“You… you’re lying!”
The man across from her leapt to his feet, his face flushed with anger. He sounded frantic, all sharp edges and indignation.
“Honestly, for someone who looks so young, you’ve got the mind of a child—always babbling nonsense. Maybe I should really reconsider doing business with your company.”
Wen Yin just sat, watching him. The sight of him red-faced and sputtering struck her as almost comical.
“I know you’re anxious, but don’t be hasty,” she said, her voice even and unhurried, as if none of the earlier heat had ever belonged to her.
He twisted at that. “You’re so eager—I thought maybe I’d hit a nerve.”
A faint, inscrutable smile curved Wen Yin’s lips. She propped her chin on her hand like a lazy cat, eyes slanting up at him. There was an effortless grace to her posture that made the man’s outrage look all the more ridiculous. Yet beneath the languid expression there was a coldness that cut without warning.
“Let me guess who put you up to this,” she murmured, and the name of the factory she’d dug up on the way over slid into place in her head. Her tone turned icier with each syllable. “Since when did the Shen family’s textile mill put you in charge?”
The man stiffened. He had been close to being exposed and now flailed. He stepped forward, voice low and threatening. “Listen, young lady—don’t get cocky. You can’t say whatever you like. Knowing too much might not do you any favors.”
His meaning was clear: back off, or else.
Wen Yin smiled in a way that made it plain she didn’t take his threat seriously. “Is that so? Then do me a favor—go back and tell your young mistress this.”
She drew the last words out like a blade. “If she wants to compete in the open, I welcome it. But if she resorts to dirty tricks, I won’t be polite.”
There was no ambiguity left in her statement.
Wen Yin was about to move on and start checking other mills for material when hurried footsteps sounded behind her. The man in charge glanced over in alarm.
“Mr. Li? You’re here?”
Following his gaze, Wen Yin saw a group of men in suits approaching, orderly and composed. Behind the man everyone had called Mr. Li walked another man with a blank, unreadable face—he looked like trouble.
Thinking it was just some company matter, Wen Yin reached for her bag. The expressionless man blocked her path. “Miss Wen, is it?”
Her face was distinctive—between her looks and whatever buzz she’d gotten from a recent variety show, being recognized wasn’t unusual. She nodded coolly, clearly uninterested in conversation. She only wanted to solve the Hangluo problem and get back to work.
“I’m with Mr. Shao,” the man said. “He asked me to tell you the fabric issue is already taken care of. You don’t need to worry.”
At the name Shao Yinan, a small, inexplicable warmth spread through Wen Yin. Relief—unexpected and immediate—pushed up from somewhere in her chest. Then surprise followed in its wake. She’d known Shao was a partner attending the new-product launch, but she hadn’t imagined his influence stretched this far—that he could pull strings and settle a textile factory dispute single-handedly.
On cue, Mr. Li stepped forward and slapped the in-charge man hard across the face. “Sorry about that. He was misled. We’re still very willing to cooperate with your company.”
He glowered at the man behind him. “You don’t have to come in tomorrow.”
The in-charge man sputtered. His eyes flicked between Li and the man who’d just humiliated him. He’d taken the blame at Shen Ziying’s bidding—he’d been paid handsomely for the deception—and now he was left standing in the fallout. The intimidated look in Mr. Li’s gaze was enough to shut him up.
Mr. Li let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He hadn’t expected his boss’s daughter to kick up a storm that drew someone like Shao Yinan into their orbit. The Shao family wasn’t to be messed with. A cold sweat dotted his brow as he tried to straighten the mess he'd helped create.
To show their sincerity, Mr. Li had the company’s trucks load every bolt of fabric they needed and follow Wen Yin’s car back to the design room.
Upstairs, Jiujiu had her head buried in sketches when the other designers began crowding to the window, whispering and pointing at the street below.
“Didn’t Wen Yin go down to talk with the mill this morning? Was that her? Did it work?”
“Looks like it. What else would that truck be for?”
“She’s got skills. I’m starting to like her.”
At the mention of Wen Yin’s name, Jiujiu squeezed through the crowd and peered out. From her angle she could just make out Wen Yin directing the workers, overseeing the unloading as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She had no idea that the designers upstairs were already buzzing about her.
A crate at a time, Wen Yin’s fabric was carried up into the design room. The creative director emerged from his office, blinking in surprise at the sight of the Hangluo material. Wen Yin glanced at him, casually composed. “Director, the problem’s been solved.”
He studied her for a moment, taking in how she’d accomplished what the company hadn’t managed all week. He pressed his lips together, then nodded. Whoever this new designer was, she came with more than a little backing.
“Good work. Start production right away,” he said.
Wen Yin returned his nod and slipped back into the hum of the design room. For a beat her thoughts drifted to Shao Yinan—she didn’t know why his name had flitted into her head. When she realized she was blushing, she slapped a hand to her cheek as if to cool it. She forced herself back into focus; the only cure for distracting thoughts was work.
With Friday’s new-product launch racing toward them, the design team was practically living at the office—twenty-four-hour vigilance, subsisting on quick runs home to shower and change. Wen Yin’s collection was mostly finished; only the final embellishments remained.
Jiujiu hovered nearby, eyes shining with admiration. “Wen Yin, this design is like nothing I’ve ever seen. You’re going to blow up—people will be clamoring for you.”
“You’ll be that dazzling, in-demand new designer everyone’s talking about.”