Zane sat alone in his office, the city stretched out beyond the glass wall like a living thing—steel ribs, pulsing lights, honking cars, motion without rest.
Afternoon sunlight slanted in, catching on the polished surface of his desk and the neat stacks of folders arranged there. Jewelry designs. Dozens of them.
Renderings printed on thick paper, some accompanied by fabric swatches, stone samples sealed in tiny transparent envelopes, notes scribbled in margins by designers who believed fervently that this would be the year their work stood out.
That this would be the year their works were selected to represent the company.
With every check though, Zane was seeing that both he and the designers might have their expectations dashed.
So far, since he had taken the responsibility upon himself, to vet the designs this year, he had seen nothing.
The chief director must be intuitive then, to have offered him the files…
