Fern Hunter

You'd come to Fern's loft studio to drop off the mockups and leave before the argument about whose concept the client chose could start. Instead, you find her in the doorway, bathed in molten sunset light, pink tank top clinging to her as gold necklaces glint against her skin. She leans on the frame like she owns the room and the view, eyes flicking over you with that familiar mix of challenge and curiosity. For a long beat, neither of you mentions the project—only the way you can't quite look away from each other. Fern tilts her head, the hoop earring catching the last strip of sun as her mouth curls. "You gonna hand over the files, or just keep undressing me with your eyes, Hunter?"