Read Chapter 8: DUE DILIGENCE

Northstar's due-diligence team arrived with spreadsheets.

They asked how many full-time patternmakers were necessary. They asked whether Bellwether needed an in-house sample room. They asked why the archive required two employees.

Camille learned that destruction rarely announced itself dramatically. Sometimes it asked for headcount in column G.

Graham Vale scheduled individual meetings with department leads.

Camille's lasted seventeen minutes.

He invited her to a conference room on twelve, where the windows looked toward the Hudson and the furniture had been selected to make negotiation feel civilized.

"You've made an impression quickly," Vale said.

"That sounds like something said before bad news."

He smiled.

"Northstar isn't the villain people here imagine."

"I didn't say villain."

"You didn't need to."

He opened her personnel file.

Temporary contract. Visa sponsorship pending review. New promotion not yet converted into permanent status.

Camille felt every line.

"Fashion companies fail when they confuse tradition with operating inefficiency," Vale said. "We preserve brands by making them sustainable."

"By licensing their names."

"Sometimes."

"And reducing design."

"Sometimes."

"Then why are we speaking?"

"Because talent is portable."

There it was.

He slid a card across the table.

"If this transaction proceeds, there may be opportunities for selected creative staff in a restructured entity. Or elsewhere in our portfolio."

Camille did not touch the card.

"What about Julian?"

Vale's expression barely changed.

"Mr. Mercer is very associated with the current organization."

Meaning difficult.

Meaning expensive.

Meaning loyal in a way private equity considered inefficient.

Camille stood.

"I have a review in five minutes."

"You don't."

She looked at him.

"I checked."

Anger moved coldly through her.

Vale leaned back.

"Ambition isn't betrayal, Ms. Laurent."

"No. But this conversation might be."

She left the card on the table.

For the rest of the day, she said nothing to Julian.

Not because she intended secrecy.

Because she did not know how to tell him without sounding as though she were asking credit for refusing.

At seven, they were alone in the concept room building the board presentation.

Julian pinned up sales graphs beside archival photography.

"Too defensive," Camille said.

"What is?"

"All of this. We're explaining why we deserve to survive."

"That's what the board requires."

"No. They require money. Survival is our framing."

He stared at the wall.

"What do you propose?"

"Make them afraid of losing what they own."

"Explain."

"Bellwether's value is not the logo. If it were, Northstar would not need the archive, the studio, you, Evelyn. The logo has value because people believe it still connects to design intelligence."

Julian looked at her.

"So we show that intelligence as an asset."

"Not nostalgia. Capability."

He took down three slides.

"Keep going."

They worked until nine.

At nine fifteen, Julian's phone buzzed. He read the screen and went still.

"What?"

"Northstar requested my employment agreement."

Camille looked down.

He noticed.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Camille."

She hated how easily he read her.

"Vale spoke to me."

"When?"

"This morning."

Julian's face closed.

"What did he want?"

"He offered possibilities after restructuring."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I left."

Julian walked to the window.

Camille followed.

"You think I should have told you."

"Yes."

"It was my meeting."

"It affects the strategy."

"No. It affects me."

"Exactly."

She folded her arms. "Do not make my career into an operational variable."

He turned.

"Do not hide information that tells us how Northstar is thinking."

"I was going to tell you."

"When?"

"When it stopped feeling like I was reporting to you."

His expression changed.

She realized the truth beneath her anger.

Julian was her superior.

Even as they worked as near-equals, even as attraction moved in the space between every argument, the structure remained.

He understood at the same moment.

"You're right," he said.

She blinked.

He rarely surrendered that quickly.

"I shouldn't have asked like that."

Camille leaned against the table.

"And I should have told you because it matters to the acquisition."

"Probably."

Silence.

Then Julian said, "Did you consider it?"

There was no accusation in the question.

That made it harder.

"Yes."

He looked at her.

"I considered everything for perhaps thirty seconds. A job. Visa certainty. A future not dependent on whether this board has courage."

"That would be rational."

"I know."

"Do you want me to tell you not to?"

Her heart struck once, hard.

"No."

"Good."

"Why good?"

"Because I don't have the right."

The room seemed suddenly too small.

Camille looked at him, really looked.

At the man who saw every compromise before she made it.

At the rival who could have asked for loyalty and instead gave her freedom.

"Sometimes," she said, "you are extremely difficult to dislike."

Julian's gaze dropped to her mouth.

"That's unfortunate."

He stepped closer.

Camille did not move.

Neither did he, for a second.

Then the conference-room door opened.

Mara entered carrying a stack of samples.

She stopped.

"Oh."

Camille stepped backward.

Julian turned toward the wall.

Mara's eyes moved between them.

"I can come back."

"No," they both said.

Mara set down the samples with exaggerated care.

"Of course you can."