Page 32 of Fake Fiancée for Dad's Best Friend
Chapter 14
Vivian
It’s my second month working as an intern at Trend. I share a large desk with two other interns doing whatever job is assigned to me by the design director. Normally, we prepare tickets, drape garments, or cut patterns. But today, we’re given something more creative. The designer, Karl, who supervises us, gives us some specifications about next summer’s trends and tells us to create different combinations of necklines and waistlines, colors, etc.
I can hardly wait to get started. This, to me, is the most exciting part of fashion design. And it’s what I’ve been doing since I was little! I used to watch my dad work and play with his leftover fabrics at home. I cut them into miniature sleeves, bodies, and collars and sewed them into dresses for my Barbie. The sewing part is fun, but not as much as the brainstorming inspired by beautiful fabrics, the imagination of what I could make of them.
Although there are constraints regarding the styles, I still have plenty of room to create according to my ideas. I browse online for inspiration, and then I start to draw on Photoshop. I soon come up with different color schemes and style combinations. It isn’t a highly creative task, but it’s enjoyable, very much like trying on different clothes myself. It’s one of the jobs I prefer doing, more than the marketing aspect, which I have no clue about.
Time flies when you have fun. It’s noon. I close the file and get ready to lunch.
The other two interns and I have become friends, and we like going to the cafeteria upstairs to eat.
Inside the elevator, my phone dings, and I check my message. It’s from Cody.
“Hey. I’m in your neighborhood. What to have lunch with me?”
“Sure,” I text him back. “Where would you like to go?”
“What about the Panera on Madison?”
“Perfect,” I say. I love their Mediterranean Veggie sandwich. I apologize to my coworkers and remain in the elevator to go down to the lobby instead.
When the elevator opens on the twentieth floor, where Trend is, two people are speaking to each other. My heart flutters when I realize they’re Alex and his secretary, Connie. He doesn’t see me because I stand behind a couple of others. I’m hoping he’ll step in, but he doesn’t, and the elevator door closes without him.
The brief glimpse of him brings a powerful emotion inside me. It’s been a month since my fake engagement with Alex. We haven’t met since then, at least not outside his company. I seldom run into him because his office is on a different floor. Once or twice I saw him coming to the intern’s office and speaking to the trainer, we exchange formal greetings, and that was it. I don’t know how he keeps his secrets, but no one in the office knows about our engagement. At least no one knows I am his “fiancée.” It’s for the best because I can’t imagine how I will work for him otherwise.
I overestimated my ability to get over him. No matter how hard I try to convince myself what between us was just a transaction, and what happened the last night in Montecito was nothing, not a single day has passed without me recalling the passionate moment at least once. There were times, especially the first week after we returned to NY, I missed him so much I wanted to call and ask to see him. But I held my urge, knowing I would only make a fool of myself.
Since my lunchtime is short, I go ahead to place my order while waiting for Cody.
He shows up right after I find a table for us in a black shirt and shorts. “Hey.” He hugs me. “I missed you!”
Not until he pulls away do I get a close look at him. His spiked hair is carefully styled with gel, his skin glows, and there’s a trace of eyeshadow on his eyelid.
I gasp when I take a close look at his shirt: the sheer material shows not only the details of his abs but also his chest hair. My eyes naturally glide down to his shorts. Thank God they aren’t see-through but are silky and look like a pajama.
My mouth opens. I know about the style, but it’s the first time I see someone wearing it. I shouldn’t be surprised because Cody is quite a fashion model and is always up-to-date.
“Is it Fendi?” I ask.
“No. It’s Fusion,” he says with a shrug. “I just did a show for my mom at the Rockefeller Center.”
“Oh,” I nod, recalling Fusion Fashion is his mom’s company’s brand. “It’s eye-catching.”
“Good,” he says smugly. “I’m glad you like it. It took me a while to get used to it. I thought the material was too feminine, but my mom convinced me it was the only way I could show my abs proudly anywhere in public.”
I laugh while rolling my eyes. I can’t stand Cody’s vanity, but I love him for his honesty.
My eyes follow him when he goes to the computer to order. I don’t understand why he doesn’t just become a professional model already. It would be so easy for him, and he’ll no doubt gain popularity in no time. At least the few other women that are ogling him in the shop would agree with me.
“So, how’s your job?” Cody asks me after he returns.
“Great.” I tell him what I’ve been doing. “And yours?”
He shrugs without much enthusiasm. “I’m not as lucky. My mom insists on me doing the marketing and sourcing instead of designing.”
“Why’s that?”
