Melissa had never heard Vogue sound so unsure of herself before. She got up and walked to Vogue’s side.

  ‘They know this isn’t your fault. If you weren’t still at the helm, this place would’ve gone down like a sinking ship. They trust you. I trust you.’

  Vogue studied Melissa intently for a moment, then opened her mouth to say something before promptly shutting it. Melissa wondered if Vogue could detect the insincerity of her words. That it almost choked her to say them. Every time she buoyed Vogue up with false flattery, it literally made her hate herself.

  That was why she had escalated things.

  Melissa really didn’t know how much more she could take.

  Chapter Seven

  Blood pounded in Vogue’s ears. She hated to think what her blood pressure reading would have been if a doctor had taken it at that exact moment in time. Probably in the danger zone. Drinking champagne at one o’clock in the afternoon certainly wasn’t helping matters. Instead of soothing her nerves, the alcohol gave her internal rage extra fuel.

  ‘Most of these are fucking useless! Fifteen so-called designers and this is all they can come up with?’ Vogue swiped the pile of papers on the desk onto the floor, finally allowing the growing frustration to get to her. ‘You might as well give them all a box of crayons and a colouring pad.’

  Melissa leant over in her seat, gathered the papers into a pile and put them on the desk. ‘They aren’t that bad. Some were pretty good.’

  ‘You think?’ Vogue grabbed the papers and thrust them back into Melissa’s hand. ‘Take another look. Would you buy this shit? Put our brand on any of them?’

  Under normal circumstances, Vogue would never have been so dismissive of someone’s work. No matter how mediocre it was in her eyes. The fact was, none of the designs were ‘bad’ just because she didn’t like them, but given her current situation, she couldn’t afford to be blasé about the distinctive stamp she needed to make an impact.

  What she thought would be a quick prep for the interviews the following day had turned into more despair. Why hadn’t she sifted the applications herself? Because I had no time!

  Melissa leafed through the sheets of paper, studying each of them closely. Reaching the last design, Melissa shook her head dismally.

  ‘These two I would but the rest probably not. They were the best out of all the applications we had.’

  ‘So if we don’t like them, why the hell would women who are looking for a brand they can identify with? Jesus!’ Vogue sat on the edge of her desk. ‘I might as well call it a day now. Save myself the humiliation of being forced into bankruptcy.’

  It was bad enough trying to hide the fact that she was struggling to make ends meet. Vogue didn’t know how much longer she could carry on the façade of being financially abundant. She was grateful that she still had close friends outside the industry who knew the truth and were willing to help her out. Such as her friend Greg, who had graciously provided the champagne and lobsters for the gifts she was sending out to her top clients. It was something she did every year for a select few. If she failed to do so this year, they would immediately know something was amiss.

  It had never occurred to Vogue to come clean about her situation in the hope of gaining their support. The fashion industry was a jungle and if her competitors smelt blood, they would go in for the kill without a second thought.

  ‘Maybe closing the doors is something you should seriously be thinking about. There’s no point hiring people just for the sake of it. It will only cause you more stress. Also, getting everyone’s hopes up that they’ll still have a job in a few months isn’t fair. Maybe it’s time to face the fact that a knight in shining armour isn’t going to come in and save the day.’

  ‘I know what you’re saying makes sense, but I can’t give up when there’s still that small part of me that thinks I can do it. I have to, otherwise what’s it all been about?’ Vogue said, running her fingers through her hair. ‘Every day of my life I’ve struggled. Every fucking day. And when I finally think I’ve made it, that I can ease my foot off the pedal for once, I’m hit by a sodding train.’

  ‘D’you think you’re being a tad over dramatic? You won’t be the first person to fail, Vogue, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. And I’m saying this objectively – if you carry on the way you’re going, you’ll literally have nothing. So quitting while you’ve still got a roof over your head might be the best thing to do.’

  Vogue raised her eyebrows. Despite Melissa being the best personal assistant she’d ever had, they were poles apart when it came to the fear factor. Melissa was all about playing it safe. To only jump when there was a safety net to fall into. Whereas, Vogue’s way was to act first and think about the consequences later.

  Bev had been exactly the same which is why they worked so well together. Don’t even go there. Everything I thought about her was a lie! Probably our friendship as well. Pushing the intrusive thoughts out of her mind, Vogue turned her attention to the matter at hand.

  ‘I’ll never quit,’ Vogue said, the anger and frustration slowly subsiding as her inner strength rose. ‘The thing is, I should never have relied on just one designer. All of this is of my own doing. My mum once told me to never rely on what only one person brought to the table. God, I wish I would’ve taken her advice.’

  ‘Yes, you should’ve. Your mum sounds like a wise woman,’ Melissa said, smiling.

  ‘She was. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know where I would’ve ended up. She gave me so much encouragement to follow my dreams. I suppose that’s why I can’t let go now. She wouldn’t have wanted me to. She would’ve told me, if I had to go down, I should go down fighting.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to the point of self-destruction because that’s where you’re heading. You’ve seen the accounts, so you know how bad things are.’

  ‘Yeah, so you keep saying.’ Vogue broke off when there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in.’

