The sound of stilettos on polished marble echoed down the main hallway of Diamonds HQ. The morning had started with the usual fanfare—buyers following up post-GIRLS launch, stylists scrambling to fulfill a sudden influencer request, and logistics managers panicking over a delayed shipment from Tokyo.
But none of that made Tiana pause.
What made her pause was Emily.
Her usually laser-focused, detail-perfect assistant had just sent the same email twice. With a typo in the subject line.
Tiana didn't do typos.
Neither did Emily.
Tiana stood in the glass-walled creative suite, arms crossed, watching Emily walk past the entrance, coffee in hand, nose buried in her phone with a distracted smile she wasn't bothering to hide.
Emily Lane did not smile at her phone.
Unless—
Tiana narrowed her eyes.
Something was up.
She waited five more minutes, then walked toward Emily's desk with deliberate calm.
The younger woman was now typing something quickly, fingers dancing across her keyboard—but the speed was off. Too light. Too casual. Not the kind of focused energy that came from preparing investor briefs or cross-checking silk inventory counts.
"Emily."
The voice, calm and cool, sliced the air like a whip.
Emily jumped slightly and looked up. "Tiana—yes?"
Tiana leaned one hip on the edge of her desk. "Am I interrupting?"
Emily blinked. "Of course not. I was just—"
"Smiling at your phone?" Tiana interrupted, arching one brow. "Or drafting a pitch for Paris? It's hard to tell."
Emily flushed lightly and minimized the tab. "Sorry. I've already sent the revised buyer sheet and confirmed the fabric revisions for the March capsule."
"I saw," Tiana said, her tone unreadable. "But you're off tempo."
"Off tempo?"
Tiana nodded slowly, voice softening just enough to be personal. "Something's got your rhythm out of sync. And it's not your inbox."
Emily hesitated, then gave a nervous laugh. "That obvious?"
Tiana didn't smile. "Only to someone who knows what you look like at full capacity."
Emily set her coffee down, folding her hands in front of her like a student preparing for inspection. "It's nothing bad."
"It's something, though," Tiana said, watching her. "Who is he?"
Emily's jaw dropped slightly. "What?"
"You're glowing," Tiana said, matter-of-fact. "You're late by ten seconds. Your emails have inconsistent punctuation. And you're making the kind of micro-mistakes that only happen when someone's brain is rewiring from serotonin."
Emily stared. "You just diagnosed me with a crush."
"Please don't insult me by pretending I'm wrong."
After a beat, Emily let out a breathless laugh. "Fine. You're not wrong."
Tiana took that in, her expression still unreadable.
"Name?" she asked simply.
Emily hesitated.
Tiana waited.
"…Nathan," Emily said finally. "Nathan Walls."
Tiana's lips parted, surprise flashing in her eyes. "As in Nathan's Fashion Corp.?"
Emily gave a sheepish nod. "The same."
"The man who tried to outbid me for the Met Fashion contract last year?"
Emily cleared her throat. "He may have mentioned that... briefly."
Tiana stepped away from the desk and began pacing—slowly, methodically.
Emily sat up straighter. "He's not trying to poach me. Or you. Or anything related to Diamonds."
"I didn't say he was," Tiana said coolly. "But I've met Nathan Walls. He's brilliant. Arrogant. Strategic. He plays long games."
Emily's voice softened. "Maybe I'm not a game."
That made Tiana stop.
She turned slowly and looked at Emily—really looked at her.
And something shifted in her expression.
"I used to say that," she said, almost absently. "To myself. About someone who wasn't like the others."
Emily didn't speak.
"And then," Tiana continued, "he kissed me."
Emily blinked. "Dylan?"
Tiana gave a short nod.
Emily leaned forward. "You kissed him?"
"He kissed me," Tiana corrected. "But yes."
"And now?"
Tiana exhaled, her voice dropping. "Now I don't know where I stand. With him. With myself."
Emily was quiet for a moment. "That's what you said before, isn't it? About being used to control. Certainty. Predictability."
"Yes."
"Welcome to the other side," Emily said softly.
Tiana's eyes met hers. And for a moment, the air between them felt more like friendship than hierarchy.
Then, true to form, Tiana straightened.
"I'm not worried about you, Emily. But I need to know something."
Emily nodded. "Anything."
"If Nathan Walls is as smart as he claims to be, then he knows who you work for. He knows your proximity to my schedule. My decisions. My future plans."
"I would never compromise your trust," Emily said instantly, firmly.
Tiana nodded. "I believe that."
"But?"
"But I need you to remember who you are when you're with him."
Emily frowned. "What do you mean?"
Tiana's voice was low and certain. "You are not someone's secret prize. You are not a distraction. And you are not just my assistant. You've built your value. Don't let his attention rewrite that."
Emily felt the weight of those words settle inside her.
"I won't," she said, quietly but clearly.
Tiana nodded again. "Good. Now tell me—where was this charming interaction?"
Emily bit back a smile. "Café Alchemy. Again."
Tiana gave a faint smirk. "Of course."
"And before you ask," Emily added, "yes. I gave him my number."
Tiana tilted her head. "Work or personal?"
"Work."
Tiana smirked wider. "Smart girl."
"I learned from the best."
At that, something softened in Tiana's face.
She looked away for a moment, then back at Emily.
"I don't say this often," she said.
Emily raised a brow. "Say what?"
"I trust you," Tiana said. "And I don't say that lightly."
Emily's throat tightened. "Thank you."
They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of office energy just outside their shared moment.
Then Tiana turned, professionalism sliding back into place.
"Schedule my lunch with the Milan buyers for next Thursday. Push the shoot review to Friday. And let me know if your mysterious suitor plans to show up at any fashion events I might be attending."
Emily smiled, rising to follow. "Should I warn him?"
"No," Tiana said, glancing over her shoulder. "Let him wonder."