Threads of Desire

CHAPTER 3

The smell of cinnamon pastries was long gone by eight o’clock the next morning, replaced by the sharp scent of industrial steam irons and permanent markers.

Karlee Hatheway walked into the sample room carrying two fresh rolls of pattern-tracing paper under her arm. Her feet were still sore from yesterday’s sprint through the garment district, but a small spark of optimism kept her chin up.

That spark hit a wall five minutes later in the form of Julian, the senior designer whose shoulder construction she had corrected yesterday.

He stood by the main cutting table with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes following Karlee as she placed her canvas bag beneath her desk.

“Hatheway,” Julian called, his tone smooth and dripping with artificial kindness. “Since you have such an extraordinary eye for detail, I have a special assignment for you today.”

He walked her toward the back corner of the room and pointed to a towering pile of unsorted fabric swatches, discarded thread spools, and tangled trim rolls that looked like a textile landfill.

“The archive scrap bins need to be organized by fiber weight and color palette before five,” Julian said, offering a small, tight smile. “We can’t have our junior talents wasting their gifts on basic pinning work, can we?”

Karlee looked at the mountain of scraps, then back at Julian.

Instead of showing frustration, she let out a quiet laugh and rolled up her sleeves.

“Consider it done, Julian. I’ll make sure the silk organza doesn’t get into a fistfight with the heavy denim.”

Julian blinked, clearly expecting a complaint.

Instead, Karlee turned toward the pile and got to work.

For the next three hours, Karlee sat on a small stool in the corner, sorting swatches with steady focus.

To make the tedious task more manageable, she turned it into a game, categorizing pieces by texture and secretly matching them to the personalities of the people in the office.

Whenever she took a quick water break, she made a point of helping anyone who looked overwhelmed.

She grabbed a fresh iced coffee for Marcus, helped a quiet intern named Nina clear a jammed sewing machine, and brought a cup of herbal tea to Chloe’s desk.

By noon, the floor was still chaotic, but the people around Karlee were smiling back at her.

“You’re too nice to survive in this place, Karlee,” Marcus warned, leaning against her sorting table while taking a long sip of his coffee. “Julian is just using you to clean up his mess because you made him look bad in front of Kensington.”

“I know,” Karlee said, tossing a spool of navy cotton thread into a plastic bin. “But if I spend all day complaining, I’ll just end up with an ulcer and a messy pile of thread. Besides, look at this silk weave. It’s gorgeous.”

Marcus chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re a weird girl, Hatheway.”

He took another sip of his coffee.

“A good weird, but weird.”

The light mood shifted at four in the afternoon when Chloe rushed out of the pattern-making room, her face pale.

“Everyone stop what you’re doing,” Chloe announced, her voice trembling slightly. “The master paper pattern for the midnight tuxedo jacket is gone.”

The studio fell into complete silence.

The tuxedo jacket was the centerpiece of the upcoming autumn capsule presentation, scheduled for an internal review early the next morning.

“What do you mean gone?” Julian demanded, stepping forward. “It was on the main drafting table an hour ago.”

“Someone cleared the table for the steam press and tossed the draft sheets into the paper shredder bin by mistake,” Chloe said, pressing a hand to her forehead. “It’s gone. We have to rebuild it from scratch tonight.”

Groans echoed through the room.

Rebuilding a complex, multi-panel blazer pattern from raw measurements usually took two full days.

Doing it in a few hours was nearly impossible.

“I can’t stay past six,” Julian said immediately, checking his gold watch. “I have a dinner with the PR board.”

Karlee stood from her stool and brushed dust from her trousers.

“I’ll stay. I can help trace the base panels.”

Marcus looked at her as though she had lost her mind.

Then he stepped forward.

“I’ll stay and help cut.”

By seven in the evening, the studio was mostly empty.

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead buzzed quietly as Karlee and Marcus worked side by side at the large central drafting table. Sheets of thick brown paper covered the wood, held down by heavy metal weights.

Karlee had her hair tied back in a messy knot, a pencil tucked behind her right ear.

