by Lacy Kinsley
However, going to Paris was a dream! She smiled in response without realizing she was. “Of course you’ll need an assistant, a bigger office, and a raise.”
Her smile evaporated. Paris wasn’t that much of a dream. “Marcus, wait. Let’s slow down. I’m not saying I don’t love my job. I love my job! I’m saying I’m not unwilling to do what is asked for me, or that I’m not grateful. It’s an honor that you’d even think of me as your second, but I’m not sure I’m the girl for the job. I’m not certain what you’re asking me to do.”
“I want my designers to approach you first so you can tell them to start over and try something new if that’s the case. We’re a good team and today is a perfect example. I tell you how to improve a sketch and you do it. If I tell someone else, you’d be surprised of how many people refuse to change it and don’t grow from his or her mistakes. You do both! I’m fed up, and I’m sick of doing it all on my own. I feel like I work around a bunch of imbeciles. I keep saying what I want, and they never deliver. Truthfully, I’ve been waiting for years for someone like you to come along. You’re talented, smart, have an eye for fashion and beauty. Your shoes are my number one selling items beyond what I personally design myself. I need your help. We’ll make a great team!”
“Marcus,” she was momentarily speechless. He looked at her. And as if all resolve was squashed out of her, she agreed. “I’ll try, but truthfully I think I’m only good at designing shoes. If I’m a miserable failure at what you’re asking me, I’ll want my old job back (the one I have now), but you can’t fire me. Deal?” She asked and held out her hand. He looked at it, laughed under his breath, and shook.
CHAPTER TWO
Veronica had a list in one hand and a basket in the other. She slowly meandered each aisle in the warehouse peering at the selections and placed anything that triggered her interest into her basket. While she did this every Friday, she usually arrived earlier; mornings at the warehouse were relaxing and enjoyable, at three o’clock it was abuzz with activity. It was always nice to get away from sketching and designing or the crazy hustle and bustle of the office. A different environment always inspired new ideas. Feeling motivated, she continued gathering supplies. Marcus never discussed her budget, and consequently she habitually bought more than she needed.
However, she never came back to the office with only frivolous purchases. Her basket contained all the necessities on her list.
Today the busy atmosphere didn’t bother her. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts. Veronica was still terrified about what Marcus asked her to do. It was a mistake and she knew it! Being in the warehouse helped get her mind off things for a while, but slowly his words crept back in.
All she wanted to do was design shoes. If she was going to help design clothes she could have taken other higher paying jobs. She had other offers besides Marcus, but shoes were her passion. That was the reason why she wasn’t exactly thrilled to help Marcus review sketches and give her opinion on what she liked and disliked. She wouldn’t have the time now to focus on shoes.
However, the idea of an assistant was great! Veronica even wanted to ask Kimmy to do it. She might be perfect for the job, because it would make her one step closer to being a designer. Her ideas on fashion were usually over the top, very flashy and beautiful for sure, but Veronica wasn’t sure Kimmy would see eye to eye on clothes Marcus would want to hang in his store. If Kimmy surprised Veronica by choosing his taste in fashion, Veronica could work more on shoes and less on clothes. If not, Kimmy could learn his tastes over time and possibly become a designer for him. It was worth a try to ask Kimmy what she thought about the idea. She planned on asking this weekend before she left for Paris. Paris, now that would give her inspiration for shoes. She looked forward to that.
Veronica picked up a long spool of red thread. It would be perfect for the shoe she drew that morning. She tossed it into the basket and turned around. As she did, she thought about her newly hatched plan and gloated in triumph.
The moment she turned, however, she smacked right into someone. She hit him hard enough it knocked her off balance and she started to fall backwards, but he quickly seized her arm. At the same time she dropped her basket as she had tried to steady herself. She had attempted to reach for the shelf that displayed thread, but instead she seized his other arm and both baskets toppled, scattering their contents. “I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed, instantly mortified. She rapidly began to gather the spilled supplies into her basket.
