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I gave her my single word explanation. “Giovanni.”
The younger associate, Eloise, smiled in appreciation. “I’ll take my break. I could use a palate cleanser.”
I raised my eyebrows at Maeve, but she waved away my silent question and ushered me into her office.
“You think Giovanni and Ratcliffe are in cahoots?” I asked. “Ratcliffe puts a bad taste in our mouths and drives us down to Giovanni for some sweetness?”
Maeve quirked a brow. “Perhaps they are secretly lovers planning to run away to the islands as soon as they’ve padded their bank accounts.”
“Please, Maeve,” I scolded. “Not even in jest should we saddle Giovanni with ratface.”
Maeve’s gaze sharpened. “Careful, Hope. Don’t relax your guard. It’s harder for women. The standards are higher, and the margin for error is narrow. Your behavior,” she emphasized, “must be above reproach.”
I nodded resignedly. Less than adept at keeping my thoughts to myself, the yoke of restraint weighed heavy at times.
Where Ratcliffe was involved, it positively chafed.
Maeve circled behind her desk and sat down. Her long French manicured nails tapped the glossy surface of her workspace.
Abruptly, she asked, “How do you feel about traveling? Did you enjoy the last trip?”
Recently, I had the opportunity to travel with the models and personally supervise the set and wardrobe for one of our smaller photoshoots.
“It was fantastic. I loved witnessing the end product of all our work.”
Despite my tomboy ways, the fashion bug bit me early. I learned I could play pick-up basketball just as easily in designer jeans, though I did eschew the skirts after one such game that garnered a small, albeit enthusiastic, crowd.
My current position at Anton’s began on the sales floor during my teen years and blossomed after earning a diploma in fashion and a degree in design. For the past five years, I’d slowly worked my way up to the enviable position of Maeve’s right-hand woman.
“I’m thinking of making a few changes,” she murmured, her eyes on me.
“What kind of changes?” While I liked change, and Lord knew my life could use some shaking up, Maeve talking about making changes did not sit well.
“I’m not ready to divulge the details, but I’d like to know if you’re interested in taking over more of my responsibilities.”
My mouth dropped open. Most unladylike. Minty’s countenance flashed across my brain causing me to snap my mouth shut and correct my posture.
“Taking over more of your responsibilities,” I repeated, earning one of Maeve’s rare, genuinely amused smiles.
“Yes. Taking on more travel, making more decisions, supervising some of the staff, having more autonomy.” Tap, tap, tap, went her nails. “I think you’re ready.”
I thought about our staff and my relationship with them. Which was superficial at best. “Supervising the staff. Do you think they’ll respect me?”
“You’ve naturally set yourself apart, and they already report to you instead of me for all the smaller issues. Being solely in charge of some projects shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.” She paused. “I can’t promise anything in the future should I decide to leave this job entirely. It’s not solely my decision. But if you want, I’ll go to bat for you.”
“I want.”
I didn’t need to think about it. For me, Maeve’s position was the brass ring. A brief flash of my girlhood dreams distracted me before I pushed it aside. My career was where I’d find fulfilment.
Maeve cocked her head to the side. “Eventually, you’d report directly to Ratcliffe. Are you ready to take him on?” She sighed then scowled in an uncharacteristic drop of propriety. “He’s a dinosaur. Of the cockroach variety. But he stays just inside the line, and his family connections secure his place.” She looked at me pointedly, a worry line appearing between her brows. “He will give you a run for your money, a fight for dominance, and he’ll use every patronizing, condescending trick in the book. It will be up to you to stand between him and the younger associates.”
I swallowed my distaste, a fine fissure of concern cracking my resolve.
Maeve tightened her lips. “You yourself won’t have to worry about him anymore. Even he wouldn’t dare. But you’ll have to stand up for those who won’t. Or can’t.”
“How do you do it?”
She flicked a dismissive hand. “I’ve known his type all my life. They require a firm hand.” She shuddered delicately, unlike my full body eebie-jeebie meltdown in the elevator. “Some of them even enjoy it.”
