i love this song, don't judge me
tuesday: today is just your typical work day besides that miranda is cracking down on us for FNO coming up. she wants us all to continue working like hard worker bees. then once office hours are done jossy is hosting happy hour 230 Fifth so be ready for some good drinks.
btw, i imagine libby being pretty high up – second-in-charge of the wardrobe department, but the main manager is hardly ever there because she’s working off-site at fashion shows and stuff. libby gets her minions to do her work in the department when she’s out buying which is why she hates interns so much, because they usually stuff up when she leaves them on her own.
I stomped down the street, bag upon bag swinging from my arm as my heels clattered on the pavement. My signature frown was plastered on my face as I made crowds part for me. Like Jesus. Fashion Jesus.
A fitting nickname, I thought. Somehow I wrangled my phone out of my bag and hit ‘M’ for Mich, bringing up her number first.
“Can you get downstairs?” I barked at her, approaching the Conde Nast building.
“Can you get some manners?”
“Can you please hurry the fuck up?”
By the time I passed by security in the building, Michelle was waiting for me in the lobby, her arms folded across her chest. I unloaded bags onto her, rubbing at the red marks they’d left on my skin. “I need an assistant,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, I’m not volunteering.”
We headed into the elevator, almost having it to ourselves until the closing doors were pushed back open by a bony hand. A young looking girl stepped inside, her eyes not meeting mine. A newbie. The elevator doors finally closed, and we rode in silence for a few floors.
“Did you get your dress on sale?” I asked. Michelle dug her elbow into my side.
“Um... yes...” the intern stammered.
“Mmmm, I had it last season.”
“Sorry?” I asked, looking at her with a fake smile. “Why are you sorry?”
I loved messing with their minds.
Michelle and I walked out of the elevator, the receptionist nodding in our direction, though there was no friendliness in her greeting. We both knew she hated me. I may have made her cry on her second day by yelling at her for telling Marc Jacobs that I was on the phone and couldn’t take his call.
Whatever, the stupid girl deserved it.
We continued down the hall to wardrobe, throwing the new clothes I’d picked up onto the huge wooden table that we used for sorting through garments. I really could have had a runner go and pick up clothes from the various stores and studios I’d hit on my borrowing-spree, but I found the whole exercise cathartic.
“I looove this,” Mich crooned, rubbing the sheer fabric of a white Ralph Lauren blouse through her fingers.
I slapped her hand. “No touchy that one until you’ve scrubbed your hands clean.”
We both looked up to see Kitty poking her head around the corner, and I summoned her inside.
“You’re not wearing your badge today? I went to so much effort,” she pouted. Yesterday, she’d made me a HBIC badge while Miranda was out to lunch
“I wanted to save it for special occasions.”
“Miranda wants to see you in five minutes with the clothes you picked up from the FNO designers.”
“And will I be seeing you for drinks tonight?”
“Where is it?”
“230 Fifth... that assistant Jossy is hosting it.”
“I don’t know her...”
Michelle sighed. “Yes you do, Libs, you asked her if she sued her plastic surgeon for messing up her lip collagen.”
“Oh, that one. Well, she spilled coffee on my Louboutins!”
Kitty laughed. “Gasp!”
Mich helped me load up the clothes onto their hangers and hang them on a rack, wheeling it down to Miranda’s office just in time for my meeting with her. The big boss greeted me with a nod.
“I’ve done some editing to our little collection, I think you’ll find it flows a lot smoother now.”
She just nodded slightly, the tip of her head almost undetectable as the perused the clothes I’d hung. “Have you tried them on the models yet?”
“I’m taking them to the stylists next.”
“Good,” she murmured, taking off her glasses and pinching the top of her nose. “Don’t let them mess this up.”
“Of course not.”
Last year, I’d had a stylist fired on FNO – yes, on the actual night – for not following my directions and having a model look like an absolute mess for the live advertisements we were doing. It may have been one of the scariest Libby moments for those watching, but apparently Miranda was impressed by it.
I spent the rest of the day educating the stylists about which pieces they absolutely needed to include and what couldn’t be seen on the models. By the time we were finished, I realised that everyone else was heading to drinks, and went off to find Kitty and Michelle.
At the bar, we headed straight for a bottle of Dom, guarding it between us as we checked out all of our workmates. Eventually, Jossy came up to us, a big smile plastered on her face.
“Hi, guys! Are you having fun?” she asked.
“Mmhmm,” Michelle murmured.
“Yeah, this place is nice,” Kitty replied.
I took a sip of my champagne, staying silent. Jossy’s perfect expression faltered for a second, but she picked her smile back up and teetered away on her heels.
As I watched her, I was startled by the feeling of someone behind me, their hands gripping at my hips. I turned around, ready to yell at some sleazy guy, when I realised that it was Logan. He grinned widely.
“You were about to yell at me.”
“Aren’t you glad you have a faithful girlfriend?”
He pulled me close, his hands sliding down to grab my as.s. “Very,” he said, pressing his lips to mine. “How are we, ladies?” he asked the girls.
Kitty smiled. “Wonderful.”
“The champagne helps,” Michelle added.
We stayed until the bottle was drained – Logan wanted to stay longer, but I eventually managed to drag him home once he’d had enough to drink. We both had work tomorrow, but it was always hard to pry him away from alcohol.
He immediately parked himself in front of the TV, switching on to the final innings of the baseball. After slipping off my shoes, putting my bag away and tying up my hair, I crawled onto the couch with him, forcing his arm around me. We sat for a few minutes until an ad break, when he stirred.
“Libs, can you go clean the kitchen for me?” he asked.
Knowing how annoying he’d be if I refused, I got up without a word and made my way to the kitchen. It was a bit of a mess – we ate breakfast at different times and neither of us had really cleaned up this morning. I wiped down the counters and put everything back in the pantry that needed to go there, stacking the dishwasher. Eventually, I returned to Logan, and he wrapped me in his arms, kissing my forehead.