Fake Fiancée for Dad’s Best Friend by Gena Snow

 

Chapter 14

Vivian

 

 

 

It’s my second month working as an intern at Trend. I share a large desk with two other interns doing whatever job is assigned to me by the design director. Normally, we prepare tickets, drape garments, or cut patterns. But today, we’re given something more creative. The designer, Karl, who supervises us, gives us some specifications about next summer’s trends and tells us to create different combinations of necklines and waistlines, colors, etc.

I can hardly wait to get started. This, to me, is the most exciting part of fashion design. And it’s what I’ve been doing since I was little! I used to watch my dad work and play with his leftover fabrics at home. I cut them into miniature sleeves, bodies, and collars and sewed them into dresses for my Barbie.   The sewing part is fun, but not as much as the brainstorming inspired by beautiful fabrics, the imagination of what I could make of them.

Although there are constraints regarding the styles, I still have plenty of room to create according to my ideas. I browse online for inspiration, and then I start to draw on Photoshop. I soon come up with different color schemes and style combinations. It isn’t a highly creative task, but it’s enjoyable, very much like trying on different clothes myself. It’s one of the jobs I prefer doing, more than the marketing aspect, which I have no clue about.

Time flies when you have fun. It’s noon. I close the file and get ready to lunch.

The other two interns and I have become friends, and we like going to the cafeteria upstairs to eat.

Inside the elevator, my phone dings, and I check my message. It’s from Cody.

“Hey. I’m in your neighborhood. What to have lunch with me?”

“Sure,” I text him back. “Where would you like to go?”

“What about the Panera on Madison?”

“Perfect,” I say. I love their Mediterranean Veggie sandwich. I apologize to my coworkers and remain in the elevator to go down to the lobby instead.

When the elevator opens on the twentieth floor, where Trend is, two people are speaking to each other.  My heart flutters when I realize they’re Alex and his secretary, Connie. He doesn’t see me because I stand behind a couple of others. I’m hoping he’ll step in, but he doesn’t, and the elevator door closes without him.

The brief glimpse of him brings a powerful emotion inside me. It’s been a month since my fake engagement with Alex. We haven’t met since then, at least not outside his company. I seldom run into him because his office is on a different floor. Once or twice I saw him coming to the intern’s office and speaking to the trainer, we exchange formal greetings, and that was it. I don’t know how he keeps his secrets, but no one in the office knows about our engagement. At least no one knows I am his “fiancée.”  It’s for the best because I can’t imagine how I will work for him otherwise.

I overestimated my ability to get over him. No matter how hard I try to convince myself what between us was just a transaction, and what happened the last night in Montecito was nothing, not a single day has passed without me recalling the passionate moment at least once. There were times, especially the first week after we returned to NY, I missed him so much I wanted to call and ask to see him. But I held my urge, knowing I would only make a fool of myself.

Since my lunchtime is short, I go ahead to place my order while waiting for Cody.

He shows up right after I find a table for us in a black shirt and shorts. “Hey.” He hugs me. “I missed you!”

Not until he pulls away do I get a close look at him. His spiked hair is carefully styled with gel, his skin glows, and there’s a trace of eyeshadow on his eyelid.

I gasp when I take a close look at his shirt: the sheer material shows not only the details of his abs but also his chest hair. My eyes naturally glide down to his shorts. Thank God they aren’t see-through but are silky and look like a pajama.

My mouth opens. I know about the style, but it’s the first time I see someone wearing it. I shouldn’t be surprised because Cody is quite a fashion model and is always up-to-date.

“Is it Fendi?” I ask.

“No. It’s Fusion,” he says with a shrug. “I just did a show for my mom at the Rockefeller Center.”

“Oh,” I nod, recalling Fusion Fashion is his mom’s company’s brand. “It’s eye-catching.”

“Good,” he says smugly. “I’m glad you like it. It took me a while to get used to it. I thought the material was too feminine, but my mom convinced me it was the only way I could show my abs proudly anywhere in public.”

I laugh while rolling my eyes. I can’t stand Cody’s vanity, but I love him for his honesty.

My eyes follow him when he goes to the computer to order. I don’t understand why he doesn’t just become a professional model already. It would be so easy for him, and he’ll no doubt gain popularity in no time. At least the few other women that are ogling him in the shop would agree with me.

“So, how’s your job?” Cody asks me after he returns.

“Great.” I tell him what I’ve been doing. “And yours?”

