Chapter 14 #2
“Nope. I want risk here,” I said, tapping the mockup. “Not chaos. Intention. If we’re going to push, we push with purpose.”
Heads nodded. Pens moved. Someone smiled.
From the back of the room, Creed’s jaw tightened with recognition.
He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t step in. Didn’t claim the moment.
That was new.
An observer.
That alone told me this mattered.
“All right,” I said, breaking the quiet. “Spring Fashion Show. This is not just an event—it’s a statement. We’re setting the tone, not following trends.”
Screens lit up around the table, projections of mood boards, venue options, press strategies.
“We’re hosting,” I continued, “but Manny controls the narrative. That means we adapt to his creations without compromising our voice.”
A ripple of anticipation for his arrival moved through the room.
Manny Lennox. Even saying his name carried weight.
The door opened without announcement.
“Thank you for joining us,” I greeted.
He stepped in like he belonged anywhere he decided to be.
Tall. Immaculate. Linen coat draped open over a charcoal suit that looked like it had never known discomfort. His smile came easy—too easy—and his eyes went exactly where I expected them to be. On me.
“Peyton,” he said warmly, as if we were already old friends. “Finally.”
No greeting to the room. No acknowledgment of Creed at the back.
Interesting.
“Manny,” I replied evenly. “We were just starting.”
“Good,” he said, moving closer to the table. “I hate being late to things that matter.”
A few team members straightened instinctively. I didn’t.
He set his tablet down and leaned forward slightly. “I’ll be clear, so we don’t waste time. I don’t do committees, and I don’t do consensus.”
His gaze stayed on mine.
“I work with one person. Vision to vision.”
Silence settled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I felt Creed’s subtle watchful shift.
“That would be me,” I said calmly.
Manny’s smile sharpened. “Exactly.”
I didn’t miss the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, or the way his attention lingered just long enough to be noticed.
“And the designs?” I prompted.
He straightened. “Unseen. Until show night.”
A murmur moved through the table.
“I know,” he continued smoothly. “That makes people nervous.”
His eyes cut briefly toward the back of the room. To Creed.
“Trust is part of the art.”
Creed didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t correct him.
Good.
Someone asked, “And press access?”
“Controlled,” Manny said. “Exclusivity sells better than exposure.”
I nodded once. “We’ll build the story around restraint. Mystery. Power.”
His gaze flicked back to me, impressed. “You get it.”
Then—too casually—“I prefer collaborating with women who don’t need permission.”
The room went still.
I felt it like a pressure shift, as if every instinct in Creed tightened at once. I didn’t look at him.
I didn’t need to.
“I don’t ask for permission,” I said evenly. “I make decisions. That’s why you’re here.”
A beat.
Then Manny laughed soft, and appreciative. “Exactly why I agreed.”
He gathered his things. “I’ll send preliminary concepts for the magazine layout directly to you.”
Not your team.
To you.
“I’ll expect your notes within forty-eight hours.”
“You’ll have them,” I said.
He paused at the door, glancing back once more. “This will be... unforgettable.”
Then he was gone.
The room exhaled.
“All right,” I said smoothly. “Let’s get to work.”
And we did.
We wrapped twenty minutes later, decisions made, next steps assigned. Chairs scraped back as the team stood, conversations bubbling up again.
“Great work,” I said. “Celine will follow up with notes by the end of the day.”
As the room cleared, I finally let myself glance toward the back.
The conference room emptied in layers, voices returning, tension dissipating, work resuming. I gathered my tablet, steady, composed.
Creed was still at the back, watching me. I turned, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.
“He’s dangerous,” Creed said finally.
He was very observant.
“I know,” I replied. “That’s why he’s effective.”
His jaw tightened. “He was assessing boundaries.”
“Yes.”
“And you shut it down.”
I met his eyes. “I didn’t shut him down. I defined the line.”
A pause.
“I noticed,” Creed acknowledged.
And somehow, that meant everything.
Creed crossed the space between us without haste. Every step was measured, like he’d decided something and wasn’t backing down from it. His hand reached out, slow, and deliberate, brushing a knuckle along my jaw.
“I see you,” he said.
His hand slid behind my neck, fingers splaying across my skin. I leaned into it.
When Creed kissed me, it wasn’t about heat. Not at first. It was about grounding.
His lips moved against mine with purpose, his thumb stroking once at the hinge of my jaw like he was memorizing the way I held still for him. Then the kiss deepened—slightly. Heat curling into intention. A promise that hadn’t yet been spoken out loud but was no longer hiding.
He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to mine.
“No more hiding,” he said, the words low, steady.
I nodded, breath warm between us.
“Then stay,” I whispered.
His fingers tightened, just slightly. A breath. A decision.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
I BARELY MADE IT THREE steps toward my office before I heard it.
“Oh no,” Mavis said brightly. “Absolutely not.”
Dixie appeared at my other side, perfectly timed, coffee in hand, eyes alight with curiosity. “You don’t get to walk away from that meeting without commentary.”
“I do,” I said. “I’m the Editor-in-Chief.”
Mavis laughed. “And we’re your emotional board of directors.”
They followed me into my office without waiting for an invitation, Dixie perching on the edge of the chair opposite my desk, Mavis leaning against the bookshelf.
I closed the door. Slowly.
Mavis first. Always Mavis.
“Well,” she announced. “That was delicious.”
Dixie leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “That man wanted to climb you like a social ladder.”
I laughed despite myself. “Manny wanted control.”
“Same thing,” Mavis said. “Different day.”
Dixie tilted her head. “But here’s the thing—”
She pointed toward the hallway. “Creed didn’t say a word.”
“No,” I said quietly.
Mavis leaned forward. “And that, my friend, is new.”
I exhaled, tension I hadn’t realized I was holding finally loosening. “He trusted me.”
Dixie sipped her coffee, thoughtful. “How did it feel?”
I thought of Creed standing at the back of the room. Watching. Holding himself in check.
“Terrifying,” I admitted. “And... perfect.”
Mavis grinned. “Oh. You’re doomed.”
“Probably,” I said, smiling faintly.
But for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was bracing for impact.
I felt like we were learning how to stand in the same space without one of us disappearing. And that felt like progress.
“And,” Mavis added, “you didn’t cry. Or accidentally set something on fire.”
“High praise,” I said dryly.
Dixie’s gaze sharpened. “You didn’t look at him once.”
“I did,” I corrected. “Just not for permission.”
That earned me a grin from Mavis. “There she is.”
I considered it. The real answer.
“Like breathing,” I said finally. “Like I finally remembered who I am when I’m not waiting for someone else to decide the temperature of the room.”
Mavis nodded. “And him?”
I exhaled. “He watched. That’s all.”
“That’s not nothing,” Dixie said. “For a man like Creed Kirkland? That’s damn near a breakthrough.”
I moved around the desk, leaning back against it. “I’m not reading into it.”
“Good,” Mavis said. “Because that way lies madness.”
Dixie smiled softly. “But you noticed.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “And I didn’t feel pulled. Or small. Or like I needed to soften to make space for him.”
Silence settled—warm, affirming.
Mavis straightened. “I’m proud of you.”
Dixie nodded. “You’re no longer bending.”
I met their eyes. “No. I’m not.”
Mavis clapped her hands once. “Excellent. See you at lunch?”
I laughed despite myself. “You two are impossible.”
“And indispensable,” Dixie said, already heading for the door.
As they left, the room felt lighter. Quieter.
I turned back to my desk, to the work that grounded me.
And somewhere down the hall, I knew Creed was adjusting—not because I’d pushed him, but because I hadn’t needed to.