Chapter 50 Chapter 50
Violet
My face fell, but I quickly asked.
“How about Mr William Stratford?”
She briefly checked her screen and shook her head. “He flew out of town last night.”
“Oh, I will wait then.”
I went to sit back in the waiting area, my left foot tapping anxiously as doubt and nervousness started waging a war within my anxious mind. I debated storming in through the cabin like I had done at Elijah’s office, but I knew better than to spoil my chances of getting a job here, so stayed put.
After waiting for almost two hours in nerve wracking anxiety, the receptionist finally announced my name.
“You have been called to the meeting. Please go to the second floor and take a right for the design wing.”
“Thanks”
I revised my speech and went over all the points while I headed towards the door to the design wing, which was a massive floor I hadn't been to earlier. I could see various employees working behind glass walls, some soldering, others working with the microscope that filled me with excitement initially.
The design wing was brighter than I expected. It had walls of pale wood, shelves lined with sample trays, and gemstones. A few concept designs were open on the screens, and they were all the exact same pieces we saw in jewelry shops all around.
It didn’t look like a place where imagination was born but rather where imagination was filtered to fit in the same cookie cutter mould.
No wonder Dane wanted something fresh and also wished to place his bets on a newcomer like me. That thought emboldened me for a span of five seconds before I saw a silhouette that looked nothing like Dane.
A woman stood near the window, back straight, tablet tucked against her arm. She turned slowly when she heard me enter.
“Come in,” a voice announced as I knocked on the door and entered the room, hoping to see Dane but there was no sign of him.
Instead, a woman with short bushy hair, who gave me a look that she would rather be passed out than in this room, looked up at me.
“Hi, I am here for…”
She didn't even let me finish and interjected.
“I am Mirella Scott, Head of Design, and I will be conducting your interview today.”
Interview? Wasn't this a meeting?
“Oh, hello Miss Scott. Is Dane busy?”
I placed my laptop on the table as she answered. “Yes, Mr Stratford is quite busy. We don't really have a position open right now, but he asked me to assess your work, nonetheless."
Oh no!
I could already see my dreams crumbling to pieces under this woman’s stare. I so wished there was Dane or his grandfather around for the hundredth time, and I had been with her for a total of just five minutes.
I glanced at her nervously and slowly exhaled as I reached for my file to show her my sketches when she muttered.
"So, let's cut to the chase, shall we? How many years of experience do you have as a jewellery designer?”
I wasn’t aware that there was going to be an interview or that I wasn’t going to meet Dane. But well, I had to give it my best shot.
“Technically, I don’t have any but Mr Dane liked my concept ideas.” I answered, however, she didn’t seem impressed.
“Sorry to say but neither he nor Mr Stratford know much about designing, they are good with marketing but design? That they leave in my hands.”
Not knowing what to say to that, I nodded.
“Of course, and it is great that I got a chance to meet you.”
“It is rare for a fresher to reach here without any connections or backing so I am sure you don’t need to butter me up.”
This woman had known me for a total of five seconds and already seemed to dislike me.
Again, I stayed quiet and sat awkwardly in front of her.
“Show me what you got” She mumbled and I hastily pulled out my sketches.
I slid the folder forward.
She opened it and began turning pages slowly, methodically, as if she were dissecting rather than viewing. Her gaze lingered on the modular necklace design, the multiple configurations sketched side by side.
“This is a multi-piece system,” she said, tapping the paper lightly. “Convertible.”
“Yes,” I replied, leaning forward despite myself. “It can be worn as a necklace, bracelet, or anklet depending on how the segments are joined. I wanted something adaptable, something that feels personal rather than fixed.”
Mirella hummed softly. “Adaptability is appealing to consumers,” she agreed. “But it’s also where most designs fail.”
“Tell me how you intend to prevent wear at the joints.”
I hesitated for half a second before answering. “I was thinking reinforced clasps with—”
“With what material?” she interrupted smoothly, not sharply, as though she were genuinely curious.
“Silver composite,” I said. “Possibly titanium reinforcement for durability.”
She nodded slowly. “Titanium would indeed reduce fatigue. But it would also drive up production costs significantly, especially at scale. Silver composites, on the other hand, compromise faster than most designers anticipate, particularly when a piece is reconfigured repeatedly.”
She turned the page.
“You see, jewellery isn’t meant to be static anymore. People tug at it, twist it, sleep in it. Your design encourages even more manipulation. That means stress points.”
My fingers curled slightly in my lap.
“I tried to balance that by distributing weight evenly,” I said carefully. “The anchor points are symmetrical, so the strain isn’t concentrated in one area.”
Mirella’s smile sharpened just a fraction.
“Symmetry is visually pleasing,” she said. “But the human body isn’t symmetrical. Ankles swell. Wrists flex. Collarbones shift. A piece that behaves beautifully on paper may behave quite differently on skin.”
She leaned back, studying me as if waiting to see whether I would retreat or argue.
I didn’t do either. “Then I’d adjust the tension points during prototyping,” I said. “That’s why I kept the design modular—to allow refinement.”
Her pen paused.
“That,” she said after a moment, “is a reasonable answer.”
Relief flickered through me, short-lived but real.
“You also designed jewellery targeted at titles in werewolf hierarchy. That is a double edged sword.”
“I wanted to broaden the collection,” I said, “as Dane wanted something different yet appealing.”
She studied me for a long moment, then finally closed the folder.
“You have no formal training,” she said conversationally.
“No,” I admitted.
“No apprenticeship. No prior collections.”
“No.”
Her gaze was steady, measuring. “Then tell me why you think you deserve a place here over applicants who do.”