Page 24 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Go. I will cheer you on from the sidelines,” Monique whispered then gave me big hug. I ran over. Zara shoved the capelet for Enzo’s design into my chest.

“It needs lining,” she barked, her gaze lighting on Enzo. If looks could kill he’d be stone cold right now. “What the fuck has he been doing all day?”

“Being a dick. I’m off.” I ran to the sewing room. Using Enzo’s machine so not to waste time rethreading mine, I added a soft ivory cotton lawn instead of the China silk Enzo had been whining about. There was no time to fritter away with battling the slippery, easy to fray material. I’d take the heat if the judges disliked the lining.

I returned to our workroom at the same time as Claude. We met in the corridor, his smile the one bright thing in this entire day.

“You look frazzled,” he said as his PA fluttered about asking him something that he brushed away like a gnat. Jon gave me a scathing look before falling silent. “Has the assignment been difficult?”

“It’s been challenging,” I confessed knowing the cameraman behind us was filming every word. “But we’re pulling it together.”

“Good. Remember putting your ego aside is important.” His assistant made a choking sound that Claude arched a brow at but continued speaking to me. “Working with other designers expands your brand in ways you cannot imagine. Now go, finish things. I will be coming in after someone finds some me a café noisette and a chewy biscuit.”

Jon ran off as if Satan were on his leather heels.

“Is the biscuit for you or for Monsieur Pamplemousse?” I asked.

He smiled a genuine smile, showing bright white teeth. My whole being resonated knowing I’d made him happy.

“It depends on how good the biscuit looks. I’ve not had a midday meal so if the doggie treat seems appetizing and sugary I may nibble on it.”

There was a pause then, a glitch in time, where everything around the two of us in that narrow hallway froze.

“Do you like sweet things to nibble on?” I asked, cape dangling in my hand.

“Fresh sweet things, yes, very much so,” he whispered in reply. My cock plumped up immediately then, because fate was a cruel bitch, the door to the workroom flew open hitting me in the ass as Zara emerged in a tizzy.

“There you are! Give me that damn cape. I’m going to shove it up Enzo’s ass,” she snarled, tugged the capelet from my grasp then disappearing back into the inner depths of hell aka our workroom.

Reality came crashing back around us. “Guess I should go see what I can do.” I tossed my head at the door. He nodded. Jon arrived with his coffee and a two pink macarons.

“Yes, prepare. The judges are going to grade you on creativity, functionality, team collaboration, runway presentation, and sustainability. This should be your assignment to win as you work mainly in repurposed textiles.”

“Yeah well we’ll see if Enzo can get his head out of ass.”

Claude chuckled. I departed just as he was feeding his dog a bit of macaron. The dark look Jon was throwing my way sped my steps. Mickey had said he thought they were lovers, or that was the rumor, and I did not want to step on his toes but holy shit Claude and I had some really big flirts. Maybe that was just his way. Maybe I was just an inexperienced moron who couldn’t read the difference between a casual chat and someone hitting on me. If he was coming onto me then—

“What wanker used the last of the hem tape and didn’t replace it?!” Mickey shouted as he ran past with biking shorts, his red hawk flopping, the super sticky styling putty he used having given up the ghost hours ago. “Bloody fucking rude!”

Chaos ruled. I’d have laughed if my team wasn’t just as frazzled. If this mini collection didn’t push me into blubbering like a baby over in the corner nothing ever would.

***

Somehow by the grace of the fashion gods we were ready for the runway that night.

Was it a polished collection? Nope. We were the losing team, sadly, and Ronan had been sent packing. We all took the blame for that loss as it wasn’t just his fault. Our pitch to explain the functionality of our looks as well as what made them appeal to a mass market was flat. Mickey, on the other team, had talked up their biking looks much better with lots more personality. Where he had pulled that energy from I had no idea but kudos to him.

Now here we sat, the four losing designers, heads hanging, trying to not look too relieved about not being sent home but feeling really glad about not being sent home. This was a cutthroat business, no doubt. Poor Ronan. He’d not done well on the raincoat he’d made for the gingham dress in our collection. I’d not had time to help him much what with all three looks needing work so yeah, I’d dropped the ball on assisting one of our team. Now he was gone. Shit, this felt awful. This should have been my assignment to win as Claude had said in the hall.

“Well, that was a rather rough runway,” Soline said as she and Claude took their places on the now empty catwalk. “None of you had looks that blew us away but the final grades in team collaboration swayed the decision to the biking team.”

All four of us on team café nodded. Totally fair. We’d not worked well together at all.

“Lessons were learned this evening” Claude said, his sight darting from one of us to the other. “Carry what you have picked up today for your futures. Working with others is a challenge yes but the benefits will outweigh the petty differences when you team-up with other designers.”

“But enough of the gloom and doom, we asked you all to stay after the show for a reason. A good reason!” Soline beamed down at us. “Tomorrow is a day off!”

“Praise be!” Esme cried out as her hands went skyward in thanks. We all laughed.