Loving The Flame

Chapter Ten

“I want to give this a little thought,” Mr. Anderson says as a conclusion to the meeting he was in for almost an hour. “But I want to see how our models would function on different tasks, just to see who is good at what they do and who can represent our company best,” he roughly suggests, and everyone on the table nods in agreement.

"That would definitely save time," Michel remarks. "I can sense a certain tension between them, ever since the open bracket to the face of the company position," he expresses his concern. Indeed, he holds a prominent position within the company as the COO of the new sector, which encompasses an all-in-one international tour chain. "And we haven't even been able to work for a full year," he comments. He strives to foster a constructive work atmosphere, but this particular circumstance is proving to be quite difficult for him.

“Yes, I heard you have been receiving quite a few suggestions from our models separately,” Emma mentions, supporting his idea. “I too personally have my concerns since I work close with all three of them,” she states. “The face at the moment doesn’t have problems transmitting the message we need out to the public, and she doesn't even challenge what I prepare for her. I can swear I only saw her on one occasion, and everything I hand out to her assistant is well executed, but the other two are a complete mess to work with.”

“But consider this: are you looking to collaborate with a machine or an individual who can bring something extra to the table?” Liam proposes, and Mr. Anderson grins, content with what his son brings to the table. “Our company deserves a representative who can expertly address any inquiries,” he states, prompting unanimous agreement from the group. “Listen, I understand your desire to communicate without any restrictions, but times have changed, and we must find more relatable ways to convey our messages,” he remarks, reclining in his seat with confidence. “And if the models aren't up to the challenge or capable of responding quickly to media outlets, then they won't meet the company's standards. We must operate at a level that is suitable for our situation and resonates with the majority." He is making a point that everyone seems to be happy with, but it’s clear he is against Alora, the current face of the company.

“Well, frankly speaking,” Mrs. Charlotte says. “Everyone knows I am against using models when we can hire professionals,” she smiles, shrugging as she shakes her head at the same time.

“In my opinion, despite the challenges of training them, the models would greatly enhance our visibility and magnify our presence.” Michel respectfully challenges her idea.

“I will make sure to come up with a way to kill this argument as soon as possible,” Mr. Anderson says, taking his attention back to himself once again. “But keep in mind that these ladies are more than a walking manikin,” he remarks, eliciting a subdued chuckle from the crowd, and Mrs. Charlotte gazes at him with astonishment. "I agree with what my son mentions,” he continues. “We need to push them to be more than robots that take inputs to function. We need them to be swift responders, and we don’t need them to always be on script,” he says. “I think the meeting is adjourned at this point,” he says, sighing, and everyone agrees. As the attendees rise from their seats and engage in lively conversations, he watches his son exit the meeting hall, deep in conversation with Michel. A sense of quiet pride fills his heart.

“It's truly wonderful to have him here,” Mrs. Charlotte remarks, lingering behind as she gazes at Mr. Anderson, beaming with pride. They have a deep bond, having grown up together and sharing everything. "However, if you have chosen to deeply contemplate that matter, it may be worth considering the additional models. If we need a face, we only need one," she declares, turning on her heels to walk out of the meeting hall.

“I know you’re looking out what’s best for this company’s pocket,” he assures her, acknowledging her role as the finance officer. He rises from his chair and perches on the meeting table, gazing at her with a smile.

“After all, that is my job.” She casually responds with a smile, expressing agreement with his idea. "Christopher," she says, moving closer to him with a look that suggests a deep familiarity. “I never question your decision-making; it has been phenomenal ever since you took over, but in the name of expansion, you cannot look after everyone, and everyone doesn’t need saving.” As she mentions, he rises from his seat, gazing at her intently, his eyes filled with curiosity as he gently grasps her shoulders.

“Perhaps I am helping myself and no one else,” he remarks, causing her to respond with a curious smile. “Look at it this way,” he swallows as he squints his eyes and tucks his hands in his trouser pockets. “Time is changing, and an already established brand isn’t enough. We need every hand to bridge the gap between our generation and the new one. This is one way to do it,” he says, fighting for the models to stay in the company and hoping to do it in a way to keep everyone on the same boat.

"Well," she says, interrupting the brief pause she takes to gather her thoughts. “After all, this is what led young Liam to become part of the group,” she acknowledges with a nod. “Take my thoughts into consideration; I need to go work on this month’s finances,” she says, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way around the long table. However, she pauses and glances back at him. "Oh, by the way," she says, capturing his attention once more. "Do you remember the first evening you attended a fashion show?" she inquires, causing him to furrow his brow as he reflects on the memory.

"I can't quite remember, but it had something to do with makeup and purses," he says, uncertain about the details. "I still can't believe how Samantha was able to persuade me," he says, shaking his head, reflecting on how his late wife had a knack for getting her way.

"Oh, she has had her own unique insights into your innermost longings," she says, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she reminisces about her dear friend. She is technically pointing out that she no longer lives to force him to attend any shows he is invited to. “You know, today, I was once again reminded of something you mentioned about the models back then,” she says, squinting her eyes as she points her index finger at him. “Something like, they cannot be a walking manikin?” She speaks with a curious tone, subtly hinting that she is correct in her assumptions about his actions. "Indeed, that was your statement," she affirms, while he grins, casting his gaze towards his sleek black double monk strap shoes. "You're correct; they aren't," she adds. “They are doing their job just like you and I. And they don’t need saving.”

