The morning light streamed coldly across the polished floors of the Holloway offices. Stacy arrived just before 8:00 AM, dark sunglasses hiding tired eyes, blazer sharp but not quite sitting right, her usual cool veneer cracked slightly by the hangover she carried like an invisible weight.
She headed straight to the elevator. Zoe was already waiting at the design pod, mockups in hand. When she saw Stacy, her brows creased.
"You okay?" Zoe asked, voice careful—measured. Still professional, but the worry slipped through.
Stacy didn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm fine. Let's focus."
Zoe paused, lips parting like she might push—but stopped herself. "Right. Let's do this."
-
The boardroom was waiting.
Inside, seated at the long table, were the key decision-makers from Lumière Montclair, a legacy French fashion house on the verge of a global rebrand. The CEO, Isabelle Fournier, watched them with curious intensity. Beside her sat the brand director and digital strategist. Further down, the Holloway Marketing Head, Tessa Vaughn, flipped through her notes. And at the end of the table, impassive and stoic, was Richard Holloway—Stacy's father.
A generational heavyweight in the industry, his approval loomed like a storm cloud.
Zoe stepped up first, calm, articulate, focused.
"Good morning. We're honored to present the final stage of our rebranding campaign for Lumière Montclair—a house that has always stood for refinement, craftsmanship, and quiet prestige."
She clicked to the first slide: a clean, cinematic mood board. Neutral palettes, rich textures, timeless elegance reimagined.
"Our concept is called 'L'Éclat Moderne'—The Modern Glow," Zoe continued. "It honors the classic codes of Lumière, while redefining how modern audiences experience luxury. This is not a trend chase. It's a recalibration of relevance."
Stacy stepped in then, her voice smooth despite the rasp beneath it. She moved with the ease of muscle memory—even if her head pounded.
"We're not changing who Lumière is," she said. "We're sharpening the mirror. The brand doesn't need to be louder—it needs to be clearer. Every visual, every campaign element, will echo the brand's original soul—but with the precision of today's language."
Slides changed: updated packaging concepts, tactile textures, editorial shoots blending high fashion with digital aesthetics.
Zoe continued, passing the rhythm back like a duet. "The content strategy builds long-form storytelling through short-form media. We're building not just campaigns—but a universe. The woman who wears Lumière isn't chasing labels. She is the label."
Stacy stepped in, "The rollout is global—New York, Paris, Seoul. Micro-tailored content across markets, aligned to cultural nuances but tied by one central identity: modern legacy."
There was a stillness in the room. No one interrupted.
Zoe glanced at Stacy, and for a second—something passed between them. A flicker of what used to be. What might still be.
"The key deliverables," Zoe said, gesturing to the final board, "include a full digital-first strategy, capsule influencer campaigns tied to the new silhouette release, and a limited-edition editorial series titled 'Lumière Intérieure'—a visual exploration of confidence from the inside out."
Stacy finished it. "This isn't just a rebrand. It's a relaunch of relevance. A promise whispered, not shouted."
A long pause.
Then Isabelle Fournier, elegant in her stillness, leaned forward and placed her manicured hands atop the folder.
"It's... breathtaking," she said in her low, French-accented voice. "You've managed to preserve our heritage—without burying it in nostalgia. This is what we needed."
The brand director nodded. "It's exactly the balance we were afraid no one could find."
Even Richard Holloway looked up, a flicker of something like approval behind his usually unreadable eyes.
Zoe exhaled, steady. Stacy nodded once, firmly.
And just like that—the deal was signed.
A multi-million-dollar rebranding campaign, one that would define both Lumière Montclair's next chapter—and Holloway & Brand's future.
-
As the room began to buzz with post-pitch congratulations and logistics talk, Zoe gently moved to pack her things, staying quiet. Still distant. Still professional.
Stacy watched her across the room, her hand tightening briefly on the folder in front of her.
There was no smile. No shared victory glance.
They had performed like music—fluid, intuitive, in perfect sync.
But as the final slide faded from the screen, so did the last trace of what they used to be.
Still, they had won.
Even if the silence between them was louder than the applause.
-
The boardroom was quiet now. The sound of closing doors and fading heels had long since dissolved down the hallway. One by one, the room had emptied—client, executives, marketing team—all gone, leaving only Stacy seated alone at the head of the table, surrounded by the remnants of a successful pitch.
