Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele novel Chapter 84

Chapter 84 

[Cordelia] 

My hands are shaking. I have never felt this nervous, not even on my wedding day. So many more rides on this moment in time, on every decision I make in the next few hours. 

Today is my first day as lead designer at Steele Industries. 

I need to do well. If I can’t turn things around now, I never will and Cordelia Louise Designs will become another sad dream left to die. 

I won’t let that happen. I can’t. Taking a deep breath, I feel a little flutter of a kick and smile at my belly. thinking of my son swimming around in there growing stronger and bigger every minute 

“We’ve got this,” I murmur to my little passenger, “We can do this!” 

Taking one last final breath, I open the door to the building and step inside. 

While I was away, the guards changed. And a new, friendlier face greets me this morning. She hands me my new clearance badge and gives me a little wave as pass through. “Congratulations on your new position!” 

“Thank you,” I wave back confidently as I head to the elevator. A group of other employees comes funneling in. None of them pay me much mind. and as I ride with them, I hear the spattering of gossip. 

“Did you hear?” a tall young woman with artificially dyed red hair cut at a harsh angle mumbles into the ear of her companion. “We have a new design lead.” 

won 

“I heard she was EXTREMELY talented,” a small blonde chimed in. “That she won some award at the expo and… 

“Pft,” a gruff young man with a designer jacket and a cocky expression interrupts, “I heard she never finished design school. Her collection is mediocre at best, and she only won that award because someone paid off the judges.” The others just nod their head as if they don’t expect anything different. 

It wouldn’t be the first time someone bought their way to the top in LA. I almost start laughing. I wish I had enough money to do that, to just buy my way into whatever I need. If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now using my ex–husband’s facilities. 

“Didn’t you know,” the man continues. “She’s the boss‘ ex–wife. She doesn’t need to be good–she got the job because…” I can’t hear what else said as his voice went very low and the door ding announcing our arrival on the design floor, 

My face grows red as they continue to speak about me, my qualifications, and all the things they THINK they know about me as their group marches toward the main doors of the design department. Some of them aren’t wrong, which makes their words sting even more. 

They probably don’t even realize I am standing right behind them. Or even worse, they do and they want me to know what they think about me without dealing with the repercussions of their words. 

Yeah, that sounds about right. 

As much as I love creating beautiful clothing and take joy in watching others feel good wearing my creations, I have never been a big fan of the catty nature of most designers. It is such a cutthroat industry 

#25 BONUS 

Chapter 

t 84 

that many do not think they can bring themselves up unless they tear others down. 

Hopefully, I can show them a different way. I know I won’t be at Steele Industries long, but during my time here I hope to leave a good impression. 

I was the last one to enter the room from the group who exited the elevator. They all went to the task board to look at what work needed to be done before heading to their individual stations. This room was for my direct staff–those in charge of sub–departments of their own: the lead pattern drafter, line drawer, printmaker, and production managers. 

Technically I am the one in charge of all of this, working in partnership with our lead production manager, a person by the name of Theo. 

Scanning the room, I’m not sure where to start. Theo could be anyone. I don’t want to make assumptions. 

“Oh hi,” a mousy woman with tidy brown hair and a large smile comes up to me and hands me a stack of patterns. “Can you run this down to cutting? Thank you!” 

It takes me a moment to process what has just happened. Stunned, I stand there, the patterns draped across my arms like a small child. 

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person?” I try to hand them back, but the woman has already rushed past me, down the hall to another busy room.