Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 51: Negotiations

Finally. Gianna mused, her eyes running through Daphne’s message that had arrived just a few seconds ago, the words almost blurring as relief rushed through her.

Finally, the board was requesting her presence. She had almost died of impatience and waiting.

It had been days since she pitched the idea to Mason and his assistant—long, dragging days, and days since she had battled and lived with restlessness because of the silence that followed, the suffocating quiet that had ensued since then.

Now, finally, she was about to be freed from its bondage.

She and Vance.

The fellow hadn’t stopped popping into her office now and then, sometimes speaking, sometimes not, but his eyes held enough communication for the both of them. They always said the same thing: the board was taking their damn time.

"Finally..." she muttered aloud, the word slipping out like a prayer.

She exhaled loudly, the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding leaving her in one long rush.

Reclining into her chair for a second, she tipped her head back, eyes lifting to the ceiling, allowing herself—just briefly—to wonder what the outcome of the meeting would be.

She shrugged next and stood up. No need to kill herself with worry and anxiety now. At least it was the weekend.

Seeing Athena tomorrow would either dull or heighten whatever excitement would result from the meeting, depending on the outcome. She was hoping—quietly, fiercely—for a heightening of excitement.

Sighing, she smoothed invisible creases away from her black pencil skirt and sky-blue shirt, palms pressing over fabric that was already immaculate. She inhaled again, steadying herself, then started out of the office.

And if Athena postponed her return, then there was the date she had with Noah.

She sighed again, a softer sound this time, gave a curt nod to Lottie, opened the second door, and strolled into the hallway.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment act.

Waiting for an answer from the board—even though she had sent Daphne the designs Areso had submitted the very next day, even though Areso had gone on a call with both directors—had made her tense, the kind of tension that coiled within her like a spring.

So when she had seen Noah’s call again, she had answered, partly out of curiosity, partly to release the pressure, to think of something else other than the collection and the approaching convention.

He hadn’t asked why she hadn’t picked his calls thus far, and she hadn’t apologized for doing the same.

He had asked about her work rather, his tone easy, curious, and wanted to know if the weekend would be a nice time for a date, so they could talk, catch up—in his words.

She had agreed immediately.

In hindsight, she wished she had not.

Standing before the familiar boardroom door, she inhaled and exhaled slowly, deliberately. She needed this deal. It would be a step up—both for her and Vance—and even though Areso didn’t need the money, it would be good for her friend too.

Maybe it might even be some sort of branch out for the latter. It was good for the company as well. A win-win for everyone.

She pursed her lips, raising her hand to knock. Hopefully, these arrogant men would see things her way.

Humans—men especially—were creatures of habit. Anything that threatened that cycle, the usual, the routine, became offensive. Something to be conquered. Something to be rooted out.

And that was what the new collection was.

The unusual. Unique. Different.

She clenched her jaw. The potential she saw in it was right—phenomenal. She just had to convince them. If not...

She shook her head sharply and knocked. No room for doubts. Not now.

She would speak as she usually did, as if she were confidence itself.

"Come in..."

Mason.

Why was he always the one calling out the come in? Referee?

The humor that came with the image conjured by her mind lightened some of the tension in her shoulders, loosening muscles that had been tight all morning.

She pushed the door open and walked in, eyes sharp with clarity, steps sure.

"Good afternoon..." She called out greetings to Arthur, who was at the head of the table as usual, then to the others.

She remained standing, though, feeling somewhat hopeful when Daphne cut her a subtle wink.

"Gianna, please sit," Arthur said simply, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you."

Gianna sat down gracefully, crossed her legs, her hands placed neatly on her raised knee. Then she waited.

The ice broke after about two minutes.

"I’m sure you know why you are here..." Arthur started again, leaning forward, hands clasped on the desk.

Gianna nodded. "The new designs I submitted. The idea of a collection too..."

"Yes, that..." Arthur continued. "We think it is... brash. Vastly different from what we represent."

Gianna had prepared for this.

"Not really, Mr. Arthur," she said evenly. "It is not. It just shows a different pattern of the same representation. I believe—studying our clientele, our statistics—I believe it will sell."

Her voice sharpened slightly. "More than sell. It would be epic."

Richard laughed. Brittle. Sarcastic. Meant to demean.

Gianna didn’t even spare him a look, considering him a waste of time.

But Richard wasn’t to be deterred.

