Copy that Miss Amber

Chapter 2

She looked like a painting. Like something I'd design a collection around, all soft edges and warm light, the kind of image that makes you stop in the middle of a hallway and forget where you were going.I forced myself to keep walking.

I sat down and pulled up my emails. Subject lines blurred together. Vendor contracts, fabric samples from Milan, a reminder about the fall preview event.Normal,mundane,safe.

But my mind was still in that kitchen.Why did she look like him? Was it the cheekbones? The way her eyes narrowed when she focused? Or was I just so desperate to see Daniel again that I was projecting his ghost onto a stranger? I opened the intern file again, stared at her headshot then closed it.This was insane. I was the CEO of a multi-million dollar fashion house, and I was obsessing over a 21-year-old intern because she had the same jawline as my dead husband.I needed to get a grip.

The days blurred together after that. I saw June in passing hallways, the elevator, the kitchen. She was always polite, always professional, always looking down or away, like she didn't want to be noticed.But I noticed. Every single time.I noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. The way she smiled at the security guard every morning. The way she carried three notebooks at once, color-coded and neatly labeled like her whole life was organized into neat little boxes.She was nothing like Daniel. Daniel was chaos. He left his shoes in the hallway, forgot where he put his keys and laughed too loud at bad jokes. He was warmth and mess and love packed into one impossible person. June was quiet, careful. She moved through the office like she was trying not to take up space, and yet, every time I saw her profile, my breath caught. Every time she looked up and our eyes met, I felt a jolt. Not attraction, not yet, just recognition. Like looking at a song you used to know by heart but haven't heard in years.

It was two weeks in when we finally spoke again.I was in the design studio on the fourth floor, reviewing swatches for the spring collection. The door opened behind me and I didn't turn around. People came and went all day. I assumed it was Claire or one of the senior designers.

"Excuse me, Ms. Lockwood?"

Her voice.I turned. June stood in the doorway, clutching a folder against her chest like a shield. She was shorter than I expected. 4'5" to my 6' and the difference hit me viscerally. Daniel had been tall too. We used to joke about how perfectly our bodies fit together. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, taking a step inside. "My supervisor asked me to deliver the Q2 marketing report. She said you wanted it by the end of the day?" She held out the folder. I took it. Our fingers didn't touch."Thank you," I said. She nodded and turned to leave. "June." She stopped. Looked back at me over her shoulder.My mouth went dry. What was I doing? I didn't have a reason to call her back. I just wanted her to stay. I wanted to look at her face a little longer, study the way the studio lights hit her skin, confirm whether the resemblance was real or if I'd finally lost my mind. "You're in marketing right?" I asked. She turned fully to face me and nodded politely.

"Do you like it?" The question surprised both of us. She blinked, clearly not expecting the CEO to take an interest in her job satisfaction."I do, actually," she said, a small smile forming. "The work is creative but structured. I like having a framework to build inside of."

I nodded. I was barely listening. I was looking at her face. The more I looked, the more the resemblance sharpened and the more my chest tightened. It wasn't just the bone structure. It was the way she held herself. Quiet. Composed. Like she was carrying something she hadn't earned.Daniel had carried grief too. I saw it in his eyes long before I understood what it was."Ms. Lockwood?"

June's voice pulled me back. "Is there something specific you wanted to discuss?" Right. I was supposed to have a reason. I scrambled."The fall campaign," I said. "I've been reviewing the early concepts. I wanted a fresh perspective,someone closer to our target demographic." That was actually a decent excuse. Not a lie, exactly. More like a retrofit. June's eyes lit up. "I'd be happy to share my thoughts. I've actually been working on some ideas for the social media rollout ."

"Send me a proposal by Friday."

"Yes, Ms.Lockwood. She was still nervous, but there was something else there now,excitement. A chance to prove herself. I'd given her that, at least. "Thank you, Ms. Lockwood. " “Thank you for the report, June," I said, and turned back to the fabric samples on the table.She took the hint and left. I heard the door close behind her, and the studio felt emptier than it had before.I looked down at the swatches and realized I'd been holding the same piece of ivory silk for the entire conversation. I set it down and rubbed my temples.This was becoming a problem. The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and fabric approvals. I was distracted, and Claire noticed. She didn't say anything, she never did, but I caught her watching me during the vendor call, the way she always does when I'm not quite present. By six o'clock I was exhausted. Not from work. From pretending. I drove home to my apartment on the Upper East Side,the one Daniel and I bought together, the one I couldn't bring myself to leave even though every room still carried his fingerprints, his books on the shelf, his coffee mug in the cabinet, his slippers by the bed.I poured a glass of wine and sank into the couch. The apartment was quiet the way it always was, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears, filling every corner with the ghost of conversations that used to happen here. I pulled up the intern database on my phone and found June's file again. Her employee photo stared back at me,stiff, corporate, unremarkable. I leaned back on the couch and exhaled.I zoomed in on her face. Studied the cheekbones. The jaw. The eyes,

It didn't capture the way she'd looked today.