He shrugs without much enthusiasm. “I’m not as lucky. My mom insists on me doing the marketing and sourcing instead of designing.”

“Why’s that?”

He rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t trust my creative talent.”

I laugh and repress my urge to agree with his mom.

“So, what else have you done?” he asks.

A fabulous fake engagement. I almost blurt out. “Not much.”

“We should hang out more,” he says. “When are you going to Paris?”

“The end of August. A week before school starts.” I told him a week ago I decided to go to AFAP.

“Any way you can come sooner?” Cody asks. “I’m going there at the beginning of the month and plan to tour around a bit. You can join me.”

I’m tempted for a moment. “Thanks. But I have to do my internship.”

“C’mon,” he mutters. “I’ll pay for the travel expenses and the first month’s rent. Wouldn’t it be as good as the few weeks of internship pay?”

I consider. It sounds like a great deal, but I don’t have any reason to accept it even though he’s a good friend. And somehow, it doesn’t feel right just to quit the internship before it ends. Alex wouldn’t like it, would he? He so kindly offered me the job. Hell. What does it have to do with Alex? I’m sure whether I quit matters little to him. It’s over between us. He probably doesn’t even remember I’m working for him at the moment.

“I’ll think about it,” I say to Cody.

“Good,” he grins. “Let me know ASAP so I can plan our trip. I’ve been to most of France, but there’re places I think you’ll enjoy more.”

“Thanks, Cody. I appreciate it,” I say as I bite down on my sandwich although I have no intention of doing what he’s planning. I’ll pay for my own travel expenses. I know he’s the heir of a millionaire, and I’ve witnessed him using a hundred-dollar bill to wipe his shoe. But I don’t want to be indebted to him.

“Anytime,” he says and reaches a hand to wipe my chin.

I realize then that I have some sauce on my face. I blush, but it’s too late to avoid the intimate gesture. Shit. Cody can be quite charming at times. But I’ve never seen him as more than a roommate and a friend. He isn’t my type.

He looks up at something behind me briefly and then does a double take.

“What’re you looking at?” I ask.

“There’s a guy who keeps staring at me, and I’ve seen him somewhere before,” he says.

I turn to look, only see a familiar frame getting out of the restaurant. Alex? No way. Alex doesn’t lunch outside his office. At least I’ve never seen him doing it.

 

 

I’ve barely made it back to the workroom when Karl says to me, “Mr. Anderson wants you in his office.”

I blink, realizing he meant Alex. “W-what is it about?”

He shrugs. “No idea.”

I feel nervous when I get in the elevator. What does Alex want? I’ve never been in his office. He never even calls or texts me. After his secretary calls and informs him of my arrival, I walk toward his office with trepidation. What does he want? I pause at the door before I knock.

“Come in!” says a distant but familiar voice.

I take a deep breath to calm my anxiety before pushing the door open and step in.

The interior is so spacious and bright. It takes me a moment to take in everything within. A desk is diagonally facing the door, against the skyline of the city framed in the window.

Behind the desk, my boss and fake fiancé looks sharp in his business attire: A navy blue dress shirt with a silver tie.

My heart races even faster, and my thighs clench in remembrance of his touch. Oh no. All my efforts of trying to put him out of my mind are in vain now. It’s all I can do not to run to him and climb onto his lap.

As I’m gawking and fantasizing, he smiles and says calmly, “Hi Vivian, have a seat.”

I hesitate for a moment, not sure how I should address him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson,” I speak formally.

He chuckles lightly. His eyes linger on me for a second, long enough to mess up my heartbeat again.

“How’s work, Vivian? Are you learning anything useful?”

“Yes, I’ve learned a lot. Thanks again for the opportunity.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “I’m training you, so you’ll work for me one day, remember?”

He sounds as if it’s a selfish act, but I know it isn’t. It’s another golden opportunity. “I do, but I still appreciate it,” I say.

“Good,” he says, standing up. “Karl says you’re doing an excellent job. You are well trained in identifying trends and designing, but you’ll need some other experiences as well, such as sourcing. It’s why I’m going to take you to a Fabric Show.”

I take a moment to register the sudden information. “Really? Thank you. When would that be?”

“Now. It’s a two-day conference and it started this morning. We’ll spend an afternoon at Metropolitan Pavilion.”

“Great!” I can hardly stifle my grin. “Let me go tell Karl. I’ll be right back.”

He stops me. “There’s no need. I’ll call and let him know, but we aren’t returning for the day, so you might want to get your purse. Meet me at the lobby.”

