Helena sat at her desk for three hours. Her fingers flew across her sketchpad. The neon greens and heavy wools in the Phoenix folder were a nightmare, but she was breaking them apart, restructuring the silhouettes into an avant-garde streetwear line.
Her neck began to ache. She needed coffee.
She stood up, rubbed the back of her neck, and walked out of the chaotic office.
She walked down the quiet hallway toward the communal pantry. As she got closer, she heard a voice.
"Too naive, too simple."
It was a man's voice. Oily and condescending.
Helena stopped. She stepped closer to the open doorway and looked inside.
Alaina was backed into the corner of the pantry, pressed against the refrigerator. A middle-aged man in a tight grey suit had his arm braced against the wall next to her head, trapping her.
It was Warren Finch. The deputy head of Design Group Two.
Warren was holding one of Alaina's sketches.
"You have talent, Alaina," Warren said, leaning his face closer to hers. "But you lack experience. Not just in design, but in life."
Alaina bit her lip. Her hands were shaking violently as she clutched her empty coffee mug. She tried to slide to the right, but Warren shifted his body, blocking her.
"Do not be shy," Warren smiled. His eyes dropped to her chest. "In this industry, who you know is more important than what you know. I can be a very helpful mentor. If you are willing to learn."
Bile rose in Helena's throat. Her blood ran cold, then hot.
She reached into her pocket. She pulled out her phone, opened the voice memo app, and hit record. She held the phone by her side.
"Think about it," Warren said softly. "A private dinner. Just you and me. We can discuss your career path."
Helena tapped the screen to stop the recording. She slipped the phone back into her pocket.
She pasted a bright, oblivious smile on her face and stepped into the pantry.
"Alaina!" Helena said loudly.
Warren jumped back. He dropped his arm from the wall and spun around.
"I was looking everywhere for you," Helena said, walking straight toward them. She ignored Warren completely. "Dad just called. He booked us a table at Le Bernardin for lunch."
Warren's face flushed. He recognized Helena. He knew she was the CEO's other daughter, the crazy one.
Helena grabbed Alaina's arm. She linked their elbows tightly. She could feel Alaina trembling against her side.
"Let's go," Helena said, her voice light and cheerful. "We do not want to be late."
She pulled Alaina out of the pantry without looking back.
Warren stood alone by the coffee machine, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.
Helena pulled Alaina into the stairwell and let the heavy fire door close behind them.
The moment the door shut, Alaina broke down. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Helena pulled her into a tight hug. She rubbed Alaina's back, feeling the sharp blades of her shoulders shaking.
"He... he has been doing that all morning," Alaina cried into Helena's shoulder. "Every time I am alone."
Helena's jaw locked. Her fingers dug into the fabric of Alaina's suit jacket.
"I am taking you out of here," Helena said firmly.
They did not go to Le Bernardin. Helena walked Alaina down the street to a quiet cafe. She ordered two massive slices of chocolate cake and sat with her until Alaina stopped crying.
An hour later, they walked back into the lobby of the Hancock Group building.
Helena felt Alaina freeze beside her.
Helena looked up. Warren Finch was walking across the marble floor, heading straight toward them. He had a smug, nasty smirk on his face.
Helena stopped walking. She let go of Alaina's arm and squared her shoulders.
