by Molly Hoffer
“You could take it easy… Take some time to travel, see the world… Maybe go to grad school… Those are just some things that come to mind.”
I knew that in theory James was supposed to have my best interests in mind, but in reality, if I came into my inheritance ahead of schedule, he might have been muscled out of his top power position at Kashion. It probably seems weird to other people who look at rich families’ infighting. Why fight when you have millions if you do nothing or if you put in all that effort to dominate over the competition? I guess, you can think about it like this. I got used to a certain comfort of living in my penthouse, but that level was the norm like a one-bedroom apartment for a family of four can be for somebody that has parents that barely scrape by. After you graduate from college, you’d be a total loser in everybody’s eyes if you stayed home with mom or worse still if you took your parents money to rent your own place when they can barely pay for their own necessities.
I heard that Meg got a job at Forbes or Fortune Magazine as an Editor right out of college, and she went to NYU. I mean, I didn’t even know she studied seriously over there. Whenever I met up with her, she was partying every night of the week. Then, the guy who was elected as the President of the student body at Columbia got a job as a Chief of Staff for a House Representative for the state of New York. I heard that the kid that was inheriting the WalMart fortune was promoted to CFO as soon as he finished college that year. So, basically, if I did anything else, I was a loser in comparison, and would be dismissed as another trust fund baby, and all those years studying and working would’ve been wasted.
“No. I think I’ve traveled enough. I’ve seen like every continent. And I just can’t handle going to grad school now; I’m all schooled out.”
“So, what’s your proposal?”
I thought about it for a few more moments. There was one idea that had been bugging me. Grandpa knew how to start businesses because he started with a small local grocery store and then expanded it into a line of clothing manufacturers and general super-stores that had locations in a couple dozen countries. If he started as an employee in somebody else’s businesses, maybe he would’ve contently stayed there for life, and would’ve have broken out into his multi-billion dollars conglomerate. So, if I took a job, even if I was appointed CFO of Kashion, I would just be an employee in the machine, and wouldn’t understand how the tiny bits of the business worked. I might later make some mistake that anybody that has had practical micro-business experience would’ve avoided.
“I’d like to start my own business,” I finally said.
“Your own business? Why?” James asked.
“I’d like to understand how business works, all parts of it.”
“OK. It’s an idea… What would you be making?”
I pondered some more. The idea of starting a magazine, like George, was tempting. I would get to read submissions, and order writers around, and interview top artists. But, no, that wasn’t exactly practical. I really had to do something that was closer to my family’s business, so I could smoothly move back over to working for Kashion.
“I think I’d be good at running a little design store in Manhattan,” I said, picking the first idea that made sense because I knew that if I didn’t get an agreement out of James before I left the meeting, it might never happen.
“That’s a really tough business. Very competitive…” Then he processed the idea a bit more, and probably realized that I’d be out of his hair for a while and said, “But yea, I can see how it could be an interesting experiment.”
“I would need to take some money out of my trust.”
“Well, I could lend you some money against your trust; that would be easier.”
“Yes, that will work.”
We ironed out the details and agreed that if the business flopped, I would have to refund the money out of the enormous trust that I would get in three years, when I turned twenty-five. If it succeeded, I would begin paying the money back on some reasonable schedule, soon after I became profitable. All decisions related to the business were left to me, aside for the amount I was borrowing, which was set at $10 million.
James initially started by offering $2 million, but I objected that an average store in Manhattan was paying around $700,000 annually for rent alone, based on some research I did for my senior thesis. He budged and we signed the papers for $10 million.
I rented the top two floors in a ten-story building on West 38th Street, in the center of the Garment District. I viewed dozens of different types of places before choosing it. Some were ground-level with a little public shop on the street, but they were a lot more expensive and had tiny work spaces. I also viewed some smaller studio spaces in more fashionable locations in skyscrapers, but I decided that I really had to be in the center of the fashion industry to mingle and make connections. The place on 38th Street had a couple of parking spaces in the basement. I also decided to use the penthouse above the workroom and showroom as my own apartment. I posted a few job openings on the web and in the New York Times, and found some amazing designers, administrative assistants, an accountant, and seamstresses that all hit the ground running, and made a dozen outfits for me to review for inclusion in the line on their first day on the job. Apparently, there were few other design shops that had that much start-up capital, and those basic mid-level jobs, for which I paid very well, were tough to come by, and they all wanted to keep them permanently, which meant they had to make my little fashion experiment work.
I focused on supervising the designers, rather than trying to design outfits myself. It’s weird that I thought of starting a design line without any design experience, but it just seemed like between the Olsen twins and half of the other Hollywood celebrities-turned-businesspeople, design was just the thing that was easy and profitable enough. I mean, with modern sowing machines, and with manufacturing in China capable of producing a designer shirt for a dollar, it’s just the perfect time for anybody with capital to jump into design. You shlap a sticker with your name on it on a shirt you paid something to design, and that was sweat-shop manufactured in China, and after you pay the distributor 50%, you’ve made $200 for that one shirt.
