Chapter 7
The following week at Holmes is a little more chaotic. Workload began to pick up and I’ve started taking on more tasks required in the studio. Due to the transition of Vante’s acquisition, additional staff are being transferred over from the European studios to leverage and distribute the workload across sectors, resulting in a mild frenzy within the office.
The past week has been a flurry of activity. Construction workers have been in and out all week, fixing new lighting and remodelling the fourth floor, as per the very specific request of a new member of the board who wanted his own dedicated office space.
By the time Friday morning came around, the office was in high tension as we anticipate the appearance of our interim Director of Communications.
To prepare for the arrival of the most recent addition to the Holmes studio, the Design team had been requested to come into work an hour early for a briefing.
Don’t tell me you skipped breakfast again?
I can almost envision Jean-Luc’s headshake of disapproval.
This week has been chaos :(
My reply is delivered as soon as I step out of the tube station and I begin making my way to the studio.
So that’s a yes.
A lengthy sigh is the next thing I imagine him to be doing.
There’s so much happening at HolmesIt’s only my second week butI’m ready to commitDESIGN DESERTION IN THE FASHION FRONTLINESKidding!I need this job haha
Scanning my employee card to enter the Holmes building, I nod towards security greeting me at the entrance as I hear someone calling out in my direction.
“Hallie!”
I turn towards the voice to find Pollux hovering by reception, the body of a dressmaker dummy under his arm. He waves me over and I begin walking towards him.
“How is everyone holding up?” I ask.
“By the most delicate of threads,” He snorts as we head towards the lift. “Ymir and Saoirse are ready to abandon ship since they’ll be working under the new DOC. Estelle’s been trying to reassure them for the past half an hour.”
“She’s worked with him before?”
He nods, adding dramatically, “He’s the sole fashion scion of Vante Atelier.”
“What?” I gape.
“Uh-huh.” Pollux nods. “Holmes’ interim Director of Communications is none other than the son of the Parisian Atelier’s Chief Executive Officer. Estelle told me when I clocked in this morning. She broke the news to Ymir and Saoirse, hence why they’re ready to hand their notices in. They’re worried he’s going to be Sebastian 2.0.”
“I didn’t even know Cedric Vante had a son.”
Pollux blinks. “How can you call yourself a designer if you don’t know the Peroxide Prince of Paris.”
The title sounds vaguely familiar. But then again, I’m not well-versed when it comes to the tittle-tattle of the industry on an international scale. Keeping up with the fashion fads and fodder in London was complicated enough, media coverage concerning Holmes was relentless and almost impossible to keep up with.
“I stay informed with fashion trends, not fashion tabloids,” I comment. “Mostly.”
I’ve always prioritised focusing on the actual craftsmanship of creating clothes in fashion rather than the curated lifestyles of celebrities that exist within the industry. It was only by studying at LIFT and pursuing the trade on a professional level that I realised the significance of social standings.
The importance of names, most especially.
“You have a lot to learn, young designer.” He states. “Reputation, good and bad, is one of the most important factors in the industry. Particularly that of fashion progenies.”
My mind drifts to the former Creative Director and senior designer gone MIA at the very studio I’m working at.
All the controversies concerning Sebastian Holmes were so convoluted, it’s a challenge to stay in the loop. I should probably cover my bases and do more research on the enigma that is Cedric Vante’s son to avoid any complications.
“Want to sneak a peek at our temporary DOC’s office?” Pollux asks me.
I contemplate for a moment before nodding enthusiastically, feeling my phone buzzing repeatedly with new messages.
Lunch today then?I’m back in London.Tell me all about it.
A flutter of excitement erupts in my stomach. Over the past couple of weeks, it’s become something of a routine to message Jean-Luc every day. I don’t have expectations from him or anything but it’s nice to talk to someone who seems genuinely interested and willing to engage in what I have to say, not just for the sake of making conversation.
The lift chimes to signal our arrival on the fourth floor, Pollux and I stepping out to look around the floor space designated for the new Director of Communications.
“This is insane,” I remark, marvelling at the surroundings. “I can’t believe they renovated a completely new office for someone who’s temporarily working here.”
