Page 5

There were three things I also hated about drinking during the week.

First was the goddamn hangover. I couldn’t remember drinking so much yesterday but apparently my brain did because I had to drink two cups of coffee so the pounding in my head would stop for a split second.

Second was the drive to work. Imagine driving through New York after a long night; different people hitting their horns at the same time. It’s like having a very busy construction site in your head. It’s bad on a normal day, but it’s somehow magnified by a million after a night of drinking.

Let’s not forget the rude as fuck drivers who keep honking when the road is clearly blocked or busy. Sometimes I wish I could stand in the middle of the road and scream at them to fly over my head if they wished. Or better yet, stab them in the eyes with my heels- I’m kidding, sometimes.

The last, was how somehow work seemed to always pile up for me the day after I spent the night out. When I left yesterday, my desk was clear except for my unfinished sketches. When I arrived, I had an entire pile of folders filled with sketches I needed to go over and make adjustments to.

I also had a lot of artists who were holding their breaths and wondering if their work was going to make it on the board or if I was going to send their sketches back to them.

Two hours later and I had three piles standing-

The definite yes’: they were so beautiful and unique that I probably didn’t need to make any adjustments. I was wowed just by looking at them alone and I was sure that Mr. Winston will feel the same.

The honorable mentions: they were good; not as exceptional as I would have liked, but good nonetheless.

A few of them needed a little tweaks here and there to fit into the ideal design idea that I had.

They weren’t my favorite so they definitely wouldn’t be at the front line of the show, but they will be there.

And finally, the not a chance in hell’s: some were good, and some were terrible. Some of them just didn’t fit into the idea that I had and some of them were so horrible that I wanted to burn the paper and erase it from my mind.

“Marissa,” I paged her and I heard her hum over the intercom, “I need you in my office please. ”

In less than two minutes, she was standing at the door of my office and looking at the stack of papers sitting on my table. I pointed them out to her from left to right.

“Perfect, honorable mentions and not a chance in hell,” I explained, “Send Mr. Winston a portfolio with the honorable mentions and send the perfect stack straight to the tailors, we need to start sewing as soon as possible. And as for the last pile, send them back to the artists, I need something better on my table by the end of the week or they’re fired. ”

“Of course.”

I turned my attention back to my sketch and she cleared her throat making me look up at her. She still stood at the same position fidgeting on her feet.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, it’s just that I’m not sure if you pointed the stashes out to me in the correct order. The no pile is rather large.”

“I didn’t make a mistake,” I assured her as I pointed them out to her again, “They just didn’t make the mark.”

She turned to leave but I stopped her.

“While you’re on it; make sure to give my well earned congratulations to the artists that did make the mark. They did exceptionally well.”

She nodded. “Will do, Adira.”

She started to pick up the papers but stopped and gestured to one that lay alone in front of me, “Did you forget to put that in a pile?”

I shook my head without looking up. “I’m still looking at it. ”

She didn’t ask any further questions; probably because she knew I wouldn’t provide any answers.

She just took the stacks out of the office.

I watched her through the transparent glass to make sure she didn’t trip or anything.

When she was safely seated behind her desk, I turned my attention back to my work.

Lunch hour came and passed in the blink of an eye, and I watched Marissa leave her desk and return while I remained sitting. Something just didn’t sit right with me about the sketch lying in front of me.

The drawing was beautiful, and the design was unique enough to grasp my attention, but it just didn’t feel complete.

It was one of mine, so that could be the reason I was so hard on it.

I took a quick picture of it and sent it to Olivia.

She responded almost immediately saying how great she thought it was and adding a bunch of unnecessary emojis. While I appreciate her enthusiasm, I don’t agree; I sent her a thank you text and went back to critically analyzing the drawing.

Around 1, Marissa walked into my office.

Technically, she stood by the door and poked her head in. The moment she did that, I knew she probably did something that she thought might piss me off.

I leaned back into my chair and crossed my hands, “What did you do?”

“I got a call from Cowe Media yesterday,” she said slowly, “They reached out to you on a documentary about your business and the upcoming fashion show.”

