Page 17

Saturday evening, I finally swallowed down my pride and contacted Joseph. I had previously blocked and deleted his number so I had to call one of his former business partners to send it to me.

I knew his number by heart, in fact, I am sure that I could recite it in my sleep if need be. But I didn’t want to bring up old memories. I had shoved everything related to Joseph into a box filed DO NOT OPEN in my head. The last thing I wanted to do was open it, so I had to ask for the number.

The guy I called was hungry for gossip and asked at least five times during our two minute conversation whether the rumors were true and what we were going to do about it.

I am used to people wanting gossip from me and thinking that because I’m a woman, my lips were loose and I’m going to cry wolf and spill my life secrets simply because they asked.

What was annoying about this was, he knew the rumors are false, he knew when Joseph and I were together.

He probably knew when Joseph got with this girl because he worked really closely with him.

In fact, I know he is still really close with Joseph because he still tags him in posts online.

Why he won’t ask Joseph is beyond me. He was probably just looking for some hot gossip to take back to the office or to sell off to a media house.

By the fifth time he asked, I told him that if he was going to act like a kid in a candy store over a piece of gossip then I would gladly take my business elsewhere. He shut up after that and quickly sent me the number effectively cutting the unnecessary conversation short.

It took me almost ten minutes to finally work up the courage to call Joseph and he didn’t pick up.

I wanted to scream my head off and a tiny voice in my head was laughing at the way the whole situation was playing out.

I called him three times and each time it would ring through and go straight to voicemail.

I started to get pissed at the end of the second call for two reasons.

The first being, I don’t call more than once except it is an emergency. Anyone who knows me knows that. If my friends see two missed calls from me, they will rush to call back because it has to be important. And I called him THREE TIMES but he didn’t answer.

The second reason was because I know for a fact that Joseph cannot exist outside of his phone.

If he isn’t on it, then it is next to him.

But under no circumstance, does he leave his phone somewhere and go to another room.

He even takes his phone with him to the bathroom- not toilet, bathroom.

That could only mean that he was deliberately ignoring my calls.

He knows what’s happening, he isn’t a fool and he isn’t a media illiterate. He knows that this is why I’m calling and yet he still ignored my calls.

After it went to voicemail I sent him a text calmly explaining the situation and what I felt was the best course of action going forward.

Technically, it was more of a threat, but in my defense I was being extremely diplomatic considering he ignored my calls.

I could have chosen not to talk to him and gone ahead with what I had planned.

I could have aired out his dirty laundry on social media, but instead I decided to send him a text. So what if it was a bit rude and it had a bit of an attitude, I think I was extremely nice considering the current debacle that we are in.

Call me so we can come up with a statement, one that benefits both of us, or I’m making a statement. It’s your call.

He read it almost immediately, alluding to the fact that I knew he was with his phone, but he didn’t respond- dick.

I put my phone down and turned on my TV so I could stream 9-1-1.

It’s my comfort series, and it manages to calm me down each time.

It was either that or be in a bad mood all evening, and to be honest, Joseph isn’t worth that bad mood.

*****************************************

By Monday, Joseph still hadn’t responded. I refrained from sending him a follow up message, he’s an adult and he saw my message. I passed my point across and if he doesn’t do the right thing, then I’ll make my own statement; either way, the matter gets resolved.

I didn’t even have time to think about Joseph from the moment I walked in through the office doors because I had a very busy day at work. I was to inspect how far the seamstresses had gone with the dresses and give a few corrections and alterations where necessary.

This is one of my worst parts of the process, not because it’s hard but because I have been told that I can be a bit harsh. I am a perfectionist when it comes to my work and if the work is anything less than perfect, I can be a bit vocal about it.

I have tried my best though to never berate my workers. I try to keep the criticism to their work and not criticize them as people.

Most times, it ends with at least one or two people having to redo a part of or the entire outfit. But it’s not my fault that they cannot follow simple instructions. They have a complete sketch in front of them but they somehow still manage to do the wrong thing.

I had forgotten I had to do it today until Marissa came to tell me that they were waiting.

I was in the middle of a call with my publicist when she walked into the office and dropped a note on my desk.

Honestly, she needs a raise with how much to pulls my weight.

I don’t know what I would do without her.

The company would have probably gone under if I didn’t have her.

I was getting ready to meet them when Nathan walked into my office. I tried to calm myself mentally because the last thing I need right now is for Nathan Cowe to be his usual annoying self.

“I think it would be good if we filmed the process,” he went straight to business .

I found myself staring at him for a full minute while I tried to properly articulate the fact that I didn’t want him there without being rude.

“You’re going to be in my way,” was what I ended up saying.

“You’ll barely even know we’re there,”

“I’m going to be criticizing my workers. The last thing that they need is their faults being aired. I wouldn’t do that to them.”

“I asked if they were okay with it before I came here.” I arched a brow and crossed my hands over my chest, “I can assure you that you won’t even realize we are there. And if we are being annoying, say the word and we’ll leave.”

“Fine,” I huffed, “But if you piss me off, you’re done.”

“Deal,”

Nathan and another man followed me downstairs to where the seamstresses were. I tried my best to ignore and tune them out.

I knew they were looking at me curiously when I stood outside the work stations for five minutes before walking in.

It is a routine thing and it was weird to do with people watching but seeing as they didn’t ask for an explanation, I didn’t offer one.

Although I’m not sure I would have offered one even if they asked.

I know for a fact that Nathan would ask for one during our session.

When I was done, I went through each work station and inspected the dresses and how far they had gone. Most of them actually did a decent job. The sketches were followed to almost perfection. A few of them improvised and I actually liked some of the improvisations.

I encourage my workers to be creative. What I decide might not always be what’s best, and if they think they have a better idea, they are welcome to go for it.

The catch is, if I hate it, you’re going to be on the receiving end of a possible meltdown; especially, if it is for an event like this where we have limited supplies and limited time.

Luckily for everyone involved, there were only two people who had to restart their work. Well luckily for everyone except them. They didn’t have serious issues; the first girl had crooked stitches along the sides of the dress, and the second girl had one of the sleeves shorter than the other.

They were issues that could have been easily fixed or overlooked by customers but the fashion world is cutthroat. A critic could see it and that would be the biggest scandal of the year. It would make headlines for at least a week.

And this isn’t just any fashion show; it is a very prestige one and I’d be damned if I will let even a tiny mistake slip undetected through the cracks.

People already think I don’t deserve to be at this show.

They will have their eyes peeled out for even the slightest mistake so they can use it as proof that I am not worthy.

“Can any of you tell me what’s wrong with these two?” I asked both girls and they had identical looks of concern as they glanced at each other.

I gave them a full five minutes to inspect the outfits and come up with a response. I could easily tell them, but that just defeats the entire purpose of them learning where they messed up. If someone always points out your mistakes then you’ll never learn.

They stood up straight and kept their gazes to the floor. Translation: they don’t know what they did wrong.

I looked around the room but everyone avoided looking my way. They all pretended to be busy while keeping an ear out and listening to what was going on .

I noticed a girl chewing on her fingers to my right. I recognized her instantly as Hannah, the girl who gave me her sketch a few days ago. She was eyeing the dresses with pristine attention and she kept muttering a few words under her breath.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” I asked and her eyes snapped to mine. She stumbled over her words and I sighed deeply, “It was a yes or no question, Hannah.”

“The sides and the sleeves.” She offered with a little more confidence and I hummed in approval, “Also, I can see some thread sticking out from the hem that wasn’t trimmed off properly.”

I honestly didn’t notice that, “Thank you, Hannah.” She beamed as if she had gotten the compliment of a lifetime and I turned to both girls.