“That’s okay.” He said. They both reached for the same box of pins. When their hands touched she yanked hers back and looked at him. She flushed even more when she saw how extraordinarily attractive he was—black hair, green eyes, and shallow dimples in his cheeks. His eyes were striking, because of his olive skin tone and dark hair. She loved unusual combinations like that. He wore black suit pants, a deep blue shirt with a black tie. He was a pristine dresser which made him only that much more appealing. She looked away to keep from staring.
Better to have plowed into an old grandma than crash into someone so breathtaking. At least she wouldn’t be as flustered. “You’re putting my things in there,” he grinned and pointed at her basket.
“Oh!” She laughed at herself for acting so smitten. She quickly placed his items in his basket. “This is embarrassing, and I’m not paying attention to what I’m doing.” She groaned.
“Everything’s sorted out now,” he reassured her, after retrieving one last item from her basket.
“Thanks. You don’t have to be so nice.” She said. He smiled as they made eye contact and started to rise. Veronica stood at the same time, but she was quicker. To her horror she heard a crunch as the top of her head hit his nose. She gasped at all the blood. Suddenly quite pale, he stared at her. He touched his lips, looked at his bloody fingers, and brought his tie up to his nose. She started to stammer an apology as he turned, left his basket, and walked away. Aghast at breaking someone’s nose, Veronica instantly started to sweat and her heart pounded. She suddenly realized he was gone, took his basket, followed the blood splatters, and waited for him outside of the men’s room.
“I broke his nose!” She whispered to herself in anguish. “I broke his nose!” Veronica had to sit down. She was mortified and probably in shock. What was she supposed to do or say when he came out? She didn’t know how she could help him. Terrible flashing images of him gushing blood kept popping in her head. She half wondered if she should go into the men’s room and tell him to lean forward, and not backwards. Then she wondered if she needed to take him to the hospital. What a terrible start to a weekend! She had broken someone’s nose!
Every time the bathroom door opened her stomach leapt. It was torture. The worst part was she knew he was in pain. It had to hurt. Veronica knew she wasn’t okay; she couldn’t quit shaking. Finally after five minutes (that felt like an hour) the man stepped out of the bathroom.
His blue shirt was wet from water where he had tried to get his blood off of it, but it didn’t come out completely. Instead, it was blotched purple from the mix of red and blue. Veronica was alarmed to see how large the plum colored stain was. He on the other hand was white faced.
It was a relief to see he was no longer bleeding. “I’m so sorry!” She groaned while she approached him the moment he came out. She handed him his basket. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He reassured her. It was a polite lie, and she didn’t buy it for a second.
She fumbled for her wallet and pulled out a business card. “Let me buy you a new shirt. Who makes it? Where did you get it? It looks designer. It is, isn’t it?”
“It’s a William Berks shirt,” he declared. Veronica winced. William Berks made high–end suits and one of his shirts cost six hundred dollars. He continued, “But I don’t want you to buy me another shirt. I have a headache but otherwise I’m fine. So, if you don’t mind…” he asserted and walked away.
“No, please!” She said following him. “Let me at leas
t pay for your dry cleaning! Something, please!” She dropped her business card in his basket.
“I don’t need a new shirt, nor do I need your help with my dry cleaning bill. So, unless you have some kind of painkiller . . .” he said as he continued to walk. He turned down an aisle and headed toward the checkout stands.
She followed him, as she dug in her purse and named off everything she saw. “I have some free floating gum, a pen, lip gloss, paper, and my wallet.” She once again bumped into him when he stopped to stand in line. Why didn’t she leave this poor man alone already? However, she added with great excitement when she found something that might be of use, “Midol! I have Midol!” Both the man and the checkout clerk looked at her with raised eyebrows and tried to hide their amusement.
“Thanks, but I don’t have cramps.” He replied. The clerk snorted out a quick laugh.
Veronica got in front of him to say, “I’ll buy your things then.” She took his basket. He held onto it with a tight grip.
