Love By Design

Chapter 11

The next day, I found myself being uprooted from Design to Communications.

Per August’s request, I was required to come into the studio an hour earlier than the usual starting time to speak to Ymir and Saoirse, the people I’ll be closely working within the Comms team for Men’s Fashion Week.

“I’m new to everything,” I confess as I follow them inside the office.

Being abruptly shifted from varied sectors has left me feeling on edge and the change has been a source of anxiety for me. I’ve barely fully adjusted to the dynamics of the Design team and my role as a Design Intern so finding myself taking on another role in an entirely new department with a completely different team is a little unnerving, to say the very least.

“We know,” Saoirse says. “Don’t worry.”

“It’s a little chaotic at the minute with all the changes.” Ymir nods. “But it’s nothing we can’t manage.”

Assuming her role as the Senior PR Officer, Ymir is the person responsible for the public-oriented affairs at Holmes whilst Saoirse, as the Senior Marketing Executive, works in developing marketing-related campaigns for the brand.

They collaborate closely with each other and have both been working mid-level positions in the company for a few years, only just recently taking on more senior roles since Vante’s acquisition.

“We’re currently having to double up on roles until HR hires new team members,” Saoirse reveals. “The senior staff in the department left quite recently so you can imagine the chaos we’ve had to deal with and adapt to.”

“August mentioned it to me,” I confirm.

“He’s a little intimidating,” Saoirse comments. “But at least he gets the job done.”

She glances over my shoulder at the door, almost as if speaking about the infamous nepo baby will conjure him into existence.

“Surprisingly,” Ymir adds.

They lead me to my desk in the middle room and I feel oddly disquiet at being surrounded by a dozen or so computers with no one sitting by them.

Whilst the Design team were located on the second floor, the workspace for the Communications team is a wide open-plan area located on the floor below. The setup made sense, considering the Comms team had multiple sub-sectors consisting of public relations, marketing and social media. But the bustling hub that normally housed around a team of twelve was reduced to four, with August and I added to the team to make six.

More than half of the workforce quit, just last year.

Gigi’s voice echoes in my head.

“The girls in Social Media are Eden and Lara,” Ymir includes. “But they work from home these days. They come into the office usually twice a week, but more during busy periods like fashion month and brand functions.”

“It’s a bit chaotic right now but we’re managing,” Saoirse reassures me.

“Your job as Comms assistant is to help Saoirse and I manage the workload for Men’s Fashion Week by providing additional support where we need it,” Ymir explains.

“Usually, mid-level employees handle the tasks related to fashion week events,” Saoirse adds. “Which did use to be Ymir and I. But since the PR and Marketing senior operatives left Holmes and we took on their roles, we’re still in the process of hiring mid-levellers.”

“Hence taking on multiple responsibilities.” Ymir nods.

“I have very little experience in Communications,” I respond, honestly. “My background is in Design.”

The last thing I want is to be considered a deadweight, especially since I’m just starting out.

“Don’t worry too much.” Ymir turns to me, shaking her head. “I mean, it’s not like our new DOC fits the job criteria too.”

I blink at that.

“We were quite skeptical about him initially,” Saoirse chimes in. “I’m sure you’re aware of the Peroxide Prince’s reputation.”

“But who better than to run damage control for a fashion brand than someone who’s had their fair share of negative publicity throughout their career?” Ymir comments.

“Weathering all the bad press and negative scrutiny makes him a pro, at this point,” Saoirse adds.

I think of the very far and few between articles currently written about August.

The media wrote very little about him being a Senior Executive at Vante, never even mentioned his photography as Jean-Luc. But the gossip around him as the Peroxide Prince and his playboy tendencies had been a constant throughout the years. Granted that it eased up after graduating from MIDAS but still.

His personal life had been tabloid fodder and the media ate it up every time.

“Jokes aside, he does seem to be taking the work seriously,” Ymir adds. “So far, so good.”

Saoirse nods in agreement. “Despite his reluctance to work at Holmes in the first place.”

“Oh?” I inquire, curiosity piqued.

“We heard he originally wanted to work in one of the New York City studios under Vante,” Saoirse answers. “The vintage turned contemporary brand.”

“Grayson?”

Created in the 90s, Grayson was funded by Vante through a fashion programme when the Parisian conglomerate was reaching towards new consumer market. The NYC-based brand was widely known for its vintagewear and was driven by the surge of the subculture styles of New Yorkers from decades past, an eclectic blend of the Beat Generation, Punk Rock and the Downtown Art Scene. With DIY aesthetics as well as bohemian influences, it drew inspiration from the nonconformist styles and hipster culture of the city and the brand itself became iconically New York.

So the rebrand from vintagewear to contemporary came as a surprise to a lot of people. It started catering to an entirely different aesthetic and design philosophy but still tried to keep the same target audience and market segment. The label became the main reference of every LIFT student’s case study when it came to the pros and cons of rebranding in fashion.

“Typical, isn’t it?” Saoirse laughs lightheartedly. “Things get handed to him on a silver platter but he demands it in gold.”

The sound of the door sliding open cuts our conversation short and we all turn our heads to find August, dressed in a dark maroon suit, entering the Comms room.

“Ymir, Saoirse.” He acknowledges them with a nod.

“Boss,” They chorus.

“I appreciate you both coming in early today. I’ll make sure the extra hour is added as overtime,” He says before turning his attention towards me. “Mahalia.”

I straighten up in my seat, finding it a little unsettling being referred to by my full name.

