59
Lucy
HoroscopePisces
Going through your Saturn return is like walking through an endless tunnel. There’s pain in that darkness, but sometimes the most worthwhile things in life require disintegration before they can be rebuilt on solid ground. Keep going.
King’s hand didn’t leave mythigh the entire drive to New York, even once we got into Manhattan traffic. Something about his one-handed driving turned me on, which would have been a bit embarrassing, but at least it distracted me from my inner turmoil.
My guys had chalked up my mood the past few days to my pre-interview anxiety, and that was definitely part of it. The only interview I’d done was for a part-time job at La Dolce Vita’s seasonal gelato stand on the beach when I was fifteen. Somehow I thought this interview might serve up harder-hitting questions than, “What’s your favorite ice-cream flavor?”
But my uneasiness ran deeper than interview jitters. This was the opportunity I’d dreamed of since I made collages of my favorite outfits from Mormor’s fashion magazines. This internship would be an affirmation of all the hard work I’d put in through the years, and maybe it would finally make me feel worthy of calling myself a designer, artist, and seamstress. I’d wanted to prove to myself that I could do something meaningful with my life…but I wasn’t sure that’s what I needed anymore. Maybe the life I’d created, and the work I did, was already worthwhile.
“You ready?” Leo opened my car door and I blinked. I’d been so out of it I hadn’t realized we’d arrived.
I glanced at King and he leaned over the console for a kiss. “I’m going to park the car. You’ll do amazing. I love you, baby. No matter what.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I love you, too.”
I took Leo’s hand and smoothed my skirt before we walked into the lobby, Wilder flanking my other side. He’d been quiet the entire drive, too, saying he was tired from his long shift, but his scent gave him away. Something more was going on, and it was not helping soothe my anxiety.
The lobby was gorgeous—huge vaulted ceilings, plush furniture, marble floors, and a cafe off to the side. Everyone here was scurrying around in designer clothes, laptop and coffee in hand. I tugged on my dress again. Should I have worn something different? I’d made it last summer—a fitted number with long sleeves and a short skirt covered in bright floral appliqué that stood out painfully in the sea of black pencil skirts.
My guys half propelled me to the front desk, where I checked in and was told my interviewer, Fran, would be down soon. We took a seat on the lobby couch.
“Do you want coffee?” Leo stroked the back of my hand. “Or a snack? It looks like the cafe has pastries.”
I shook my head. My stomach was churning too much to eat and I was too wired for caffeine.
“You’ll do great, azizam. I have no doubt.” Leo pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.
Wilder stared straight ahead with a blank expression. I leaned into his side and was about to demand he tell me what was going on when a woman with sleek black hair and an impeccably tailored black pin-striped suit got off the elevator and walked straight for us.
“Hi, Lucy.” She held out a confident hand and I stood to shake it. “I’m Fran Soto, director of our internship program. If you’re ready, we’ll head upstairs.”
Wilder seemed to snap out of his haze and pulled me into a quick hug. “You’ve got this, sweetheart. We’ll be here when you’re done.”
I felt lighter as I followed Fran into the elevator.
“Thanks for making the time to come with such short notice,” she said as she led me into her office—a window-lined room with sketches and magazines covering the walls and a haphazard stack of fabric samples on her desk. I grinned. It was exactly what I’d imagined a fashion designer’s office to look like, and not too far removed from the chaos of my shop.
“I really appreciate you inviting me to interview. It means a lot to me.”
Fran smiled as she sat down across from me and jumped right in. Her sharp wit and sense of humor shone through during the interview. She seemed genuinely interested in my store and even asked questions about my grandma from the artist’s statement I’d finally written.
I held my breath while she flipped through my portfolio.
“You have a fun sense of style, and it’s great that you have experience designing for diverse bodies. We’ve been focusing on expanding our line of plus-sized clothing. If that’s something you’re interested in, you could develop that as a focus during your internship.”
“Does everyone pick a focus?”
Fran hummed. “Our program is designed to give our interns broad exposure to different career opportunities within fashion, with a focus on design. You would assist with sketches and sewing, creating mood boards, researching trends for our winter line, and assisting during fittings and shows. But there’s some room within our program to develop an area of focus. What are your career goals?”
Shit. This was quite possibly the most straightforward question she could ask, and I’d practiced my answer in the mirror last night. But now that I was sitting here, my rehearsed answer felt trite.
“To be honest, I didn’t think working in a big fashion house would ever be in the cards for me since I didn’t go to college, so the past week has definitely been a bit of a whirlwind.” I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I guess what I really want is to expand my skills and confidence in designing and sewing couture. I love workingindividually with clients to design something unique to them.” I clenched my hands on my lap to keep myself from fidgeting, but Fran just nodded thoughtfully. She asked a few more specific questions about my portfolio pieces before ushering me out of her office for a building tour.
Fran led me through the maze of hallways, introducing me to anyone we came across. “You’ll love what’s on the next floor.” We took a turn out of the elevator and she swept her arm out in front of her. “This is our sewing room.”