I had a distinct feeling where this conversation was going, “What did you do, Marissa?”

“You told me to take all your calls and say what you would say. I thought they had a good angle and the representative for Mr. Cowe sounded really nice, and I just thought,” she trailed off and swallowed, “Ijustthoughtthatitwouldbeagoodideaforyoutomeethimtoday.”

“You’re going to have to repeat that for me.”

“I thought it would be a good idea for you to meet him today.” She repeated, a bit slower but still faster than she would have normally, “Nothing is set in stone, you can still refuse the documentary; I just thought you would like the challenge.”

I didn’t say anything, just stared at her with a raised brow and my hands still crossed above my chest. This seemed to put her more on edge because she squirmed.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” she asked, “Do you want me to cancel?”

“Why did you think I’d want to meet him?”

“What?”

“You agreed to it for a reason; why did you?” I leaned forward, “If you give me a good enough reason, I’ll do it. If you don’t, then you are going to call him and cancel. I have explicitly refused every single documentary request for years, so please tell me why you thought this was a good idea.”

She swallowed and stepped into the office then closed the door behind her slowly. She fidgeted with her hands for a while and I watched her carefully. I could have forced her to speak immediately but there was no need.

She was already nervous, making it worse would do absolutely no good.

She would probably have ended up crying, and an emotional Marissa was not something I wanted to deal with today.

The last time she cried on the job, she overbooked my meetings for two weeks, and forgot to put calls out to investors and to our suppliers.

I should’ve let her go then, but I didn’t have the patience to train a new assistant.

“He’s a cut throat journalist,” she began, “I watched a few of his documentaries last night and they were amazing. He asks the hard hitting questions and he isn’t swayed by the opinions of the general public. He has given some very controversial opinions about some very big names.”

“I’m going to need a lot more than that to convince me,” I stated in a dry tone.

“Do you remember that scandal with Le Mont?” I nodded slowly, my interest suddenly piqued, “Well he caused it with his documentary on them. He was the one who exposed how the workers were being underpaid and how they were sometimes using expired produce. He noticed it while filming and apparently, he was offered a huge amount to sweep it under the rug, but he didn’t. ”

“So he’s an honest journalist; good for him.” I tried to keep my tone bored but she already had my interest.

“I know how much you value honesty, and I know how you want your story to be told by the right person. Well, here he is.”

After her little speech, she rocked back and forth on her toes watching me with baited breath. I looked at her slowly and I saw her swallow. I counted a good ten seconds before I sighed and said the next words that sealed my fate .

“What time is the meeting?”

I saw the tension visibly deflate from her body. A huge smile broke out on her face as a tiny squeal escaped her lips.

“I thought you would fire me for sure,” she said in a rushed exhale, “I was already worried about how I was going to have to call and cancel and where I would apply for a job. I would have needed a letter of recommendation from you but I wasn’t so sure if you would be willing to give me one after firing.

Although I think you would have given me one, you’re-”

“Breathe,” I interrupted her and she let out a heavy exhale.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re all good,” I assured her, “What time is the meeting?”

“It’s at 2pm, at the café downtown- Angel’s Cafe. He wanted it to be in a public and neutral setting so no one would feel swayed to make a decision.”

“It’ll be 2 in half an hour.” She glanced at the clock and gave me a sheepish smile, “I’ll meet him but I can’t promise a documentary will come out of it.”

“A meeting is all I ask for, thank you.” She got to the door before I stopped her.

Upon hearing her name, she froze and I saw her take in a huge gulp of air before turning.

“Don’t ever make a plan like this without asking me first.” I warned.

She swallowed and nodded, “Yes, Adira.”

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

Because of the traffic, I got there at fifteen minutes past 2. I hoped Mr. Cowe didn’t mind waiting for so long.

During the drive, I listened to audios of some of his documentaries, and I had to give it to Marissa; he was kind of captivating as a journalist. I liked the way he asked his questions; blunt, straight to the point and straddling the line of being intrusive but never actually crossing it.