Free Web NovelChapter 219: Chapter 219 Unexpected Offers
Christina’s POV
Daniel and I rushed to catch the shuttle at exactly ten o’clock. Despite hurrying, we weren’t even the last ones there. Half the people showed up looking like they’d just rolled out of bed.
We didn’t actually leave for the venue until ten-thirty, which felt like such a waste of morning time.
The day dragged on with endless showroom visits. Logo after logo, fake smile after fake smile, everything blending into one boring mess of beige carpet and fancy lighting.
"This is torture," Akira whined in my head. "Can we just leave? Hudson is waiting for us."
I ignored her, though I secretly agreed.
After a bland lunch, they packed us into a stuffy conference room for brand presentations that seemed designed to put everyone to sleep.
The chairs felt like rocks, the room was way too hot, and some woman behind me kept rustling a plastic bag. It sounded like she had a small animal in there.
"Just one more hour," I told Akira silently.
Near the end of the presentation, I noticed staff bringing a tall man to the front row.
I hadn’t seen him yesterday—I definitely would have remembered someone like him. Broad shoulders, perfect suit, and hair just long enough to look expensive.
Something about him seemed familiar. I pulled out my phone and quickly looked up his name.
"Fabrizio Marchetti," I whispered.
Daniel leaned over. "Holy shit. That’s Valmont & Cie’s CEO? I just watched his interview. He was in Milan like three days ago."
Valmont was the kind of luxury brand that didn’t need logos. Just clean lines and price tags that made most people’s eyes water.
Marchetti was their youngest executive ever, and every article called it a fluke—which only made him more annoyingly famous. European women apparently waited outside airports just hoping for a blurry selfie.
If they’d put his name on the program, tickets would have sold out instantly.
The speaker kept droning on about sustainable sourcing, but nobody was listening anymore. Half the room was craning their necks to get a better look at Marchetti. A few bold people had already snuck up to the front row and started talking to him. He was handing out business cards left and right.
I sat there gripping my armrest, debating whether to approach him. I wanted to talk to him too, but rushing up mid-presentation would look desperate.
As soon as the session ended, I stood up. But he beat me to it and walked straight toward me.
"Miss Vance," he said, holding out his hand. "A pleasure."
I blinked in surprise before quickly shaking his hand. "Hi—hello."
He was tall and lean with dark, intense eyes framed by long lashes that made his expressions hard to read. His accent gave each word a slightly exotic quality.
"I’ve been following your work for a while now," Marchetti continued. "One of our designers competed at Riverbend. We only placed third. Your piece really stood out."
I swallowed, caught off guard by the compliment. "That’s very kind of you to say."
He smiled again. "I’d like to keep in touch. Would you mind if we exchanged contact information?"
My spine straightened automatically.
Fabrizio Marchetti didn’t ask for people’s contacts. People lined up to throw theirs at him.
"Yes, of course."
I reached for my phone—then remembered. freёwebnovel.com
Damn. I’d just replaced my lost one. Half the apps weren’t even installed yet, and I still didn’t have a SIM card.
"I actually just lost my phone. This is a backup," I explained. "I can give you my number, or if you want, leave yours and I’ll text you once I get everything set up."
I recited my number while he typed it into his phone. Then he pulled out a black business card holder, flicked it open, and handed me. From his jacket’s inside pocket, he produced a pen and wrote something on the back.
"That’s my direct line. The printed one is the office number."
"Thanks." I took the card, feeling the thick, expensive paper between my fingers.
Fabrizio capped his pen and looked around. Most people had already left, with the rest hanging around nearby, obviously hoping to get his attention. The exhibition lights dimmed slightly as staff cleared away the last champagne glasses and appetizers from the tables.
"They’re probably closing up," he said. "Walk with me?"
"Sure." I nodded toward the exit. "After you."
He headed for the door with confident strides and spoke over his shoulder. "You’re twenty-four, right? If you don’t mind me asking."
"Twenty-three," I corrected.
He glanced back briefly. "I’m twelve years older than you, then. You can stop calling me ’sir’—you’re aging me in real time."
I laughed. "You don’t look it."
"Thanks." He tilted his head. "Though someone told me the corners of my eyes are getting wrinkles."
I looked at his face. His skin looked perfectly smooth, jaw clean-shaven, not a line in sight. "They lied."
He laughed. "I appreciate that, Miss Vance."
I was starting to like him. On stage or in interviews, he always seemed stiff and controlled. In person, he was surprisingly easy to talk to.
As we reached the doors, he said, "I meant what I said, by the way. I think your work is exceptional. I heard you just left your old firm. If you’re interested, I’d like to offer you a position. Lead designer level. Full resources, top billing. You’d have complete creative control."
So that was his real reason for approaching me. I’d suspected it the moment he pulled out his pen, but hearing it still felt unreal.
Valmont & Cie wasn’t just another jewelry company. They only hired the absolute best. Getting through their doors meant instant industry credibility. Even working there briefly could change your entire career. You didn’t apply to Valmont, they came to you.
I was tempted. Of course I was. What designer wouldn’t be?
But I’d just started my own studio, accepted two private commissions, and agreed to create a high-end jewelry line for a boutique in Midtown. I couldn’t just drop everything and move to France, no matter how amazing the offer was.
Fabrizio noticed my hesitation.
"I know you’ve started your own studio," he said. "You probably don’t want to give that up. So what about something more flexible? A collaboration, maybe. A joint line. We’ve started planning next year’s fall-winter collection. Would that interest you?"
