First Impressions
The moment Lisa Swain walked into Underworld, she knew she was being sized up. Not that she minded. She’d spent enough years walking into places where she wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms—construction sites, warehouses, boardrooms filled with men who barely hid their skepticism. A lingerie factory in Weatherfield was hardly the most intimidating place she’d been.
Still, she clocked the sharp eyes of Carla Connor from the moment she stepped inside. Dark, assessing, just a little suspicious.
Lisa took her time, letting her gaze drift over the factory floor. Machines hummed, fabric lay in neat stacks, and workers darted between stations. It was organized chaos, but efficient—she had to give them that. She liked places where people knew what they were doing.
“You lost?” The voice came sharp, cutting through the background noise.
Lisa turned, already smirking, because she had an idea who it belonged to. Carla Connor, standing near her office door, arms folded, eyebrow arched in that way that suggested she didn’t have the time or patience for strangers who didn’t announce themselves properly.
“Lisa Swain,” she said, stepping forward, offering a hand that Carla didn’t take immediately. “Consultant. I’ve been brought in to assess operations. See where things can be improved.”
Carla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Oh, have you now?”
Lisa let her smirk widen just a fraction. “That a problem?”
“Not for me.” Carla took her hand, shook it once, firm and brief, then let go. “For you, maybe. We run a tight ship here. Don’t need someone poking their nose in for the sake of it.”
Lisa tilted her head, considering her. She already liked Carla’s directness. No time for nonsense. She respected that. But she also knew when someone was bracing for a fight. Lisa had been in enough places like this to know that people didn’t like outsiders coming in and telling them what to do.
“I’m not here to get in your way,” Lisa said, shifting her weight slightly, planting her boots like she belonged there. “Just to see what’s working. And what isn’t.”
Carla’s expression didn’t shift, but something flickered in her eyes. A challenge.
“You do that, then,” she said. “But don’t expect me to roll out a red carpet.”
Lisa let out a quiet chuckle. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
By mid-afternoon, Lisa had settled in. She’d already spent time speaking to the workers on the floor, taking notes, watching the rhythm of the place. It was impressive, she’d admit that. And from what she’d gathered, Carla Connor was the reason for it. The factory ran on her energy, her standards, her sharp eye for detail.
Lisa had worked with people like her before. Strong-willed. Stubborn. Used to being in charge. They either loved her or hated her.
She wondered which way Carla would go.
A sharp knock on her temporary desk made Lisa glance up. Carla stood over her, holding something between her fingers. A delicate piece of lace. Red.
Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Something I can help you with?”
Carla held up the fabric. “What do you make of this?”
Lisa leaned back slightly, eyes flicking over it. “Looks expensive.”
Carla smirked. “It is. It’s also not selling.”
Lisa reached out, brushing her fingers over the lace, feeling the quality. She knew this was a test. Carla wanted to see what she was made of.
“Maybe it’s not about the price,” Lisa said, meeting her gaze. “Maybe it’s about who you’re selling it to.”
Carla held her eyes a beat too long. The tension between them, the unspoken challenge, crackled in the air.
Lisa smiled, slow and knowing. “Got a problem with that?”
Carla exhaled, half amused, half exasperated. “We’ll see.”
Lisa watched her walk away, a small, satisfied smirk curling at her lips.
This was going to be interesting.