Chapter 12
Sienna's POV
Outside, the team was still discussing how this order would change the studio's fate. They didn't know that without materials, none of it mattered.
I took a deep breath and pushed through the door.
"Well?" Reina looked at me immediately.
"No go." My voice was steadier than expected. "Two weeks minimum."
The celebration stopped.
She asked carefully: "So what do we do?"
"Find another way." I sat down at my workstation, opening my laptop. "There are other suppliers. I'll call them one by one."
But I knew the answer would be the same.
That's how the premium leather market worked—big brands monopolized the supply chain, small studios got the scraps. It was industry rules, not personal malice, but something colder: pure market logic.
Over the next two hours, I made seven calls.
Same result every time. Schedule too long, capacity insufficient, priority given to major clients.
Some suggested using second-tier supplier materials—lower quality, but available immediately.
Some said bluntly that studios K&C's size shouldn't take on such demanding projects.
By noon, I was staring at the supplier list on my computer screen, feeling like I was looking at a row of locked doors.
My phone suddenly rang.
I picked up. "Hello?"
"Ms. Thorne, this is Barnett." His voice was completely different now—warm, friendly, carrying a hint of apology. "I'm very sorry about this morning's call. I just received notice from headquarters that your studio's situation has changed."
My heart suddenly raced. "What change?"
"Our regional manager reviewed your studio." Papers rustling in the background. "You've been upgraded to priority client status. This means we can rearrange the materials you requested this morning."
Priority client.
The man who'd told me two hours ago that "independent studios don't get priority" was now telling me I was a priority client.
"I don't understand." I said slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. "You just said—"
"I know, I know." He sounded genuinely apologetic. "But this was headquarters' decision, came down this morning. To be honest, I'm pretty surprised too." He paused. "But since the directive came through, we'll certainly execute it."
"What directive?"
"Your studio has been flagged as a strategic partner." His voice lowered slightly, like he wasn't sure how much to say. "I don't know the specific reasons."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
I closed my eyes. All I could think of was Bobby, who'd just finished discussing the contract with me.
"Ms. Thorne, what else do you need?" His voice pulled me back to reality. "The ultrafiber and calfskin lining you mentioned this morning, correct?"
"Yes." My voice sounded distant.
"No problem. I'll arrange it right now." Keyboard clicking. "Delivery to your studio by 9 AM tomorrow. Standard client rate pricing, no rush fees."
Standard rate. No rush fees.
He said it casually, like it was the most natural thing, not a complete violation of all the rules he'd just told me.
"Invoice will go to your email." He continued. "And Ms. Thorne? Welcome to our priority client program. We look forward to a long-term partnership with K&C."
He hung up.
I sat there, staring at my phone screen.
Still adjusting to the reversal.
The office felt too small suddenly. Too warm. I pushed through the partition, back into the main studio where everyone was watching me with varying degrees of hope and anxiety.
"Well?" Reina asked.
"We'll have the materials tomorrow morning."
The room exploded again—cheers, high-fives. But I couldn't join in. Just stood there, staring at nothing, while my brain screamed that something was very, very wrong.
Reina noticed first. She always did. Crossed the room, voice dropping. "What happened?"
"Nothing." I forced myself to move, heading toward my workstation. "Just... lucky timing, I guess."
"Sienna."
I stopped, back still to her. "They upgraded our account. Same day I signed with Bobby."
Silence behind me. When Reina spoke again, her voice was careful. "Did they say why?"
"Corporate directive. He wasn't clear on the specifics either."
More silence.
Then, quietly: "If someone's pulling strings to help us... that's not necessarily bad, right? We needed this break."
I turned to face her. "You don't find that suspicious?"
Reina's expression was complicated—part concern, part pragmatism, all exhaustion. "I find it convenient. And right now, convenient is what's keeping us alive."
She wasn't wrong. I knew she wasn't wrong.
But I still pulled out my phone and opened a new message to Bobby.
Me: Did your company intervene with my suppliers?
The response came within seconds.
Bobby: We only handle outcomes. Process is your domain.
I stared at that message for a long time. Not a yes. Not a no. Carefully worded corporate speak that told me nothing while confirming everything.
---
The studio emptied around 8 PM. Reina left last, pausing at the door to give me a pointed look that said don't stay all night but knowing I would anyway.
The space felt different in silence. No chatter, no music, just the occasional creak of old building settling and the hum of my desktop computer.
I pulled up the version three design on my monitor. Bobby's handwritten notes were still burned into my memory.
Recalculated the carbon fiber reinforcement pattern to redistribute load without adding weight.
The design evolved under my hands. The upper's flow lines looked like a meteor streaking through darkness now. The side panel spark pattern transformed into an abstract energy burst—artistic but aggressive, beautiful but brutal.
By 11 PM, I had it. The final design met every specification on Bobby's list.
I saved the file and sent it to Bobby's email.
Then I shut down my computer, grabbed my bag, and left the studio with my exhausted body.