Gwyneth watched Lola freeze, a slow, knowing smile curling at the corners of her lips.
“What’s wrong? Can’t produce your so-called evidence, or did you never have any to begin with?”
She unclasped the necklace from her neck and dangled it casually in front of Lola. “I drew the original designs myself, right here at the office just two days ago. Every workstation has a security camera—my entire process is on record. If you think I plagiarized, feel free to check the footage from that day. Every new file has a clear creation date, including my initial sketches. Your name’s Lola, right? I’m sure HR remembers exactly when you resigned. Trying to frame me is a waste of everyone’s time.”
Gwyneth had no patience for fools. Weren’t CEOs supposed to be sharp? Yvette was no empty-headed beauty, but Gwyneth couldn’t fathom how she thought dragging someone in to accuse her of plagiarism would actually work—let alone box her into a corner.
“Lola, I think it’s time you stopped giving yourself so much credit. We all just reviewed Gwyneth’s original designs, and your style isn’t even remotely similar to hers.”
Someone in the crowd, clearly annoyed with Lola, spoke up and shut her down.
Not that anyone was necessarily on Lola’s side. The fact that she’d come back to help Yvette only proved she’d always been a political chameleon—someone who knew how to pick a side and play along.
Lola and Yvette were thick as thieves, and most people in the gaming department had never liked Yvette to begin with. Naturally, they weren’t about to go easy on Lola either.
“Exactly. It’s not just the style—the way you draw and the way she draws aren’t even in the same ballpark. You claim she stole your work, but honestly, I doubt you’d even be able to copy hers if you tried.”
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