Of course, we really needed that $200 profit to cover the rent, the salaries, and other overhead expenses that if I didn’t have money falling from the sky on me would’ve meant that we had to meet or bust. If you think about it, we had to sell at least 50,000 outfits with $200 profit on each just to cover my startup $10 million in funding. And there are few fashion district businesses that make that much or anywhere near it in part because there are few people in the world that an afford paying $400 for a shirt.
So, business started moving along. As I hoped, I started being inundated with the realities of business. New disasters crept up daily with rent increases, machines breaking down, and fashion models sleeping through fashion shows.
We prepared our first collection in a couple of months. We put together a fantastic catalog for it, a website, marketing materials, and signed up for Fashion Week. We rented a huge show space, and I paid for the top super models, the best lighting, the best D.J., and the best drinks and snacks at the after-party, which was attended by top celebrities, who agreed to wear my outfits at the Oscars and the Globes. This show got a lot of media attention, and suddenly my line was a big hit with the critics, and celebrity-watchers really complimented my dresses at the awards.
I came up with various other tricks to get more publicity, and to increase our market share. And to be frank, this really was the best way for me to spend that year, as I really understood how businesses made and lost money. Sadly, I couldn’t make the line go mainstream on my own, and before the year was out, I knew that it would do a lot better if I either sold it to Kashion or sold the goods through a Kashion subsidiary instead of running around trying to find stores to take on the line. It was too expensive for Macys, and too cheap for 5th Avenue, and changing prices would’ve meant fewer sales or less profits per item sold, so
I was in a stalemate and uncertain how to get the most out of my business. I started spending longer hours on running through the books, trying to figure out the math, and the whole thing suddenly wasn’t as fun as when I was figuring it all out for the first time. I could see why grandpa expanded quickly and moved to more central locations. He did it just to keep his interest in the business that in its core remained about the same over the decades.
My lack of enthusiasm must have shown because one of our warehouse muscle guys that helped with moving boxes and other manly jobs quit after I told him to move some new furniture into my own apartment. It didn’t exactly seem weird to me… Fedor would’ve done it.
Anyway, I had to hire a new muscle man to take that labor off the seamstresses that just couldn’t drag a box to a truck. They were starting to rebel and telling me to do it myself. To avoid losing some of them too, I posted the job on all the major websites and offered a fair wage to get the most replies. I think it was $10 an hour, but there’d be a lot of off hours. As usual, I had hundreds of applications, and picked a few that had a stable job history, and didn’t have criminal records, which narrowed it down to five applicants.
I scheduled their interviews at fifteen-minute intervals for that Wednesday. I planned to just find somebody that was willing to agree to move my furniture if I had to get this done in the future.
The first applicant was six-five and had the muscular structure of a bouncer. I did notice that he scared my receptionist when he asked her “How you doin’!?” Then he asked her for her number, and she had a tough time rejecting him, as he just kept insisting until I called him in for the interview.
“So, what interested you in the job?”
“It’s work, you know. I gotta make a livin’,” he said in a third-generation Italian-style Brooklyn accent.
“Have you had experience with handy work before?”
“Handy!? Ha, ha!” he laughed and winked at me, “Sure, I can get handy!”
“Er… No, I mean… Never mind. So, would you be willing to do odd jobs for me, and not just for the fashion business? Like, if I asked you to move my furniture upstairs?...”
“Wow, wow! Hey! Let me stop you there! I’m no dog. I don’t play fetch! I mean, why I gotta be liftin’ your crap if we’re not even bonin’!”
“Hm… ok. Well, I’ll review your qualifications, and you’ll hear from us.”
The next couple of guys were weird in their own ways, and I just wasn’t feeling any of them, and started thinking if lifting my own furniture might not be a pretty good exercise program to get into.
Then the receptionist announced, “Nicholas Madsen” and none other than my old soul brother, Dominic walked into my office.
I think I subconsciously was attracted to the last name, even if I hardly remembered it. I heard it a couple of times before, but you know how most people in our lives we remember by their first names. I mean, unless we address them by their last names daily for some reason, like your English teacher, you might remember as Mrs. Smith, and not as Dana. Anyway, he also edited his first name for some reason, unless that was his legal full name, and he just usually introduced himself as Nick to be less formal.
So, I was pretty much shocked when he walked into my office. For some reason, the first thing that came to mind was sexual harassment and discrimination laws… I mean could I refuse to hire somebody just because I had slept with him?… And, if I had hired him over possibly better-qualified candidates, was I giving the job because I hoped we’d renew our affair, and would this be unfair to other candidates? And, how was I supposed to make a move on him if I might be sexually harassing him as his employer? Wasn’t it better to not hire him, and proposition him to go upstairs with me instead? All these questions ran through my mind in a flash in the moments when he entered the room.
They brought a red blush to my cheeks and made me dizzy with indecision. I wanted to fall through the floor to avoid making a fool of myself, but I also wanted to run over and jump on his cock at that very moment.
