I clicked the remote again and the slide shifted, the bright collage of animals giving way to something calmer and more familiar. Rows of sketches and mockups filled the screen—hoodies, shirts, dresses, wide‑leg pants, simple coats.
At first glance they looked like plain everyday clothes, but the labels and close‑up shots told a different story—subtle stitched patterns curling along hems, hidden pockets, small embroidered symbols, contrast linings, tiny functional details worked into clean silhouettes.
These were the designs I had once pitched in the interview. But then, Viktor's world tried to swallow me as a whole.
"This is the second part," I said, stepping to the side so Hellen could see the full slide. I tapped the stylus near a simple white shirt with a discreet asymmetrical seam and soft green thread tracing near the cuff. "Everyday clothing—on the surface. But with small design elements that make them feel special—hidden messages, modular pieces, reversible panels, detachable hoods, and many other small designs."
He removed me from the CEO's position because of this idea.
Hellen asked, "Special designs?"
"Clothes that people can wear to work, to cafés, to the grocery store, and still feel like they're wearing something thought out, not just basic."
I flipped through a few more slides. One showed a capsule wardrobe—eight pieces that could combine into twenty outfits. Another slide showed a pair of trousers with an adjustable waistband panel and extra loops for keys.
Another slide highlighted fabrics—cotton, linen blends, recycled fibres—paired with rough projected price points. A small note in the corner read—'Comfort first, then style.'
"But that wouldn't be all. I plan to design clothes which are in middle of luxury and comfort." Now-a-days, people want both in the clothes they wear. And my plan is to do the same.
Hellen's brows drew together as she studied the board. "Isn't this... your original pitch?" she asked. "Your everyday line. The one you talked about in the interview... before we even talked."
I nodded, "Yes. It was. I wanted to build a line for people who can't afford luxury clothes—baristas, students, freelancers, moms—people who wanted clothes they could live in all day without feeling sloppy. Simple shapes, but with enough design that they didn't feel generic."
She glanced at me, then back at the slide. "So, you want to bring that idea into Herlos? Here, now?"
"Yes," I said, more firmly this time. "That's my second step."
I pointed back at the earlier slide of pet apparel with the tip of the stylus. "Step one gives us breathing room. If Helly Paws takes off, it gives us money flowing in, all the factories will be working again, and attention from a specific kind of customer—owners who care about quality and aesthetics."
"Step two? When will it start?" Hellen is all down for it, isn't she?
"Once that's stable, we move to step two—an everyday clothing line under the Herlos umbrella, but priced and designed for daily life, not for runways. But still, our customers will feel as if they are models."
"Sounds good, Emily."
I tapped the board near a slide that showed a young woman in a simple dress, holding a dog in a matching scarf. "Then, we bridge the two. A customer buys a raincoat for her dog because she loves the look and how it feels. Next, she sees an everyday coat for herself—same fabric quality, similar design language, just scaled to a human body. She already trusts us, knows the clothes last and feel good."
Hellen's gaze stayed fixed on the images, but her voice softened. "You're not trying to copy luxury houses," she said slowly. "You're trying to build something... quieter. Clothes that fit into normal lives."
"Exactly," I said. "We can still do limited, more stylish pieces—bolder prints, structured jackets, evening dresses—but the heart of it is accessible. Clean lines, one or two interesting details, nothing that makes someone feel like a costume. It suits our situation—we can use the same production base as the pet line, scale gradually, test designs in small runs, see what sells before committing big."
She folded her arms again, thinking. "And you want to lead this part as well."
"I do," I answered, meeting her eyes. "This was my first dream before everything with Viktor exploded. I don't want to throw it away. We use my everyday concept, but this time we build it properly—with your factories, your experience, and the money we pull from the pet side."
"What about me?"
"Well, you are partners—and you will do the most important thing—business."
"Fair enough, I guess."
"I knew you would like that."
Hellen exhaled slowly, then gave a short nod. "Alright," she said. "Step one—animals. Step two—everyday humans. Both simple on the surface, but well-thought-out underneath."
"Exactly," I said again, feeling a small, steady warmth spread through my chest. "We start with what people and their animals actually need, and then we make it a little better than they expected."
"You have very big dreams, Emily. I like that."
I couldn't help the cheeky smile that pulled at my lips as I turned back to her. "I know, Hellen," I said, feeling that familiar spark light in my chest. "Anyone can sit around and dream big, but only a few actually drag those dreams into reality. And I want to be one of those few."
Her eyes stayed on me. "Alright, visionary," she said, a small amused curve in her mouth. "You've given me step one and step two. What's the third step?" Her blatant interest made me really happy.
I let a slow smirk spread across my face, enjoying the rare moment of having her genuinely intrigued. "That," I replied, tilting my head, "I'll tell you once we've nailed these first two. When the animals are dressed and the everyday line is breathing on its own, then you get step three."
Her brows lifted. "So I have to wait?"
"Unfortunately for you," I said, laughter softening my words, "yes. Consider it motivation. If we want the last step to mean anything, we have to earn it."