7. Natalie
7
NATALIE
E veryone in the design room seemed terrified.
It was our first team meeting since James fired Clint, and while we all felt relieved that he was gone, I could tell the damage from his reign of terror ran deep. No one wanted to say a word.
“No wrong answers here, folks,” James said from his place at the head of the table. “I promise you. We’re just brainstorming. Letting those creative juices flow.”
He was trying to sound friendly and approachable, but no one seemed to be buying it. I knew firsthand that he wasn’t as bad as Clint, but I guessed that he was just a distant figurehead to the rest of the team. All they really knew about him was that he’d fired Clint without hesitation—which probably didn’t make anyone feel all that great about their job security. Everyone around me was staring at their tablets, which were networked to the smartboard behind James.
I, on the other hand, was trying not to stare at James .
He still drove me absolutely batty, and his arrogance was truly incredible, but damn it…why did he make being a dick look so good? He’d rolled up the sleeves of his fitted dress shirt and his tanned forearms flexed every time he gestured. And he was wearing glasses! He’d had them on for a second when I’d barged into his office to quit, but I’d been too upset to let how hot he looked in them register. Now I could appreciate how they made him look like a naughty professor. A sexy, too smart for his own good, full of himself, jackass, brainiac bosshole.
With an incredible ass.
“Ideas? Anyone?”
I realized that I’d been staring at James as I daydreamed, and now he was staring right back. I mean, I didn’t blame him because I’d put a little extra effort in looking extra good, knowing that he was going to be running the meeting. We’d had too many encounters where he’d seen me frazzled or flustered, and I wanted to prove to him that I was capable of being polished and in control. And, well, the fact that my favorite dress dipped low in the cleavage area wasn’t my fault. The man was already well acquainted with my breasts thanks to our elevator encounter.
“What about doing a clothing line based on the Pantone color of the year?” Lavonte suggested in a voice far quieter than his usual cheerful baritone while fiddling with his drafting wand.
“Yes! I like it!” James clapped his hands together loudly. “I’m not sure what the color is for this year, though. The concept is great, but we have to make sure it works.”
“It’s called Sand Dollar.” Lavonte squirmed a little at being on the hot seat.
“Sand Dollar,” James said, nodding thoughtfully. “I like that. Sounds beachy. Put it up on the smartboard so we can discuss it.”
We could all map the Pantone color spectrum with our eyes shut, so a few people around the table shifted in their seats as they waited for the car crash to come.
“Ta-da,” Lavonte said in a shaky voice, as Pantone 13-1106 filled the screen.
“ Oh ,” James said. He pursed his lips, and I could tell he was fighting to find something positive to say. “Huh.”
Sand Dollar was a color that could only be defined as “unforgiving.” It was the color choice of someone who wanted to blend in with sidewalks. It reminded me of lumpy cardigans, boring minimalist interior design, and tea with too much milk. Very few people could wear it and look good.
The James I was acquainted with was quick to shoot down anything that didn’t fit with his vision, and I studied him as he tried to find an encouraging response. Could he do it?
“Well, Lavonte, that’s, uh, that’s definitely sandy ,” he finally managed. “Team? What do we think?”
There were vague murmurs from around the table, and I could see Lavonte shrinking in his chair.
“I love the idea of working with the color of the year,” I volunteered in a clear voice, above the buzz. The rest of the team might be freaked out by James but I sure as hell wasn’t. Maybe leading by example would help them realize that James wasn’t all bad? “But not this one to start off with, though. I think we could make it a little more personal to Branson. What if we combined each color of the year with a retrospective from past collections? Pantone started doing it in 2000, so we could do a twenty year look back at our top designs from each year, rendered in that year’s color. What was our best seller in 2000?”
I glanced around the table and Lavonte mouthed “thank you” to me.
“Seeing as I’ve been here the longest, I’m the company’s unofficial archivist,” Rhea volunteered, raising her finger in the air. “Year 2000’s top design was actually a throwback to our iconic Easy Dress.” She lowered her voice. “Which was a knockoff of Diane Von Furstenberg’s wrap dress, but shhhh !”