For some reason, he hated this female before him—this female who went against the ethics of womanhood: submissive, quiet unless spoken to by a superior, not overly ambitious. Even Daphne knew when to stop.

But not this one. This one who thought herself a gift to them from heaven.

He would take pleasure in cutting down those filthy ambitions.

"And please tell us, Gianna," Richard pressed, leaning back, "what do you know about marketing and statistics?"

For a second, Gianna thought of ignoring him. Almost did. But for his place on the board.

As much as she was respected by Arthur, she didn’t want to take advantage of that, didn’t want to become, unnecessarily, a villain in his eyes.

So she turned to Richard, taking intense effort to bring her anger into check, away from her face.

"Enough, Mr. Richard. Enough to know that my jewelry is the hottest selling topic in the state—more than any the Whitmans have to offer."

Her gaze was steady now. "And I have contacts. One I’m sure our leaders have spoken with—Areso. I know what our clients really want. What tickles their fancy."

She leaned forward slightly. "Everyone—no matter how pious they might seem—craves the dangerous. The forbidden. And that’s what we will give them, in a beautifully packaged way. The forbidden. What they thought shouldn’t go with clothes, but what they would wear or buy when one or two celebrities dared to flaunt it."

Her voice grew warmer, more assured. "We are making our clients choose daring, Mr. Richard. Daring and bold. Make them feel confident in their choices. That confidence can seep into their day, brighten it, their mood inclusive. It can even seep into other aspects of their life."

She paused, then added calmly, "So yes, I think we should run with it. Areso agrees with me. She’s already talked about it with a few of her clients—A-list celebrities."

She turned to Arthur. "We can do this. It will work. I can pull it off."

Arthur sighed, pushing back slightly. "That’s two promises, Gianna."

"Surely," Gianna replied, "the revenue my designs on the sites have brought in, the media coverage, should at least convince you that I don’t let people down?"

Arthur met her gaze steadily, eyes locking with hers, as if he were trying to read the intent and thoughts of her heart.

Gianna wasn’t sure what she saw. But he sighed again and reclined into his seat.

"And it can’t wait till after the convention?" he asked. "So that your win there would assure me of your words?"

Gianna pursed her lips, thinking. Then she shook her head, to Daphne’s visible surprise—she had thought Gianna would grab the acceptance with both hands.

"No. Not after. Maybe production can start then, but not the announcement and samples reveal..."

Her eyes lit up as the idea formed fully. "I would like to make the announcement at the convention... after I win of course. Show some designs there too..."

The optimism and excitement filtered into her next words, her eyes sparkling as she envisioned the moment—the win for her, the win for the company, the loss for her cousin... the Whitmans.

Unaware to her, Mason smiled and shook his head. She would never cease to surprise him, nor arouse him with her win-all attitude.

"I think that will be best," Gianna continued, almost breathless now. "It would throw off our competitors. Mark a new age for us. Companies from other countries will be watching..."

She chuckled, slightly crazed with excitement. "Mr. Arthur, you have to trust me on this. I see—"

But Arthur was already seeing. He and the open-minded men on the board.

Gianna’s excitement was contagious.

Daphne wasn’t left out either.

Gold, she thought, watching Gianna still speaking. The Becketts had struck gold.

"Okay, Gianna. Okay..." Arthur said, smiling now, mirroring her expression. "You have it. So, you and Vance will work on it?"

Gianna nodded without hesitation. "And the deals stipulated in the contract concerning matters like this would also reach him..."

Silence followed then.

People glanced at one another, and Gianna wondered if she had said something wrong.

"Gianna..." Daphne licked her lower lip. "Vance is a basic designer. He can’t surely be accorded the same rates as you..."

Gianna shook her head.

But Daphne nodded. "It’s just the way it is."

She had seen the duo coming to lunch together in the past few days, leaving together too. Even Vance visited Gianna at the office regularly.

She knew the male now saw their gold as a mentor, that Gianna saw him as a young friend. Still...

"No."

Gianna’s no was insistent, demanding, unmoving all at once.

"He is paid the same as I am. For this particular collection. For his level, I am sure sales will determine that..."

Vance needed all the money he had to move his mother to a private hospital like the Whitman Hospital. She could have talked to Damian about it, but Vance wouldn’t like that.

Men’s pride and all.

She tsked inwardly at her own hypocrisy while meeting Arthur’s gaze, which had turned blank once more.