One-Night Stand with My Hot Neighbor

003: Runway Preparations

Sophia

"Sophia, these are incredible."

I looked up from my sketchbook to find Clara, the senior designer, standing over my workstation. She was holding up one of my concept drawings of a structured blazer with deconstructed lapels and asymmetrical closures.

"Thank you," I said, trying to keep the pride out of my voice.

"I was thinking we could use that raw silk we got from the Milan supplier. The texture would really make the asymmetry pop."

"Absolutely. I want to see a prototype by next week." She set the sketch down carefully.

"You know the spring runway show is in six weeks, right? If these are as good in fabric as they are on paper, we might feature one or two in the show."

My heart nearly stopped. "The runway show? Really?"

"Really. Keep this up, Martinez." She gave me a rare smile before walking away, her heels clicking authoritatively across the studio floor.

I sat there for a moment, stunned.

The Laurent & Co. spring show was one of the most anticipated events of Fashion Week. Models, celebrities, buyers from around the world—and my designs might actually be on that runway.

"Congratulations."

I turned to see Margaret hovering near my desk. She was one of the other junior designers, tall and blonde with the kind of effortless elegance that made me feel like I was playing dress-up.

We had started within weeks of each other, but where I was naturally warm and collaborative, Margaret had a cool competitiveness that put me on edge.

"Thanks," I said cautiously.

"Must be nice, getting Clara's attention so quickly." Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Some of us have been working toward the runway show for months."

Before I could respond, she walked away, leaving me with an uncomfortable knot in my stomach.

***

Two weeks later, I was drowning in fabric swatches and pattern pieces. I'd been staying late every night, perfecting the prototype of my blazer design.

The asymmetrical closures had taken days to get right, and I'd gone through three versions of the deconstructed lapel before finding the perfect balance between structure and fluidity.

I'd also been working on a second piece which was a dress with an innovative draping technique I'd developed, where the fabric seemed to cascade and pool in unexpected places. It was risky, avant-garde, but something I was genuinely proud of.

My designs were stored in my locked portfolio drawer, along with my sketches and notes. I learned early in design school to protect your work.

Ideas got stolen.

It was an unfortunate reality of the fashion world.

Thursday afternoon, I was in a meeting with Clara and the other designers when she pulled up the presentation for the runway show lineup.

"I want to show you what we're working with," she began, clicking through slides.

"We have some strong pieces this season. Margaret, let's start with yours."

The next slide made my blood run cold.

On the screen was a sketch that looked nearly identical to my blazer design. Same deconstructed lapels, same asymmetrical closures, even the same raw silk fabric notation.

The only differences were minor—slightly different proportions, a different button placement.

"As you can see," Margaret said, standing up smoothly, "I've been exploring deconstruction and asymmetry. I think it's a fresh take on professional wear."

My hand shot up. "Wait. Clara, can I...that design looks—"

"Sophia, please hold your comments until Margaret finishes presenting." Clara's tone was gentle but firm.

I sat there, my heart pounding, as Margaret walked through "her" design concept. She was using my exact reasoning—the interplay between structure and fluidity, the way the asymmetry created movement.

Even her fabric choice was identical to what I'd specified in my notes.

When she finished, Clara nodded approvingly. "Beautiful work, Margaret. Very innovative."

"Actually," I said, my voice shaking slightly, "that's my design."

The room went silent.

Margaret turned to me, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

"That's my design. The deconstructed blazer with asymmetrical closures. I showed it to Clara two weeks ago." I looked at Clara desperately.

"You told me to make a prototype. I've been working on it every night."

"Sophia," Margaret said, her voice dripping with condescension, "I understand you're new here, but asymmetrical designs aren't exactly revolutionary. Lots of designers explore similar concepts—"

"It's not just similar. It's identical." I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, scrolling to the photos I'd taken of my sketches.

"Look. I documented everything. The dates are right here—two weeks ago, before you presented anything."

Clara took my phone, examining the photos. Her expression was unreadable.

"Margaret?"

"She could have taken those photos today and backdated them." Margaret's voice was calm, almost bored.

"I've been working on this concept for over a month. I have sketches in my apartment, fabric samples—"

"I have the prototype," I interrupted.

"Partially completed, in the studio workspace I was assigned. With my name on it. And I have the original sketches in my portfolio drawer."

"The drawer you keep locked?" Margaret smiled thinly.

"Convenient that no one can verify when you actually created them."

My face flushed hot. "Why would I lie about this?"

"Why would I steal?" she shot back. "Clara, this is ridiculous. I've proven myself here. Sophia's been with the company for what, three weeks? And suddenly she's accusing established designers of theft?"

"I'm not... you're the one who—" I could feel tears threatening, which only made me angrier.

I would not cry. Not here, not in front of everyone.

Clara held up a hand. "Everyone, calm down. Sophia, you said you have a prototype?"

"Yes. In the studio. I can show you right now."

"And I have all my development work at home," Margaret added. "Dated sketches, fabric samples, everything."

Clara looked between us, her expression thoughtful. "Alright. Here's what we're going to do. Sophia, I want to see your prototype and any documentation you have including dated photos, notes, everything. Margaret, bring in your development work tomorrow. All of it. I'll also be checking our building's security footage to see who accessed the studio and when."

My stomach dropped. "Security footage?"

"Yes. We have cameras in the common areas and studio spaces. If someone accessed your workspace or materials without authorization, we'll know." She closed her laptop with a decisive click.

"Meeting adjourned. I'll make my decision once I've reviewed everything."

As everyone filed out, Margaret passed close to me. "You're making a big mistake," she said quietly.

"Accusing me of theft? That's not how you build a career here, Sophia."

"Neither is stealing other people's designs," I shot back, but she was already gone.

I slumped in my chair, my hands trembling. What had I just done?

If I was wrong—if somehow this was all a horrible coincidence—I'd just torpedoed my career before it even started.

But I wasn't wrong. I knew my work. And I knew what I'd seen on that screen.

My phone buzzed. Mia: **Drinks tonight? You sound like you need them.**

I hadn't even told her what happened yet, but somehow she knew.

*You have no idea,* I texted back. *I'll tell you everything.*

As I gathered my things to show Clara the prototype, I caught sight of Margaret through the glass office walls. She was on her phone, smiling like she didn't have a care in the world.

But I had the prototype. I had my dated photos. And most importantly, I had the truth.

I just hoped that would be enough.