Chapter 4 #2
“Stop being thick. Just include a note explaining what happened. They’ll be understanding. Trust me when I say they won’t care about the state of the paper. It’s the sketches on them that count. Maybe it’ll make you stand out even more.”
“That’s not the kind of standing out I want to do.” I wince. “Look, it’s five to three. I don’t have enough time to scan and upload the sketches to the website.”
“Min, no . . .”
“Liz, it’s fine. I need to get back to work. Look, how about we meet for dinner after I get off.”
“Fine.” Her tone is tight. “I’m buying, and don’t try and talk me out of it.”
We agree to meet at our favorite place near Seven Dials and I disconnect the call.
My body is a tangle of emotions. Working for Clarissa Lee has been a dream of mine since I moved to London.
It’s one of the main reasons I applied to the London School of Fashion, the same school she went to.
Her designs are magical. She knows how to craft a dress that can fit any body shape and make it look like a million bucks.
I’ve applied for an internship at her design house every time the announcement is posted on her website, but so far, nothing has ever come of it.
Missing it this time around, while painful, isn’t the end of the world.
I’ve had all day to accept that it just wasn’t meant to be. In six months, I’ll have another shot.
Maybe that’s a good thing. I’ve been so fixated on working for one company that maybe the universe is trying to tell me that I shouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket. Maybe there is another place that I’d be a better fit for. I’ll mull over this later.
Entering the sales floor again, I see a small line has formed at the till. Mr. G inclines his head to the second register. I rush forward, log in, and wave the next person forward. The afternoon rush is here.
We’re busy on and off until we close at half past five.
“Minerva, do you mind swapping with Steve and staying late since he started early?” Mr. G asks.
“No, it’s only fair.”
Steve shoots me a grateful smile. “Thanks, Min. You’re brilliant. If I leave now, I can catch the early train down to Milton Keynes.” He has a spring in his step as he jogs to the back to gather his overcoat, scarf, and hat. “Daphne will be chuffed to bits to start our weekend early.”
“The weekend? It’s only Thursday.”
“Yes, but I don’t have any classes tomorrow.” He has a starry, faraway expression in his eyes. “Which means a whole extra day with my girl.”
Steve is a third-year engineering student at King’s College.
His girlfriend lives about an hour from London.
They alternate going to see one another every week.
He’s utterly devoted to her, and seeing a guy so committed to a girl like Daphne makes me hope I can find a guy like Steve if my love life ever turns around.
“Have fun,” I call as he jogs out the door, waving to me and narrowly avoiding crashing into one of the last sets of tourists leaving the museum. I shake my head and carry the till drawer to the back room to prep the deposit.
“Minerva, how’s it coming?” Mr. G asks a short while later.
I’ve just finished bundling together the deposit and reconciling all my receipts. “I’m ready to hand everything in, sir.”
“Excellent.”
I pick up the till drawer and place it on top of the safe. Mr. G walks into the room, but he’s not alone. Casually leaning against the door frame is a tall man in a beautifully tailored three-piece suit.
My eyes take in the rich charcoal gray of the fabric and travel up to the perfect positioning of the lapels, pockets, and buttonholes of his blazer.
Liz would be salivating over it. It’s cut in a way that you know it’s been made by one of the exclusive tailor shops on Savile Row.
I don’t do menswear, but that doesn’t stop me from admiring an elegant garment.
As my eyes reach the man’s face, I freeze and my throat goes dry. It’s Lord Renbrook, the museum’s director.
“This is the young lady I was telling you about, Paddy.” Mr. G nods my direction.
“Cheers, Minerva, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Patrick Nelson.”
We shake hands.
“Sir—Lord Renbrook, it’s an honor.”
“Please, it’s Patrick. I’m not one who’s big on titles.”
“Patrick,” I repeat, but his name feels foreign on my tongue.
Lord Renbrook is in his early to mid-thirties. He had a baby face, brown hair, and azure-blue eyes. I’ve only seen him from a distance. I guess that he’s just over six feet tall.
“Minerva, I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to finally meet you. I try and make it a habit of meeting everyone on the museum’s staff, but somehow you managed to slip through the cracks,” he jokes.
I let out a nervous laugh. “Seems that way.”
“Louie happened to show me some of your lovely drawings that were sitting in the staff room. Do you mind if I borrow a few of them to show my fiancée?”
“Um, no . . . er, go right ahead.” There isn’t any way I can say no to my boss’s boss. Besides, what use are they to me right now? I’ll have to redo them anyway. “Er . . . if you don’t mind me asking, sir, who is Louie?”
“Me.” Mr. G snorts. “I do have a given name.”
“Oh.”
My body grows hot. It never really occurred to me what Mr. G’s first name might be.
Lord Renbrook chuckles and glances at his watch. “I can’t stay much longer tonight. I’m due for a dinner with my mother.”
“Good luck, Paddy. Hopefully, she’ll back down on pushing you to set a date for the wedding.”
He pulls uncomfortably at his tie. “You and me both.” Turning to me, he waves. “It was nice meeting you, Minerva. I’ll return your art to Louie on Monday.”
“That sounds good. Thank you.”
“Come on, Min, let’s get you sorted so we can go home. I’m sure you’re just as ready as I am to have a pint at the pub.”
Mr. G starts to enter the code into the safe, and I temporarily avert my gaze. “Not so much a pint, but I wouldn’t mind some sangria and a hot bath.”
I’ve been in the UK for just over three years, and I still haven’t been able to get myself to see what the big deal about pubs is. They’re loud, always crowded, and the food is mediocre at best. I’d much rather be at home.
“Oh, Minerva, you just need the right bloke or friends to accompany you. It’s all about the company. Why, when I was your age . . .”
I let Mr. G prattle on about pubs, but something that he’s said has made me wonder what Sam is up to tonight. What do the guards do during their watch when there are no tourists around? I can’t imagine them going out to a pub when they’re on duty. Maybe I’ll be able to ask him tomorrow.