My mouth dries at her words.
What all did I blurt to her in nervousness? Do I remember the changes to make the dress Vanessa wants?
But she has already turned to the other designer. “You are fired.”
Holy crap!
“I—” I start to say something when Ann pinches my forearm. My head jerks to him but he lightly shakes his head.
“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have a dress to design?” Vanessa shoots back at me. It takes my shaky feet a few beats to leave her room followed by Ann and the woman now crying in full flow.
“Come on. You knew this was going to happen someday. At least now you have Vanshionista’s experience under your belt.” Ann’s words make no sense to me as he leads the heartbroken designer to a couch and hands her a water bottle.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she’d fire you.” An uneasy feeling of helplessness settles in my chest, watching her tears. My stomach roils in guilt and confusion.
How did I get a person fired in less than five minutes?
Think about the consequences, Clementine. Florence’s words find their way in my head, but I ignore them.
The designer shakes her head. “It’s not your fault. It’s just the price of working for that bitch.”
“Now, now, girl. There is no need for name-calling.” Ann’s overly calm attitude surprises me.
The woman wipes her tears and stands. “I’ll miss the money, but I’m more than happy to work at some subpar place rather than for that psycho!” Stomping her feet, she leaves the room.
Unfazed by the roller coaster of emotions that just burst here, Ann turns to me. “First rule of business, darling. Don’t fight others’ fights, you’ll have plenty of your own.”
“I had no idea Vanessa would fire her. It’s all my fault.” My chest clenches and I make a quick prayer that she finds another job soon.
“Nothing’s your fault.” Ann cocks his head to the side. “You still need to present the idea you schemed inside. I hope you remember what you said, because take my word, Vanessa remembered everything.”
I gape at him, not sure if he’s kidding.
Darn it, Clem! You should have taken your phone out and made notes or something!
But without further explanation, he sashays toward the corridor opposite Vanessa’s work area. “Let me show you your office.”
Ann leads me to a small studio room where there are a few mannequins and loads and loads of fabric rolls. There’s a cart with an assortment of design tools. A desk covered with three cutting mats and an automatic sewing machine.
“You can start already. This is your office.”
“I’ll work alone? Won’t I share my office with others?” My heart sinks at the sight of this perfect office and no other person.
“No. Vanessa believes a designer should never look at any other design while working. It helps preserve the originality of their work.”
His words make sense, but I’d hoped to work with other people.
For what felt like forever, I worked alone in the small storehouse in Cherrywood where friends and family were the only visitors.
After Ann leaves me, I place my bag on the table and look around.
My office. My first office at my first real job.
I suddenly feel weak in my legs as overwhelming emotions hit me.
I am finally free, on my own.
Everything is falling into place as I had always dreamed of.