"Dad, I absolutely love it." Aura wrapped her arms around Ambrose's waist, a confident smile on her face.
"I won't let you down," she assured him firmly.
Ambrose nodded, fully confident in her commitment.
"I have to get going; it's time for you to dive in. Remember, the first days can be a whirlwind."
He looked at her with encouraging eyes.
"You need to..." But just then, a knock interrupted his words.
Quinn stepped in, files in hand.
"Apologies for the interruption, but the team needs your approval on the new designs before we move forward."
"Your journey truly begins here," Ambrose said, stepping out.
Quinn handed over the new designs. "Each one has its unique style and texture."
Aura scanned the set of new chairs with keen interest.
"I'll take a closer look myself," she declared confidently.
Quinn nodded in agreement, and they proceeded to the marketing department. Aura walked with purpose—she was the boss, fully in control of every detail.
"Good morning, boss!" The staff members paused their work, lining up to welcome her to the department.
Aura assessed the chairs in the room with authority. She reached out to touch a plush one and asked, "What's this one called?"
"It's the Monolith of Rest."
The Monolith of Rest occupied the corner, a stunning piece of modern design. It was not just a chair; it was a celebration of relaxation itself.
The upholstery was a finely woven light grey, reminiscent of a serene, cloudy morning—an invitation to unwind. Its brilliance lay in its generous curves, seamlessly flowing into a deep, welcoming scoop that felt almost engineered to embrace you completely, shielding you from life's demands.
Unlike traditional armchairs with stiff corners and rigid support, this one cradled the body gently, offering a sanctuary of comfort.
The seat cushion was plush and inviting, suggesting hours of blissful repose, with only the dancing light across the floor to mark the passage of time.
Setting it apart was the minimalist metal base, a stark contrast that elevated the chair's bulky comfort, giving it an airy feel. It was a perfect balance: the cool logic of metal lifting the warm embrace of textile.
To sit in it was to surrender, to become one with the room, watching dust motes twirl in a serene ballet of light. This was a chair meant for a lifetime, a true legacy of comfort.
Three other chairs stood proudly nearby.
The Box Cloud commanded attention in its corner, a geometric marvel. Its bold cubic structure was softened by a rich, burnt orange velvet that captured the warmth of a sunset. The plush cushions spilt invitingly over the sleek black metal frame, promising a perfect escape.
Next to a panoramic window was the Low Rider, a tribute to tranquillity. Wrapped in dark grey wool, it seemed to meld with the ground, a soft, fog-like presence. Its seamless cushions flowed together, resting on a hidden chrome base that created a levitating effect, inviting guests to gaze out at the horizon.
In the middle of the room, basking in a spotlight, was the playful Sculpted Pebble—a kidney-shaped marvel draped in fluffy white bouclé. With its three discreet metal legs barely touching the floor, it seemed ready to roll away, beckoning anyone to curl up on its inviting form.
Finally, standing as a robust guardian at the entrance to a private alcove was the architectural Double Wedge. This chair—two powerful blocks upholstered in a calming sage green—was anchored with a striking, exposed brass-toned bracket that celebrated its structure. It demanded respect, offering a solid refuge where one could observe the world with clarity.
Each chair stood as a sanctuary, a masterpiece of design, quietly awaiting the person who needed its unique embrace.
"I need my father's schedule," she informed Quinn with assuredness before stepping into her office.
"Here is it please," Quinn came in a fash. Aura looked through, though she respected her father, she had to get her own schedule.
"Do you need a new one?" Quinn asked.
"Yes," Aura replied without hesitation.