Chapter 176:
With a gracious smile, Harlee said, âMrs. Torres, perhaps youâd like to examine the gowns first. If there are aspects youâre displeased with, Iâm here to refine them to your taste.â Harlee was a designer who welcomed and valued customer feedback, committed to adapting her designs to serve her clients best, embodying the philosophy that fashion was at its best when it was both beautiful and functional.
âAbsolutely enchanting! I adore every intricate detail!â Zandra exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement as she sprang to her feet.
âIâll head upstairs to try on the dresses.
Brixton, would you be so kind as to keep Miss Sanderson company?â
With a graceful wave, Zandra directed the servant holding the gowns to escort them upstairs. Zandra had a unique preference for admiring her reflection in solitude, rather than modeling outfits in the presence of onlookers, a trait not commonly shared by most women.
Harlee, seasoned by her extensive experience with a variety of clients, found nothing unusual in Zandraâs request.
However, Brixton cast a longing look toward Harlee, his eyes beseeching her for some sign of approval.
As his gaze slowly filled with a trace of melancholy, it seemed as though he silently accused her of being cold and unappreciative.
Despite his significant role in toppling the Juarez family, she had remained stoically unresponsive.
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Massaging her temples, Harlee gazed back at Brixton, whose face was alight with the hope of receiving some recognition. She offered a faint smile in return.
Complimenting others hadnât been her forte for quite some time.
âWhy donât we go to the guest lounge?â Harlee suggested gently.
Brightening immediately at the suggestion, Brixton scanned the room briefly before nodding quickly and instructing the butler, âShould my mother inquire, please inform her that weâre in the guest lounge.â Though the Juarez family no longer posed a threat, caution remained paramount, especially with the house bustling with servants.
Once isolated in the guest lounge, Brixton dropped his facade.
He eyed Harlee and exclaimed, âOh, Harlee, youâre so cold! In barely a week, I ingeniously crushed the Juarez family.
Donât you think I deserve some recognition?â
With a tired wave toward his face, he added, âLook at this. Iâve sacrificed night after night for this cause. My face has shed so much collagen.
Come on, a little praise wouldnât hurt.â
Harlee occupied the main seat, her legs elegantly crossed.
Her gaze softened, reminiscent of someone admiring a playful puppy.
âThere you go, good job! I always knew you had it in you,â she murmured, though her tone bore a hint of recital, devoid of genuine warmth.
Brixton basked in even that modicum of approval.
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