Love by design, p.9
Love By Design, page 9
The workday finishes, my journey back to the flat brief as my thoughts gravitate towards the temporary DOC. My mind was so occupied by the troubling turn of events of the last 12 hours, I didn’t even realise Gigi finished work early and arrived at the flat before me until I found her in the living room.
“Nice sweater paws,” She comments in greeting, sitting in her usual spot at the dining table.
“I really appreciate you sending over the jumper,” I say. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”
Her eyebrows knot in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The jumper you let me borrow?”
“What jumper?” She turns to me, quizzically.
“This one I’m wearing right now?”
She pauses before narrowing her eyes. “Hallie, I have never seen that jumper in my life.”
“You didn’t send it to me?”
“I was assisting with a photo shoot all day.”
I blink, glancing down at the cashmere jumper. “I thought this was a freebie?”
“It wasn’t a product-focused shoot,” She asserts, shaking her head. “It was a celebrity shoot for Entertainment.”
“Then who—”
My mind flashes to the café earlier.
Matcha.
August.
There’s absolutely no way. I think. But then again, who else?
Gigi tilts her head in confusion, inspecting the oversized woollen knit. “Plus, this looks fancy. We never keep expensive products unless they’re gifted, we always send them back.”
I quickly pull the jumper over my head, fingers skimming over the garment to locate the tag. My eyes bulge out of their sockets when I see the price printed on the label.
€2,200.
Our jaws drop at the numbers.
Gigi blinks as she checks something on the sleeves, her eyes widening. She holds it up for me to see and I squint at the initials embroidered on the cuff of the jumper.
AJLV.
Chapter 9
The following week at Holmes went by relatively quickly and I found myself completing my third week at the studio without any notable hiccups.
Part of the smooth sailing nature of said third week is largely due to my efforts to sidestep any potential conflicts.
Read: Avoiding the Nepo Baby himself.
It was easy to do since August and I worked in different departments. Our work never crossed and on the odd occasions that he did drop by the main studio to speak to Estelle, I ended up conveniently running errands to the fabric storage area or doing tasks in the sewing rooms. I’ve taken to using the stairs, limiting bathroom breaks and steering clear of the fourth floor entirely to avoid him.
The employee cafeteria seemed like the only secure haven since he rarely made an appearance in a room full of people.
It sounds ridiculous, I know.
In hindsight, skirting around the issue is probably not the wisest approach but I’m still trying to figure out the best course of action regarding the turn of events.
Glancing at the familiar jumper neatly folded on top of the worktable in my studio, I inwardly wince.
The cost of the garment still makes me a little lightheaded.
A quick online search confirmed that the jumper is indeed a Vante Original, and from their most recent collection too. The search also confirmed that the item of clothing is expensive. A monthly salary’s worth and that’s excluding the customisation of all four of his initials.
Tearing my eyes away from the neatly folded jumper, I groan.
Despite my early uncertainty about who the sender could be, the customised initials embroidered onto the sleeves are enough confirmation.
AJLV.
August Jean-Luc Vante.
He doesn’t strike me as the type of person to gift someone he barely knows with a cardigan worth nearly their entire month’s salary, especially not with a personalisation of his name. But then again, he’s practically drowning in so much money it wouldn’t even break the bank for him.
Posting on Mahalia Made’s socials, I share some stories of commissioned work I’ve done lately. My eyes blink at a recent story from August’s photography account— @jnlc.vnt.
My left hand twitches and, not so gently, I smack my palm against my forehead.
It couldn’t have been any more obvious.
I didn’t realise they had a new file format for images.
The off-handed comment I made about his username handle plays back in my head.
God, I truly must have looked like an idiot to him.
Recalling the interactions I’ve had with him, I sigh. Technically, August never actively lied about anything. He was just really good at avoiding certain truths and I was just really bad at assuming them.
The latest story on his account showcased the familiar neighbourhood of Kensington, the same area near Tito Boy’s. I would normally engage with his content, even write comments and send messages, but now, I just feel removed from him.
For the past week, communication between us has been nonexistent. It’s the longest we’ve gone without speaking since we met and I try not to dwell on the fact that I do miss talking to him.
Or, at least, Jean-Luc.
Grabbing my laptop, I decide to finally do a deep dive research into August Vante.
Vante’s Vision: A New Horizon at Holmes London
Presently, there isn’t a lot of news about him which I found odd. Seeing as he was recently appointed the Director of Communications role at Holmes, you’d think every media outlet would be writing about him.
I open the most recent article available which details August’s achievements in the most recent years.
His tenure as an Executive at Vante Atelier is four years, starting as a Junior when he graduated MIDAS at 22 and advancing to Senior at 24. Achieving a director role in any fashion company at 26 years old is far and few between. Especially with a degree in Photography and a minor in Business. However, anything is possible when you’re the sole progeny of Parisian fashion czar Cedric Vante and former supermodel turned philanthropist Adeline Vante née Terre.
Nepotism truly does wonders.
Diving further into his background, it comes as no surprise that August’s entire life is fashion.
“The Peroxide Prince of Paris,” I read one of the articles out loud. “Now that’s a mouthful of a title.”
August started his career as a literal baby model, appearing in numerous commercials and catalogue shoots. His surprisingly natural head of platinum blond hair and boyish looks earned him the moniker in his prepubescent years. At fourteen years old, he became Paris’ fashion ‘It Boy’ and was anticipated to be actively involved and continue his parents’ legacy in the industry.
The expectations for him were high and the tabloids wrote about him constantly.
But certain media coverage of him back in the day wasn’t the most positive. His teenage years were marred with a reputation that tarnished his prospects. He was labelled as a wild partygoer and a notorious playboy. Underage drinking, driving under the influence, amplifying his penchant for drugs, alcohol and wayward rebellion tenfold.
