“Actually before you go, Dani, there is one thing.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Do you remember the navy dress? The one with the fabric issue? Isabelle called this morning and it’s not going to work. For all her experience, she can’t seem to make the back-zipper seam lay flat. She says it keeps puckering.”
So that’s why Sasha was in a bad mood. Changing the fabric had been her idea. I’d designed the dress, but since I wasn’t a real designer, she usually took my designs and tweaked them to make them hers. I didn’t love the arrangement, but it was all part of the process. Paying my dues. Proving to Sasha I had what it took to design. I was close, too. She’d been dropping hints lately about me being ready for the design team.
Just the same, Sasha didn’t love it when it looked like I knew more about clothes than she did. Which was why the fabric puckering would always be Isabelle’s fault and not hers. It didn’t help that I’d known the fabric switch wasn’t going to work and had told Sasha as much. The fabric I’d used in the prototype was a thicker knit, with just enough stretch for ease of movement, but with much more structure.
The charmeuse she’d swapped it for was meant to drape loosely, softly. It was not meant for box pleats. But Sasha had refused to take my advice, demanding we create an additional sew-by in the charmeuse. The sew-by sample was the most important one, acting as a gauge for what the piece would require in production and how much it would cost. If Isabelle—the best seamstress at LeFranc—couldn’t get a sample made correctly? There was no way the piece could go to manufacturing.
“Do we still have the original sample?” Sasha asked. “The one in the navy with the tiny, pink pinstripe?”
I tried to hide my irritation. She was talking as if I might not know exactly which dress she meant. Like it wasn’t the dress I had made at home, on my own time, after she’d foisted the sample fabric on me and begged me to turn it into something “stunning.”
“We do,” I said, my face emotionless.
“Good. We’ll have to send that one as the sew-by. There simply isn’t time to make another one.”
Six months ago, I might have been thrilled by the victory. My design, unchanged, on the racks at LeFranc. But this time, the victory felt hollow. As far as anyone else knew, Sasha was the designer. “I’ll take care of it,” I said halfheartedly.
Sasha’s voice softened. “This is a win for you, Dani. That’s your dress going to production. Your design.”
No, a win would be presenting the design to Alicio myself. Letting him know it was mine and getting the credit I deserved. A win would be making the same salary the designers made instead of doing Sasha’s job for a third of that amount. I hated that money even had to be a part of it. My friend, Chase, was already a LeFranc designer and had told me he’d take me on as an intern without a second thought. But I couldn’t take a nonpaying internship, even if it meant face time with the design team. Living in New York City wasn’t free.
“I know,” I said, hoping I’d sufficiently masked my disdain. “And I appreciate it. I’ll pull the original sew-by sample and send it over.”
“Good girl,” Sasha said. “Did you decide about the reservations tonight? At Rao’s?”
I nodded. “My brother’s in town so I invited him to go with me.”
She frowned. “Your brother? How nice.” She moved to the edge of her desk and perched herself on the end, one Prada-clad foot crossing over the other. “Did you know that’s where Alicio and I first had dinner together? Five years ago today, actually. That’s why we’re going away this weekend. To celebrate the anniversary of when we first—” She paused. “Well. I suppose you don’t want to know the details of all that.”
“I’m sure it was wonderful,” I said, happy she’d spared me the details. It was Sasha’s favorite subject—just how in love she and Alicio were—but I wasn’t in the mood to relive her first anything with Alicio, dinner or otherwise.
As Sasha rambled on about the trip she and Alicio were taking to the Caribbean, my thoughts drifted back to Alex. What had happened with his stepfather that day? And more importantly, why couldn’t he have talked to me about it? A familiar tightening filled my belly and I forced myself to breathe, to stay in control of my emotions. I’d carried the sting of his rejection for months—long enough that it had dulled to something I could almost forget about from day to day. But when I’d run into him at Java Jean’s, it was like the bandage I’d placed over my wounds was ripped away, taking half my skin clean off.
“Did you hear me, Dani?” Sasha asked, a slight edge to her voice.
“What?”
“My three o’clock appointment?” She waved her hand in front of her like I ought to know exactly what she was talking about.
I had to get Alex out of my head.
“Oh, right. You want me to . . . confirm?”
She breathed out an annoyed sigh. “I want you to push it to tomorrow morning. What’s gotten into you today?”
“I’m sorry. I’m just distracted. I’ll take care of the appointment.”
“Thank you. But go clean yourself up first. You’re starting to smell.”
Chase sifted through a rack of sales samples from last season. “How do you feel about black?” He pulled out a black sheath dress and held it up.
“Black is great, but no way these hips are fitting in that dress.”
Chase looked me over. “True. What about this one?” He pulled out another. “With the flared skirt, you’d have a little more room.”
“Here. Let me try.” I stepped behind another rack of dresses and peeled off my wet clothes before shimmying into the new dress. It was strapless—a little more Friday night than regular workday—but it fit great and it was dry. I spotted a white button-down on a different rack and reached for it. “Can I have this too?” I asked Chase.
“Fine by me,” he said over his shoulder, his back respectfully turned while I changed. “This is all heading down to the basement for the sample sale next month. No one will miss it.”
I put on the shirt, cinching it up and tying it just under my bust line, then rolled the sleeves up to the elbow. “There. Does it work?”
He turned around. “Throw on a chunky necklace and you just improvised yourself a killer outfit.” He picked up my discarded dress and hung it up. “And this . . . this is definitely a Dani original.” He fingered the lace. “I like.”
I shrugged my shoulders playfully. “I know a thing or two about fashion.”
“More than Sasha, that’s for sure.”
I looked over his shoulder at the closed sample room door. It wasn’t likely anyone would walk in and hear us, but the door wasn’t locked, which made me nervous. Chase was the only person at LeFranc who knew just how much involvement I had with Sasha’s designs.
“Do you remember the navy dress she pulled out of the collection last week?”
“Yours, right? Except, she wanted to do it in teal charmeuse?” He rolled his eyes.
“Isabelle couldn’t do it,” I said with a grin. “She called Sasha this morning and said she can’t make the fabric work.”