“This is fashion, Leo. Not a philosophy seminar.”
Their faces were close. She could smell his detergent—something clean, like cedar and rain. Her gaze flicked, involuntarily, to his mouth. Then, lower, to the way his linen shirt pulled across his chest. Then, absurdly, back to her own blouse. She felt the weight of her own body, the silk against her skin, the whisper of the gold chain. LoveHerBoobs - Victoria Nova - Coworker Fun Tim...
She smiled, tossed the dress on the chair, and for the first time in years, broke her own rule. “This is fashion, Leo
Her domain was the sixth floor: swatches, mood boards, and the intoxicating scent of expensive paper and sharper ambition. Every day was a runway. Every email, a power play. Her gaze flicked, involuntarily, to his mouth
Then: “You made that campaign beautiful, Victoria. You have a way of seeing people… as their best selves.”