“Vanessa?” he asked, studying my features. Clearly, graduating from college and starting a business had put more lines under my eyes than doing handy work changed his features.
“Yea… Dominic, right?” I said, playing cool.
The receptionist left at that moment, leaving us in an awkward solitary silence.
Suddenly, Nick remembered the details around our separation. He probably only remembered the good times and the sex in those few moments when I was thinking through the legal matters. As the memories came back to him, his expression darkened, and he sat down, without being directed to a seat, just to keep an appearance of composure.
“Did you know that I had applied? Did you just invite me for the interview to turn me down and laugh at me?!” he exclaimed, getting furious.
“No. I didn’t realize it was you… I mean Nicholas and Nick are pretty different, and there are a lot of Nicks in New York… Why did you apply for the job? Did you know it was my company?” I wasn’t exactly upset, but I wanted to launch a defense against his accusations.
“I applied because there aren’t that many jobs going around in post-9-11 New York. Why would’ve I have known you run some designer store? Doesn’t your family own Kashion?! Who’d want to work in this dump if they could be in a skyscraper in the financial district!?”
“You don’t have to get insulting!” I huffed, a bit offended by that critique of the business that had been my baby for a year.
“So, you’d like me to leave…” Nick said, standing up. His pride was winning over his need for a job. He did look like he really needed it. He clearly tried to look professional by putting on a white shirt and black pants, but both looked like they had been machine washed a hundred times, were wrinkled, and had shrunk by at least two sizes, making Nick look like a homeless guy that bought some hand-me-down rags to look less like a homeless guy for an interview.
“No, I didn’t say I wanted you to leave. I have a job opening. I’m trying to hire somebody for it…”
“Hm…” Nick sat back down, and looked up at me with exhaustion, trying to figure out what I could’ve been thinking. Considering what I said before he departed from our penthouse, I guess there was a reason for him to be confused.
“Why don’t we just try to go through the interview, as if we didn’t know each other?” I asked, trying to bring the conversation back to earth, where I could get some control over the situation.
“Yea, let’s do that…” Dominic exhaled, trying to calm down.
“Why did you apply for this job?” I asked him, sticking to my common questions because I couldn’t think straight.
“Because I have to pay the bills.”
“OK. Have you worked as a handyman before?”
“Why? You didn’t read my resume before you asked me for an interview?!” Nick burst out, failing to keep his composure.
“I read your resume, but I had a few hundred other resumes in the pile, and I don’t remember what was in your particular resume, so I just ask about it so you can summarize it for me, so I could make a decision about your application while we’re interviewing together,” I explained in detail, to avoid follow-up questions on the matter.
“I see… Well, then, yes, I’ve worked as a repairperson before for some businesses in Brooklyn and Manhattan… You know from my resume that my education stopped at Trinity, so it’s not like I had many other employment options.”
I was about to ask Nick if he would drag my furniture to my apartment, but considering how he flared up at far more basic questions, I was sure I knew what his answer would be. “Look,” I said instead, “I’m just short a man at my company, and I need to hire somebody. I don’t think I’ve seen anybody that’s a better fit than you are, so I’d like to hire you. But, I’d really appreciate it if you stopped yelling at me.”
“Yelling at you!? It’s not like you’ve been whispering!”
“I’m just trying to respond in a loud enough voice for y
ou to hear me over your yelling!”
“If this is how we’ll be communicating when we’re working together, I think I’d rather starve.”
“Look, let’s not get dramatic. Why don’t we just try it and see how it goes. You’d be on a four-month probationary period, so either of us could end it if it won’t be working.”
“Hm… yea, OK,” Nick shrugged. He looked like he was sure that the experiment would fail in at most a week, but like he really needed the paycheck from that week to scrape by. This was fine by me, so I gave him the employment paperwork to fill out right then and there. I asked the receptionist to give a brief interview to the last candidate and then to politely send him home.
After Dominic left later that evening without saying “good bye,” I thought about the situation a bit more. I put aside the legal questions as irrelevant, after almost calling my regular corporate lawyer for a consultation. I just felt like going to court over it would’ve been less embarrassing than explaining why I was concerned if no court date had been set yet.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nick started work on the next day, and because he had a position that had him busy carrying boxes in and out of the workroom, I didn’t run into him too much, though I kept seeing him walking around the workroom from my office, which happened to have wall-sized glass walls. He was also a bit distracted by seeing me working at my desk through them, and kept scanning my office as he walked up in its direction.
Something about him walking up and down and ignoring me all the while made me pretty horny. He was also wearing this tight shirt that revealed his chest because it was too tight for him. I noticed that he had gained some muscle weight on his chest and legs, probably from all that manual labor he was doing. Another change was that he cut his hair, and it was now down to his ears, rather to his shoulders. It was a better look for him. I was totally turned on by his body, and by the way he carried it, and by his role as my little submissive handyman. All that goes to say that I had many fantasies at night about him servicing me instead of our boxes. These daydreams got me off without fail, as I had many splendid orgasms with the help of my very pricy vibrators.
