119
Amanda sat at her desk, calendar spread across her laptop screen like a battlefield map. Every hour of Ericka's week was accounted for—meetings, strategy calls, dinners, investor reviews. It had taken her half an hour of careful cross-referencing, but finally, the golden window revealed itself:
Next Saturday.
No meetings. No calls. No last-minute dinners.
Amanda's pen tapped lightly against the desk as she highlighted the date on her planner. A small smile tugged at her lips. Perfect.
She immediately pulled up her shoot outline. Her fingers flew over the keys as she typed the confirmation block:
Campaign Photoshoot – Saturday, 8:00 AM – Studio B, Downtown.
Non-negotiable. Ericka attendance confirmed.
With the time locked, Amanda moved into the details.
First—wardrobe. She scrolled through the designer pulls she'd requested earlier in the week: sleek tailored suits in jewel tones, a minimalist cream dress that caught the light beautifully, and two power-piece ensembles that could headline the campaign.
She mentally paired them with the moods she wanted: bold, aspirational, but still approachable.
She typed notes into her schedule:
Outfit #1 – tailored emerald suit, minimalist white backdrop → opening shots.
Outfit #2 – cream dress, textured gray backdrop → lifestyle shots.
Outfit #3 – bold statement blazer, deep red backdrop → closing set.
Extras: neutral tones on standby in case of changes.
Next—backdrops and set design. Amanda clicked into her order sheet.
Three backdrops already reserved: matte white for clean editorial looks, textured gray for modern professionalism, and a deep red panel to bring fire into the final campaign images.
She highlighted their delivery dates: Thursday, in time for setup Friday evening.
Her mind moved to lighting—she pictured the studio already. Morning light spilling through the tall windows, but with soft reflectors and diffused lamps ready to balance the shots. She made a note:
Lighting crew: natural + soft for lifestyle, sharper spotlighting for bold editorial. Test Friday evening.
Then—hair and makeup. She typed out the timeline carefully:
Crew arrival: 7:00 AM.
Hair Makeup for Amanda: 8:00 – 9:00 AM.
Wardrobe fitting: Friday evening at 6:00 PM, in the studio.
Ericka arrival: 11:00 AM, slotted for key shots.
Amanda paused at Ericka's name, her pen tapping again. She'd centered it perfectly around her schedule—late enough that Ericka could start her day slowly, but early enough that she'd catch the heart of the shoot. She highlighted it in bold, as if to underline how important it was.
Emails pinged on her screen one after another—photographer confirmed, stylists locked, studio manager approved. Amanda opened each message, filing them neatly into her project folder.
With every ping, her satisfaction grew. She had pulled order from chaos earlier in the day—and now she was building something entirely her own.
Amanda leaned back in her chair, her pen spinning between her fingers as she scanned the growing timeline. Wardrobe, backdrops, lighting, crew, hair and makeup—all aligned, all coordinated, all under her control.
For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself a real smile. This campaign wasn't just going to happen—it was going to shine.
And Ericka would be right there, front row, when it did.
The soft golden hue of late afternoon spilled across the office floor as the clock neared six. The steady hum of phones and keyboards had thinned, papers stacked neatly, and the staff moved with lighter steps, the earlier storm a distant memory.
Amanda closed her laptop, satisfied as the last confirmation email for the photoshoot blinked into her inbox. Wardrobe, backdrops, lighting, crew—every detail was in motion. She tucked her notes into a folder and slid it into her bag, glancing toward Ericka's office.
The blinds were drawn halfway, but Amanda could see the faint outline of her moving inside. A small smile tugged at Amanda's lips—Ericka had made it through the rest of the day without another storm.
At six sharp, Ericka's door opened. She stepped out, blazer draped over her arm, her expression calm, her CEO mask perfectly intact. The staff straightened, eyes flicking up, but she gave them only a small nod as she walked toward Amanda's desk.
"Ready?" she asked softly, her tone meant only for Amanda.
Amanda stood, slipping on her coat, her folder tucked neatly under her arm. "Always."
Together, they walked toward the elevators. The staff's gazes followed discreetly, but no one said a word—not after the rollercoaster of the day. The ding of the elevator doors opening seemed to echo in the silence.
As they stepped inside, Amanda exhaled quietly, the tension of the day finally easing out of her shoulders. Ericka's hand brushed against hers, a fleeting, hidden touch, their fingers grazing just enough to send warmth up Amanda's arm.