Flawless Desire

“He’s my responsibility. You shouldn’t have much in the way of dealings with him, at all.” She checks the time and says, “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the office.”

The next two hours are a whirlwind. She introduces me to about a hundred people, in various departments, none of whose names I remember, since she’s going at breakneck speed.

Somehow, we wind up back at Caleb’s office, where a messenger hands her a folder. Victoria glances at it, then hands it off to me. “These are the proofs for the new collection. Mr. Sterling has annotated everything with his comments. I need you to deliver this to Design.”

She waves me off as her phone rings. Reaching over, she picks it up and mumbles, “Sterling’s office. Vicki.” Suddenly, her tone changes, honeyed and sweet. “Oh, hi, Olivia! Yes, definitely! Right here!”

Olivia. Olivia Cross? From the way Victoria’s kissing up, it’s got to be.

Meanwhile, I stand there, gripping the folder. We visited the design department?

“Oh, it’s going all right. Just trying to get my new assistant up to speed,” Victoria continues. Her eyes trail to me, and she frowns. She covers the receiver with her hand and snaps, “What are you waiting for? Design!”

She points vaguely.

Fine.

I checkin with a friendly looking security guard and get directions for the design department. It’s the basement Victoria mentioned, but instead of being a dark, dim dungeon, this basement is surprisingly bright: funky and fashionable, all bare brick and steel girders. I pass cozy-looking design nooks, pinned with magazine tears and fabric swatches, and find myself wishing I was stationed down here instead. It’s definitely more welcoming than all the polished metal and glass upstairs.

I make my way through a rabbit warren-like collection of hallways until I reach a big, airy studio space, where several people are huddled around a light table, in the midst of a heated discussion. They’re all talking over one another and pointing, as if negotiating a prisoner release.

“Umm, hi?” I interrupt. “I have the notes from Mr. Sterling?”

“Oh dear.” They all look grim. Then one of them smiles. She’s a smiling woman with choppy hair and funky horn-rimmed glasses. “Don’t worry, it’s not you,” she says. “It’s the late nights we’re going to have to spend fixing everything.”

She takes the file from me. “I’m Mara.”

“Juliet. The new assistant.”

“Ouch.” She smiles. “And I thought my day was bad.”

I relax, watching as she opens the folder and spreads the pages on the table. I see hand-painted designs for new jewelry—all covered with red ink scribbles and corrections.

The guy groans, “Fuck. He does know we’ll never get this line off the ground if he keeps nitpicking us to death?”

Mara shrugs. “How long have you been at Sterling Cross? You know he’s got to sign off on everything.”

“Yeah.” He claps his hands. “Listen up, guys. It’s going to be a long week. Long hours. Be prepared to come in this weekend if we don’t get it done.”

There’s a collective sigh.

“More diamonds?” one says, looking at the notes. “He’s the one who said to be restrained!”

“And look, we’re back to the drawing board on the earrings again.”

“I thought he liked the Deco elements.”

“Well, not anymore.”

Mara catches my eye and gives a wry smile. “Don’t think we’re slackers,” she says. “The bitch-session is part of our process. First we vent, then we brainstorm.”

“It sounds like Mr. Sterling is… Demanding,” I fish for info.

Mara laughs. “That’s a polite way of putting it. But he’s not so bad. They’re just complaining because it’s easier than admitting they’re wrong.”

“Mr. Sterling’s always right.” One of the other designers says gloomily. “His taste is exquisite.”

I trail Mara back down the corridor, to one of the design studios. Right away, I notice a photo of the most gorgeous necklace pinned to the wall. It’s simple, with an intricate, sparkling daisy, resting right in the hollow of the model’s throat. Simple, and yet… Diamonds. I get the feeling that’s more than a year’s salary, for someone like me.