She held an L-square ruler against the paper, calculating seam allowances aloud while Marcus called out the measurement specifications from the master binder.

“Center back length is thirty-two inches,” Marcus read, squinting at the page. “Waist intake is two and a half.”

“Got it.”

Karlee’s pencil glided smoothly across the paper.

The nervous energy she had felt that morning had transformed into pure focus. She was back in her element, working with the angles, lines, and construction principles she had practiced for years at her mother’s drafting table.

“Where did you learn to draft like this so fast?” Marcus asked, watching her lay out a complex armhole curve without checking a template.

“My mom used to make me recreate vintage coats from old fashion magazines when I was fifteen,” Karlee said, smiling at the memory. “She told me if I could draw a pattern without a computer, I’d never be helpless in a studio.”

“Your mom is a genius,” Marcus said with a sigh.

He checked his phone.

“It’s almost eight. My eyes are starting to blur.”

“Go home, Marcus,” Karlee said gently, taking the ruler from his hand. “I just need to finish the lapel facing and true up the side seams. I can handle the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Get some sleep.”

Marcus hesitated for a moment before finally gathering his things.

“See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

After Marcus left, the studio fell into a deep, peaceful quiet.

Karlee put on a low jazz playlist on her phone, humming quietly while she trimmed the edges of the brown paper with heavy shears.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn't hear the heavy glass door at the front of the studio open.

“You’re still here.”

The deep voice made her jump.

The shears clattered against the table.

Karlee spun around, one hand pressed against her chest.

Tobias Kensington stood near the entrance.

He had taken off his suit jacket and was wearing only a dark dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked slightly less formal than he had during the line review, but his presence still seemed to fill the room.

“Mr. Kensington,” Karlee said. “Yes. Just finishing up.”

Tobias walked slowly toward the drafting table, his footsteps barely audible against the polished floor.

He stopped on the opposite side of the table and looked down at the spread of paper sheets, rulers, and weight blocks.

“The tuxedo pattern was ruined,” Tobias said quietly.

It wasn't a question.

“A small accident with the recycling bin,” Karlee explained, picking up her pencil. “We’re rebuilding it so the sample cutters can start first thing in the morning.”

Tobias leaned forward and picked up one of the freshly cut armhole templates.

He held it beneath the overhead light, studying the curve.

“You drafted this by hand?”

“Yes, sir. Using the master specification sheet.”

“The curve at the armpit is deeper than the original design.”

He set the paper back down.

Karlee swallowed.

“It is. The original specification had a tight armscye, which looks great on a hanger but restricts movement when the wearer raises their arms. I deepened the lower curve by a quarter of an inch to give the jacket more room without changing the outer silhouette.”

Tobias stared at her for a long moment.

His expression remained unreadable.

Karlee held her breath, wondering whether she had just made a career-ending mistake by altering his official design.

“A quarter of an inch,” Tobias repeated.

“It makes a difference,” Karlee said, her voice quiet but steady. “People like to be able to hug their friends without ripping their seams.”

For the briefest moment, something shifted in Tobias’s expression.

Not quite a smile.

More like reluctant amusement.

“A practical observation, Miss Hatheway,” he said, straightening. “Though most of our clients buy tuxedos to stand in ballroom corners, not to hug their friends.”

Karlee couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her face.

“Well, just in case someone gets overly affectionate at a gala, your jacket will survive it.”

Tobias regarded her for a moment.

Then he glanced back at the pattern.

“Finish the facing and go home,” he said, his tone returning to its usual quiet authority. “Building security clears the floor at nine.”

“Yes, Mr. Kensington.”

“Goodnight, Miss Hatheway.”

“Goodnight.”

He gave a brief nod and turned toward the hallway, disappearing through the glass door.

Karlee stood alone beside the drafting table.

She looked down at the brown paper pattern and released a quiet breath.

Her encounter with Tobias had lasted only a few minutes, but somehow, it had left her more unsettled than the entire day.

She shook her head and picked up her pencil again.

There was still work to finish.

And tomorrow, she would have to face everyone all over again.