“And the color of the year in 2000 was Cerulean Blue,” Lavonte added, turning the bland sandy smartboard screen to a brilliant sky blue. “How gorgeous would that be?” He quickly sketched a figure over the color and within a few minutes it looked like it was ready for production.
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” James said with a satisfied nod. “Put that concept at the top of the list. What else?”
The hubbub around the table died down again. What was the deal? Why was everyone so darn afraid to show some creativity? I felt like I couldn’t turn mine off, so I threw my hand in the air again.
“You don’t have to raise your hand, Natalie,” James chastised lightly. “Go.”
“This is a total longshot concept,” I began. “And it’s probably not do-able?—”
“Just say it,” James sighed. He’d kept his frustration in check for Lavonte, but here it was again, rearing its ugly head just for me. I thought we’d reached a truce? What the hell was going on?
“Haute couture,” I spat out, glaring at him.
His eyebrows shot up.
Yes . Take that.
“You really think we can find an audience for bespoke fashion?”
“I think we all know that handmade, one-of-a-kind clothing is created by designers to grab attention for their workhorse lines. We have enough gifted designers in this room that we could come up with an amazing capsule collection that’ll get us a ton of press, and then we lean on the ready-to-wear fashion that’s our bread and butter.”
The buzz around the table picked up as the designers discussed what they could contribute to a special collection. Branson was known for expensive, elegant clothing lines but couture was next level, something they’d never considered.
“Not bad,” James finally said, in the world’s biggest understatement. “That’s a big change in direction that I—I mean we, need to think about. Anyone else?”
“I’m not done,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I think we should hire a house ambassador.”
It was out of left field, but a few people clapped and cheered.
“Is that a fact?” James said, leveling his gaze on me. “You think we need a face to represent the Branson brand? And who would you pick?”
I shrugged. “I have a few ideas but I figured you, as the arm candy for supermodels, would have opinions.”
Lavonte snorted, then slapped his hand over his mouth.
“ Excuse me?” James asked, glaring at me. “Arm candy?”
I’d clearly hit a nerve but I wasn’t backing down. “You date models. Lots of them. So my assumption was that you probably have thoughts about who is and isn’t appropriate for Branson to partner with.”
“Arm candy,” he repeated, venom in his tone.
Ooh, he hated that! Well, good. From what I’d seen, there were few things that could shake his reserve, and I felt downright giddy at the thought that I’d stumbled on one of them. I wondered what name I could throw at him as a suggestion that would rile him the most.
Rhea had filled me in on his history with the one-named supermodel Heidi, who seemed most at home stalking catwalks in lingerie. The woman was literally perfect in every way, except for the fact that she gave tell-all interviews trashing James every time they broke up, which, according to my quick research, happened quite a lot back when they were together.
Our eyes were locked in a standoff, and I could see his jaw flexing, like he was grinding his teeth at me. James was probably used to people buckling when he fixed his ridiculously clear blue eyes on them, but I held my ground. The back of my neck inexplicably tingled under the weight of his gaze, and it felt like excitement, not fear. There definitely was a part of me that liked locking horns with the big man. And since the phrase “arm candy” had gotten such a delicious reaction, I couldn’t resist getting in another crack.
“Is there a better word choice?” I asked with mock innocence. “Sugar Daddy? Benefactor? PR couple?”
Everyone at the table seemed to suck in a breath at the same time.
“Let’s leave my personal life out of the equation,” he finally said, his tone making it clear that I needed to shut the hell up.
“Skyler Honeywell,” someone piped up, and we all turned to look at Jacinda. “She would be incredible. She has a huge social media following, and the girl knows how to dress. And work the camera. She’s got a look unlike anyone else on the runway.”
James picked up his phone. “I don’t know her…”
I let a laugh slip out and his eyes shot to me. I pretended to be busy sketching. A photo of a beautiful woman with black almond-shaped eyes and tanned skin popped onto the smartboard.
