Chapter 10
From: [emailprotected]To: [emailprotected]
Subject: HR Meeting
Mahalia,
Please report to the Human Resources office this morning.- AV
I stare at the email I receive first thing on a Monday morning. No warm greetings, no pleasantries, no casual inquiries about my weekend.
Just a directive.
My mind instantly conjures up the worst-case scenario: possible termination of employment. A meeting with HR first thing at the start of the week boded ill for various reasons.
The incident from last Friday being one of them.
I trudge over to the office, fighting to keep down the feeling of projectile vomiting because I genuinely feel sick to my stomach.
Knocking on the door, I wait for someone to call me in before entering. Inside the room are two sets of cubicles each equipped with computers in the far back corner of the room. In the middle was a marble coffee table with soft soft-looking chairs as well as a little kitchenette.
“Hi! Mahalia, come in!”
A brunette woman with green eyes flashes me a welcoming smile. I recognise her as Lois, the person who handled the admin paperwork and correspondence related to my Design Intern position at Holmes.
“Hi, Lois.” I wring my hands together. “Just Hallie is fine.”
“Of course, Hallie.” She nods. “Don’t be nervous! I can imagine how it might seem, to be called into HR first thing on a Monday. But it’s nothing to fret about, how is your first couple of weeks at Holmes going?”
Her comment does nothing to alleviate my anxiety and I smile tightly.
“It’s going well,” I reply. “A lot to learn but I’m excited to get my hands stuck in.”
“That’s the attitude! We love that here.” She beams, her attitude peppy. “We just need to inform you of a temporary revision in your contract due to certain changes here at Holmes.”
I blink in confusion. “Revision in my contract?”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” She comments in reassurance but I feel my stomach churn with unease. “I’ve been informed that your new managing director will personally provide you with the full details.”
My head spins, the words coming out of her mouth stretching thinly and tangling themselves in my brain.
“But to give you a quick rundown on the changes regarding your original contract,” Lois begins. “We’re temporarily transferring you from Design to Communications.”
The spinning stops before a pin suddenly drops, my silence prompting Lois to continue the conversation.
“We’re still in the process of recruiting, but it’s taking a bit longer than usual,” Lois shares. “And with Men’s Fashion Week coming up in June, we’re prioritising the workload surrounding the event. So, we’re shifting resources around to make sure everything runs smoothly in the meantime.”
My thoughts are suddenly spools of thread vigorously unwinding.
“Estelle’s reviewed the workload in the Design department and confirmed that it’s manageable for now,” She continues. “That’s why we’re moving you to the Comms team in the meantime for additional support.”
“Right…” I nod along, trying to process the information as she delivers it.
“Your probation period is on timeline with the new changes. You’ll just be working in a different department temporarily and reporting to a new manager.”
I blink at that. “And, um, who will that be?”
“For this particular change and focus on workload,” Lois begins but I can already sense where this is going. “You’ll be working under Mr. Vante’s son— August.”
“August?” I repeat, feeling anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach.
“Yes,” Lois nods. “Our new Director of Communications. Platinum blond hair, blue-grey eyes. Impossible to miss. He introduced himself at the meeting last Friday.”
“Of course, yes.” I nod robotically. “I met him already.”
“Fantastic! August also requested that you visit his office for a detailed discussion about your new role and its responsibilities.”
Suddenly, I feel winded. “Now?”
“Right after our meeting, yes. HR will handle the necessary paperwork, we just needed to inform you about the changes beforehand. The revised contract will be sent to your email so all you need to do is sign and send it back to us before the end of the day.”
The meeting with Lois is on a constant anxiety-ridden loop in my mind as I pace back and forth outside the Director of Communications office.
Contract adjustments are manageable and I’d like to think of myself as adaptable enough that I’d be able to manage the shift in my role. However, the prospect of working under August poses an entirely different challenge.
Holding the paper bag with his jumper in one hand, I knock on the door with the other.
“Come in.”
Taking a deep breath, I slide the door open and enter his office.
“Good morning,” I greet quietly, my hands wringing the ribbon handles of the gift bag.
August’s office is dimmer in comparison, almost in complete darkness, and my eyes take a while to adjust. The ambience is almost sinister and I imagine him turning around in a swivel chair, cat on his lap, ready to disclose his diabolical mastermind strategies to divide and conquer the industry.
Fortunately, he’s only standing by his desk, leaning casually against the polished mahogany wood and there isn’t a cat in sight.
“You certainly took your time.” His tone carries a hint of reprimand as he acknowledges my presence.
