“Ms. Hale, here are the design concepts for the new collection. If everything looks good, I’ll forward them for Mr. Rodriguez’s approval,” said Rachel, extending the portfolio with slightly trembling hands.
Kuby barely glanced at the mockups before tossing them aside. “You seriously think this garbage is ready for the CLO’s signature?” Her voice dripped with contempt.
Faced with Ruby’s dismissal, Rachel stammered, “These… these were the concepts Ms. Coulson’s team finalized before she—” That was exactly the wrong button to push. Ruby’s expression darkened instantly. She swept the entire portfolio off her desk, sending papers scattering across the polished floor. “Tell Mr. Rodriguez that anything Harper Coulson touched is completely inadequate. I’ll be personally leading the team to create something actually worth producing.” Rachel looked like she wanted to defend the work, but Ruby cut her off with an icy glare. “Did I stutter? Get out. Now.”
The young designer couldn’t hold back her tears as she frantically gathered the scattered papers and fled the office. “What happened in there?” her colleagues asked when she returned to the open workspace. “She trashed everything,” Rachel sniffled, dropping into her chair. “Says she’s going to make us start from scratch.” The team exchanged knowing glances.
In just ten days as Design Director, Ruby had managed to systematically humiliate everyone who reported to her. Every concept was rejected without explanation; every meeting ended in tears. The department had already resented her parachuting into the top position with zero industry experience, but her toxic management style pushed them past their breaking point.
“That’s it. I’m done,” announced Mark, the senior designer with nearly two decades of experience, slapping his ID badge on his desk. “Life’s too short for this crap.” Seeing him take a stand, several other veteran designers followed suit. “With my portfolio, I can get hired at Apple by next week. I don’t need this drama.” “All attitude, zero talent. Classic trust-fund princess.”
The design team, pushed beyond their limits, marched en masse with their resignation letters. Ruby was completely blindsided by the exodus. Unable to handle the crisis, she escalated directly to Dylan.
“What the hell have you been doing to my design department?” Dylan demanded, shoving the stack of resignation letters across his desk toward Ruby.
Unaccustomed to Dylan using that tone with her, Ruby’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “I just thought their designs were substandard,” she sniffled, her voice small. “I didn’t think they’d throw a collective tantrum and threaten to quit.”
Dylan had deliberately stayed out of Ruby’s professional domain, turning a blind eye to complaints as long as she didn’t cause major problems. But this time, with twenty-two designers walking out during the critical launch phase of their new jewelry line—and shareholders bombarding him with concerned calls about production delays—he couldn’t ignore the situation.
“Look,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “maybe you should take some personal days. I’ll bring in an interim director to stabilize things. When you come back, you can co-direct.” Dylan thought this compromise preserved Ruby’s dignity while addressing the crisis. Ruby saw it differently. She stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the framed awards on his wall.
Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose, the throbbing headache intensifying as he considered the mess. He couldn’t help remembering how everything had run like clockwork when Harper was there. No mass resignations. No production delays. Consistently strong. “Why am I even thinking about her?” he muttered, annoyed with himself.
The sight of Ruby’s tearful face pushed him to action. He ordered a Cartier bracelet for same-day delivery and texted her: “7 vrai bon nanch earlier. Sent you something to make up for it. Dinner at Eleven Madison Park tonight?”
When Ruby saw Dylan’s message, she smirked. She deliberately waited twenty minutes before responding, “Fine, since you apologized. I suppose I can pencil you in.”
Dylan took Ruby to her favorite restaurant that evening, and afterward they strolled along the Hudson River waterfront. Ruby clung to his arm, looking up with practiced innocence. “Can we go to Coney Island tomorrow? Pretty please?”
Dylan had never been particularly fond of amusement parks—the crowds, the noise, the sticky cotton candy everywhere. He was about to make an excuse when an unexpected memory flashed through his mind—Harper on the carousel at Luna Park, laughing with unfiltered joy, the setting sun creating a halo around her hair. To his own confusion, he found himself nodding, agreeing to Ruby’s request while his mind lingered on a woman he claimed to despise.