Xavier's eyes flicked to the time on his desk clock, then back to the untouched documents spread before him. He had just wrapped up another tight meeting with the logistics team, and yet, despite the victories of the day, his mind circled back to one unfinished matter—the garment for Mrs. Dravin.
It was the key to securing the deal. Everything else was moving. The contracts were tightening into place. The board had given him their cautious approval to pursue this path. The shipping routes were ready to expand as soon as Richard Dravin signed.
And yet, the final piece, the personal touch that could push the negotiation over the edge, was still unsettled.
His assistant entered, carrying a tablet and a folder. There was something hesitant about his pace, a weight in the way he approached.
"Updates?" Xavier asked, closing one of the documents as he straightened in his chair.
"I reached out to Amara, sir. I arranged the appointment for her to meet you and discuss the commission in detail."
"And?"
The assistant shifted uncomfortably. "She declined."
Xavier's brows lifted, just slightly. "Declined?"
"She said she's unable to take on the project. No rescheduling. No negotiation. She made it clear she isn't interested."
The blunt refusal didn't sit well with Xavier. Amara had never been the type to mince words, but this wasn't just any job. She had always been professional—thorough, exact, but this was different. This was a door she'd closed without hesitation.
His assistant misread the pause. "I can find another designer. There are a few reputable ones with open schedules who can handle rush orders."
"No."
The assistant blinked. "Sir?"
"I said no. She's the right designer for this. I'll go see her myself."
"Personally?"
Xavier nodded. "Personally."
He stood, buttoning his jacket with practiced precision. "Clear the rest of my afternoon. If this is what it takes to secure the Dravin deal, then I'll make the time."
"Understood, sir."
The assistant quickly exited to handle the scheduling while Xavier grabbed his phone and keys. The company car was waiting at the curb when he exited the building, the driver springing into motion without needing further instruction.
The ride to Amara's shop was quiet, filled only with the faint buzz of the city passing by. Xavier leaned his elbow against the door, gazing out the window as his mind worked through the situation.
Amara was diligent. Reliable. She had never failed to meet a deadline, never refused a fitting, never shown reluctance in their previous dealings. For her to outright decline this project—something didn't add up. It wasn't personal; he doubted she cared enough to complicate things with sentiment. But still, he wanted to understand why she'd walked away so quickly.
When they arrived, he dismissed his driver and stepped inside the shop, greeted by the familiar scent of fabric, the steady pulse of sewing machines in the back, and the faint clinking of hangers as someone adjusted the display racks.
Amara was there, precisely where he expected her to be, focused on hemming a dress with measured strokes.
She glanced up at the sound of the door, her expression flickering briefly with surprise before settling into something neutral. "Mr. Dracarys."
"Amara."
She set her work aside, standing to face him properly. "I assumed your assistant would pass along my message. I won't be taking on the project."
"He did. I came anyway."
She crossed her arms, her tone even but not exactly welcoming. "I appreciate the offer, but I have a full workload already. I can't add something like this on short notice."
"I'll compensate you for your time and the pressure. This isn't about cutting corners. I trust your work."
"It's not about money."
"Then what is it about?"
Amara hesitated, but only for a second. "I just don't want to do it."
"You don't want to?" His voice was calm, but his gaze sharpened, searching. "Amara, I've seen how you work. You don't refuse challenges because they're inconvenient. You're not the type."
"Maybe I'm making an exception this time."
"And I'm asking you to reconsider."
"Why me? You have resources. You can easily hire someone else."
"Because you're the right person for it. The client's wife—she's particular. She values authenticity, exclusivity. You can offer something no one else can."
Amara didn't reply immediately. She picked up a spool of thread from her table, unwinding it slowly as if it offered her an excuse to think.
"What happens if I refuse again?"
"Then I walk out of here and find another designer," Xavier said plainly. "But I'll know I passed on the best one for the job."
Her fingers paused on the thread.
"And why does it matter so much to you?"
"Because this deal matters. This company matters. And because sometimes, the difference between failure and success is one person doing what they do best."
Amara let the silence hang between them for a moment longer before she carefully set the spool down.
"I'll need full creative freedom. And I want all the specifications—her measurements, her preferences, her history with past designers. I want to know what she hates, not just what she likes."
"You'll have it."
"And I'll set my own timeline. If I can't deliver by the date you want, I'm out."
"Deal."
Amara nodded, her posture still guarded but less rigid now. "Fine. I'll do it. But I'm not changing my pace to suit yours."
"Wouldn't expect you to."
He offered a small, professional nod before turning to leave.
"Xavier."
He paused at the door.
"Just this once."
"Understood."
Without waiting for another word, Xavier stepped out into the street, the cool breeze brushing against his face as he signaled his driver.
He had what he came for.
Now it was back to work.