bring some homemade treats, tell them how well classes are going, beforeslowlyeasing into a conversation around Voss. And then suddenly we’re reminiscing about the summer and all the work I did and how I’m such a great asset to the team and then I’m going to hit them with the PowerPoint outlining all the reasons why I would be a perfect fit for the design team.
It’ll be as easy as riding a bike.
Hopefully.
“So, what do you think of today’s topic? Marketing strategies. Right up your alley, aren’t they?” Evan’s voice filters in and I notice that our professor has put a discussion point on the screen and everyone around us is talking in pairs. And because my row is empty apart from me and Evan, it seems he’s chosen me as his partner.
I don’t respond, but he continues anyway.
“It’s interesting how different brands approach it. Voss is all about exclusivity and high-end appeal, just like B&Co. Don’t you think it’s time to change things up?”
I know what he’s doing. I know how much B&Co rely on their traditional and exclusive lines. And I also know it’s going to bite them in the ass in ten years when the people they’re marketing toward die and they have a whole new generation they have no idea how to design for. It’s going to be such a tragedy, and I can’t wait to watch it crash and burn.
“Look, it’s effective because it creates a sense of aspiration,” I answer, turning to him as he raises an eyebrow. “People want to be part of an exclusive club. It’s not just about the product; it’s about the status that comes with it.”
