A Seat at the Big Table

“Welcome to LuxeThread.”

Zai managed a smile as she shook Raymond’s hand.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You can call me Raymond.”

She laughed awkwardly.

“I don’t think HR will like that.”

“It’ll be our little disagreement with HR.”

The joke eased her nerves, but she still stood stiffly, clutching her portfolio like it was the only thing keeping her balanced.

Raymond walked back to his desk and picked up her sketch.

“I’ve looked at this three times.”

Zai blinked.

“Sir… I mean… Raymond… is something wrong with it?”

“If something was wrong with it, you wouldn’t be standing here.”

He placed the drawing in front of her.

“Tell me why you chose this neckline.”

Nobody had ever asked her that.

Not clients.

Not interviewers.

Not even the lecturers who had taught her years ago.

She leaned over the sketch.

“The dress is for a confident woman. If I covered everything, she’d disappear. If I exposed too much, people would notice the dress instead of the woman.”

Raymond smiled.

“So you design for personalities, not bodies.”

She nodded.

“Always.”

He leaned back in his chair.

“That’s exactly what LuxeThread has been missing.”

For the first time in months, someone wasn’t talking to her like she was just another struggling tailor.

He was listening.

Really listening.

“HR will send your employment letter before the end of today,” Raymond said. “Can you resume tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Too soon?”

She shook her head quickly.

“No. I can.”

“Good.”

As she stood to leave, he added, “One more thing.”

She turned.

“Don’t lose that honesty. Skills can be taught. Honesty can’t.”

That evening, Surulere felt different.

The streets were still noisy.

Children still chased old tyres.

The woman selling roasted corn still shouted at passing motorists.

But Zai walked through it all with a smile she couldn’t hide.

The first person she saw was Mama Bose, the landlady.

“Ah, Zainab!”

“Good evening, Ma.”

“Any good news today?”

Zai laughed.

“I got the job.”

Mama Bose clapped loudly.

“I said it! I told everybody this girl would make it one day!”

Within seconds, two neighbours appeared from nowhere.

“What happened?”

“She got a job!”

“Where?”

“LuxeThread.”

One woman’s eyes widened.

“That LuxeThread?”

“The one celebrities wear?”

Zai nodded shyly.

“Congratulations!”

By the time she reached their flat, the news had already travelled faster than she had.

Tobi opened the door before she knocked.

“You got it!”

She burst into laughter.

“Who told you?”

“Mama Bose. She practically announced it to the whole compound.”

He hugged her tightly.

“I’m proud of you.”

Their mother quietly wiped away a tear before pretending to be busy arranging plates on the table.

“I told both of you,” she said softly. “God doesn’t ignore honest labour.”

That night, the family celebrated with jollof rice and fried eggs.

It wasn’t expensive.

But to them, it felt like Christmas.

The next morning, Zai arrived at LuxeThread thirty minutes early.

She wanted nothing to go wrong.

The HR manager welcomed her warmly, handed over documents, explained company policies, and introduced her to the design department.

The studio was alive with creativity.

Mannequins stood dressed in half-finished gowns.

Rolls of fabric lined the walls.

Designers argued over colours.

Tailors worked with astonishing speed.

It felt like she’d stepped into the world she’d always dreamed of.

“Everyone,” the HR manager announced, “this is our newest designer, Zainab Adebayo.”

A woman in her early forties walked over first.

“I’m Funke.”

She extended her hand.

“I’ve been here twelve years.”

“I’m Zai.”

“I know.”

Funke smiled warmly.

“Welcome.”

Unlike the intimidating atmosphere she’d expected, most of the team was friendly.

They showed her around, explained ongoing projects, and even invited her to lunch.

For the first few hours, she almost forgot Raymond existed.

Until shortly after noon.

An assistant approached her desk.

“Miss Adebayo?”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Okonkwo would like to see you.”

Every conversation in the studio seemed to pause for half a second.

Funke looked up from her sewing machine.

“So soon?”

The assistant simply smiled.

“This way.”

Raymond’s office overlooked the Lagos skyline.

He was studying several sketches when she entered.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I did.”

He slid a folder across the table.

“I’ve been looking through our upcoming collection.”

She opened it.

Luxury evening wear.

Bold.

Elegant.

International.

“I want fresh ideas.”

She looked confused.

“From… me?”

“Yes.”

She hesitated.

“There are people here with ten or fifteen years of experience.”

“And that’s exactly why I asked you.”

She looked at him, unsure.

“They already know how we think,” Raymond continued. “You don’t.”

He leaned forward.

“I hired you because I don’t want another designer who plays it safe.”

For the next hour, they discussed fabrics, silhouettes, colours, African influences, and global trends.

The conversation flowed effortlessly.

There were moments she forgot she was speaking to the CEO.

She was simply talking to someone who loved fashion as much as she did.

When she finally stood to leave, Raymond glanced at his watch.

“I didn’t realize we’d been talking for that long.”

She smiled.

“Neither did I.”

As she reached the door, he said casually, “I’m usually here after everyone leaves.”

She turned.

“The office is quieter then.”

He shrugged.

“I do my best thinking at night.”

She nodded politely.

“I see.”

“If you’re interested, stay back tomorrow.”

She frowned slightly.

“We can go through the new collection without everyone interrupting.”

It sounded reasonable.

Professional, even.

“I’ll think about it.”

“No pressure.”

She smiled and left.

Outside his office, Funke was walking past with a stack of fabric samples.

She glanced from Zai to Raymond’s still-open office door.

“You’ve seen Oga twice in one day?”

Zai laughed nervously.

“It was just work.”

Funke smiled too.

But something about her expression lingered.

Not jealousy.

Not suspicion.

More like… concern.

As Zai returned to her desk, she didn’t notice two junior staff whispering near the printer.

“I’ve worked here three years.”

“So?”

“Oga has never invited a new designer for private review sessions.”

“Maybe she’s just that talented.”

“Maybe.”

The first woman lowered her voice.

“Or maybe this office has started another story.”

Engagement Question

Do you think Raymond genuinely sees Zai’s talent, or is he already blurring the line between mentorship and personal interest?

To be continued…