“Good morning,” I greet him, albeit a little awkwardly. “Just Hallie is fine.”

Piercing grey eyes assess me and he blinks almost lazily.

“Have you been relayed the information on your responsibilities as well as expectations as the Comms assistant?”

“Yes,” I respond.

“Good.” He adds, voice monotoned.

There’s a pause before a loud thud on my desk startles me. I glance up to find August towering over me, tall and imposing, as he stands with a stoic expression on his face.

Another resounding smack on the table makes me visibly recoil.

“I need these delivered to the flagship store.”

My eyes flicker down to the stacks of folders on my desk.

“The flagship store,” I repeat, meeting his gaze again with a questioning look. “In Regent Street?”

“No, in Champs-élysées,” He replies sarcastically before continuing. “Yes, in Regent Street. Deliver them directly to Isla Moorhouse, the senior manager of the store.”

I blink at his tone. “Directly as in—”

“In person,” He cuts me off, making his additional instructions clear. “She needs to receive them herself. No one else.”

August leaves the room without another word and I begin filtering through the many folders as Ymir and Saoirse exchange confused glances.

“What did you do?” They ask, simultaneously.

“I didn’t–” I begin to respond but my words are interrupted by August’s voice echoing from outside of the corridor.

“Now, Mahalia.”

I scramble to my feet, quickly shoving the folders into my tote bags and slinging them over my shoulder.

The journey to Regent Street should have taken 30 minutes on the tube. It’s only three stops from Pimlico to Oxford Circus but the tube strikes as well as maintenance delays on the Victoria line, today of all days, made the journey almost impossible and I ended up taking over an hour to reach the strip of high-end retail shops.

Walking from the office to the store would have reduced my travel time by half but carrying two bulky totes of catalogues in platform shoes would have ruined me.

Similar to the exterior architecture of the Holmes’ headquarters, the flagship store is an ornate building with warm lighting, marbled flooring and polished brass accented countertops. It had tall, expansive windows and sophisticated lighting fixtures to showcase the garments from the latest collections but I barely had any time to appreciate the meticulously organised displays as I rush over to the girl behind the register.

“Hi! I’m Hallie, an intern over at the Holmes office,” I greet her, out of breath. “I’m here to drop off the catalogues from the previous collections?”

Mia, her name tag indicates, nods with a friendly smile. “Sure.”

I set down the heavy tote bags full of archived Holmes directory on the counter, causing it to shake with the weight before sliding the two I’m holding on top.

“I was told to give them to Isla?”

Mia tilts her head to the side as she responds, “Isla isn’t working today.”

I blink. “What?”

“She’s on annual leave at the moment,” She elaborates. “She won’t be back until next week.”

“Really?”

“If you leave them with me, I can put them in the office for when she gets back,” She offers, reaching out for the tote bags on the counter.

August’s earlier instructions replay in my head.

“No!” I stop her, bring the tote bags closer to my chest then wince out an apology. “It’s okay. I, uhh, was told to personally hand it to Isla.”

“Usually, it’s fine.” Mia frowns.

“Not that I don’t trust you!” I hurriedly express another apology. “It’s just our new DOC’s orders.”

An image of August’s stern expression flashes in my mind and I shake my head trying to clear the image.

“Oh,” Mia nods knowingly. “Okay.”

“I’ll bring the catalogues over when Isla’s back from holiday.”

She nods again. “She’ll be back on Monday.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Grabbing the tote bags from the counter, I flash a strained smile before heading back out.

The trip back to the studio ended up eating into my lunch. Avoiding the tube this time, I decided to walk the 36-minute journey from the store, a journey that I deeply regret as I struggled to carry the tote bags.

“Please keep the doors open!” I exclaim breathlessly as I rush towards the lift about to close.

Powerwalking the journey should have taken me less time but the heavy tote bags and my platform shoes made the journey difficult. I’m about to thank the person in the lift when I come face to face with the last person I want to see.

“You’ve overrun your lunch break,” August comments.

“I just got back from the store,” I explain, my voice strained. “I had to walk to the studio.”

August blinks.

“You didn’t take a taxi?” He questions.

I heave quietly, “I wasn’t aware that was an option.”

A hush descends in the lift.

“Was no one at the store?” August’s gaze drops down to the tote bags I’m still carrying. “Why do you still have the catalogues?”

“You specifically instructed to hand them over to Isla,” I cough out, lungs burning. “She’s currently on holiday.”

“Oh.” August’s response is nonchalant. “Ringing the store beforehand would have been useful.”

“Yes,” I reply, trying not to sound painfully out of breath. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time, thank you.”

I say nothing else as I stare at the buttons of the lift.

“Is there a reason why you’re heading to the fourth floor?” He asks.

I blink.

“I’m not heading to the—”

The sound of the lift opening, as it dings, prompts me to reassess my surroundings.

I curse, having forgotten to press the button to the first floor.

“Since you’re here,” August begins. “I need the cardboard boxes outside of my office flattened and taken to the recycling bin downstairs.”

I blink at his request but he doesn’t give me time to reply as he takes both tote bags from me, pushing me out of the lift with him. He slings the bags effortlessly on his shoulders before sweeping the catalogues from my arms.

“I’ll be going for lunch,” He calls out, walking down the corridor. “I’d like them gone by the time I’m back.”

Sighing quietly to myself, I say nothing else as I begin walking towards the haphazardly stacked piles of cardboard boxes outside of his office door.