“Sure,” I say.

 

 

“Do you always do the sourcing yourself?” I ask Alex when we’re in the back of his Audi. “Isn’t it a sourcing manager’s job?”

“You’re right. I used to go to those shows with the sourcing manager during the days when Trend was still establishing itself.  But I haven’t been to one for years. In fact, we don’t go to fabric shows anymore. We have contracts with the manufacturers, and their representatives come to our company every season to present their samples.”

“Then why do you want to go to one all of a sudden?” I ask, refusing to believe that he’s doing it for my benefit. “Do you miss them?”

He chuckles. “Well, I didn’t enjoy every moment of the shows, and I disliked the dust and the crowds. But I like to keep my eyes open for new materials, and it’s a great place to discover great deals.”

I’m a bit disappointed that he isn’t as excited as I am about seeing the fabric displays, but then I don’t blame him. His purpose is more business-oriented, while mine is more artistic.

“What do you normally do at Trend?” I ask curiously.

“I browse the Internet, check my social media accounts, and sleep,” he says in a deadpan manner that tells me he’s joking.

“That sounds boring,” I play along.

He chuckles. “Exactly. No, my work is much more exciting than that. This morning I had three meetings, one with the board, another one with shareholders, and then a video conference with the fashion show director.”

I’m reminded of Fashion Week. “Too bad I can’t attend it. I’ll be in Paris,” I say.

“You can watch videos later. Are you going to any show in Paris?”

“I wish I could, but no way I’ll get invited.”

“I can help you with that,” he says.

I squeal. “Really?”

He nods. “Which shows would you like to go to? Let me know.”

I consider for a moment. “I don’t know! Anyone would be great. Dior, Prada, Chanel, Fendi, Gucci, Louis Vuitton…”

“Which one do you want the most?”

“Dior,” I say without hesitation. I’ve always admired Maria Grazia Chiuri.

“Okay,” he says with a nod as if it’ll be a piece of cake.

I bring back our topics to his work. “So you mostly attend meetings all day? That sounds stressful.”

“I know,” he says with a chuckle. “Besides the shareholders and managers, I must deal with the government and the media as well. Oh, I should get to know my employees and customers more, but I simply can’t make the time.”

“Sounds like you’re very busy. No wonder I seldom see you,” I say and instantly regret it. Did I just give myself away and tell him I missed him?

While I blush, he turns to look at me right away with intense eyes. “Did you want to see me?”

“Oh no,” I deny the fact quickly. “I mean, I do think about you…sometimes.”

He smirks at me without a word for a moment. “How are other things?” he asks. “Seeing anyone?”

“What?” I laugh nervously. “No.”

He gazes at me with smoldering eyes for a moment, making me flushed all over. For a second, I think he is going to lean in to kiss me, and my heart pounds in anticipation. But he looks away and ends the moment. My God. I have to pull myself together. I nearly made a fool of myself. The fake relationship game is over! I remind myself.

We arrive at the Metropolitan Pavilion at two. As expected, the showroom was crowded, and we had to maneuver through.

I’m no stranger to trade shows. Other kids’ parents take them to parks and museums over the weekends while my dad took me to fabric shows. It was probably the reason I love going to fabric stores more than clothing stores. To me, my dad was a magician who turned plain fabrics into stylish clothes. My imagination naturally goes wild when I’m among the colorful materials that promise infinite possibilities. I feel like a child at an amusement park.

The fabrics at the show are all in accordance with next year’s trends, namely sheer silk, cotton, or nylon. Brilliant prints are also in style. Soon I forget I’m working. “Look, Alex,” I say, pointing at a table. “These African-print silk fabrics are so beautiful!”

“Yes, they are. What do you have in mind?” he asks as he fingers the material.

“Shirts, skirts, dresses…” I gush. “Anything. But dresses will work. Short, cocktail dresses. They’ll look less formal, perfect for a summer party.”

He frowns a bit. “Are you sure? It seems too gaudy to me.”

True. Trend’s styles target mature women and normally use muted fabrics. “Do you mind if I made a purchase just for personal use?” I ask.

“Not at all. Go ahead,” Alex says. “I’ll go over to check out the sustainable fabric booth right over there.”

I have trouble deciding which one to pick and end up getting three different designs. I’m not sure what to make of them yet, but I’ll think about it later.

It takes me nearly ten minutes. After I make the purchase, I head for the booth Alex is at.

I stop in my tracks when I notice Alex is speaking to a tall woman. Trisha.