The playboy has a plaything in every city he poses in.
An article writes, the story over half a decade old.
Who Is The Peroxide Prince?
Meet Haute Couture’s Heartbreak Casanova
An Extensive Guide to the Parisian Playboy’s Fashion Flings
Runway Romances and Confessions at the Catwalk
The Fashion Feud Between Style Scions
Top 10 Trends: Intimate Affairs and Illicit After-Parties
I frown at the list of endless headlines, falling down a rabbit hole of hyperbolic accounts and tabloid narratives regarding August’s intimate involvement with women in the industry.
Sensationalised stories of different affairs with models and reports of non-monogamous links with multiple actresses, all happening simultaneously. Articles detailing his clandestine relationships with women in high places who were years, some decades older than him.
It’s like opening Pandora’s box.
Images of August in and out of different fancy hotels every season were plastered all over the media. One particular article even chronicled his amorous endeavours nearly every single night when he attended shows at all the fashion meccas.
At 19 years old, August was expected to dominate the runway scene, walking at every prominent brand in every single fashion capital.
But he didn’t walk a single show.
In fact, he refused to.
And he stopped modelling altogether.
Even caused pandemonium in the media when he eventually enrolled to study photography at one of the creative arts universities in New York City.
His hiatus made headlines.
A particular article catches my attention involving NYC’s It Girl, Valentina de Hauretto. They ran the same social circles, interlocked in the same fashion milieu and it makes sense. All the landscape of New York, him photographing Valentina.
Nothing was ever explicitly confirmed regarding their relationship but tabloids still rinse and recycled the story, regardless. They were close, tightly knit, as some publications wrote.
The more I read about the gossip written about August, the more my head spun.
The Peroxide Prince’s reputation is terrifying, to say the very least.
I stare at the handsome and flawlessly proportioned face on my screen in his younger years, the age I am now. There’s only a few years between us, his 26 to my 22 but he feels much older and more experienced, far too accomplished to be involving himself with just anyone in the industry, let alone a nobody like me.
“Knock knock,” A lilting voice brings me out of my thoughts. “How’s the stalking going?”
I look up as Gigi enters the studio and I turn my laptop towards her direction. Her gaze lands on the screen, a collection of tabs with pictures and articles written about August opened.
“Is that the Peroxide Prince?”
“Yep,” I nod. “Back in his heydays. Well, the age we are now, technically.”
“Model, notorious playboy and heir to the Parisian atelier.” Gigi cites a clip from one of the articles out loud. “He’s your photographer paramour confirmed?”
“Without a doubt,” I sigh.
“And the jumper culprit?”
“Well, if the initials AJLV are any indication…”
My mind recalls back to when I met him at Holmes’ studio under the guise of Jean-Luc. Of course, I was the person that made the assumption based on the name of his portfolio but he didn’t correct me. Even at the restaurant with Hero, he still chose to keep up the pretence.
There was a reason he didn’t want me to know who he was and that logical reasoning is staring at me right in the face.
“But at least you’ve sorted things out between you, right?” Gigi spoke aloud, breaking my reverie.
“Not necessarily,” I shake my head. “I’ve kind of been avoiding him.”
Jean-Luc the Parisian photographer is an entirely separate entity from August the Director of Communications at Holmes. I don’t think I have the capacity to deal with either of them right now. Maybe, not ever.
“I’m kind of hoping to avoid him until Holmes finds a new DOC,” I say. “He’s only temporary so he’ll be leaving in a few months, I overheard Estelle talking to Pollux about it.”
“So you’re just never speaking to him again?”
I nod. “It saves me from complicating things and further embarrassing myself. He must think I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot, Hallie.” Gigi shakes her head. “Just the tiniest bit oblivious.”
I wrinkle my nose dejectedly.
“At least he hasn’t given you any grief about what happened,” She says, in an attempt to cheer me up.
“I guess.”
Gigi watches me for a moment before grabbing my hands.
“Take a break from the wallowing and eat,” She begins, tugging me out of the studio and dragging me to the living room. “I brought us food from Tito Boy’s.”
I sit myself down at the dining table, watching as Gigi goes to the kitchen.
“You dropped by the restaurant?” I ask, noticing the familiar brown paper bag on the countertop.
“I’m surprised you didn’t,” she answers. “There was an event going on, like a gastronomy masterclass or something.”
“Oh no,” I wince, slapping a hand on my forehead. “I completely forgot.”
Rowan had been planning the culinary workshops at Tito Boy’s for months, even extending an invitation for me to attend the launch of his ‘cooking symposiums’. I accepted without hesitation but with starting my new job at Holmes, it slipped my mind completely.
“Was it really busy?” I ask.
“Insanely,” She nods. “They had photographers, reporters and everything. Your beau was in attendance.”
I blink. “He was?”
“MODUE Digital were there covering for Arts & Culture,” Gigi replies. “I saw one of my colleagues from work and they told me about it. Everyone was surprised to see him.”
Ever the extroverted enigma, I think.
“August doesn’t do appearances, apparently.” Gigi discloses. “He hasn’t turned up in a function that isn’t fashion in years. And if it is, it’s strictly under Vante.”
A part of me understood why. If the media incessantly wrote about my every involvement with people and places in the most negative way, I wouldn’t step foot out of my house.
I glance at the designer carrier bag with Vante’s logo on top of the dining room table. Returning the jumper to August and apologising would be the ideal thing. But then again, I don’t want to add fuel to the fashion fire.
As long as I steer clear of any clashes and confrontations then I shouldn’t have any problems.
Read: Continue to avoid the Nepo Baby himself.
Chapter 10
From: august.vante@holmes.co.uk
To: mahalia.hartt@holmes.co.uk
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.”