Pollux shrugs, seemingly unfazed. “Progeny privilege.”
The usual floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooking the view of the River Thames are covered with black-out curtains. Temporary walls have been put up to enclose smaller rooms and new lighting fixtures have been added.
Even though the actual Communications team is based on the first floor, the entire space of the fourth floor now belongs to Holmes’ provisional DOC. It seems silly, if I’m being honest. The rationale behind the decision remains a mystery, but no one dares to question it.
“The secondary studio is also up here but it hasn’t been used since Design downsized,” Pollux adds before gesturing towards the room furthest away from the lift. “That’s his office down there.”
On the opposite end of the floor is his work suite, separated from the rest of the space with tempered glass. The black-out curtains hanging from the glass walls are drawn open this time but the room is in complete darkness. I notice a cluster of cardboard boxes just outside, spotting labels for office equipment such as a printer and a water cooler. Alongside the workplace supplies are more flat-packs with labels indicating enlarger baseboards and diffuser heads.
“There’s a darkroom up here?” I question.
Pollux studies the boxes for a moment. “Darkroom?”
“A studio that develops film photography.”
“I have no idea,” He replies with a shake of his head. “I’m not up here often.”
I’m about to further comment when his phone dings to signal a new message.
“We’re being summoned,” Pollux chimes.
He hands me his phone and I read the text he received from Saoirse, one of our colleagues working in Communications.
Pre-boardroom meeting running late. Please make sure all the humidifiers are on all four levels and the sanitation machine is in the conference suite. Thank you so much!!! S x
“God, the ridiculous demands of a germaphobe,” Pollux comments before turning to me. “Do you want to do the humidifiers or should I?”
“I’m curious to see the metal machine,” I admit with a laugh as we head back down the hallway.
“Alright, you handle the chunky death trap.” Pollux nods as we step into the lift. “Then meet back at the main studio.”
As soon as the lift reached the first floor, I quickly head to the huge conference suite where the studio meeting to welcome the new Director of Communications is going to be held.
Entering the boardroom, I locate the sanitation machine, a hefty block of aluminium in the back of the room. Following Pollux’s instructions on how to operate the contraption, it doesn’t take long before the slab of metal begins humming. I exit the boardroom, promptly closing the door behind me as I send Pollux a quick text to let him know the job is done.
Heading towards the lift, I’m turning the corner when I unexpectedly collide with someone.
“Christ.”
A sense of déjà vu washes over me as I look up to find a familiar-looking navy suit and, now, an even more familiar face.
“Jean-Luc?”
The not-so-stranger blinks at me in confusion before his expression morphs into recognition.
“Mahalia.”
“Oh my god!” I grin with excitement. “You got the job too!!”
My body reacts intuitively, and before I can fully process it, I’m propelling myself forward to hug him— the joy of seeing him in person again overtaking me.
His entire form stiffens and I quickly step back, offering an apologetic smile.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
I take in his appearance.
He’s wearing a navy suit with trousers to match. A pair of sunglasses sits on the pocket square of his single-breasted blazer and, under the tailored jacket, he’s wearing a black turtleneck. As usual, he looks sharp and flawlessly composed, exuding the same air of cool confidence as the first time I met him on the day of my interview.
“Congratulations!” I beam. “You never mentioned hearing back from Holmes, is it your first day?”
“Yes,” he nods, clearing his throat. “First meeting.”
A warmth spreads across my chest at seeing him again in person.
“I’m so happy you got the job,” I say excitedly. “I still sent your socials to SELDOM, by the way. Just in case you thought I didn’t. They love your work.”
“Ah, yes. They, uh, got in contact actually.” He admits, glancing at me briefly before shifting his gaze away.
“It makes sense that you didn’t need to take them up on the offer though,” I say, cheerily. “You’re here!”
There’s a hint of apprehension in his gaze as he scans our surroundings, eyes darting towards the boardroom door behind me before checking his watch.
“Aren’t you a little early to the meeting?” He asks me.
“Oh no,” I shake my head. “I needed to press a button on a metal machine.”
