The third name on the shortlist was House Veyrand, a lifestyle and merchandising empire occupying six floors of glass and Italian marble, and after twenty minutes, the girls believed they'd found the one.
The creative director, a silver-templed man named Foss, shook their hands, looked precisely nobody below the chin, and walked them through a licensing structure that made Nyx sit up straighter within the first five minutes.
Real numbers. Honest margins. A merchandising machine that had dressed three top-tier guilds and knew exactly what it was doing.
"Their apparel division is legitimate," Nyx murmured to Aria behind the rim of her glass, cautious optimism creeping into her voice.
Aria nodded, hopeful. Even Bastet had settled into her chair with the boneless ease she reserved for rooms she approved of, listening to Foss with her tail curled comfortably around the armrest.