What the hell is she doing here? She’s a model, not a designer. And then I recall she has a clothing line under Trend. But she still doesn’t have to be here. Is she stalking Alex?

I think of turning away because my stomach is in knots now. I’m not Alex’s real fiancée, and I have no right to be jealous of any woman he’s with, but I still can’t stand the sight of the two being together. The conversation between Trisha and Samantha on the day of the engagement party replays in my head, and it still hurts. 

While I’m hesitating and thinking whether I should just wait where I am, Alex sees me and waves at me. I have no choice but to walk toward them. I look at the labels of the products as I approach the counter. These are recycled silk, cotton, or rayon. They’re relatively new, and I can see Alex is interested in them. Some big brands like H&M and Levi’s already use them even though production costs are pretty high.

Trisha gives me a tight nod and resumes her conversation with Alex. “I think I’ll give the recycled silk a try. It’s a bit more expensive, but it’s environmentally friendly and I’m sure our customers will appreciate it.”

Alex nods. “Sure. I agree. Give it a try.”

“I’m not that thrilled with the colors, though. My brand is for middle-age women who prefer muted colors,” she gushes while going through the textiles.

The colors are quite vibrant for sure, and I like them, but then, it isn’t my place to express my opinions, so I keep quiet.

Trisha glances at my hand casually. “Why aren’t you wearing your engagement ring?”

Shit. I can’t believe she notices that.

Not knowing what to say, I look up at Alex for help.

“We’re keeping it a secret for now,” he says calmly. “I’m planning to invite friends and business associates to a party in my condo soon, and I’ll make an announcement then.”

It’s a lame excuse, and Trisha doesn’t look like she buys it, but she nods nonetheless. “Will I be invited?”

“Of course,” says Alex as he glances at his watch and says to Trisha. “Time flies. I need to head back to my office.”

When he turns to leave, Trisha puts her hand on his arm. “So soon? You just got here!”

“I know. But I’ve seen what I wanted to see.”

She lets go of him reluctantly, pouting a bit. “Will you be at the charity show on Saturday?”

“The trunk show? Of course,” Alex says, turning toward me. “Would you like to go with me, honey?”

I’m taken aback by the way he addresses me but quickly understand he is back to pretending. I want very much to say yes. I love fashion shows. But I remember my dad is planning to go as the designer of Fusion, and we might be running into Alex’s other acquaintances. Besides, I simply don’t want to see Trisha again. So I say, “I… want to skip it. I’ve got other plans.”

He looks as if wanting to convince me to go with him, but he doesn’t speak.

Trisha is clearly happy with my answer, and she smiles at Alex. “We should revisit The Lake House afterward, too. We had our first date there, remember? I still miss the food and the view.”

Alex presses his lips together, clearly annoyed. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m taking Vivian to dinner.”

He is? I’m thrill hearing that, but I don’t show my excitement. “Don’t worry about me,” I say to Alex. “I don’t mind. Like I said, I have plans.”

Trisha pouts but doesn’t give up. “Okay. You know what? I’ll go ahead and reserve a table just in case.”

I don’t speak on our way to Alex’s car. I’m just not in the mood. I keep thinking about how Trisha puts her hand on Alex’s arm and bats her eyelashes at him.

“Why are you so quiet?” Alex asks me once we’re on the road.

“I’m just thinking what a coincidence,” I say. “Meeting Trisha here.”

“Actually, I told her I was coming when she called, and she insisted she would meet me here.”

“Oh.” I’m not surprised. Clearly, Trisha is determined to have Alex back. “I hope you didn’t mean it when you mentioned the party?”

He chuckles. “Of course not. I can always postpone it. Anyway, you’ll be in Paris soon.”

“True,” I smile, although I feel a bit sad.  For some reason, I’m not as thrilled about going there anymore. I change the topic back to Trisha. “I know you canceled the engagement with her because she didn’t want any kids, but why did you break up completely?”

He glances at me and grunts. “We weren’t right for each other.”

“But you look good together.”

“We do?” he chuckles. “Don’t let us fool you. With Trisha, half of the time is just acting. She likes to act like we’re still together.”

“Why does she do that? And why don’t you mind?”

“It’s just the way she is. As for me, I don’t have much to lose, do I? We’re business partners.”

“What about the women you go out with? Don’t they mind?”

“I’m not seeing anyone right now. And I haven’t had any serious relationship since her.”

Shit. Why do I want to smile? I shouldn’t. It’s none of my business. I need to get Alex out of my mind.