78
After Hours
The sun had dipped behind the city skyline, casting golden streaks across the windows of Ericka's penthouse. The light was soft now, brushing gently across the sleek lines of the furniture and the curve of Amanda's cheek as she sat curled into the corner of the velvet couch.
Ericka was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, barefoot, pouring them both a glass of wine. She moved with quiet confidence—no blazer, no heels, just Ericka. Amanda loved this version of her. Real. Present. Less CEO, more... hers.
"Red okay?" Ericka called.
"Perfect," Amanda replied, her voice a little dreamy.
She had a sketchbook balanced on her knees, her fingers smudged faintly with graphite. A few early pencil lines danced across the page—loose ideas for a new silhouette she'd been playing with for weeks but hadn't had time to sit with. Until now.
Ericka returned and handed her the wine. She glanced down at the sketchbook. "You've been drawing more lately."
Amanda nodded, taking a sip. "Feels like I'm remembering something I forgot I needed."
Ericka sat beside her, tucking one leg under the other. "Tell me."
Amanda hesitated, her thumb brushing over the edge of the paper. "When I was a kid, I used to design outfits for my dolls. Not like 'make them look cute'—I mean, I would build full collections. With storyboards and swatches taped to my bedroom wall."
Ericka's brows lifted slightly, a small smile forming. "You were a fashion girl from the start."
Amanda smiled too. "Yeah. Drawing was how I processed everything. Still is. If I'm overwhelmed or stuck, I just... sketch. Even if it's nonsense. It's like it resets my brain."
Ericka leaned her elbow on the back of the couch, watching Amanda with quiet affection. "So how'd you go from sketching dolls to running my entire executive floor?"
Amanda laughed softly. "I got practical. My parents wanted something stable. I still kept designing on the side. Interned everywhere. But I figured the business side of fashion would get me closer to my dream than starving in an overpriced loft painting watercolors."
"You ever regret that?" Ericka asked, not unkindly.
Amanda looked at her for a long moment, then shook her head. "Not anymore. Because now... I'm here. And I get to do both. You gave me that."
Ericka looked a little caught off guard, like she hadn't expected to be a catalyst in someone else's dream.
Amanda set her sketchbook aside. "What about you? You've never told me what made you want to start your own company."
Ericka exhaled, turning to face her more fully. "I grew up around women who dressed like armor was sewn into every seam. My mom, my aunts... they were fierce. But there weren't clothes that fit them—really fit them. Bold, smart, ambitious women in bodies that weren't sample-size."
Amanda listened closely, eyes locked on hers.
"I started sketching in college. Nothing serious. Then I started tailoring things for my friends, clients, people I met at events. And I realized I didn't want to wait for a seat at someone else's table. I wanted to build the whole damn house."
Amanda's heart fluttered at that. "That's so... you."
Ericka smiled, her fingers brushing against Amanda's wrist. "I didn't want to do what everyone else was doing. I wanted fashion to feel like a rebellion. Like freedom. But also—beautiful. Smart. Precise."
Amanda leaned in slightly. "You succeeded."
There was a pause. A soft stretch of quiet as the city twinkled behind them, and something warm bloomed in the space between.
"You ever think about starting your own line?" Ericka asked gently.
Amanda hesitated. "Sometimes. But I don't know where to begin."
"You've already begun," Ericka said. "All these sketches. The way you manage chaos and still make space for creativity. That's the beginning."
Amanda blinked, a little stunned by how easily Ericka made it sound real. Possible.
"You really think so?" she asked, voice small.
"I wouldn't be sitting here drinking wine with you if I didn't believe in you."
Amanda smiled, but there were tears teasing the corners of her lashes. Not sad ones. Just... full. Full of truth. Of being seen.
She reached out, letting her hand rest over Ericka's.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Ericka squeezed it, her thumb grazing the inside of Amanda's palm. "Anytime."