His eyebrows knot in confusion. “Metal machine?”
“This monstrous sanitising death trap,” I explain with a laugh. “The boardroom needs to be disinfected before our new DOC arrives for the studio meeting. Such were the crucial demands from our darling nepo baby germaphobe.”
Jean-Luc blinks. “Nepo baby… what?”
“You know, nepotism baby.” I give him a pointed look. “I heard he only got the job because he’s the son of the CEO.”
He narrows his eyes, looking somewhat offended.
“Comms are in a bit of a panic because Cedric Vante’s son is temporarily overseeing their department,” I continue, lowering my voice to a whisper. “He doesn’t even have the proper qualifications, supposedly. People are saying he’s overly critical and difficult to work with.”
“Difficult,” He repeats, gaze stoic.
“If his demands are anything to go by,” I shrug. “Apparently, he’s also really fussy and disproportionately hygienic.”
“Seems like he’s already made a reputation for himself,” He observes, monotoned.
“Not a very positive one,” I remark, scrunching my nose.
“I take it you’re not a fan of him.” He states.
There’s an aloofness to his voice as his entire demeanour seems to shift.
“I don’t know him personally so I can’t really judge,” I reply. “And he can’t help the family that he’s born into, obviously. But don’t you think it’s a little disheartening, not to mention completely biased, that someone with actual qualifications might have lost the job to someone else because of their last name?”
He stays quiet, the dip between his eyebrows creasing even further.
“If we were to put it this way,” I begin, wistfully. “A Hartt, me, is a nobody compared to a Vante.”
His expression hardens. “That’s not true.”
“It’s not an opinion to be argued against,” I shrug. “It’s fact. I mean, imagine if both of us applied for the Photographer role and I got the job because I was Cedric Vante’s daughter-in-law or something.”
Something flickers in his grey eyes.
“Or if we applied to the role of the Design Intern and you secured the position just because you’re Sterling Holmes’ son. As is the case with our current senior designer that has seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth.”
Jean-Luc pauses, lost in thought.
“Never took you as one to participate in office gossip.”
“I don’t,” I clarify, shaking my head. “But it’s hard to ignore when those assertions are the only talk of the studio.”
My phone pings, a notification popping up with a message from Pollux informing me that he’s on his way to the main studio. The previous message from Jean-Luc this morning catches my eye.
“I’m needed downstairs in Design before we meet with the DOC,” I state, offering him a smile. “Lunch today still?”
He meets my gaze, eyes softening. “Sure.”
It’s half an hour later when familiar faces from every department at the studio start filing into the conference suite. Scanning the room for a certain head of platinum blond hair, my brows furrow when I struggle to spot Jean-Luc.
There’s tension in the air as everyone chatters amongst themselves quietly and my attention is drawn to the sterilising contraption in the corner, quietly humming.
“Morning all.” A voice, smooth and deep and undeniably familiar rings out in the boardroom.
All eyes turn to a man dressed in a navy suit, black turtleneck peeking out as he strides confidently towards the front of the room.
I blink, tilting my head as platinum blond hair comes into view, stepping up to the elevated stage.
“I appreciate you all being here.” His hardened gaze sweeps over each face in the room. “I won’t take up too much of your time as this introduction is largely a formality.”
The majority of eyes in the room are staring at him in awe, some in trepidation, whilst I’m furrowing my brow in confusion. Collective breaths are held in anticipation as he scans the room.
“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting some of you already.” He says.
Steely grey eyes melt into molten silver as they finally land on mine, his gaze softening for the briefest moments.
“But for those who are new,” He continues. “Allow me to formally introduce myself.”
His gaze lingers on me, far too long than necessary, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“My name is August Jean-Luc Vante.”
He punctuates every title, liquid silver turning back to gunmetal grey as he averts his gaze.
“Newly appointed interim Director of Communications here at Holmes London, Senior Executive at Vante Atelier and apparently…” There’s a comical lilt to his voice but his facial expression is unsmiling. “Nepo Baby Germaphobe.”
My jaw drops, confusion morphing into shock as I realise.
