Nicholas leaned back in his seat, a challenging smile playing on his lips. "But I want you," he said, his voice firmer now. "As per the contract, I have the right to choose my designer."
Emily’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she carefully set her coffee cup down. "Mr. Sinclair..." she sighed. The way she addressed him struck him hard, sharper than he expected. Hearing her call him that—so formal and distant—was like a painful reminder of how far they had drifted.
Her voice was calm but resolute. "Mr. Sinclair, please try to understand. You are free to choose any of our top designers, but I’m sorry—I cannot be one of them. It’s policy."
A faint smile crept onto Nicholas’s face as he leaned forward, his voice lowering to a whisper that sent tension crackling through the air. "Policies can change, Ms. Amaya. You are a designer too, aren’t you? So, what’s the problem?"