RHEA
“Ms. Ashford? Here’s the rough draft you requested.”
Liz—my new personal assistant, a title that still feels strange on my tongue—hands me a folder with a bright, efficient smile. I take it and flip through the pages.
“Thanks, Liz.”
Three seconds in, a headache starts to bloom. I sigh under my breath. “Is this really the best they could come up with?”
“You have a meeting with Creative in thirty minutes,” she continues smoothly, already flipping a page on her clipboard. “They’ll be presenting the first official mood board. I made sure everyone received the concept you approved for the campaign. Design is also requesting an emergency meeting before lunch—they’ll be sending over the colour palettes within the hour for your approval.”
I nod, absorbing it all. I hadn’t realised how m
