로그인Oliver’s phone buzzes on the desk with a message from Harper.
Harper: I am at my desk. The proposal outline is taking shape.
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He types back quickly.
Oliver: Good. Keep pushing. I will see you at lunch.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of emails, spreadsheets, and the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard. Oliver works with a singular focus, his mind a w
“I can’t imagine you like that. Young and out of place,” Harper admitted. “But I like trying. I was always more interested in books too. My parents were the carefree types. My dad is a botanist, and my mom is a photographer. So, they always wanted to go on adventures, wanting me to be more carefree.” Oliver’s icy blue eyes soften, a genuine warmth replacing the tension that had been building since the conversation about Knox. He listens to her description of her parents– the botanist and the photographer– and he can almost see the life they lived through her words. “A botanist and a photographer,” he repeats, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “That explains a lot. The attention to detail, the way you observe things.” He leans back in his chair; his fingers interlaced on the table. “It sounds like they gave you a very different foundation than mine did. I was taught how to build structures; they taught y
The waiter arrives with water and bread, and Oliver seamlessly shifts back into his composed self, ordering for both of them with efficient precision. "Osso buco for me, and the lasagna al forno for her," he adds, nodding to the waiter as the man scribbles on his pad and disappears back toward the kitchen. Oliver settles back into his chair, his posture relaxing just a fraction now that they are out of the public eye. He picks up the small olive oil bottle and places it in the centre of the table, adjusting its position by a millimetre so it sits perfectly parallel to the breadbasket. "You know," he says, his gaze dropping to the candle between them, "I was thinking about what you said earlier. About Knox loving your idea." He looks up, his icy blue eyes searching hers. "He is a difficult man to please. He will argue with anyone just for the sake of hearing his own voice. If he actually listened to you, it means you have found a way to speak his language without compromising your ow
Oliver stops walking for a brief second, his eyebrows lifting in genuine surprise. He lets out a short, quiet laugh– the kind he only does when he is genuinely impressed. “Side by side shots,” he repeats, testing the concept. “That is clever. It creates a narrative arc within the campaign itself. It shows the brand’s versatility and its ability to handle different moods.” He resumes walking, his stride picking up speed as the idea takes hold of his analytical mind. “Knox will hate it because it ruins his ‘perfect lighting’ fantasy, but Marius will love the efficiency of it. It maximizes out shooting windows and gives us two distinct visual directions for the price of one.” He glances at Harper, his blue eyes bright with approval. “You just dismantled his entire creative pitch with a single logistical argument. That is exactly what I need from you in that boardroom later.”“Knox actually loved the id
Oliver’s phone buzzes on the desk with a message from Harper.Harper: I am at my desk. The proposal outline is taking shape. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He types back quickly.Oliver: Good. Keep pushing. I will see you at lunch. The rest of the morning passes in a blur of emails, spreadsheets, and the rhythmic clicking of his keyboard. Oliver works with a singular focus, his mind a well-oiled machine processing date and drafting responses. Every few minutes, his icy blue eyes drift toward the door, half-expecting Knox to burst back in with another dramatic grievance but he does not. At 11:45, he stands up and adjusts his tie in the small mirror behind his office door. He takes a moment to smooth down his hair, ensuring not a single strand is out of place. The professional mask is firmly back on. He walks out of his office and heads toward the elevator, his pace steady and p
Knox was practically vibrating in his chair. “And ah’ll start pullin’ thegither some reference images fer the ‘stormy’ aesthetic. We need mood boards fer the dark lightin’ an aw. It is a whole new chapter.” He glanced at Harper with a grin. “Ye’re stayin’ on the project, right? Ah dinnae want anybody else layin’ their hands on these notes.” Marius looked up from his paper, catching her eye. “She is staying right where she is, Knox. She is too valuable to lose now.” She smiled lightly. “I am not going anywhere,” she said proudly. “Though we should discuss the type of models to use. Knox, you said you wanted curvy, natural beauty models…” Knox’s eyes lit up again, his enthusiasm seemingly bottomless. “Aye! Exactly! Ah want skin that looks real, no plastic. Ah want bodies that tell a story, no just mannequins on a runway. The curves, the texture—it needs
Harper came into Marius’s office with with three printed and bound documents in her hands. She smiled lightly when she saw Knox. “Morning,” she said in a friendly tone of voice. “Excited for the meeting?” Knox looked up at her, his face brightening instantly. “Harper! The wummin o’ the hour,” he declared, reaching out to take one of the documents with an appreciative flourish. “Ye’re a lifesaver, truly. I dinnae ken how anyone gets by without someone like you keepin’ the wheels turnin’.” He flipped through the first few pages, his eyes darting across the visuals with intense focus. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Ye’ve got impeccable timin’.” Marius leaned back watching the interaction with a small, amused smile. He appreciated how she managed to handle Knox’s high energy without being overwhelmed by it. “She is more that helpful, Knox,” Marius added, gesturing towar
Oliver’s shower is quick but thorough, the warm water helping to clear his head from the lingering adrenaline of their earlier encounter. He dries off and pulls on a pair of black sweatpants, running a hand through his damp black hair as he glances toward the bedroom where Harper is working
Oliver’s expression shifts from annoyance to intrigue as he listens to Harper’s description of Knox’s new campaign. The mention of using regular models instead of typical industry standards catching his attention immediately. “Revolutionary?” he repeats thoughtfully,
“Forever sounds good,” Oliver whispers, his voice steady and sincere. Their lips meet again, the kiss deepens, becoming slower and more intimate as they explore each other’s mouths with leisurely curiosity. Oliver’s hands roam Harper’s back, tracing the curves of her
Oliver’s hands migrate from Harper’s back to the hem of her dress, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of her thighs. The sensation makes him pull back just enough to look at her, his breathing heavy and uneven. The reading glasses are now hanging precariously off one ear, but he doe







