Page 30 of Silk and Honey

He stops in front of the centerpiece. It is the heavy amber gown that Avery and I worked on until midnight.

"The color story is decent," Scott murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension as he tries to maintain his upper hand. "Very earthy. Very predictable for a seasonal launch. But the fabric choice is entirely too fluid for a Fall silhouette, Ezra. A charmeuse like this has no spine. It will collapse on a real runway. It lacks the architectural weight required for true high fashion. I'm surprised you made such an elementary mistake—" Scott reaches out, his fingers catching the bottom hemline of the dress to demonstrate its flimsiness.

The exact second his fingers touch the fabric, he freezes completely. Avery, Ezra and I exchange a knowing look. Got you.

I smirk.

Scott’s hand stays locked on the hemline. His thin eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline, his eyes widening in shock. He rubs the edge of the silk between his thumb and forefinger, his pen slipping slightly in his grip.

The silk doesn't collapse. It doesn't fold or wrinkle. The bottom three inches of the gown hold a flawless, crisp, sculptural silhouette, draping away from the main body with a sharp, geometric precision that looks completely impossible for a fluid fabric. It has an architectural spine, a beautiful, subtle matte sheen, and a heavy, structured weight that completely defies the natural property of silk.

"What... what is this?" Scott whispers, his cynical facade completely cracking. He leans down, his face inches from the hem, his eyes frantically searching for something like a hidden wire, a synthetic backing, or an industrial stiffener. There’s nothing there. Just pure silk. "How did you get a bias-cut charmeuse to hold a structural silhouette like this? It’s completely seamless. The drape is... it's—"

He can’t even finish his sentence.

A wave of something that looks like envy flashes across Scott’s face. His jaw tightens, and his complexion turns a pale color as he realizes he is looking at something unique. His head snaps up, looking at Ezra with a frantic expression. "Ezra, this is brilliant. The treatment is truly amazing. What is the chemical compound? Is it a new synthetic polymer coating? Tell me you have the exclusive patent on this stiffening agent, because this... this is going to be a highlight feature."

Ezra doesn't smile. He doesn't take the bait. He simply steps back, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression cool and unimpressed by Scott's frantic praise. I have to give it to the little fashionista. He has balls.

"I can’t tell you the chemical compound, Scott," Ezra replies. "Because it isn't a chemical. And I didn't engineer it."

Scott blinks, bewildered. "What? If you didn't design the treatment, then who—"

"Avery did," Ezra interrupts. He points a long, elegant finger toward Avery.

Scott’s mouth falls open slightly, his eyes wide with shock. "Avery? Don't be ridiculous, Ezra. Avery was a junior assistant who handled scheduling, the occasional article, and fabric pulling in Olivia Cove. He doesn't have the technical capacity to engineer a textile concept like this. You don't have to protect his ego just because he's your employee—"

"He’s not my employee, Scott. He’s my partner." Ezra cuts him off. "Every single garment you are looking at today was patterned, cut, and assembled by Avery’s hands. The entire 'Honey & Harvest' concept—the silhouette, the color theory, the specific manipulation of the grain lines—was entirely his vision. I merely helped him pin the linings."

Scott’s face twists. He stares at Avery, his chest heaving as the reality hits him. The man he just tried to brand a failure, just designed something absolutely fucking brilliant.

"You’re lying," Scott spits out. He steps toward Avery, his finger shoving aggressively at Avery’s chest, causing him to gasp. "You must have stolen this concept from someone in Southern California before you left, didn't you? You took a prototype from one of the major design labs and brought it to this pathetic little town to claim it as your own. There is no way a talentless little runaway could create something this precise—"

He takes another aggressive step forward, his voice rising into a shout. He never finishes the sentence. Before Scott can take another breath, I step directly into his path. My massive chest connects with his shoulder, stopping him dead in his tracks like he just hit a wall of concrete.

Scott lets out a choked gasp, his notebook flying out from under his arm and hitting the floor with a loud smack as he stumbles backward.

I stand directly over his trembling form. The protective, possessive instinct inside me is screaming. Leaning down slightly, I bring my face just inches from his. "You will keep your filthy hands to yourself. You are supposed to be a professional, so act like one." I grumble, half tempted to shove my finger against his chest the way he did to Avery. "And you will never speak to him, or any designer like that again."

Scott chokes on his own breath, his thin chest heaving as he looks up the size of my large frame. He looks completely paralyzed by fear, his knees literally shaking inside his tailored black trousers. I feel bad that I scared the pathetic man, but who knows how many people he has treated this way. Either way, he can’t touch my man like that ever again.

I just pray that Avery and Ezra forgive me for acting so crazy.

"I... I’m a journalist," Scott stammers out, his voice cracking, his eyes darting frantically around the room for an escape route. "You can't threaten me—"

"He isn't threatening you, Scott. He is warning you," Avery’s voice rings out from behind me.

I step back slightly, allowing Avery to step up next to my side. He doesn't look stressed anymore. The fear is gone from his beautiful brown eyes, replaced by a cold, triumphant confidence that makes him look untouchable. It’s sexy as hell. He looks down at Scott, a small, calm smirk on his lips.

"You want to know how the treatment works, Scott?" Avery asks, his voice smooth and steady. He walks over to the amber gown, his fingers lightly tracing the hemline. "It's a real, historical method called a wax-resist technique. Except instead of using commercial paraffin, I used pure, refined raw beeswax sourced directly from Gideon’s apiary right down the road. When the natural beeswax absorbs into the silk fibers at a specific, regulated temperature, it alters the physical property of the material. A few tweaks, lots of experiments, and numerous rounds of testing, I found the perfect combination that works. Rather than the usual oily, uneven patches or grease one might get, this method stiffens the hemlines without making them brittle, giving the garment a sculptural drape that you cannot replicate with any synthetic polymer in the world."

Avery takes a step closer to Scott, his posture regal and confident.

"Every single bit of this collection belongs to this valley. To Foggy Basin," Avery says proudly. "It belongs to Ezra's brand, it belongs to Gideon's bees, and it belongs to my designs. I didn't run away from the pressure, Scott. I left the city because people like you are uninspired. I came here to build something real."

Scott stands there for a long moment, speechless. His assistants murmur quietly to each other, smiling—probably ecstatic someone finally put this man in his place. Scott looks at the amber gown, then at Avery's unyielding expression, and finally up at me.

I can read all the damn thoughts displayed all over his face, and I’m pretty sure the whole room can too. He lost, and he knows it. Scott knows there isn’t a single flaw he can use to tear this collection apart. We all know writing a bad review, will make him look like a fool to the entire fashion industry, because the innovation standing right in front of him is undeniable.