Boots
The NDA offices are as polished as Boots expected. What she didn’t expect was Wendy. Not like this. Seeing her here in her element, commanding the boardroom, Boots starts to wonder if she’s been underestimating her all along.
Wendy always served looks. But a full Lanvin power suit? Even Boots can admit it. Then the thought hits her—she wore this for me.
Boots leans back, Jacquemus blazer crisp against the high-backed chair, her pink Khaite taffeta skirt pooling elegantly to the floor. Vintage Van Cleef rose earrings glint as she tilts her head, assessing the room.
Her gaze lands on Alan Grayson, NDA’s CEO, seated next to Wendy. Silver fox. Early sixties. Tan. Sharp. The kind of confidence that’s been rewarded for decades. Paul Smith suit, chest hair casually visible beneath an unbuttoned collar. Boots knows his type. She likes his type. Could be trouble, that one.
“As we’ve discussed,” Wendy begins, her posture a little too upright, her tone too rehearsed, “what NDA needs is a visionary. A disruptor at the intersection of experiential marketing, social influence, and high-profile events.”
Boots nods faintly, listening, as Wendy goes on. “Boots, if I may, you don’t just throw parties. You engineer brand elevation. You monetize moments and create cultural capital our clients can bank on.”
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Alan nods slowly, as if the word salad were a foreign policy briefing. “It’s a bold pitch,” he says, turning to face Boots. “But I’d rather hear it straight from you.”
Boots crosses her legs, one Mach & Mach heel catching the light. “Let’s not pretend this is a job interview. You know why I’m here. You want relevance. Someone who makes the right people say yes faster. I don’t plan events; I stage cultural takeovers. If that’s not what you’re after, I’ll happily see myself out.”
“You’re audacious.” Alan’s brow lifts, half challenge, half intrigue. “May I call you Boots?”
“You just did,” she replies, with a flick of a smile. “Go on.”
“All right,” he says, watching her with new calculation. “Let’s say we are interested. You’re walking away from your own company. So tell me, what makes you worth it?”
She holds his stare, hardly impressed. “I’m not here to prove I’m worth it. I’m here to see if you are.”
Alan sits back slowly, a trace of a smile tugging at his mouth, caught off guard, and maybe enjoying it.
“But since you asked?” Boots declares. “I’ll need full creative control. Top-tier clients. A package that reflects my value. I know exactly what I bring. If you want it, you’ll pay for it. Otherwise, we’re done here.”
Alan flicks a glance at Wendy, then turns back to Boots. “We can make that happen. If we want to.”
She stands, assured as ever, collecting her Kelly bag like the meeting ended exactly when she wanted. “Well then. Put it in writing. If you want to.”
Alan stands too, extending a hand. “Appreciate your time, Boots.”
“Likewise,” she says, shaking it, already turning to leave.
Wendy stays seated, eyes tracking Boots as she walks out. Alan watches too, still unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something. Wendy picks up on it. Intrigue. But also… something else.
“So that’s why you like her,” he says, gaze lingering, not just watching, but imagining, as Boots disappears down the hallway.