“Seriously,” he began, glanced at her business card, and read her name, “Veronica Mitchell”. He studied the card, “The Veronica Mitchell who designs shoes at Saxton Hip?” He queried, and then looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. In a moment his eyes had traveled from her shoes to the clip in her hair. He touched his tie uncomfortably.
“I’m one of Marcus Yutan’s shoe designers. Actually, he promoted me today. Do you wear clothes from there? I can get you a shirt, several if you want. I could mail them to you.”
“I,” he began to say, but touched his bloody shirt and then put his basket down, “Excuse me.” He turned, and without another word he left the store.
Veronica was momentarily dumb struck, had no idea what happened, and tried to recall their conversation. She didn’t understand his perplexing behavior and blamed his headache. Veronica wished she knew his name so she could replace his shirt. “Miss! Are you ready to check out?” The sound of the cashier’s voice shocked her into motion.
“Oh, yes.” She mumbled and put her basket in front of the cashier, and then glanced back to the front door. After Veronica left the store, she shook off what had happened as best she could.
CHAPTER THREE
Thinking about her upcoming trip to Paris, Veronica was so energized she couldn’t focus on anything that didn’t involve packing. The weekend seemed to tick by slowly, and she wished she was already there sightseeing. Her flight left Monday morning at nine o’clock, but if she’d thought to ask Marcus he might have sent her early to spend time there.
Veronica arrived at the airport early, checked her two bags, and carried her purse, two magazines, and a bag of pretzels. She sat and read her magazine, but her mind wasn’t on it and she couldn’t stop thinking about Paris. The icing on the cake was that Lester had booked a first class reservation for her. That explained her perm–a–grin. She was thinking of everything she wanted to do in Paris.
“Now boarding first class.” The gate agent announced, and Veronica bounced up from her chair. She hoped she had heard the agent right, because otherwise she would have looked foolish. She gathered her things, and boarded the airplane easily. Veronica had never been in such a nice plane; it had one very large seat on each side of the aisle. She was served a diet soda while other passengers boarded, but since Veronica was in a private section people didn’t parade past. It would be an enjoyable, relaxing trip to Paris, and she was excited.
The lack of sleep from the night before made her drowsy. She knew when she woke up, four hours wasn’t going to be enough to function. She figured she would need a nap, but not this soon. It was the comfy wrap–around seat that seemed to speed up her fatigue. Within a half hour, Veronica decided to lie back, and take a nap. She was quickly covered with a blanket and offered a sleep mask for her eyes, slippers, earplugs and a pillow. The flight attendant took her half–finished drink and left. She was exhausted. Veronica put on the visor, lay on the pillow and quickly dozed off. She woke up a few times when she heard noise, but other than that she slept well.
Veronica woke up, and opened her eyes—it was dark and she was momentarily disoriented. She slowly sat up, removed the eyeshade, combed her fingers through her hair, and then chewed her last piece of gum. A flight attendant approached her. “You slept through lunch. Are you hungry? Crab salad was served, but dinner will be in two hours if you want to wait. Its steak and lobster tail or dried tomato and chicken pasta.”
“Oh, I’ll wait.” Veronica uttered groggily.
“Would you like a beverage?” The attendant offered.
“Um, a diet soda, please.” Veronica said, and returned the blanket and pillow. After that she left saying she would be right back with her drink.
“Oh, Mr. Berks, you’re back, may I get you anything?” The attendant asked.
Veronica turned around, but instantly sunk into her chair in a panic. She couldn’t believe her luck. She tore open her magazine and buried her nose in it. Of all the people who could be on the plane! It was none other than the man with the broken nose. The memory of it made her tremble. To make matters worse, he had a deep purple bruise under his right eye. She heard him say that he was fine, and a moment later he sat in the vacant seat across the aisle. She turned away from him, hoping he had yet to recognize her. This was going to be torture.
Her plan was working: he hadn’t spoken to her. She turned to look out the window “fascinated” and didn’t budge remotely in his direction for the next two hours. “Miss Mitchell, would you like something to drink with dinner?”
