Chapter 2 — A Clash of Styles
Ryan Cooper
Ryan Cooper adjusted the scarf draped over his neck and leaned on the railing of the Evergreen Mall’s second floor, taking in the scene below. The Atrium stretched out before him, its grand Christmas tree standing bare and skeletal, a few limp strands of lights clinging to it like a half-forgotten promise. The faint hum of holiday music floated through the air, almost drowned out by the distant murmur of shoppers. He resisted the urge to sigh. This wasn’t what he remembered.
As a kid, the holidays had been pure magic—glittering storefronts, bustling crowds, and enough twinkling lights to make you believe the world really could sparkle. Now, the scene felt hollow, as though the mall itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if this season could be the one to revive it. A pang of doubt rose in Ryan’s chest, but he pushed it aside. He’d taken this job to prove something—to himself, mostly. He needed to know he still had it in him to create something meaningful, something that mattered.
He shifted his weight and ran a hand through his tousled blond hair, the faint echo of his burnout flickering at the edges of his thoughts. Walking away from the corporate grind had been the right move—or so he kept telling himself. But had he really landed where he wanted to be? The question lingered, heavy and cold like the air-conditioning blasting across the Atrium. He straightened, brushing it off. Nothing worth doing came easy.
The jingle of tiny bells broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see Maggie Chen bounding toward him, clipboard in hand and a pen tucked behind her ear. Her candy-cane-striped earmuffs bobbed with her steps, the bells attached to them jangling in a cheerful, chaotic rhythm that seemed to announce her presence before her wide grin did.
“Cooper!” she called out, her voice bright and teasing. “Early for your own funeral, huh? And here I thought freelancers were all about rolling in at lunchtime.”
Ryan cracked a grin. “What can I say? The allure of corporate bureaucracy got me out of bed.”
Maggie snorted, falling into step beside him. “Well, you’ll need that sense of humor. Claire’s already in my office, and let’s just say she’s not exactly in the holiday spirit. I wouldn’t open with too many jokes if I were you.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow as they began walking. “Not a fan of humor, or just not a fan of me?”
“Oh, it’s not personal,” Maggie said with a smirk. “Claire’s... let’s call her ‘focused.’ You’ll see.”
As they approached a door tucked between two administrative offices, Maggie stopped and gestured theatrically. “Brace yourself. Welcome to my humble workshop.”
She pushed the door open to reveal an office that could only be described as a festive explosion. Glitter-covered craft supplies spilled out of bins, mismatched strings of holiday lights hung haphazardly along the walls, and a half-empty mug of peppermint coffee balanced precariously atop a stack of papers. The smell of peppermint and cinnamon filled the air, mixing with the faint hum of holiday music playing from a small speaker in the corner.
In the middle of the organized chaos stood Claire Dawson, a picture of precision and control, as out of place in this mess as a snowstorm in July. Her navy blouse and pencil skirt were perfectly tailored, and her chestnut ponytail was pulled back with not a strand out of line. A leather-bound planner rested on the desk before her, its crisp pages neatly tabbed and organized. She was writing something in it with sharp, deliberate strokes, but the moment she looked up and spotted Ryan, her hazel eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“You’re here,” she said, her tone clipped and businesslike. It wasn’t unfriendly, exactly, but it wasn’t welcoming either.
“Bright and early.” Ryan stepped further into the room, flashing his most charming grin. “Ryan Cooper, freelance marketing consultant, occasional snowball enthusiast, and part-time holiday miracle worker.”
Claire didn’t react to the joke. Not even a flicker. Instead, she closed her planner with a precise snap and crossed her arms. “Claire Dawson. Department store manager. I’ve read your proposal. It’s...ambitious.”
“Ambitious,” Ryan said lightly, leaning his hip against Maggie’s desk. “That’s usually code for ‘this sounds risky.’ But don’t worry—I specialize in making the risky work.” He shot her a quick wink, but it only seemed to make her jaw tighten.
Maggie, sensing the tension rising, clapped her hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Okay! Now that you two have met, let’s dive right in! I’m so pumped for the Holiday Magic Zones—you have no idea.”
Claire’s expression didn’t budge. Her focus stayed locked on Ryan. “Excitement is all well and good, but we need a clear strategy. I’ve reviewed Mr. Cooper’s proposal, and while it’s... creative, I have several concerns about its practicality.”
“Call me Ryan,” he interrupted, still wearing his easy grin. “And I’m all ears, Claire. Hit me with your best shot.”
“For starters,” she said, her tone steady and measured, “the concept of interactive zones sounds logistically complicated. We’d need additional staffing, which the budget doesn’t allow for, and there’s no guarantee these features will drive the revenue the mall needs.”
Ryan straightened slightly, nodding as though considering her points. Behind her, Maggie sighed theatrically, rolling her eyes in mock exasperation. “Good points,” Ryan admitted after a moment, his tone thoughtful. “But here’s the thing—the holiday season isn’t just about moving merchandise. It’s about creating an experience. People come to malls because they want to feel something—nostalgia, magic. And if we can give them that, the sales will follow.”
Claire’s posture stiffened. “That sounds nice in theory, but this isn’t just about making people feel good. We’re here to keep this mall afloat. We don’t have the luxury of...experimentation.”
“And sticking to the same old thing hasn’t exactly been working either, has it?” Ryan countered, his tone hardening slightly. “Look, I get it. You’ve got spreadsheets to answer to, corporate breathing down your neck. But that’s why you brought me in, right? To shake things up a little?”
Claire opened her mouth to respond, but Maggie jumped in, waving her clipboard like a referee calling time-out. “Whoa, whoa, let’s not turn this into a holiday throwdown. You’re both right in your own ways. Claire’s got the structure, Ryan’s got the ideas. Put them together, and bam—holiday magic. Like, I don’t know, sugar and gingerbread. Or... something less sticky.”
Ryan smirked, and even Claire’s lips twitched slightly before she caught herself. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. How about this—one zone. A proof of concept. If it works, we expand. If it doesn’t, I’ll admit defeat. No harm done.”
Claire hesitated, her gaze flicking to her planner, as though searching its pages for an answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was firm but quieter, almost reluctant. “Fine. One zone. But it needs to be ready by the end of the week, and it needs to stay within the existing budget.”
Ryan extended his hand with a triumphant grin. “Deal.”
Her handshake was brief and businesslike, her grip firm. As Maggie let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, Ryan leaned back against the desk, watching Claire flip her planner open again.
“You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?” he asked, his tone softer now.
“This is my career,” Claire replied without looking up. “I take it seriously.”
Ryan studied her for a moment, something thoughtful flickering in his green eyes. “Fair enough. I can respect that. But sometimes, a little chaos can lead to something amazing. Think of it as... holiday magic.”
Claire didn’t reply immediately. Her pen paused mid-note, and when she finally looked up, her gaze lingered on him a fraction longer than before. “We’ll see,” she said simply.
It wasn’t much, but Ryan would take it. As he left the office, his mind already racing with ideas, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Sure, their partnership was off to a rocky start, but maybe—just maybe—it was the beginning of something extraordinary.