  Damien from HR walked in carrying a folder in his hand. His broad shoulders and bulky build made him look like he should be on a rugby pitch, not working in an office pushing papers all day.

  ‘Hey, Vogue, how’s it going?’

  ‘Good. Yourself?’

  ‘Can’t complain.’ Damien handed the folder to Vogue. ‘This woman’s name is on the interview list for the trainees, her names Amelia. I just found her designs in my drawer, they somehow got mixed up with my other paperwork.’

  ‘Oh okay, thanks.’

  Damien gave Melissa a nod of acknowledgment before he quickly left.

  Vogue wasn’t going to set her expectations too high after what she had seen already, but she could live in hope. As she slowly turned each page, that familiar sense of excitement rose in her. Exactly the same way it used to when Bev would turn up at her house at three in the morning, bursting with enthusiasm about a design she had just come up with. Despite the early hour of the morning, they would drink copious amounts of coffee and dissect every aspect of the design, from the colours to the cut, right down to the material and buttons. They were fun and exciting times.

  That was part of the relationship she still missed with Bev.

  ‘Look at these,’ Vogue said once she reached the last design. She didn’t want to sound too excited until she heard Melissa’s thoughts. For some reason, she was doubting her own judgement. Probably because she was desperate for a light at the end of the very dark, dank tunnel she found herself in, and couldn’t believe she might have found it.’

  Melissa took the folder and flicked through the designs, her eyes slowly digesting them. ‘Okay, I’ll admit this one has got a little potential—’

  ‘A little—’

  ‘What do you want me to say? That she’s amazing. I’m sorry but I just don’t see it myself,’ Melissa said.

  Vogue raised the glass to her mouth then thought better of it, placing it back down. This is not the way to go. She had seen so many others turn to alcohol in order to ease the pressure, and she really didn’t want to become one of them.

  If Melissa couldn’t see the potential, that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Like Vogue always said, taste was subjective. Never more so than when it came to fashion.

  ‘Oh really, Ms. Fashion police?’

  ‘Yes, really. I mean this one isn’t that bad, but it’s nothing special.’ Melissa held the design up for Vogue to see.

  Vogue tilted her head as she took in the design Melissa was holding. It was one that she thought was particularly good. So good that it fit perfectly with her image of the outwear collection. There was something very down to earth about Amelia’s style. As if her intention wasn’t to be showy, instead to be practical with a trendy touch. The colours weren’t too brash, yet they weren’t dull. She seemed to have a knack at getting the absolute balance right. There was something eye-catching about the design of the clothes, so much so, Vogue could actually envisage her target audience wearing them.

  Vogue took the folder back and laid it on her desk. The dark cloud that had been covering her world recently, suddenly began to lift. Distancing itself further and further away from her until she almost felt giddy with excitement.

  ‘This woman has talent,’ Vogue said, mostly to herself, as she tapped the folder with the tip of her finger. ‘Get her in for an interview today.’

  Melissa’s eyes widened. ‘I… I thought the interviews were tomorrow.’

  ‘I want to see her today. And I want you to keep this under your hat, I don’t want anyone else knowing she’s coming in.’

  ‘Okay, you’re the boss.’ Melissa rose to her feet and walked wearily out of the room.

  Vogue watched her go and felt a sense of regret about the situation they all found themselves in. Melissa in particular. She really didn’t blame her for feeling disheartened about the way things had turned out. After all, she had been the driving force in advising Vogue against paying out damages to the student whose work Bev had stolen. As much as she tried to make Melissa see things from her point of view, Melissa had been adamant that if the truth got out about the pay-out, it could start an avalanche of fresh allegations, especially if it wasn’t the first time Bev had copied someone else’s work.

  It was a moot point as far as Vogue was concerned. She knew it was the only time Bev had done something that stupid. How did she know? Even at the time, when Bev showed her the designs, Vogue knew, no, not knew – felt something was amiss. First, alarm bells sounded due to Bev’s lack of enthusiasm for the work. Looking back, Vogue remembered how detached she was from it. And Bev was never detached from her creations. Never.

  Alarm bell number two should have been the loudest, and Vogue still couldn’t fathom out why she ignored it. Even today, she remembered the ferocity with which her gut tried to warn her that something was amiss with Bev’s designs. The style, the textures, the whole concept just felt off. Unlike the designs that were hidden away in the folder next to her.

  Unable to help herself, Vogue picked up the folder again and brought out the sheets of paper. Using her index finger, she followed the outline of the sketch, feeling it as if it were real.

  ‘Now this is what I’m talking about,’ Vogue said aloud as she looked heavenward. ‘Thank you, God!’

  If this woman could reproduce several designs of the same calibre for her outwear collection, Vogue’s business may have just been saved.

  Chapter Eight

  The shock must have been evident on Amelia’s face because Cecile was staring at her with an expression of concern. Finishing the call, Amelia slowly put the phone down on the table. She couldn’t bear to look at the food she’d been enjoying only minutes earlier. Her stomach was in knots.

  Amelia really didn’t want to share the details from the call. She knew as soon as she told Cecile, she would be all over it, telling her how right she was. Which really didn’t make much sense, as the owner had never laid eyes on Amelia before. The only question burning at the back of her mind, was why would her interview have been moved forward a day? Was that a good sign? Or were they interviewing the weak candidates first in order to filter them out?