I picked up my phone and opened Daniel's photo. Our wedding day. His crooked smile. The way his hand rested on the small of my back like he'd been doing it his whole life.I closed the photo and set the phone face-down on the couch and closed my eyes.

Daniel had been dead for four years. Four years of running a company, attending galas, smiling at investors, and pretending I was fine. Four years of waking up alone and falling asleep alone and wondering if I'd ever feel anything again.And now…now a girl walked into my conference room wearing his face, and the numbness cracked. Just a little. Just enough to let something through.I wasn't ready for that. I didn't know if I'd ever be ready for that.But the c***k was there. And I couldn't seal it shut.The next morning I arrived at the office at seven again. I told myself it was because I had a busy schedule. It wasn't.The kitchen on the third floor was empty. No June. I made my coffee and went up to my office, keeping my eyes forward, refusing to scan the hallways. At nine, Claire knocked on my door. "June Kim submitted her fall campaign proposal," she said, setting a printed document on my desk. "It's thorough. She clearly put a lot of thought into it." I picked up the proposal and flipped through the pages. Charts, mood boards, a timeline for social media rollout. Everything neatly organized and color-coded. She'd even included a section on influencer partnerships that was genuinely creative, not the generic corporate speech I usually get from the marketing team."This is good," I said, and I meant it. It wasn't just good. It was fresh. It had an energy that the senior marketers had lost somewhere between their third budget cut and their fifth rebrand."I'll let her know," Claire said, turning to leave. "No… I'll tell her myself." Claire paused. She looked at me for a long moment, and I could see the question forming behind her eyes. But she didn't ask. She just nodded and left.I spent the next hour reading and re-reading June's proposal, making notes in the margins. Some of her ideas were bold, maybe too bold for our traditional client base, but the core strategy was sound. She understood something that most people in this industry forget: fashion isn't about clothes. It's about identity. She'd built the entire campaign around the idea that our customers aren't buying fabric, they're buying a version of themselves.It reminded me of Daniel. He used to say the same thing about the men who wore our suits. "They're not dressing for the boardroom," he'd told me once, adjusting his tie in the mirror. "They're dressing for the person they want to become."I pushed that memory aside and called Claire. "Ask June to come to my office. And bring the original proposal — I want to discuss it with her in person."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

Five minutes later, there was a knock. "Come in." June entered, more composed than last time. She walked to the chair across from my desk and sat down without being asked. Progress. "You wanted to see me?" I held up her proposal. "I read through it. You have some interesting ideas."A flicker of surprise crossed her face. She hadn't expected genuine feedback,probably assumed I was going to tear it apart or dismiss it entirely. That's what most executives do with intern work. "The influencer partnership section," I continued. "You suggested micro-influencers instead of big names. Why?" She straightened in her chair. "Because our target demographic trusts authenticity. Big-name influencers have audiences that are too broad, half of them aren't even interested in luxury fashion. Micro-influencers have niche, loyal followings. Their recommendations carry more weight."

"And the user-generated content angle?"

"It creates a sense of community. When customers see real people wearing our designs, it makes the brand feel accessible. We're not just selling aspiration, we're selling belonging." I leaned back. She was articulate, confident. Her eyes held mine without flinching, and for a moment I forgot about the Daniel connection. I was just listening to a smart young woman pitch a genuinely good idea. "That's exactly the direction I want to take the fall campaign," I said. "I'd like you to lead the digital rollout." Her mouth opened slightly. "Me? I'm an intern." "An intern with better instincts than half my senior staff. I'll have Claire adjust your reporting structure, you'll work directly with me on this."

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. Directly with me. That wasn't just a professional opportunity, that was a door I was opening that I wouldn't be able to close.June stared at me for a beat, then nodded. "I won't let you down, Ms. Lockwood."

"See that you don't.”