The projection screen still glowed faintly behind her, paused on the final slide:
LUMIÈRE MONTCLAIR — L'ÉCLAT MODERNE.
She stared at it for a long while, hands folded in front of her. Her pulse still hadn't slowed. Her body was still running on caffeine, adrenaline, and not enough sleep. And maybe a hangover still whispering at her temples.
Then, her phone buzzed.
Richard Holloway:
"Not bad. Let's see if you can maintain it."
That was it.
No "I'm proud of you."
No trace of warmth.
Only a measured acknowledgment, as if winning was simply expected.
Stacy let out a slow, tired breath. She turned off the projector. The glow dimmed, leaving her in the hush of filtered daylight and stale coffee air.
She stood, quietly gathering her notes, her pen, the branded leather folder. She reached to unplug her laptop—when the boardroom door burst open with a sharp click.
She turned sharply—
And Zoe was there.
Eyes wide, breathing uneven like she'd been holding it in for hours. No clipboard. No tablet. No words.
She crossed the room in a straight line, like the space between them had never existed at all. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as she passed, but she didn't slow. She didn't look away.
And then she was there.
Her arms came around her with sudden certainty—firm, unguarded, pulling her close in a way that stole the air from her lungs. It wasn't a careful embrace. It was desperate and grounding all at once, like she was holding on because letting go simply wasn't an option.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled.
The noise faded. The world narrowed to warmth and familiar scent, to the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed against hers. Fingers curled into fabric, anchoring, as if memorizing the shape of her all over again.
She held her like she'd been searching for her without knowing it.
Like this was the place she was always meant to return to.
Stacy froze.
No one had hugged her like this in years.
She didn't speak.
Zoe didn't explain.
There were no clever lines. No sarcastic armor. Just the heat of Zoe's body pressed to hers, the ragged exhale of someone who couldn't hold it in anymore.
Stacy's hands hovered in the air for a beat—
Then sank around Zoe slowly, pulling her closer. Anchoring them both.
Her eyes closed.
No business.
No strategy.
No performance.
Just two people, standing in the quiet after the storm, holding onto something they were both afraid to lose.
And for the first time in weeks, Stacy let herself breathe.
-
The boardroom had been quiet—soft, sacred almost. Stacy and Zoe held each other in a way that wasn't about comfort or celebration, but something deeper. A quiet, trembling truth between them.
And then—
Click. Slam.
The door swung open suddenly.
Zoe flinched. Stacy's arms dropped instantly.
They turned away from each other as though caught doing something they couldn't explain.
Tessa Vaughn, the Marketing Head, strode in with the casual confidence of someone who didn't know she'd just cracked open a private moment.
"Oh—didn't realize you two were still in here," she said, crossing to the chair where her leather folder had been left.
Zoe straightened her posture, voice clipped. "W-We were just reviewing post-pitch rollout points."
Stacy didn't look up. "Social alignment for Paris and New York needs tighter threading."
Tessa grinned, oblivious. "Well, whatever you were doing—it worked. The client loved it. I haven't seen Isabelle smile like that in six months." She grabbed her folder, flipped it shut.
Zoe nodded quickly. "Actually, I was just about to head out."
Stacy glanced at her for the first time since the hug—but Zoe avoided her eyes.
"See you" Zoe said, already moving toward the door.
Tessa smiled at them both once more and followed her out, the door clicking gently behind them.
-
And Stacy was alone again.
But Zoe—
She paused just outside, fingers gripping the hallway wall, heart pounding.
She hadn't meant to hug her. She hadn't planned it. But after that pitch—after watching Stacy in her element, fierce and unflinching despite the weariness in her eyes—Zoe couldn't hold it in.
She had been proud. So damn proud.
But more than that—she'd missed her. The late nights, the quiet coffees, the way their minds danced in sync. Even if they never talked about it, even if the air between them had gone cold... Zoe missed Stacy like a phantom limb.
And in that moment, walking away hadn't felt like enough.
So she had turned around and hugged her.
Now, standing outside the boardroom again, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, Zoe exhaled shakily.
She didn't know what the hug meant to Stacy. She didn't know if it had made things worse.
All she knew was—it had meant something to her.
And maybe that was enough... for now.