“Water.” She said without looking at the flight attendant. She knew it was rude, but the attendant didn’t seem to mind. Veronica thanked her and then picked up her magazine. If she held it right, she could eat while pretending to read, and hide her face. She decided it was best to start “reading” now, so it didn’t look bizarre by dinner.
“Mr. Berks, would you like a beverage with your dinner?” The flight attendant asked.
“Vodka martini with three olives, and four Ibuprofen.” Veronica cringed hearing his answer. He was still in pain.
The attendant continued down the small aisle. Veronica quickly forgot she was hiding and soon found she was reading articles while flipping through pages. Every once in a while she would mark up pages to jot down notes on shoes she saw. She liked to critique other designs. A habit since college, it gave her a morbid sense of accomplishment that she could design something better. By the time her dinner and glass of water arrived, she eagerly put down her magazine and began to eat.
Veronica had the worst diet: she rarely touched a vegetable, and only ate fresh fruit occasionally. Unless it was disguised in something she ate like pasta, or seafood, she never touched the stuff. Usually she didn’t eat red meat either, but the steak was exceptional. She polished off the lobster and the steak before sipping her water.
“Would you like earphones for the in–flight movie? You have a small movie player to watch something else if you wish. There’s a pamphlet of movies . . . ,” the flight attendant said, handing it to her.
“Oh, no, thank you,” Veronica declined. She then pulled out some paper from her purse thinking it would be good to brainstorm shoe designs. A brilliant idea came to her minutes later and she began drawing a man’s shoe. She pictured it in black leather with a long tongue that folded over with an elongated, thin clip down the length of the shoe instead of laces holding the tongue in place. She was almost done drawing it when people began turning off their lights. Veronica thought she should stop out of courtesy.
“You know—I know exactly what suit I would wear with those shoes.” Veronica jumped, clutched her chest and looked at him. The man with the swollen black and blue eye was leaning over and admiring her design. “I hope you’ll make it.” He said and sat back in his seat.
“Oh, maybe.” She said, but truly she had every intention of showing it to Marcus.
“I saw you a few days ago. I’m not sure if you remember, but you gave me this.” He said,
pointing to his eye.
“I won’t forget that for as long as I live.” She whispered flushing with embarrassment. “I’m still mortified.”
“I can tell. You’ve been avoiding me.” He smiled wider. She gulped, and turned away. That was the worst thing he could have said. She felt suddenly ashamed for being rude. She should have been the one to ask him how he was doing. She was a jerk. He laughed under his breath. “So are you going to Paris for the fashion show? I’ve never seen you at one before.”
“I’m going as a favor to my boss. I’m supposed to see the latest fashion, so I can pick out the trendiest outfits when they cross my desk.” She added, “It’s my boss’ idea of getting me to cut down on the amount of work he needs to do, and it’s my idea of a mistake. He’ll see soon enough that I’m only good at one thing—making shoes.”
“I don’t think it’s a mistake at all. Marcus Yutan knows exactly what he’s doing sending you to this fashion show. I bet he’s going to hire you as his protégé within a year.” He predicted. “That is, if he hasn’t already, but it sounds like he has.” Veronica looked at him curiously, and then his black and blue eye. He smiled. “Has he?”
“Yes. But I made him promise me if I fail the job miserably I could continue with my old one.” She added, “I hope it’s temporary.”
“No, you’ll be great!” He retorted confidently.
“I don’t have a desire to do what he’s asking me. All I want to do is keep making my shoes. They are my passion. I have about three hundred pairs in my closet.” She said.
“I also have about three hundred pairs, but I’ll admit I’m more passionate about clothes.” He said with a smile. “I still think you’d be perfect for the job. You have great taste, and that’s half of what counts. But if you’re not wanting . . .”
“Oh, no, my boss is given clothes from other designers. If it’s clothes for women he gives them to me. I wear what I like, but trust me, I couldn’t pick this out from a drawing and call it Marcus’s perfect blouse,” she said while tugging on her white button up top. “Before I started working for Marcus I would buy anything that fit not even caring if my clothes matched.” She laughed. “Trust me, I’m much better off in my windowless office drawing shoes.”
