Chapter Two Sloane #2
“I’ve been thinking,” I say slowly, tracing patterns in the condensation on my glass. “Maybe it’s time for a change. A big one.”
Chloe leans forward, intrigued. “What kind of change are we talking about here?”
I take a deep breath, finally voicing the idea that’s been growing in my mind for weeks. “I’m thinking of leaving Moth to the Flame. Diving off the cliff with no safety net. I need to do something drastic to make this dream of mine happen.”
“Wow.” Chloe breathes. “That’s... that’s huge. Are you sure?”
I nod, feeling a mix of terror and exhilaration at the thought. “I’m suffocating there, Chlo. Every day, I’m forced to create things that don’t represent me, that don’t challenge anyone or anything. If I stay, I’ll lose myself completely.”
Chloe studies me, her brow furrowed in concern. “I get it, I do. But how will you support yourself? You said the banks won’t give you a loan.”
I take another sip of my martini, steeling myself. “I’ve been saving every penny I can. It’s not much, but it’s enough to get started. I figure I have about three months of runway before I’d have to start waiting tables or something.”
“Three months isn’t a lot of time,” Chloe points out gently.
“I know,” I admit. “But I have to try. If I don’t do this now, I never will.”
Chloe nods slowly, a smile spreading across her face. “You know what? You’re right. It’s time for Sloane Whitmore to take over the world with her badass jewelry.”
I laugh, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. “I don’t know about taking over the world. I’d settle for making enough to pay rent and keep designing.”
“Oh please,” Chloe scoffs. “Your stuff is incredible. Once people see it, you’ll be the next big thing. I can see it now—‘Sloane Whitmore: The Dark Rose of the Manhattan Jewelry Scene.’”
I nearly choke on my drink. “The Dark Rose? Really?”
Chloe grins. “Hey, every designer needs a dramatic nickname. Might as well claim yours early.”
“I think the nickname needs work.” I laugh, shaking my head at Chloe’s enthusiasm.
But beneath the amusement, I feel a spark of something I haven’t felt in months—hope. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is my moment to finally show the world what I can do.
As we finish our drinks, I can’t resist the urge to scan the bar, wondering if I’ll catch another glimpse of Cole. But the crowd has thinned, and there’s no sign of his commanding presence.
“Earth to Sloane,” Chloe says, waving a hand in front of my face. “You’re thinking about Mr. Expensive Scotch, aren’t you?”
I feel my face heat. “No, I was just... okay, maybe a little.”
“I knew it. Spill. What exactly happened before I got here?”
I recount the collision, the ruined sweater, and our brief conversation. As I describe Cole’s interest in my designs, I find myself wishing I’d had the courage to show him my sketches.
“Sounds like you made quite an impression,” Chloe says, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
I roll my eyes. “Please. He was just being polite after I ruined his suit. Besides, men like that don’t go for women who wear light-up reindeer sweaters and can’t afford their own scotch.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Chloe insists. “You’re brilliant, talented, and gorgeous. Any man would be lucky to have you spill drinks on him.”
“Thanks, Chlo. But right now, I need to focus on my career, not some random encounter with a handsome stranger.”
“Fair enough,” she concedes. “So, what’s the plan? How are we launching the Sloane Whitmore collection?”
I take a deep breath, suddenly feeling the weight of my decision.
“First, I need to give notice at Moth to the Flame. Then I’ll need to find a small studio space, maybe sublet something in the Garment District.
I’ve got some contacts from fashion week who might be interested in featuring a piece or two. ..”
As I outline my fledgling plans, I feel a mix of excitement and terror. This is really happening. I’m really doing this.
“You’ve got this,” Chloe says, squeezing my hand. “And I’ll be here every step of the way. Even if that means modeling your pieces in my pajamas at three a.m.”
I laugh, picturing Chloe draped in my edgy designs while wearing her favorite fuzzy cat pajamas.
“I might take you up on that.” Changing the subject, I ask, “Do you and Jack have any big holiday plans this year?” I love that my friend is in a happy relationship, but a small part of me is envious.
Jack is exactly the kind of supportive partner I’ve always dreamed of having.
“Staying put since he’ll have to work. But I’m actually looking forward to another Christmas at the fire station this year. What about you? Are you going to Montauk?”
I shake my head, feeling a familiar pang of loneliness. “Not this year. I really need to focus on my line.”
Chloe’s brow furrows again. “Sloane, you can’t work through Christmas. Your family will be devastated.”
I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. “They’ll understand. This is important.”
“So is family,” Chloe counters gently. “Promise me you’ll at least take some time off on Christmas Day?”
“Of course,” I assure her, though the thought of explaining my decision to my parents over the phone fills me with dread. They’ve never quite understood my passion for jewelry design, always pushing me toward more “practical” career paths.
“One more for the road?” Chloe asks, signaling the waitress.
I hesitate, glancing at my watch. It’s getting late, and I should probably head home to start working on my resignation letter. But the warmth of the bar and Chloe’s company are comforting, a buffer against the uncertainty that awaits me.
“Sure,” I say, smiling. “One more.”
As the waitress brings our final round, I scan the bar one last time. No sign of Cole. I try to push away the disappointment, reminding myself that I have bigger things to focus on.
“To new beginnings,” Chloe says, raising her glass. “And to the soon-to-be-famous Sloane Whitmore, the Dark Rose of Manhattan.”
I laugh, clinking my glass against hers. “I think that nickname is growing on me.”
We finish our drinks, chatting about Chloe’s latest freelance gig and her plans with Jack for the holidays. As we gather our things to leave, I’m both relaxed from the booze and energized by the possibilities of what’s ahead.
Outside, the cold December air hits me like a slap, making me acutely aware of my still-damp sweater. I pull my coat tighter around me as Chloe hails a cab.
“Text me when you get home,” she says, hugging me tight. “And let me know if you need anything, okay? I mean it. Anything at all.”
I nod, grateful for her unwavering support. “I will. Thanks, Chlo. For everything.”
As her cab pulls away, I decide to walk for a bit, needing to clear my head before heading home.
The streets of Manhattan are alive with holiday spirit—twinkling lights, the scent of roasted chestnuts, the faint sound of carols drifting from storefronts.
The city is bustling with early holiday shoppers and tourists, and I weave my way through the crowds, my mind still preoccupied with thoughts of my resignation.
It all feels surreal, like I’m watching someone else’s life unfold.
But as I walk, something shifts inside me. Maybe it’s the festive atmosphere or the sight of families bundled up and laughing together. Or maybe it’s just a moment of clarity brought on by Chloe’s words at the bar.
Either way, I find myself questioning my decision to leave my job without a backup plan.
Am I insane...?
Yes, my boss is difficult to work for and the company culture stifling, but it’s a steady paycheck and steady clients. My heart sinks as I realize that this may all be coming to an end. My dream of becoming a successful independent jeweler may not be as realistic as I had hoped.
I find myself stopping in front of a jewelry store window, drawn in by the glittering display. The pieces are beautiful but safe. Predictable. Nothing like the edgy, boundary-pushing designs I dream of creating.
“Is this really what you want?” I whisper to my reflection in the glass. The woman staring back at me looks uncertain, her ridiculous sweater a stark contrast to the polished luxury behind the glass.
But then I see something else in my reflection. A spark of determination in my eyes. I straighten my shoulders, lifting my chin. Yes, this is what I want. More than anything.