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“If things are obvious… we can’t really blame her, can we?”
“And I’m sure you’ve already told her everything that happened, right?” Victoria guesses. Seeing the look on Harper’s face, she smiles and shakes her head. “It’s not a reproach—don’t worry.”
Harper can’t help but let a small smile slip out.
“Maybe I gave her a condensed version. Just enough to keep her from having a heart attack after I kissed you again.”
“And what does she think?”
“That we shouldn’t label things right now. That we should enjoy the moment…” Harper replies, meeting Victoria’s gaze, “and that the rest will fall into place.”
“How philosophical.”
“I told you so.”
They both burst out laughing.
Then Victoria lets out a sigh that turns into a small cloud of steam in the cold air.
“For the first time in a long time, I agree with Solange.”
Harper blinks and glances around.
“Does what’s happening scare you, too?”
“Very much so,” Victoria admits without batting an eye. “You know I hate not being in control of the situation.”
Eager to get there sooner, they hail a taxi on the avenue and cross the Williamsburg Bridge while Harper glances out the window. The East River looks like a blanket of black ink reflecting Manhattan’s illuminated skyline. New York glows in the background like that giant that never sleeps, but inside the car, a completely different story is unfolding.
When the taxi drops them off on the Lower East Side, Harper suggests continuing on foot. Victoria agrees without hesitation.
They walk through Nolita, past the buildings and the now-darkened windows of designer shops.
“What are we going to do when the rest of the newsroom finds out about… this?” Harper asks, burying her face in the collar of her coat.
Victoria looks at her from the side, raising an eyebrow.
“Didn’t we say no labels?” Victoria jokes, slowing her pace.
“And I don’t want to label it. Things are what they are,” Harper admits, looking down at her own boots. “But back to reality: we have a problem named Eleanor, and she’s not going to give us a moment’s peace. Because if she uses our personal relationship to destabilize us, it could cost us dearly.”
“I won’t let her mess with my job. Or yours,” Victoria assures her, grabbing Harper’s arm. “She might be interested in all this fuss, but she’s not going to get the better of us. And that’s why…” Victoria stops right under a streetlight. “I have a proposal.”
Harper looks at her, reaching for her hands.
“I’m all ears.”
“To present a plan to the board to join forces and merge the departments into a single one that we can run ourselves. Both in the United States and across our international publications.”
Harper’s mouth drops open in disbelief.
“Isn’t that a little too ambitious?”
“No. Because that’s exactly the plan she had from the beginning. With the added bonus that we could bring all the teams together,” Victoria explains. “You could take charge of the editorial strategy and business narrative for Velvet & Silk. And I’d handle the art direction, production design, and international expansion.”
Harper stares at her, looking for the fine print. But all she sees is the determined gaze of the woman she fell in love with years ago.
“Eleanor’s going to have a fit. I don’t think she plans to merge all the departments. I think she wants to make it clear to all the shareholders that she does know how to run the magazine. The classic ‘divide and conquer.’”
