Page 471 of Manhattan Bossholes

I shrugged. “I have a few ideas but I figured you, as the arm candy for supermodels, would have opinions.”

Lavonte snorted, then slapped his hand over his mouth.

“Excuse me?” James asked, glaring at me. “Arm candy?”

I’d clearly hit a nerve but I wasn’t backing down. “You date models. Lots of them. So my assumption was that you probably have thoughts about who is and isn’t appropriate for Branson to partner with.”

“Arm candy,” he repeated, venom in his tone.

Ooh, he hated that! Well, good. From what I’d seen, there were few things that could shake his reserve, and I felt downright giddy at the thought that I’d stumbled on one of them. I wondered what name I could throw at him as a suggestion that would rile him the most.

Rhea had filled me in on his history with the one-named supermodel Heidi, who seemed most at home stalking catwalks in lingerie. The woman was literally perfect in every way, except for the fact that she gave tell-all interviews trashing James every time they broke up, which, according to my quick research, happened quite a lot back when they were together.

Our eyes were locked in a standoff, and I could see his jaw flexing, like he was grinding his teeth at me. James was probably used to people buckling when he fixed his ridiculously clear blue eyes on them, but I held my ground. The back of my neck inexplicably tingled under the weight of his gaze, and it felt like excitement, not fear. There definitely was a part of me that liked locking horns with the big man. And since the phrase “arm candy” had gotten such a delicious reaction, I couldn’t resist getting in another crack.

“Is there a better word choice?” I asked with mock innocence. “Sugar Daddy? Benefactor? PR couple?”

Everyone at the table seemed to suck in a breath at the same time.

“Let’s leave my personal life out of the equation,” he finally said, his tone making it clear that I needed to shut the hell up.

“Skyler Honeywell,” someone piped up, and we all turned to look at Jacinda. “She would be incredible. She has a huge social media following on Instagram and Snug, and the girl knows how to dress. And work the camera. She’s got a look unlike anyone else on the runway.”

James picked up his phone. “I don’t know her…”

I let a laugh slip out and his eyes shot to me. I pretended to be busy sketching. A photo of a beautiful woman with black almond-shaped eyes and tanned skin popped onto the smartboard.

“She’s very fashion-forward,” James said as he studied the image of the undeniably gorgeous woman. “But the tattoos… I’m not sure that’s the direction⁠—”

“That’s the exact direction Branson should be going,” I interrupted. “Skyler represents everything that’s new and unexpected in fashion. That’s where Branson needs to be.”

I was shocked when applause broke out around me, and when I looked at James, he seemed to be as well.

He let out a long sigh. “Seems I’m outnumbered, then. I need to check the feasibility of hiring someone for an ambassador role. In the meantime, it’s a go to start the groundwork for the Pantone project.” James gathered his things to leave, then paused. “Natalie.”

The room went silent as we all waited to see how he’d retaliate against me.

“Yes, sir?”

He winced at the honorific.

“Your couture idea is our lead project. I want your theme by the end of next week, along with your first sketch. Once I approve it the rest of the team can begin their work on it.”

Everyone at the table went wild and I beamed with pride. My pie-in-the-sky dream concept was going to be a reality! What James didn’t know was that I’d been working on it since my first day, and I already had the theme and half a dozen sketches. I wasn’t sure if my idea was going to get approved, given how daring it was for such a traditional design house. I’m sure James was envisioning something easy and pretty, like “Think Pink” or “Gowns Galore.”

My theme was “Deconstruction.” I had no illusions that it would be an easy sell…but that was a battle for another day. Right now, I just wanted to celebrate the bliss of having someone actually take my ideas seriously.

The mood lifted even more once the elevator doors closed on James. Someone cranked the music back up and we all talked over each other, trying to come up with the most fanciful couture concepts.

“My dear.” Rhea made her way over to me and clasped my hands in hers. “You worked a miracle just now.”

“No, not at all.” I frowned. “That was spitballing that happened to stick. I got lucky.”

“It’s bigger than that.” She shook her head, her massive earrings jangling. “It’s like you broke a curse or something. Everyone is excited again!”

I looked around at my colleagues, and it did seem like they were coming to life. While the air in the creative floor had always been charged, it was because they were all like frightened animals, scuttling around to avoid an attack. Now, everywhere I looked I saw smiles. But I wasn’t about to take credit for the shift. As much as I hated to admit it, James was a part of it too, for being open and willing to listen to us instead of shaming us for suggesting crazy ideas. After all, design was supposed to be where the beautiful insanity happened.

“This is how it used to be, before Clint took over,” Rhea explained. “Christopher was such an incredible mentor.”