Chapter 35 Chaos
Clara was on the verge of tears as she tugged at Charles's sleeve, desperately seeking help. "Charles, look at this mess..."
Charles shook her hand off, his gaze sweeping across the chaotic lobby before finally settling on the elevator doors—which remained empty. Emily had still not appeared.
An inexplicable anger flared inside him. What game was this woman playing?
Didn't she care deeply about Mirage Fashion? How could she hide away while these fools were destroying everything the company stood for?
On second thought, given Emily's character, she wasn't one to flee from a crisis. Her deliberate absence allowed the situation to deteriorate. Was she planning something?
Charles's frown deepened. He was determined to discover what this woman was really up to.
Meanwhile, in the executive office on the top floor, Emily stood by the venetian blinds, watching the chaos unfold below.
Her fingertip slid across her tablet, revealing the marketing department's performance evaluations from the past six months—a sea of alarming red indicators.
She spoke softly into her Bluetooth earpiece. "Keep waiting. Once they've had enough drama, they'll know who can solve problems."
Clara had no idea how to handle such situations. For years, her position at Mirage Fashion had been nothing more than a figurehead role.
She pulled the marketing manager aside, hissing under her breath, "What are you standing around for? If marketing doesn't have enough staff, get the articulate ones from design over here! We need to pacify these clients!"
Some design department staff emerged, nervously approaching clients with their portfolios, only to be rendered speechless after a few questions.
Skylar laughed coldly. "You designers don't even understand Savile Row tailoring techniques, yet you claim international standards?"
Zephyr frowned as she flipped through design sketches. "You're trying to fool us with recycled designs from years ago? Do you think we're provincial?"
The situation deteriorated further.
Client anger expanded from service complaints to design quality issues. Someone pounded a table, shouting, "Clara, you just used Jane as bait to lure us here, didn't you? With this level of mediocrity, you dare call yourselves a design house?"
Clara's face fell, her back soaked with cold sweat.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling for several seconds before she finally dialed the number she least wanted to call.
"Emily, where the hell are you?"
"Upstairs. Need something?"
"Get down here!"
"Of course."
Moments later, the elevator doors opened, and Emily stepped out in stiletto heels.
Her black tailored pants accentuated her long legs perfectly. She carried a leather notebook, and as her gaze swept across the chaotic lobby, the very air seemed to still.
Clara's eyes blazed with fury. Emily had arrived so quickly—who would believe she hadn't been watching this disaster unfold from the shadows?
The clients immediately surrounded Emily, their previous anger notably diminished. "Jane! Thank God you're here! This place doesn't deserve your designs!"
Emily smiled graciously. "My apologies, everyone, for being late."
She turned to the marketing staff and issued clear directives. "Clear the VIP lounge immediately and prepare fresh refreshments according to our guests' preferences."
"Everyone else, categorize client requests, note style preferences, and deadlines. I want this on my desk in thirty minutes."
The marketing staff froze. Emily shot them a glance. "Did I stutter?"
"N-no! Right away!" They scrambled into action, though the refreshments they hastily served remained subpar.
The coffee tasted burnt and bitter, while the macarons were coated with sickeningly thick sugar frosting.
Skylar took one sip of coffee and grimaced. "Is this instant coffee with water? Even my housekeeper wouldn't drink this."
Emily picked up a macaron, and a layer of powdered sugar fell off at the slightest touch. She looked up at Clara, her tone flat yet sharp. "Ms. Johnson, is Mirage Fashion serving such inferior products to valued clients? Is this your idea of hospitality?"
Clara hurried to defend herself. "It's the procurement department's fault! They said funds were tight, so..."
Emily cut her off, tossing the macaron back onto the tray. "Funds were tight? With Mr. Windsor's backing, how could Mirage Fashion be short on money? I've heard Mr. Windsor has invested tens of millions in Mirage Fashion over the years. Can't afford imported coffee beans? Or is the procurement department lining their pockets while serving substandard products to clients?"
Emily pressed on. "If you're cutting corners on refreshments, who can guarantee you're not using synthetic fabrics marketed as silk, or glass passing as diamonds in custom gowns?"
The clients erupted in outrage, demanding to see fabric samples.
Clara, both angry and panicked, retorted, "Emily, don't push it, you're part of Mirage Fashion, too! I'll have procurement reform immediately."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Reform? You mean purge the entire procurement department? Just like six years ago?"
Her gaze swept across the room. "What you may not know is that Mirage Fashion's former procurement manager, Henry Phillips, personally checked the luster of every pearl he sourced. Because he refused to compromise on quality, he was falsely accused of embezzlement and fired."
"Is that true?" The clients murmured among themselves, looking at Clara with disdain.
Clara trembled with rage. "You're lying!"
"If I'm lying, let's bring Henry back for a face-to-face confrontation," Emily replied coldly.
Clara certainly wouldn't dare let Henry return to confront her. She clenched her jaw, wanting nothing more than to slap Emily, but with so many witnesses, she could only swallow her rage.
She moved to Emily's side and whispered so only they could hear, "How does destroying Mirage Fashion benefit you?"
Emily gave a cold smile. "That's rich coming from you. You're the one destroying Mirage Fashion, not me."
Clara hissed, "What do you want?"
"Simple. I want you to invite Henry Phillips back to Mirage Fashion."
Clara, seeing the hostile glances from clients and Charles's cold profile, finally broke. "Fine! I'll do it! Now fix this mess!"
Emily's face showed satisfaction. She instructed her assistant, "Go to the mall across the street and purchase proper coffee and pastries."
Then she turned to the clients with a gracious smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the spectacle. Fresh refreshments are on their way. Now, let's discuss your custom requirements in detail. My assistant will record your specifications, and I guarantee design sketches within 48 hours."
The lobby filled again with conversation—this time with professional, focused discussions.
Charles observed the scene, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. This woman wasn't merely solving problems; she was strategically eliminating obstacles.
He knew Emily and Clara must have reached some kind of agreement.
Clara stood rooted to the spot, watching Emily surrounded by admiring clients, suddenly feeling like a pathetic clown.
Charles approached, his gaze falling on Emily's hand as she held her pen—the same hand that had been elegantly turning portfolio pages moments ago was now precisely sketching design lines.
"Was this all calculated?" he asked quietly, his tone unreadable.
Emily looked up, a flash of cunning in her eyes. "Mr. Windsor, isn't your investment in Mirage Fashion intended to see it improve?"
She returned to her sketching, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting delicate shadows across her long eyelashes.
Charles studied her profile, his curiosity deepening.
'Emily, what kind of woman are you, really?'