Page 3

Harper’s pulse throbs in her temples.

“Strengthen it?”

“Velvet & Silk is bringing on a Co-Director today. She’ll have direct responsibility for the international restructuring and the major editorial campaigns coming up.”

Silence falls over the room. Harper looks around—to the left, to the right. None of the board members seem surprised. They all either avoid her gaze or nod. They knew. They all knew this would be the outcome while she was working her fingers to the bone fourteen hours a day.

“Excuse me…” Harper says, forcing herself not to tremble. “A… Co-Director?”

“That’s right,” Eleanor confirms.

“I thought this meeting had been called to formalize my promotion to Editor-in-Chief.”

“Your promotion is still on the table, Harper. But that’s the only answer I can give you right now.”

The taste left in Harper’s mouth is bitter. Her disappointment stems not only from the promised position but also from the humiliation she feels: they’ve let her get a taste of the prize while, behind her back, they were negotiating to bring in someone with whom she’d have to share power.

“And may I ask who it is?” Harper demands, crossing her arms.

“You’ll find out right this very moment.”

Behind Harper, the double doors to the room swing open again, and a chill runs down her spine.

The sound of heels is accompanied by the subtle yet unmistakable scent of white flowers, sandalwood, and that warm, clean base note that Harper thought she’d erased from her memory after five years of therapy and compulsive work.

“No. It can’t be.”

Harper turns around. And in that moment, everything around her fades away. The woman who has just crossed the threshold and stopped by the door is Victoria Vance.

Her dark, shiny hair falls over her shoulders. She’s wearing an impeccably tailored black suit that screams “Paris” from every angle, paired with a cream-colored silk blouse. She looks different. Harper couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what had changed about her.

Five years. Five damned, endless years since she boarded a plane bound for France without looking back.

In her fantasies, Harper has imagined the possible scene of their reunion a million times. She always pictured herself as distant, haughty, happily indifferent. But reality, as usual, is a humiliating slap in the face. Because the first thing Harper feels when she sees her isn’t exactly hatred. It’s a visceral jolt in the center of her chest that takes her breath away.

And immediately after that, the rage sets in. The blessed, saving, burning rage.

“Good morning, everyone,” Victoria greets them.

Her voice. Damn, that voice. Harper remembers it as deep, with that velvety undertone she’s tried so hard to forget.

Victoria gives a slight nod, and then her eyes meet Harper’s.

It’s just a second. A brief moment. But enough for Harper to catch a tiny crack in Victoria Vance’s inscrutable mask. A flash of surprise that vanishes quickly.

Eleanor interjects from the head of the table with an almost obscene calm.

“I see introductions aren’t necessary.”

Harper doesn’t take her eyes off her ex-wife for even a millimeter. Her jaw aches from how tightly she’s clenching her teeth.

“No, Eleanor. That’s not necessary. And I must say, my ex-wife is very competent.”

Half the board of directors already knew this. The other half covers their surprise with a few coughs.

“Given your history and shared experience…” Eleanor continues without losing her composure, “the board is confident that you will act like the two exceptional professionals you are and keep the personal and the professional separate.”

Victoria takes a firm step toward the table.