Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
It was imposing, to say the least, with a massive four-poster bed draped in deep red velvet that dominated the space. The intricate carvings on the headboard—vines and winged creatures—caught my eye, giving the room a heavy, almost menacing presence that made it impossible to look away.
But the worst part was the headboards of our beds shared a wall.
During the day, I stared at the wall between our offices, and then all night long, I got zero sleep as I stared at the wall between our beds.
At this point, I stood by the power of espresso and sugar alone.
I really needed to get out of this prison.
And it was a prison.
An achingly beautiful prison.
* * *
Florian and I were in his third-floor conference room reviewing the presentation mood boards I was putting together for the new lab-created diamond campaign.
He pointed to several of the outfits. “Who is the shoe designer?”
“Gia Borghini.”
“And the dress coat?”
“Blazé Milano.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Bold move, not going with one of the historic fashion houses of Italy.”
After laying one board down, I picked up another. “The House of Diamanti always partners with the usual suspects—Gucci, Valentino, Versace—when launching new jewelry lines or diamond marketing campaigns.”
His lips thinned. “And what is wrong with that? It is a time-honored tradition. All the fashion houses collaborate with one another for cross-marketing. We have for generations.”
I turned to face him. “That’s just my point. The lab-created diamonds are a whole new ball game.”
“A new what?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s an American expression. My point is, why not keep the high-end luxury brands paired with the traditional natural diamonds and use up-and-coming Italian designers for the lab-created ones?”
He chewed on the temple tips of his eyeglasses as he studied the mood board.
Looking over the board at me, he asked, “And you cleared this with marketing?”
I nodded. “They love the idea. They were really impressed the designers I chose are all women, too.”
While marketing came up with the general campaign concept, it was my job as the fashion stylist to worry about the specific details of the magazine, catalog, and website photo shoots.
“What about the jewelry designers on the second floor?”
“They love it as well, and once we get final approval, they even want to rework a few of the pieces to give them a lighter, trendier look to match the designs.”
“What about the designers?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t reached out to any of them yet—but who would refuse the House of Diamanti?”
He cast me a sly smile before returning to study the mood boards.
He continued to chew on his eyeglasses. “It’s a bold move,” he murmured. “Could backfire.”
I remained silent, letting my work and ideas speak for themselves.
Finally, he put his glasses on as he leaned forward. “Well done, Sabrina.”
My shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
He looked at the open doorway before lowering his voice. “I don’t mind telling you, I had my reservations, given your lack of experience, but I should have trusted Signore Diamanti. He obviously saw your true potential.”
I wasn’t going to do it…
I wasn’t going to belittle this moment by picking apart the reasons why Sebastian had hired me.
I would take the win.
Florian rose and, as if reading my mind, said, “Don’t take your victory lap just yet. You still have to convince Signore Diamanti.”
I rose with him and collected the mood boards.
There was still a great deal of work to do on my ideas before they would reach Sebastian’s desk. Partnership agreements with the designers. Photographers to interview. The final jewelry designs.
Florian turned at the door threshold. “Some of us are going for an aperitivo after work if you’re interested.”
My hands stilled over the mood boards.
Whether in New York, Paris, or Rome, it was all the same.
An invitation to happy hour after work meant I was being accepted into the fold.
I was becoming one of them.
After my meeting, I left his office and headed over to the small empty desk in the corner of the main floor. I’d found it a few days in and had used it as my own as often as I could.
Although incredibly chic and beautiful, I hated the office next to Sebastian’s. For one, it set me apart in a really obnoxious way from the rest of the stylist department.
And even though I hated to admit it, I found working that close to Sebastian a huge distraction.
I flipped open my laptop and prepared a spreadsheet of all the designer names and pieces I wanted to use in the upcoming shoot, then I went in search of contact information.
Tonight, while at drinks with the rest of the crew, I’d feel out who would be best to approach to help me with the contact phone calls and emails since I didn’t want to just assume all these designers spoke English.
I was so focused on my task that I didn’t notice the change in the atmosphere of the office until it was too late—when a large masculine hand slowly shut my laptop screen.