She stood and headed for the door. "June." She stopped. Turned. "Yes, Ms. Lockwood?" I held her gaze. My face was unreadable,the same mask I wear in boardrooms and investor meetings. "Next time, you sit when I tell you to sit. Not before." A flush crept up her neck. She nodded once,tight, controlled and left the office without another word.The door clicked shut.I exhaled slowly. That was better. That was the version of me she needed to see. Cold, precise, no warmth. The version that keeps everyone at arm's length. Because if I let her get close, I'd start looking for Daniel in her face. And the more I looked, the harder it would be to stop.I pulled her proposal toward me again and picked up my pen. I'd given her an opportunity,a real one. That was enough. I didn't need to be kind about it.Kindness was dangerous. Kindness led to connection, and connection led to grief, and grief was a hole I'd barely climbed out of once already.I wasn't climbing back in.

……………………………………………………………………

Working directly with Amber Lockwood was not what I expected.I'd been at Lockwood Designs for two months, and until yesterday, the CEO was just a name people whispered in the hallways. A distant figure who arrived before everyone else and left after everyone else, who never ate in the kitchen, never joined the office happy hours, never lingered in the elevator long enough for small talk.Now she was my direct supervisor on the fall campaign. And I couldn't figure her out.Our first working session was in her office. I arrived five minutes early, I always do. And she was already at her desk, reviewing fabric swatches under the afternoon light. She didn't look up when I walked in. "Sit." I sat. Same chair as before. This time I waited for permission."Show me the revised timeline," she said.I opened my laptop and walked her through the updated schedule. She interrupted me three times.Not rudely, but with sharp, precise questions that made me realize my original timeline had gaps I hadn't noticed. She saw things I missed. It was impressive, actually. Terrifying, but impressive. "Redo the second phase," she said. "You've got influencer outreach overlapping with the content shoot. That's a logistical nightmare." "I can adjust it by…"

"By Thursday. And make sure the micro-influencer list is finalized before you come back." Thursday. That was two days. I nodded.She went back to her swatches, and I took that as my dismissal. I stood, closed my laptop, and headed for the door. "June." I stopped. Turned. "Yes, Ms. Lockwood?" She was still looking at the fabric in her hands, a deep burgundy velvet that caught the light like wine. "Your proposal was good. Don't let this revision discourage you." It wasn't a compliment. It was a correction… a reminder that good wasn't enough, that I needed to be better. But something about the way she said it made me feel... seen. Like she'd noticed my effort and wanted me to know it mattered."Thank you," I said, and left before she could say anything else.Over the next week, I was in Amber's office almost every day. Sometimes for formal meetings. Sometimes just to drop off documents or get feedback on a draft. Each time, she was the same…cold, precise, never a wasted word. She never asked about my weekend or commented on the weather. She never smiled.But she watched me.I caught her doing it twice. Once during a campaign briefing, her eyes lingered on my face a beat too long before returning to the presentation slides. Once when I was leaving her office,she looked up from her desk and studied me like I was a puzzle she was trying to solve.It made me uncomfortable. Not because I thought she was being inappropriate,she was too controlled for that. But because there was something behind her gaze that I couldn't name. Not attraction exactly, something heavier, something almost... grieving. I asked Sarah Chen about it during our weekly check-in. "Amber Lockwood is a mystery to everyone," Sarah said, stirring her tea. "She built this company from nothing after her husband died. Some people say she hasn't smiled since the funeral." "Her husband?" "Daniel. Car accident, four years ago. He was one of the co-founders. The creative half. Amber handled the business side. After he died, she took over everything." Sarah took a sip. "She's brilliant, but she's cold. Don't take it personally." I didn't. But I couldn't shake the feeling that her coldness wasn't the whole story. There was something underneath it, something that surfaced every time she looked at me.That Friday, I submitted the revised timeline and the micro-influencer list. Amber reviewed them in silence while I sat across from her, trying not to fidget. She wore a black silk blouse with silver beading along the collar, and her caramel skin glowed under the overhead lights, a warm gold that seemed almost unreal, like she'd been dipped in sunlight."Better," she said, finally.

"The influencer list is solid,good diversity of niche audiences, and the engagement rates are promising. The beauty vlogger you picked has a 12% conversion rate on sponsored content. That's impressive for someone with under 50K followers." I blinked. I hadn't expected her to dig that deep into the data. "I spent a lot of time vetting them individually."

"It shows." She set the documents down and looked at me directly. "But the content shoot schedule is still too tight.” I swallowed my frustration. "I can push the shoot back a week." "Do it. And next time, anticipate problems before I have to point them out." I nodded, gathered my things, and stood."June." I turned. She was leaning back in her chair, one hand resting on the armrest. A walking stick with a silver handle stood propped against the bookshelf behind her purely decorative, I realized. Another fashion statement. Everything about her was curated, deliberate, designed to command attention."Your work is improving," she said. "Keep it up." Then she picked up a swatch and looked away. walked out feeling like I'd been granted a rare gift and a warning at the same time.