Chapter 13 THIRTEEN
Lena’s POV
The conference room smells like stale coffee and tension, the kind that clings to the air when two people who hate each other are forced to share oxygen. I sit at the long glass table, my laptop open, notes scattered like battle plans. My ankle still throbs under the desk, but I’ve got it propped on a rolled-up jacket to keep the swelling down. It’s the first time I’ll be working with Sienna, and my stomach’s been in knots since Tessa’s email pinged this morning: Project kickoff, 10 a.m., Room 12B. Sawyer and Rowe. Be professional. Professional. Right.
The door swings open, and there she is—Sienna Rowe, strutting in like she’s on a runway, not a corporate battlefield. Red blazer today, cinched at the waist, skirt tight. Her hair’s in loose waves, lips a glossy pink that matches her smirk. She drops her designer bag on the table with a thud, slides into the chair opposite me, and crosses her legs like she’s posing for a magazine.
“Well, well,” she says, voice dripping with mock surprise as she flips open her notebook. “I was scared for a moment there, Lena. I thought you’d actually kick me out of the project with all that storming into Sebastian’s office drama. But it turns out you’re not as charming as you think, huh?”
I clench my jaw, fingers tightening on my pen until it creaks, but I don’t flinch. Not giving her the satisfaction. “Let’s get one thing straight, Sienna,” I say, leaning forward, my voice low and sharp. “The only reason I’m doing this is because of the company. For some reason I still quite don’t get, Sebastian thinks we’re better together than just me alone. But this—” I gesture between us, the air crackling with hostility—“should not get into your head. If I had my way, you wouldn’t even be in this building, let alone in this room with me.”
She laughs, a light, tinkling sound that grates like nails on glass. “Oh, honey, the feeling is mutual.” Her smirk widens, eyes gleaming with that predatory glint I’ve come to hate. “But let’s be real—you’re the one who’s sweating this. I heard you’re on probation. Who knows? Maybe Sebastian will actually still kick you out when he sees you’re not all that. And then—” she shrugs, inspecting her nails like this is casual chit-chat—“he’ll let just me have the role as the Junior Marketing Strategist. Poof. Problem solved.”
“Dream on,” I snap, the words firing out before I can stop them. My cheeks burn, but I hold her gaze, refusing to blink. “You think you can waltz in here, bat your lashes, and steal what I earned? Sebastian saw my pitch. He knows what I’m capable of. You’re just the consolation prize he threw in to… I don’t even know. Stir the pot? Keep me on my toes? Whatever it is, you’re not replacing me.”
Sienna leans back, crossing her arms, that smirk never wavering. “Earned? Please. You think crying in his office makes you special? News flash, Lena—he paired us because my ideas are fire, and yours are…cute. Like a kindergarten art project. But sure, keep telling yourself you’re the star.”
I slam my pen down, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Let’s get started,” I say through gritted teeth, pulling up the project brief on my screen. “The faster we nail this, the less time I have to spend breathing your air.”
She rolls her eyes but opens her laptop, the glow lighting her face. “Fine. What’s your genius plan, then? Since you’re so above my ‘consolation’ ideas.”
I click to the first slide—my concept from the pitch, refined overnight despite the ankle pain and the emotional hangover from Sebastian’s office. “Eco-luxury campaign. Target millennials and Gen Z with disposable income but guilt about sustainability. We lean into Lancaster’s new green tech line—solar-powered accessories and biodegradable packaging. Tagline: Indulge Without Impact. Social media heavy—TikTok challenges, influencer collabs, and AR filters where users ‘try on’ the products in virtual eco-scenarios. Emotional hook: guilt-free glamour.”
Sienna snorts, scrolling through her own notes. “Cute. Very… tree-hugger chic. But it’s safe. Boring. Lancaster Industries isn’t a yoga brand—it’s power, status, and sex. We need an edge. My idea: Unapologetic Desire. High-gloss ads, midnight launches, exclusive drops. Think VIP parties and limited-edition drops with celebrity endorsements. Tagline: Want It. Take It. Own It. Sex sells, Lena. Always has.”
I stare at her, my jaw dropping before I catch it. “Sex? That’s your whole strategy? Flash some skin and hope the numbers follow? This isn’t a nightclub flyer, Sienna. Lancaster’s pivoting to sustainability—that’s the brief. Your idea ignores the market data entirely.”
She waves a hand dismissively, her bracelets jingling. “Market data? Please. People say they want ‘green,’ but they buy what makes them feel alive. Desire trumps guilt every time. Your little AR filters? Adorable. But they’ll scroll past in two seconds. My way, they stop. They crave. They buy.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, my voice rising. “Your way is short-term hype. Mine builds loyalty and brand trust. We’re not selling lipstick—we’re selling a lifestyle shift. You’re ignoring the trends—70% of Gen Z prefer ethical brands. That’s not ‘cute’; that’s profit.”
Sienna leans forward, her eyes narrowing. “And you’re ignoring reality. People lie on surveys. They virtue-signal online, then buy the shiny thing that makes them feel powerful. Your ‘lifestyle shift’ is a fantasy. Mine is results.”
We go back and forth, voices climbing, ideas clashing like swords. I push for user-generated content; she counters with paid influencers. I want interactive web experiences; she wants pop-up events in Soho. Every point I make, she dismantles with a smirk; every counter she throws, I shred with data. The whiteboard fills with scribbles—my neat bullet points and her chaotic arrows and stars. The air crackles, frustration boiling over.
“I knew it,” I finally burst, throwing my hands up. “I just knew this was going to happen. Look, you’re going to have to follow my orders because you’re teaming up with me. I was hired for this role. You’re the add-on. My vision leads.”
Sienna laughs, sharp and cold. “But you’re not my boss. As far as I’m concerned, we have the same status.” She taps her pen on the table, mimicking my earlier slam. “So you cannot force me to adopt your method. This is a partnership, Lena. Or did you miss the memo while you were crying to Sebastian?”
“Partnership?” I scoff, leaning across the table. “This is a hostage situation. You think your ‘sex sells’ garbage is innovative? It’s lazy. Recycled. 2010 called—they want their strategy back.”
Her eyes flash, and for a second, I think she might throw something. “And your eco-angel routine is naïve. You think Sebastian cares about saving the planet? He cares about margins. My way hits them faster.”
“Faster isn’t better if it tanks in six months when the hype dies!”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t be here if you can’t handle real competition!”
“What the hell is happening here?”
Tessa’s voice cuts through like a whip, the door swinging open with a bang. She stands in the threshold, arms crossed, her navy suit impeccable, eyes blazing behind her glasses. The room freezes—Sienna mid-gesture, me mid-breath.
Sienna recovers first, plastering on a sweet smile. “Tessa, perfect timing. Lena’s trying to impose what she wants on me, but I don’t think her method is a good idea. It’s too… soft. We need bold.”
I open my mouth to retort, but Tessa raises a hand, silencing us both. “Both of you! Follow me now!”