A pause hangs in the air before the tension breaks as Jean-Luc— no, August?— candidly evaluates the room.
There’s a flurry of quiet snickers and animated chatter at the self-deprecating comments he makes for himself. Next to me, Pollux joins in the conversations, chuckling.
My mind spins as I grapple with the revelation that should have been blatantly obvious, had I delved beyond Vante’s history as a fashion empire and looked further into the background of each, individual Vante.
“I’m sure all the sudden changes are less than conducive to everyone here at the studio,” The lone successor to the Parisian fashion house continues. “But I will certainly do my best to ensure the transition is as smooth as possible. Any concerns about my ‘lack of experience’ and ‘proper qualifications’ as I’ve heard, I’m more than willing to address them. However, I’m hoping that the results and outcomes achieved at Holmes will serve as sufficient proof that I’m more than qualified for the role.”
There’s an underlying tension amongst the crowd as he talks about the elephant in the room.
Better to acknowledge the privilege now than to ignore it entirely, I suppose.
He determinedly makes eye contact with each person present, the tension in the room lifting somewhat. His pointed gaze returns to me and I feel a prickling across my skin at the incisive nature of it.
“As Director of Communications…”
His words fade into a murmur, the humming of the sanitation machine like static white noise playing in the background as I begin to zone out. I can’t fathom the oversight on my part as my thoughts begin to spiral.
I look across the boardroom as the meeting continues. A mix of amused and confused expressions etched on everyone’s faces. The atmosphere around me is a lot more energetic, a lively attentiveness focused on the new member of the studio as people hang on to every word he says.
“Thank you all for your time,” He concludes, his gaze flitting over to me once more. “This nepo baby germaphobe kindly appreciates it.”
The deadpan expression on his face causes the uneasiness I feel to double as I recall the things I was casually sharing with him outside of the boardroom.
“Talk about an introduction,” Pollux whispers. “It seems like Baby Vante has eyes and ears everywhere.”
A flash of platinum hair crosses the conference suite, wasting no time to mingle or make small talk as he heads straight for the door. The clash and clamour of my anxious thoughts intensifies and I watch as he swiftly exits the room.
Around me, the buzzing voices persist.
“— his bone structure —”
“—those eyes —”
“—natural hair colour—”
Amidst the comments from everyone else around me, my statements about him are the loudest.
Excruciatingly demanding.
Disproportionately hygienic.
Nepo baby germaphobe.
My entire body is on auto-pilot as I immediately rush out of the boardroom to catch up to the temporary DOC. He’s at the other end of the hallway and I’m expecting him to take the lift but he surprises me by walking towards the door leading to the emergency exit stairs.
Jean-Luc?
August?
What do I even call him at this point?
“Mr. Vante!” I call out.
Mr. Vante?
Internally, I cringe at the formality of my address.
He pauses by the door, broad shoulders stiffening, before disappearing through it.
“Wait!”
I follow him, relieved that we won’t be addressing the issue out in the corridor. The last thing I want is to create a scene and embarrass myself further with people around as witnesses.
“Jean-Luc—”
He turns towards me sharply.
“August.” His voice snaps.
I nod, my own voice wavering. “A-August.”
He’s halfway up a flight of stairs, a flash of irritation emerging on his features. The usual, cool stoicism on his face is nonexistent as his grey eyes squint at me almost accusingly. He ascends halfway up the flight of stairs, looking even more intimidating, looming over me from his angle.
“I am so—”
He cuts me off instantly.
“I have meetings to attend for the rest of the morning.”
I blink, an odd sense of déjà vu washing over me at his interruption.
“I didn’t—”
“I’m an incredibly busy person, Miss Hartt.” His voice is noticeably different—cold, clipped, cutting. “If it’s an urgent matter, send an email or schedule a meeting.”
He leaves no time for me to reply, ending the conversation as he walks away.
My mind is in tatters, wearing thin as I piece together new information that would have been glaringly obvious, should I have done prior research.
Jean-Luc, the Parisian photographer I’ve become acquainted with over the past month or so, is none other than the heir to the most prominent fashion powerhouse in the industry— August Vante.