Chapter Five

By 11:15am on Monday, Alexander Kent had lost his patience.

His morning briefing had been a mess. Two vice presidents had interrupted him with questions that should have been handled before they reached his office. A client had called three times about a meeting that had never been confirmed, and his new assistant, Mark, had somehow scheduled two important calls for the same time.

Blair would have caught all of it.

For weeks. Alex had told himself the disruption was temporary. Blair had made a decision, and he had made his and he made his. She would soon discover that running a business was not as easy as she imagined, and when reality had caught up with her, she would return to work for him.

He had expected a call by now.

Instead, he was still dealing with a guy who needed to be told where documents were kept and how he had his coffee.

He reached for a red pen to sign a document. The tray beside his desk was empty.

He just stared at it. His pens had always been arranged by color with the red ones reserved for documents requiring his attention. He had never asked for that, but somehow Blair simply noticed his habits and made sure he never had to think about them.

He dropped the document onto his desk.

Enough.

Forty minutes later, his car pulled up outside a brick apartment building in a neighborhood known for small studios and galleries.

He had gotten Blair’s address from her employment records. He saw nothing wrong with using it. She had worked for him for a long time, and he was there to discuss a professional matter.

This was what he told himself as he pressed the buzzer for Apartment 4B.

A sewing machine hummed through the intercom before stopping abruptly.

“Delivery,” Blair asked.

“Its Alexander Kent”

There was a pause.

Then the lock buzzed.

He climbed about three flights of stairs and knocked on the door twice when he got there. When the door opened, Blair stood before him in linen pants and a crop tank top that hugged her body, showing off a little cleavage. A pencil tucked behind her ear and a measuring tape hung around her body.

For a moment, Alexander recognized her. He was always used to her in clothes that covered most parts of her body.

She looked busy. More importantly, she looked as though she had been busy before he arrived and intended to continue after he left.

“Mr. Kent,” she said. “How did you get my address? And what do you even want from me?”

“I have access to all my employee’s details,” he said.

“I am no longer your employee, remember?”

“That’s not the point, I need to speak with you.”

“About work?”

“Among other things.”

She studied him for a moment before stepping aside.

 “Fine. Come in.”

Alex walked into the living room, his eyes settling on the clothing orders spread across the coffee table. Blair had been folding a garment when he arrived, and several labeled packages sat on the floor, ready for delivery. 

Alex got into the room without commenting.

“So,” Blair said, closing the door, “what happened? Did the board finally lose its patience, or have you gone through another assistant?”

“The company is doing perfectly well”

“Of course it is.”

“The transition has been difficult,” he continued, taking a seat on the sofa as if he owned the place.” The people we have brought in lack experience with my schedule preferences. Things are taking longer than necessary.”

Blair returned to the other sofa. She picked up the piece she’d been working on and placed it neatly into the bag.

“That sounds difficult.”

He dislikes the tone in which she said it. She was not being rude but she simply sounded uninterested.

“I came to offer you your position back.”

Her hand stopped.

Alexander continued while she remained silent.

“I am prepared to double your salary and restructure your working hours. You’d have more time to pursue your interests outside the office.

“My interest?”

“I mean… your business.”

Blair turned to face him.

“Yeah. The business you laughed at when I tried telling you about?”

“I just said it would be difficult to establish a successful company without experience.”

“Yes, Mr. Kent, you said some really nice things to me that day," she rolled her eyes.

“I was making a point.”

“You made it very clear.”

Alex exhaled. “I am offering you a reasonable solution. You know the company, I know your abilities, and neither of us would have to waste time adjusting to someone new.”

“And what happens when I have a client fitting? Or a deadline? Or a collection to finish?”

“You’d manage your time.”

“Just as I did when I worked for you?”

“Exactly”

Blair looked at him for a few seconds, then gave a short laugh without humor.

“You really don't hear yourself, do you?”

His expression hardened.

“I came here to have a professional conversation. If you intend to turn this into an argument, we can end it now.”

“An argument?” She placed the garments on the table. “Alexander, do you have any idea what my first month working for you was like?”

“You were hired as an executive assistant. You were expected to learn the job.”

“I had to learn from you.”

He said nothing.

“When I started, I didn't know which calls you wanted to be transferred immediately, which meetings you considered a waste of time, or what you expected me to have ready before you walked into a room. You gave instructions when you felt like it, and when I got something wrong, you looked at me as though I'd deliberately wasted your time.”

“I have high standards.”

“I know. I spent nights trying to meet them.”

Blair moved towards the shelves, searching briefly before pulling out a folder. It contained printed articles, notes, and a few pages covered in her handwriting.

“I searched for every interview I could find with you. I watched them, sometimes more than once. I paid attention to the way you spoke when you were annoyed, the questions you never answered directly, and the things that made you lose interest in a conversation. I learned how you liked your schedule arranged and which details you expected me to remember without being reminded.”

She placed the folder on the table.

“I did that because I wanted to be good at my job. I wanted you to trust me enough that I could handle things without you checking every little detail.”

Alexander glanced at the papers. He recognized his own face in one of the printed interview photographs.

