Chapter 2: New Beginnings, Old Scars

At the fashion marketing office, Isla Lawson had come to like the mix of urgency and excitement inherent in the Monday morning rush. Unlike the great silence she had known working under Noah Vincent's empire, the murmur of voices brainstorming campaigns, the clicking of keyboards, and the faint tune of pop tunes from the design floor all indicated development. Still, the memory of their last-week unplanned rendezvous burned in her thoughts, a flame she couldn't quite put out as she drank her coffee and the steam curled around her face.

" Why do you look as though you have seen a ghost?" Evan Monroe waltzed into her office, his cobalt blue blazer collided violently with his brilliant yellow tie. Today Isla was grateful for his vivid and disarming vitality.

The solution is not a ghost. More like a haunting, Isla replied with half-smile.

Evan glided across from her desk down onto the chair, gracefully crossing one leg over the other, as someone who understood just how amazing he looked. His eyes gleamed with curiosity. "A haunting, you say?" Should I be calling an exorcist, or does this relate to my job?

She said, lowering her mug, "definitely work-related."Last week I ran across Noah Vincent.

Heads turned across Evan's office's glass walls with her theatrical gasp. He leaned forward, enthusiasm mixed on his face with disbelief. "The Noah Vincent," The Corporate Shark Here

Isla nodded and rolled her eyes through his dramatic display. Indeed, this is. Walking suddenly in to show me a "proposal"

Evan's brow lifted. "A proposition," you say? He probably wants business more than anything else.

Isla giggled at that; the pressure in her chest had lessened somewhat. Trust me; it was business only. Knowing him, nevertheless, exposes always more under the surface.

"Ah, yes, the iceberg theory of villains," Evan remarked, pointing generally. "Tip is what you see; but, always there is more hiding under."

Isla sighed and hoped it were simply that. He pointed out a prospect that would "place us on the map," whatever that means. I'm not sure, though, whether he's drawing me toward still another trap.

For Evan, his demeanor turned serious—a rare event. "You know, you are not the same Isla he hired. You now are more strong and intelligent. If he is trying to rattle you, you are not obligated to play into his hands.

Isla appreciated Evan's genuineness in voice. These kinds of activities assisted her to recall the reason behind their natural clicking. Not simply a brilliant designer with a sense for drama, he was a friend who knew her scars and still considered her complete.

"Thanks, Evan," she said, a smile flickering at the border of her mouth. I craved that.

"Anytime," he murmured, the playful glitter once more flickering back into his eyes. " Besides, when he gets back I'll just let my sharp tongue assault him. I have been told it is lethal.

Not mentioned, Isla giggled. "Your on standby personal attack dog is me."

They chuckled; the weight of her meeting with Noah was suddenly absent. But Noah's knowing smile's weight and the memory stayed with her even as she laughed with Evan. She wasn't sure, really, if she was with him or whether he was with her.

The day developed in line with usual mix of deadlines and brainstorming sessions. Isla descended into her work, meticulously polishing surfaces until they gleamed and examining campaign ideas. Evan flitted in and out, his biting wit keeping the office alive. About midday, they broke for lunch and decided on their usual spot close to the large windows staring out over the city.

Evan said, pointing at their takeaway containers, "Look at us." "Two young people living the dream, two brilliant professionals".

"Living the dream, huh?," Isla murmured, glancing at her sodden salad with false scorn. More like living tastefully from pay to pay.

Evan grinned, dazzling eyes staring directly at me just as precisely. Nobody does better than us either.

Their conversation turned to the upcoming customer presentation, a major pitch that had the whole office humming while they ate. Isla felt the usual surge of exhilaration as their ideas bounced back and forth like a well-rehearsed dance while they discussed last-minute adjustments.

"Okay, so following first factual attack on them, we launch the graphic campaign. We want to hook them with the data and then blow them away with the imagination," Evan said, waving with a fork as though it were a conductor's baton.

agreed, nodding in response to Isla. "We have to make sure they grasp that we are not any agency—just another. Our agency is this one.

Evan held his fork like a weapon and gestured. must be unforgettable.

"To be unforgettable, Isla remarked, clinking her plastic cup against his.

For a small while, everything felt exactly how it should—easy, light, full of promise. As they returned to their desks, Isla's phone sounded an email alert. She stopped on the topic line— Noah Vincent's meeting request.

Her heart stammered; for a moment she considered ignoring it. Still, she was better informed. Isla turned to find Evan completely absorbed in conversation with a junior designer. Right now she decided to store the email for herself. Once she developed her management skills, there would be time to share.

Isla sat at her desk with her face hardly lit by her monitor after most of the office had emptied later that evening. Unlike the silence that had crept on the office, the city outside was alive with honking cars and the buzz of nightlife. She clicked open the email and went through:

Isle,

We should definitely talk more, in my opinion. Let's not waste time assuming this alliance has no worth. See me at Vincent Tower tomorrow, 7 PM.

-n

Leaning back, the weight of the email crushed down on her. a convention housed in his tower? The nerve is the one with Underneath the indignation, though, was a flutter of something else—interest. She hated that part of her, the one driven to witness the next action. She yearns more.

Hey, you decent? Evan shocked her with his startling voice.

She looked up to see him sloppily leaning on the frame—a rare indication of fear in his eyes.

"Yeah, just...a lot on my mind," she said closing the email window before he could see.

Evan turned his head to study her. Sure indeed. You look as though someone stole your last French fry.

Isla laughed then understood. "It's nothing at all." Just do work.

"Work stuff," he said, eyebrow arched. "Is this job material tall, dark, and shark-like?"

She moaned, pushed her chair back. You are far too sensitive for your own good.

Glinking, he added, "It's both a blessing and a curse." "You want to talk about it?"

Isla whispered, standing and reaching for her coat, "maybe later." Right now I just have to clean my head.

Evan eyed her momentarily, his expression not apparent. Then he remarked, "You know where you find me," grinning more reassuringly than she had expected.

Strolling out into the cool night air, Isla experienced both exhilaration and anxiety. She thought she had weathered a storm, but Noah Vincent seemed to be back and more turbulent than ever. Evan's easygoing humor and unwavering support were her lifeline, but she knew she was about to travel more difficult waters. She could swim or let the tide carry her beneath.