I nod, realizing that should have been obvious. “I’m still not used to all this…”
“Borderline irresponsible spending?” Eileen quips.
I laugh, caught off guard. “Okay, I’m glad it’s not just me.”
“Morgan is a different breed,” Eileen explains as she grabs her coffee and passes mine to me. “Private jets are her Starbucks.”
“Hm.” We stroll out onto a trendy shopping street. From what Eileen said, her upbringing was solidly middle class. But she seems to have acclimated well to this world. Still, there’s a sparkle in her eye as we walk past windows of haute couture that I’ve never seen in Morgan’s.
She points out each designer by name, giving me a brief history of the brand.
“Chanel might have been a Nazi spy,” she says conspiratorially. “Terrible woman.”
“Oh,really?” The fashion world is more exciting than I’d realized.
But Eileen isn’t all googly-eyes. She provides an apt critique of the garments we pass, praising some for their balance and inspiration while complaining that others lose the forest for the trees.
We stop by a cafe for pastries, and as we sit outside to eat, I ask, “What’s it like working for Morgan?”
“It is achallenge, let me tell you,” Eileen says, but there’s a smile on her lips. “The woman makes being type A look absolutely casual.”
“If she’s kept you on for five years, you must bereallygood at it.”
“I am,” she says sweetly.
“I hope this comes across how I mean, but… have you ever thought of, like… starting your own thing? I’m sure you could make an amazing fashion line.”
Eileen considers this over a bite of her pastry. “I’m Van Gogh. And Morgan is blue.”
I nod, hoping I’ll figure it out if I think about it for a second. I don’t.
Eileen drops her eyes back to me. “Sorry, I’m sure that didn’t make any sense. Some creatives thrive when they’re limited. Van Gogh did some of his best work when he used only blue. Doing something on my own, the uncertainty would be… overwhelming. Morgan and I complement each other.”
As she says it, she pulls out her phone, scrolls a bit, types something, then puts it away. Like Morgan, she checks her phone every couple of minutes. Anyone else might assume she was on social media.
But I know she’s casually keeping the gears of a multi-billion-dollar corporation spinning.
“That makes sense,” I reply. “And I’m sure working with Morgan… there’s never a dull moment.”
“No kidding.” Eileen laughs, breezy and bright.
We get back to our shopping, and a block later, I spy something in the window that has me slowing down.
There’s a mannequin in a suit, but it’s not the Brooks Brothers style that I’m used to. The cut is slim, and the fabric looks light, airy. The black has some warmth to it, and it’s styled over a sage green button-up with a stand collar. Most importantly, the inside of the suit is lined with a silk floral print in shades of violet and magenta.
“You like that?” Eileen says, pausing next to me.
“I usually hate suits, but… yeah.”
Eileen wiggles with excitement. “Oh, youhaveto try it on!” Eileen has none of Morgan’s command, but the suggestion is just as compelling.
“I don’t want to bother them if I’m not buying it…”
“Who says you’re not buying it?” Eileen grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the store.
It doesn’t feel like being thrown into the deep end like it does with Morgan. It feels like we’re both kids in a candy store, especially when Eileen winks conspiratorially at me as she asks for the complimentary champagne.
“What can I help you with?” a middle-aged woman in a neatly tailored black suit asks me.