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Cecile asked, her eyes boring into Amelia’s, seeking an answer to her question.

  ‘Oh, um nothing.’ Amelia’s mind raced, trying to find a way to avoid lying whilst not actually telling the truth. She was excited regardless of why they wanted to see her now, and she didn’t want Cecile to put a downer on it.

  ‘The expression on your face isn’t saying “it’s nothing”.’ Cecile rested her chin on her open palm, giving the impression that if she had to sit there all day to extract the truth from Amelia, she would.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Amelia said. ‘But I swear to God, I don’t want to hear “I told you so” come out of your mouth.’

  Cecile smiled and pretended to zip her mouth shut.

  Feeling assured Cecile would respect her wishes, Amelia said, ‘That was Vogue’s personal assistant.’

  True to her nonverbal agreement, Cecile was silent for a few moments before finally saying, ‘And? What did she want?’

  ‘For me to go in for my interview today. Now.’ Amelia hesitated, unaware of how Cecile was going to take the next part. ‘Vogue wants to meet me.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Cecile pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. ‘I told you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Calm down. You promised you wouldn’t do this.’

  ‘I know but Jesus, that woman is so fucking predictable.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re slightly overreacting. She hasn’t invited me back to her house. She wants to meet me at her office to discuss my designs.’

  ‘Yeah of course she does, that’s how it all starts.’

  ‘I’ve never met her, how would she even know I’m gay?’ Amelia asked. ‘And I’m not being funny but if she’s as bad as you say she is, why are you still working for her?’

  Cecile frowned. When she spoke, it looked as if it was a struggle to force the words out of her mouth. ‘Firstly, she’s probably looked you up on social media and secondly, I have bills to pay.’

  ‘Then look for another job,’ Amelia fired back at her straight away.

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ Cecile said quietly after a pause.

  Still unable to justify why she would remain working for a woman she clearly detested, Cecile’s answer didn’t hold any weight with Amelia. If she had a valid reason, Amelia would understand, but to tell her absolutely nothing and just expect her to blindly trust her judgement, she couldn’t do that. Not even for Cecile.

  ‘Well unless you can tell me what she’s done and how it affected you personally, I think I’ll reserve my judgement of her until we meet.’

  Cecile looked as if Amelia had struck her, but it wasn’t Amelia’s intention to hurt her with the comment. It was simply that this was her professional life and she wanted to remain as detached from work dramas as possible. She had seen first-hand what happened to her colleagues that became too familiar with their bosses, only to find themselves shut out when it all turned sour.

  ‘Okay, well I’m coming with you.’

  Amelia gasped. The thought of taking a friend to an interview with her was unthinkable. What if they were seen together? It would make her look like a child who needed looking after, not a grown woman who was quite capable of standing on her own two feet.

  ‘There’s no way on this earth you’re coming with me.’

  ‘Listen—’

  ‘No, Cecile, listen to yourself. You’re not being rational,’ Amelia said, trying to reason with her. ‘How d’you think it would look if I turned up to a meeting with my best friend? I’d look incompetent. Not to mention if it’s with someone who works there.’

  ‘Suppose you’re right.’ Cecile sighed, apparently coming to her senses. ‘Just promise me you won’t accept her offer if she asks you out for a drink.’

  Now she really has lost the plot! Amelia tried to imagine in what parallel universe something like that would ever happen. Where you went for a job interview and at the end the interviewer randomly asked you out for a drink. It was so outlandish, she couldn’t believe someone as level-headed as Cecile would even think like that.

  ‘I think you’re getting ahead of yourself now. I really don’t think a potential employer is going to hit on me at an interview.’

  Cecile gave her a satisfied smirk. ‘You don’t know Vogue.’

  Though Amelia was grateful Cecile was looking out for her, she found her reaction to the whole situation a tad strange. It wasn’t as if she was a wet behind the ears eighteen-year-old who had just left home. She was a mature woman who was quite capable of looking after herself. Warding of unwanted attention wasn’t going to be a problem for her. She was not afraid to use the word ‘no’. Even against her boss. Boss? Amelia realised she was being presumptive. She hadn’t even met the woman yet, let alone gained employment with her company. Though it couldn’t hurt to adopt a positive attitude. After all, what else did she have?

  Talent, a small voice reminded her. But even with a talent such as hers, Amelia knew if she didn’t get any exposure, it would go to waste, and she’d be doing menial work for the rest of her life.

  ‘No, I don’t and by the sounds of it she’s not someone I’d like to know on a personal level, but this is business. I’m not going there to make friends.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Cecile said with a sour note to her voice.

  ‘Come on, Cecile, be happy for me.’ Amelia walked over to her and took her hands in her own. ‘If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have even got an interview. Don’t spoil things for me.’

  Cecile’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not trying to. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’

  ‘I won’t. Look, how about this. Why don’t we actually wait and see if I get picked, and then we can talk strategy about keeping the boss at a distance. Deal?’

  ‘Right, now that’s sorted, I’d better go and get ready. Don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.’