Fashion Wars in Paris

Chapter One

"Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean."
-Maya Angelou

November 21st, 2017

Paris, France

Scottsdale Fashion House.

The office is softly lit in pastel colors. A glass wall oversees the beautiful Paris skyline. The wall adjacent is adorned with an elegant painting of The Champs Elysees along with a floor-to-ceiling bookcase on either side. A plush leather chair sits behind a beautifully appointed oaken desk, a suit jacket hanging from the back.

Three or four bridal design drafts are scattered across the table. On the corner, a MacBook sits open to show more designs. The only other items are a pen holder and a name plaque reading, 'Ryan Scottsdale, CEO'.

Beside the table, Ryan stands working on a canvas, completely engrossed in his design. Almost absentmindedly, he takes a sip of his coffee and continues sketching. His strokes are hard and fast. Though Ryan is determined to finish his sketch, he is unable to do justice to it. Frustrated, he growls as he turns his back to the drawing. Something is bothering him, but he can't put his finger on it.

"Fuck! That was a waste of an hour," Ryan mutters. Distractedly, he takes another sip and cringes, finding it cold.

The sun outside is low and red, casting his face into shadows. Desperately wanting to grab a drink, he walks to the mini bar on the left side and pours himself some whiskey. Taking a stance in front of the window, he unties his tie and throws it on the desk behind him.

It has been a long day. Back-to-back meetings and the new problem called 'Danika Whitmore' has kept him on his toes. Furthermore, his 2017 Fall Bridal catalog's designs are due in few days, and he is nowhere near ready.

He has been working on this design for the past hour, but it's still missing something. His designs are usually a class apart, but right now he is struggling to find that element which makes them extraordinary.

If there is anything Ryan hates more than peanut butter, it's wasting time. Time is money for Ryan, and wasting time means wasting money. Regardless, he just can't focus today. He has an inkling, as if he is forgetting something, but he can't remember what for the life of him.

Feeling a little scattered-brain, he unbuttons the first few buttons of his white shirt and uncuffs his sleeve, folding it to his elbow. There is black ink visible on his left arm.

Ryan is easily the youngest and most attractive Fashion Designer/CEO in Paris. Lean and muscular from all the hours working out in the gym; black as midnight hair; sparkling green eyes as deep as the ocean; high cheekbones as if carved from stone and a five o'clock shadow that seems just right on him.

Relaxing in the cool air of the AC, he takes another swig. As he swirls his drink in the glass, he hears a knock.

Turning around, he calls out in a clipped voice, "Come in."

He smiles, seeing Jace walk in.

"What do you have for me?" He takes a seat behind the table.

"Danika Whitmore." Jace hands him the Ipad.

Ryan scrolls through it half listening to Jace filling him in on the highlights of the document.

"Danika Whitmore is twenty-four years old New Yorker.. She has her own clothing chain she started after graduating two years ago. It is widely known that she made her own clothing chain without the help of her family."