The elevator rang at the top-most floor, and Hillary stepped out. She walked across the finely-polished tile floor right to the security desk in front of her, and flashed her ID card for the guard to scan. With a beep, her workday officially started. The guard leaned back in her chair and smirked at the redhead.
“Wow. 7:59:50. Ten seconds to being late for the first time in your career.”
“And the last. If I was ever late, Vivian would wring my neck out.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t quite do that.”
Hillary snapped to attention and turned, spotting her boss Vivian Carver standing at the opposite wall. Standing tall and graceful, clad in a long dress with a floral blouse overtop, her boss gave off an aura of respect, dignity, and power that belied her only being in her late 30s. Carver was one of the world’s high-end fashion designers, and her magazine “Timeless Designs” topped its sales charts almost every week. She was known for being brash, bold, and authoritative; rumours had spread that she was extremely strict to her employees, and a worse critic of their designs than Gordon Ramsay and Simon Cowell combined. After having worked as her personal secretary for the last two years, Hillary could vouch that while Carver certainly expected perfection from everyone, from her models to her floor staff to the person delivering her pizza, she wasn’t quite the business tyrant that rival companies made her out to be. In fact, Hillary quite liked working as her secretary, and her biggest complaint was…
“If you ever showed up late, I’d just have you make it up to me, Hillary. Just a quick shoot.”
Carver had been trying to get Hillary to model for her ever since she had started working. Every time, Hillary declined, and while Carver never pushed aggressively, the reminders still came in quite frequently. Once again, Hillary turned her down.
“Thank you, Miss Carver, but I don’t think that modelling is the place in the world for me. I can assure you, I won’t ever be late.”
“A pity. You have the looks for it, and I think you’ll find the experience somewhat rewarding. But, despite what those tabloids say, I play fair. I won’t force you. Now then, you know I’ll be gone this afternoon, please have your preliminary report on my desk at noon.”
“Yes, Miss Carver.”
“Vivian, dear. We’re friends.”
Vivian headed back to her rather luxurious office, while Hillary settled down in her own, much smaller, office. Her job consisted of lots of appointment making, flight-booking, scheduling, both for Vivian and for any other clients she happened to be working with. At times, especially during larger shows, the workload could become daunting, but Hillary had kept her job for a reason: she was good at it. Even with summer just around the corner, and the fashions to go with it now in full swing, she was able to keep on top of all the incoming news and expectations, ranging from Vivian’s business dealings to reports from sales and designs down below.
“You know she’s never going to stop bothering you, right?”
Hillary looked up from her papers and saw her friend and co-worker, Samantha, slide into the chair on the other side of her desk. Samantha also worked with Timeless Designs as a social media manager; she had a pitch-black pixie cut and a toothy white grin, and was one of the nicest people in the whole building. She had even babysat Brie and Tina on a few occasions when they were very young, and Hillary was proud to call her one of her most trusted friends. Sam could, however, also be a little cheeky.
“If she wants you in one of her outfits, she’ll get you in one eventually. Not unless you somehow get super ugly in the next year or so. There’s free donuts in the break room by the way.”
Hillary snorted and smacked her friend across the forehead with a rolled-up magazine for her jab, and continued to sort her files.
“If Vivian was going to trick or force me into getting into one of those things, she would have done so already. Multiple times. Remember those silk gala dresses from last fall? She could have slashed my tires to make sure I was late then, but she didn’t.”
Sam chuckled as she and Hillary remembered those dresses; they were very shapely and form-fitting, rather shiny, and flowed across the floor gracefully. The problem was the necklines, giant Vs which came down to just underneath the navel and left nothing else to the imagination. Hillary balked at the idea of wearing something so out there, and dreaded the day Brie and Tina would ask to try on any of Carver’s ideas.
“Hah. Well, maybe you have a point. I honestly would have wanted to try one of those on, but she’s never offered me a modelling spot! Who knows where she gets her girls from.”
“You’re better behind the camera than you are in front of it, Sam.”
This time, it was Hillary’s turn to get bonked with a magazine. The two chuckled, before Sam turned her head to the door to her friend’s office.
“What’s in the box?”
Hillary looked up. She had completely missed the package that was sitting at the door, having been preoccupied with her chat with Vivian. Sam hoisted it up; it was only a medium size, and rather light, and she plopped it on the redhead’s desk unceremoniously, scattering a few loose papers. The shipping address, sure enough, was addressed to Hillary rather than Vivian herself.
“Strange, I don’t remember ordering anything.”
After double-checking her e-mail and confirming that she hadn’t known about any incoming packages, she and Sam shrugged before Hillary stood up to open up the tape on the box.
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