August is wearing a forest green, almost black, suit with a dark grey turtleneck underneath. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his dark green trousers as he peers over me, almost lazily.
My eyebrows knot in confusion.
“I’ve been watching you restlessly pace back and forth outside for nearly 20 minutes.” He deadpans.
I blink. “You could see me?”
“The wall is glass.” He gestures towards the front of his office where the blinds are partially drawn on either side.
Mentally, I wince.
From the outside, his office looked empty but from the inside looking out, the view of the corridor is clear as crystal.
God, I must have looked like an absolute idiot.
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling heat creeping up my neck.
“I assume the meeting with HR went well?” He inquires.
“Yes,” I nod, watching as he pushes himself away from the desk. “I’m just a little… confused.”
“As to?”
His grey eyes are assessing me in a way that makes me nervous.
“The role,” I say, then add, “My background is in Design. I have no experience in Press or Marketing or… anything Communications-related.”
His movements are fluid, assured, as he turns to sit behind his desk. He signals to the seat opposite him, my own movements feel rigid as I sit myself down.
“Doesn’t your CV include you running an online business?”
At the mention of Mahalia Made, I bite my lip.
“Yes but— not to a professional extent, s-sir,” I admit as his eyes narrow at the formal address. “I-I mean, August.”
I inwardly grimace at my nervousness.
“Holmes initially intended to hire an intern specifically for the Press Team. However, the selection process has been slow,” He sighs. “Staffing issues have persisted for months and while the new HR team are diligently working on it, we’re in need of all available help for the upcoming Men’s Fashion Week.”
August reaches out towards a small lamp on his desk, readjusting the brightness and I’m momentarily distracted by the action.
Against the light, his features are even sharper. Chiaroscuro taking effect as the warm glow casts a shadow on one side of his face. He looked every bit of the Peroxide Prince in the tabloids, if not more mature. And still intimidatingly beautiful.
“I understand your hesitation,” He continues, snapping me back to attention. “But please recognise that we also need your cooperation. I’m going to be honest with you, Mahalia. Holmes is in the trenches. You have an acting CEO on bail, the previous Director of Communications under legal probation and a Senior Designer still absent without leave.”
His gaze doesn’t waver as he locks eyes with me and I do my best not to shrink under it.
“I’ve consulted the board in both Holmes and Vante about the situation,” He declares with an air of finality. “Your position as Design Intern is still secured.”
Shuffling my feet nervously, I glance around the dimly lit yet spacious room of his office. Unpacked boxes are scattered in one corner, yet despite the apparent disarray, the room is still well-organised. My eyes narrow in the dark, recalling the cardboard boxes that had been outside of his office last week.
“I have something that belongs to you,” I clear my throat. “Your jumper?”
Presenting him with the same Vante carrier it came with, I slide it over to his desk.
“I had it dry-cleaned,” I quickly add, remembering his supposed hygienic tendencies.
He barely glances at the designer paper bag.
“Did they use hypoallergenic laundry detergent?” His tone carries a hint of mockery and I blink.
“I’m not sure—”
“Then I have no use for that.”
His indifference shouldn’t affect me, yet it does.
“August, about the things I said last Friday—”
“Is this really the appropriate time to have this discussion?” He questions, tone bored.
“Umm, n-no, but—”
“Mahalia,” He interrupts me, raising a hand. “I was born into this industry. I’ve had articles written about me about worse things. I hardly think much of idle office gossip and hearsay opinions belonging to an intern.”
His grey eyes are like daggers, sharp steely gaze cutting through me.
“Oh,” I nod, his reply stinging a lot more than I anticipated.
“I understand that you’re new to the industry but I expect a level of professionalism on your end,” He asserts, his direct criticism hitting home.
I can only nod, swallowing the prickle of hurt that settles in my chest.
“Ymir and Saoirse are both aware that you’ll be joining them in Comms,” He continues. “Ymir deals with PR and Saoirse manages Marketing. Your role will involve assisting them with all comms-related tasks and obligations for Men’s Fashion Week. As you know, this will be Holmes’ first show since Vante’s acquisition. I need a daily overview sent to me at the beginning of each day along with end-of-day updates. These updates should encompass all aspects of Communications– Public Relations, Marketing, Press, Buyers. Ymir and Sasha will guide you on the tasks at hand.”
Already, I feel overwhelmed, but I try to suppress the rising sense of anxiety within me.
“Any questions?”
Who are you, really?
“No,” I shake my head. “None at the moment.”