"And I love you too," he says, seemingly acknowledging her concern, even though he can't quite grasp why she's so opposed to it.

"Make sure you're on time for dinner tonight," she says, heading towards the door. She looks back at him, her index finger pointing as she playfully warns him. “Sorry, but no wine, no entry,” she says firmly, and he quickly agrees with a nod.

It's evident that there is widespread opposition to the woman he was interested in, but he finds himself at a loss for what to do. She has to step up, or she will step down. He recognises her untapped abilities, but unless she can convince others of her potential, he is unable to help. He tugs at the back of his neck and exits the meeting hall, stretching the stress on his neck and shoulder with a light left and right movement.

***

He is concerned, and while he prefers to maintain her in her current role, he also desires to ensure fairness. After all, he has a desire to witness her reach her maximum potential. He constantly reassures himself that he recognises her untapped abilities, and that's all, but there's a nagging concern that has been troubling him. He finds it puzzling why he should be so concerned about this unfamiliar girl who unexpectedly enters his life, like a light jock.

Mr. Anderson walks with a heavy, distracted gait, his mind clearly elsewhere as he weaves through the quiet corridor. The offices on either side are filled with busy employees, their eyes glued to their computer screens or stacks of papers in front of them. As he passes, he can see the occasional flickering of screens and the busyness of fingers typing away. Every now and then, he catches sight of someone hurrying by with a stack of papers in their arms or a sheet of paper clutched in their hand. They glance at him with surprise, quickly moving aside to make room for him to pass, or they offer a friendly smile and a small nod of greeting. The air in the corridor is tinged with the faint smell of freshly printed papers, and the distinct scent of coffee wafts from the break room as Mr. Anderson passes by. The faint hint of wood polish also lingers in the air, giving the corridor a professional and clean atmosphere. Vincent shadows him silently, his gaze flickering anxiously as he observes Mr. Anderson's peculiar actions.

"Sir, are we looking for something?” He abruptly inquires, moving a bit closer, and Mr. Anderson responds with a smile, gazing at him.

“Just...” He paused mid-sentence when a voice suddenly reached his ears from an office nearby. Curiosity piqued, and he turned to locate the source of the sound. The sound is muffled, making it difficult to comprehend Alora's conversation, but he can unmistakably hear her speaking on the phone in her office. He cautiously approaches the door, only to pause when he realises she is discussing work.

“Safe heaven.” Her voice sounds distant yet audible as he stands near her office door, which is slightly opened. She continues about how it was helping with the loneliness she feels these days, elaborating on a matter with an individual on the other side of the queue. Her voice fills his ears, the conversation blending personal and professional matters seamlessly. He glances at Vincent, who is playing the blind eye of the big boss, who is surreptitiously listening in on the conversation his employee is having. It's clear to him that the boss seems to have taken a peculiar interest in the new employee.

“I never doubt that. But with everything that’s been going on, it feels like the world is against me. I think I am fighting to maintain a spot in a place where I am not wanted.” She sounds worried, stressed, and concerned. She stays quiet for a while, and he tends to walk into her office, but he stops.

"What was it like?” He hears her asking. "When we first meet?" It’s clear that she is under a lot of stress and fighting tears to avoid them resonating in her voice. There is a part of him that is torn between going in and staying back, and his hesitation is justified. Out of nowhere, the phone's loud speaker blares to life, and an unfamiliar voice fills the air.

"It was as if everything I've ever desired in life was right within my reach. I recall the sight of you in a blush pink dress, your hair styled in a charmingly tangled pigtail." A smile involuntarily spread across his face upon hearing that. There's something about it that just doesn't sit right, yet it's undeniably intriguing. “While other children eagerly approached us for candy, you were engrossed in playing with your toy.” He can hear her soft laughter as she listens to that.

“That creepy rag doll!” She says, giggling, and her voice is so melodic that it brings a smile to his face.

“You were deeply in love with that,” the woman on the other side of the phone replies. “I didn’t even see your face. All I could see was your back, and I knew you were my girl. I was meant to be your mother. You can say it was a mother’s instinct.” He detects the sheer delight resonating in her voice.

“I miss you, mom.” Now it’s clear that she is crying, and he frowns as he takes a look at her. She is focused on the computer, but she is crying, her worry palpable on her face.

"Oh, love,” the woman says. “You are everything I ever need in life; your tears hurt every fibre of my being,” she says.

“I’m not crying. I just miss you, that’s all.” She is wiping tears from her cheeks as he walks back to avoid being seen eavesdropping on her.

“We can come visit you,” the woman suggests in a sad tone, and he suddenly can relate.

“I’d love that, but let me arrange a time that I can spend with you.”

“We’ll be waiting.” It's evident that the woman is filled with concern, yet she strives to avoid causing any unnecessary distress.

“I love you, mom.”

“I love you. My dear, beautiful daughter.” As he catches the sound of her weeping, he swiftly retraces his steps and hurries towards an elevator. There is something inexplicably captivating about her that deeply reverberates in him. He finds himself completely engrossed and unable to ignore the profound connection he feels.

"Vincent," he says, and Vincent gazes at him, his brow furrowed with worry. "Could you please cancel my flight for tomorrow? I have to be at the event opening," he tells him.

"Do you need me to save a seat for you?" He inquires.

"No," he responds curtly. "I want to be the elusive figure lurking in the shadows. Consider this our little secret. Please ensure that Dr. Mark is included in the flight roster. I'll let him know tonight," he says, and Vincent silently acknowledges.