Chapter 668

Claire smoothed the wrinkles from her blazer as she checked her reflection one last time. The mirror showed a woman ready to reclaim her place in the world after maternity leave.

Today marked her return to the workforce. Though her bank account didn't demand it, idleness had never suited Claire's temperament. She craved professional fulfillment - both for personal growth and to model ambition for her daughter.

The elevator doors opened onto the bustling headquarters of Vogue Elite magazine. Claire had come merely to submit her modeling portfolio, but fate had other plans.

"Miss Dawson?" A receptionist handed her an unexpected form. "We're conducting auditions for our spring editorial spread. Would you like to participate?"

Claire hesitated only momentarily. A year away from the industry felt like an eternity in fashion years. New faces emerged daily, each more youthful than the last. Still, opportunity rarely knocked twice.

She completed the paperwork with practiced efficiency. When the casting director returned with a shortlist, Claire's name appeared dead last - traditionally the least favorable position. Yet watching dozens of rejected applicants depart, she took grim satisfaction in having cleared the first hurdle.

Two excruciating hours later, hunger gnawed at her concentration. "Claire Dawson?" The assistant finally called.

She entered the judging chamber with measured confidence. Five evaluators sat in scrutiny - three men and two women. The male judges barely concealed their disinterest, exchanging dismissive glances as they scribbled notes.

"Decent bone structure," remarked the senior female editor. "She photographs well. Far superior to the previous candidates."

"But she's had a child," countered a male stylist with palpable disdain. "The market wants fresh faces, not used goods."

Claire's nails bit into her palms. The insult burned, but professional decorum won over instinct. This industry operated on connections as much as talent - bridges couldn't be burned over petty insults.

As debate grew heated, all eyes turned to the silent figure at the table's center. "Mr. Harrison," an assistant prompted, "your decision?"

Max Harrison finally looked up from his documents. Recognition flickered across his features. "Claire. It's been years."

The atmosphere shifted palpably. The previously dismissive judges now fidgeted uncomfortably, reassessing their earlier remarks.

Max's assessment came cool and measured. "Her portfolio shows promise, but we have more suitable candidates, don't we?"

Claire's stomach dropped. She'd expected preferential treatment from a former classmate, not this clinical dismissal.

"Felicity Simons aligns perfectly with our brand image," a judge hastily agreed. "Established following, proven market appeal."

The verdict became inevitable. Claire maintained perfect poise as she collected her materials, but humiliation simmered beneath the surface. Had time changed Max so completely?

The parking garage offered cold sanctuary. Just as she reached her Mercedes, footsteps echoed behind her.

"Running off so soon?" Max appeared, hands in pockets, looking unfairly handsome in his tailored suit.

"Mr. Harrison." Claire emphasized the formal address. "Did I forget something?"

His lips quirked at her frosty tone. "That's no way to treat an old friend. Let me make it up to you - dinner's on me."

"You rejected me. Why would I want dinner?"

"Precisely why I owe you an apology." Without waiting for consent, he opened the passenger door. "My car's in the shop. Be a sport and give me a lift?"

Claire exhaled sharply through her nose. Some things never changed - Max's audacity least of all.