“She’s very fashion-forward,” James said as he studied the image of the undeniably gorgeous woman. “But the tattoos… I’m not sure that’s the direction?—”
“That’s the exact direction Branson should be going,” I interrupted. “Skyler represents everything that’s new and unexpected in fashion. That’s where Branson needs to be.”
I was shocked when applause broke out around me, and when I looked at James, he seemed to be as well.
He let out a long sigh. “Seems I’m outnumbered, then. I need to check the feasibility of hiring someone for an ambassador role. In the meantime, it’s a go to start the groundwork for the Pantone project.” James gathered his things to leave, then paused. “Natalie.”
The room went silent as we all waited to see how he’d retaliate against me.
“Yes, sir?”
He winced at the honorific.
“Your couture idea is our lead project. I want your theme by the end of next week, along with your first sketch. Once I approve it the rest of the team can begin their work on it.”
Everyone at the table went wild and I beamed with pride. My pie-in-the-sky dream concept was going to be a reality! What James didn’t know was that I’d been working on it since my first day, and I already had the theme and half a dozen sketches. I wasn’t sure if my idea was going to get approved, given how daring it was for such a traditional design house. I’m sure James was envisioning something easy and pretty, like “Think Pink” or “Gowns Galore.”
My theme was “Deconstruction.” I had no illusions that it would be an easy sell…but that was a battle for another day. Right now, I just wanted to celebrate the bliss of having someone actually take my ideas seriously.
The mood lifted even more once the elevator doors closed on James. Someone cranked the music back up and we all talked over each other, trying to come up with the most fanciful couture concepts.
“My dear.” Rhea made her way over to me and clasped my hands in hers. “You worked a miracle just now.”
“No, not at all.” I frowned. “That was spitballing that happened to stick. I got lucky.”
“It’s bigger than that.” She shook her head, her massive earrings jangling. “It’s like you broke a curse or something. Everyone is excited again!”
I looked around at my colleagues, and it did seem like they were coming to life. While the air in the creative floor had always been charged, it was because they were all like frightened animals, scuttling around to avoid an attack. Now, everywhere I looked I saw smiles. But I wasn’t about to take credit for the shift. As much as I hated to admit it, James was a part of it too, for being open and willing to listen to us instead of shaming us for suggesting crazy ideas. After all, design was supposed to be where the beautiful insanity happened.
“This is how it used to be, before Clint took over,” Rhea explained. “Christopher was such an incredible mentor.”
“Who’s that?”
“Oh, you don’t know? James’s older brother Christopher used to run creative. Everyone adored him. And he was so talented. But something happened with him, and everything went downhill so fast. It was heartbreaking to watch, but we were all powerless.”
I was surprised to learn about a beloved Branson. He had to be the sunshine to James’s storm clouds. “What went wrong? What happened to him?”
Rhea wrung her hands and glanced around the room. “I wish I knew, because then maybe I could do something to help him. He just… changed . Christopher went from this friendly, charming guy to…a shadow. No-showing for important meetings. Missing deadlines. It didn’t make sense because Christopher was the quintessential perfectionist. Then one day, we came to work to find an email saying that he was taking an indefinite leave of absence. The Bransons circled their wagons around him and never told any of us a thing. Clint had been his second in command, so he was the natural choice to step up and take over. He wasn’t that bad before—not great, mind you, but not bad. But it was like once he got a taste of power…”
“It turned him into a tyrant?” I offered with a half-smile.
“Exactly. Everything went sour after that. But now…I feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. And James isn’t that bad at all. He seems to genuinely care about the company, and us. I’ve only heard rumors about him, and it turns out they were greatly exaggerated.”
I laughed. “I’m not so sure about that.”
Rhea grinned at me. “He seems to really like you.”
“Please! He can barely tolerate me.” I fiddled with my tablet, a blush tickling my temples.
“Hm.” Rhea pursed her lips. “That’s not how it looked to me. But what do I know? I’m just a crazy old lady.”
She gave me a mischievous wink and headed back into the throng of designers, leaving me to wonder if she might be right about the man in charge.