He had never known she had gone to such lengths.

“You became very good on the job,” he said.

The admission came out more quietly than he intended.

Blair's expression shifted, though only slightly.

“I did. But you acted as though it had always been easy for me.”

“You were compensated for your work.”

“I'm not talking about my salary.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Respect. Trust. Being allowed to have a life outside your office.”

Her voice rose, then settled again.

“I gave you weekends. I answered calls during the holidays. I changed my plans because something at work had suddenly become urgent. I missed things I wanted to do because I knew you'd expect me to be available. And I accepted all of it because I thought that was what being good at my job required.”

Alexander shifted his weight.

“You were never forced to stay.”

“No. I stayed because I cared about doing the job well. There's a difference.”

He had an answer ready, but for once, he found himself reconsidering whether it was worth saying.

He remembered arriving at the office to find everything prepared. He remembered meetings that ran smoothly, problems that disappeared before he heard about them, and the certainty that someone would catch whatever he missed.

He had called it good management.

He had rarely considered what it took to maintain it.

“You could have told me you were unhappy,” he said at last.

“I tried to tell you I wanted to build my own business. You laughed.”

“I didn't laugh at your talent.”

“You didn't even ask to see my work.”

He looked towards the dress form.

The garment was carefully constructed, its shape clean and deliberate. He knew little about fashion, but he could recognize attention to detail. The finish was far beyond what he would have expected from someone he had dismissed as inexperienced.

“I didn't realize you had progressed this far,” he admitted.

“Because you never asked.”

The words landed harder than he wanted them to.

For a moment, Alexander wondered how much else he had failed to notice. Then the thought irritated him. He had not built Kent Corporation by questioning every decision he made, and he was not going to stand in a stranger's apartment and accept that every disagreement in his former working relationship was his fault.

“I may have underestimated how much effort you put into the job,” he said. “That doesn't change the fact that leaving a secure position to start a business is a risk.”

“It's my risk to take.”

“And if it fails?”

“Then I'll deal with that.”

“You could lose everything you've saved.”

“I could. But at least I'll know I tried.”

Alexander studied her. She was no longer the woman who would rush to explain herself whenever he frowned. She had an answer for every objection, and she was not asking him to approve of her decision.

It was strangely frustrating.

“You could return to Kent Corporation and build the business on the side,” he suggested. “There is no reason to make things unnecessarily difficult.”

Blair's face changed.

There it was again. He could offer her more money, rearrange her hours, and make the position sound attractive, but he still expected her to fit her ambition around his needs.

“You came all this way,” she said slowly, “and you still think the answer is for me to come back.”

“I think you are being unnecessarily stubborn.”

“And I think you still don't understand why I left.”

“Blair—”

“No. I've explained it. I've told you what those years were like for me, and somehow we're back to discussing what would make your life easier.”

“I am trying to find a solution that works for both of us.”

“There's nothing left to solve between us, Mr. Kent. I have made my decision.”

He stared at her, his jaw tightening.

He had come expecting resistance, perhaps even a little uncertainty. He had not expected to be made to feel like an unwelcome visitor in the life she had built after leaving him.

Blair turned back to her worktable. A dark brown well-packaged shirt lay beside her sewing machine, its clean lines and carefully finished seams giving it a polished, structured shape. She picked it up and held it out to him.

“Here. Take it.”

He looked at it, then at her.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Keep it. Give it away. I don't care.”

“Blair, I'm not here to accept charity.”

“It's not charity. It's a finished piece of my work. Something I made for a client who appreciates what I do.”

She pushed it towards him, and he took it before it slipped from her hands.

“Consider it a parting gift,” she said. “From someone who is done trying to prove herself to you.”

Alexander looked down. The stitching was precise, the seams neatly concealed. Then he noticed the label.

BLAIR VANCE ATELIER.

He read it twice.

She had chosen a name, made a product, and begun putting her work into the world.

“How many clients do you have?” he asked.

“Enough to keep me busy.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It's the only one you're getting.”

He looked up, but she had already turned away.

“The door is behind you, Mr. Kent.”

He waited for her to look back. She didn't.

He had no response that would make her change her mind. He walked out.

The door closed behind him.

On the way down the stairs, Alexander kept thinking about the label. Blair Vance Atelier. He could already picture her name appearing on invitations, promotional materials, perhaps even the business pages if she managed to attract the right attention.

The thought should have been irrelevant to him.

Instead, it bothered him that she had built something without his knowledge, and that she had looked him in the eye while making it clear she no longer needed anything from him.

By the time he reached his car, his irritation had settled into something more deliberate.

He could leave her alone. Let her take her chances, make her mistakes, and discover for herself how difficult it was to build a business.

That would be the sensible thing to do.

Alexander opened the car door, then paused and looked at the garment resting on his arm.

He took out his phone.

“Get me everything you can find at Blair Vance Atelier,” he told his assistant when the call connected. “Business registration, suppliers, client list, commercial footprints—I want it all”

He ended the call and got into the car.

Alexander intended to find out just how far that newfound confidence would take her.

And if she had built something worth protecting, he wanted to know exactly where it could be hurt.