‘He said he’s into jewellery,’ Yvaine said. ‘Wants to try something different. Let’s just meet him and see.’
We didn’t have to wait long. Newest update provided by Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
At half ten, the door opened and a guy walked in.
White crewneck jumper, loose black trousers, no tie, no jacket.
Not sloppy, just not trying too hard either.
He looked fresh out of uni. Big smile, clean skin, short black hair, the kind of face casting agents probably fight over.
Yvaine nudged my elbow and muttered, ‘Fit. Nice build. He’s wearing head-to-toe designer. Think he’s some bored rich kid?’
I kept my voice low. ‘He doesn’t look like someone who knows how to get shit done.’
We both straightened our backs.
I motioned Priya over, and the three of us lined up on one side of the little glass table.
He sat opposite, still grinning.
‘Hi,’ he said brightly. ‘I’m Daniel Williams, twenty-two, just graduated from Eastwick. Looking for work. Would love the chance to join your team.’
His voice was smooth, posture decent.
It was irritating how likeable he was.
‘You studied finance,’ I said bluntly. ‘We’re a jewellery studio. Doesn’t really line up.’
‘I’m genuinely interested in jewellery,’ Daniel replied quickly, still grinning. ‘And you need clients, right? I can help with that. I’m good with numbers. Sales, projections, whatever you need.’
‘We’re not really at the projections stage. I’m looking for someone to handle errands. Packaging, deliveries, cleaning. That sort of thing.’
He paused for half a second, then slapped his right bicep and said, ‘I’ve got energy to spare. You just point, I’ll do it.’
Yvaine shot me a look.
Her mouth didn’t move, but her raised eyebrows said it all.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
Degree, muscles, zero ego.
He was practically gift-wrapped.
I cleared my throat. ‘The pay’s shit. You might want to think about it.’
‘I don’t need to. I can start today.’ He let out a long breath. ‘It’s hard to get hired right now. I need experience. Big firms feel cold and fake. I probably wouldn’t fit in anyway.’
There was no performance in his voice. Just quiet, straightforward honesty.
I gave a quick one in return.
He got to work fast, broom in one hand, box of microfibre cloths in the other, shadowing Priya like they were a cleaning tag team.
He bounced between floors without complaining once.
I stood by the shelf of stone samples and watched his back move around the room.
His frame filled the doorway.
His trainers squeaked on the tiles.
Something about him nagged at me.
I leaned closer to Yvaine. ‘Don’t you think he looks familiar?’
She gave him a glance, then shrugged. ‘Not to me. I’d remember a face like that. But I’ll poke around, see if there’s a rich family in Skyline with the surname Williams. Maybe he’s some heir slumming it.’
I kept looking, but whoever he reminded me of stayed buried somewhere in the back of my brain.
I gave up trying to place it.
The studio, which I’d christened Mira Joie, opened quietly on a Tuesday.
Things started to fall into a rhythm.
Word got out that I’d opened my own space, and Octavia Grey messaged offering to send over clients.
I said thank you before she could change her mind.
At the same time, I was putting together my first draft submission for The Aureate Awards.
Designs, specs, technical sheets.
Everything had to be ready and clean before the deadline if I wanted to get shortlisted.
While I buried myself in CAD files and wax moulds, Yvaine threw herself into her own thing.
She’d decided her cake shop needed a full revamp.
She was planning to turn it into one of those glittery influencer spots people queue outside for selfies.
She hired a design team, met with them constantly, argued over colour palettes and flooring samples.
The more chaotic it got, the more she seemed to thrive on it.
Still, she didn’t forget my birthday.
On the day, she launched a one-woman delivery war on my studio.
Bags kept coming, handles biting into her arms, heels clicking across the floor.
‘I know you don’t need anything. So by my logic, that means you need everything.’
She dumped the gifts across the couch, the stools, the console table.
There were handbags, necklaces, perfume bottles, skincare sets, jumpers, caps, candles, fucking nail files.
It looked like a department store had exploded in my workspace.
‘I got all the newest drops. No cake, though. You hate birthdays. So I figured I’d be practical instead.’
I stood by the door with my arms folded, blinking at the pile like it might start moving.
‘You scare me sometimes,’ I muttered.
The sheer volume of it threw me off.
Yvaine had always been generous, but this was something else entirely.
It looked like she was stocking me for the next fiscal year.
‘This is fucking excessive.’
She grinned and held up a box of lipstick. ‘Perks of being my best friend.’
Then she leaned in, dropped her voice. ‘My parents heard about the cake shop. They’re thrilled I’m finally doing something. Gave me a stupid amount of spending money. I couldn’t get through it fast enough. Figured I might as well unload some of it on you. Oh—does your husband even know it’s your birthday today? Has he done anything?’
‘He has. Didn’t I tell you?’
‘Tell me what? What did I miss?’
I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling ridiculously embarrassed. ‘Nyx Collective.’
‘It’s, um, sort of, um, mine now.’
‘What?’ Yvaine’s eyes grew wide. ‘Yours? What do you mean?’
‘He bought the company. The shares are under my name.’
‘Huh.’ Yvaine slumped back. She swept a limp arm over the mountain of gift bags. ‘So I lose.’
‘It’s not a contest.’
Yvaine glared. ‘Of course it is. What else did he do? Book the Aman Suite for your birthday party? Buy you the Pink Star diamond?’