The echo of designer heels clicking across polished granite tiles pierced the silence of the building lobby. It was the confident stride of a young woman who to look at her, exuded contemporary class and an urban sophistication. She stepped into the elevator as the doors slid open and with a perfectly manicured finger, pushed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
Everyone in the open-plan office greeted her as she sauntered past countless bays of fashionably clad employees. Amy in turn wished each of them a good morning, never once forgetting any of their names. The women wore skirts and heels, the men, shirts and brogues. Looking good wasn't a requirement here, but it was expected of them.
"Good morning, Clarissa," said Amy as she arrived at the imposing oak door of the corner office.
"Good morning, miss Faye," chirped Clarissa. "You can go straight in, she's expecting you."
Emelia looked up from her laptop as the door to her office opened and Amy slipped inside. She raised her hand and motioned for her to come in and sit down as she continued her phone call.
"No, he didn't get an invite. He's a pompous, opinionated prick who doesn't know the difference between couture and cardigan."
Amy loved the sassy attitude of her boss, there was a reason why everyone in the fashion industry both loved, and at the same time feared her. She smiled to herself as she placed her sky blue Saint Laurent handbag on a chair next to a samples clothing rack. Working at Moda had its perks, the samples alone were worth more than a fifth avenue condo.
"Listen, I have to go, darling, someone important has just walked in," replied Emelia in a dismissive tone into the handset. An amused Amy raised an eyebrow as she settled into the seat. Her boss sighed as she replaced the phone and slumped back into her plush office chair.
A smirk spread across Amy's lips as the most impressive list of curse words she'd ever heard, flowed effortlessly from Emelia's mouth. She was astonished at the truly magnificent feat of verbal filth. Experience had taught her that Em only swore when she was really angry, or particularly stressed out about something.
"I think you might have missed one," Amy said quietly to try and lighten the mood. "Bad morning?"
"Oh, don't get me started," Emelia replied, as she held up a finger.
"Clarissa, sweetie," she said into the intercom unit on her desk. "Could you bring us two espressos please? Thank you." She turned back to her assistant editor and just smiled.
"You okay, Em?"
"I'm fine, sweetie. How are you?" she replied cheerfully. "How did your date go on Saturday?"
"Who told you about that?" Amy was shocked that her boss was privy to that particular piece of information, but she shouldn't really be surprised. Every scrap of gossip made it's way through this office at some point.
"Grapevine, darling. You know how it is." Emelia picked up her Mont Blanc pen and started to nibble on the glossy black lid. "Well? Did you do the deed of darkness?"
"Jesus, Em," Amy mumbled, embarrassed. "If you must know, we didn't even make it back to my place. He also conveniently forgot to pick up his wallet when he left the house. I feel like a right idiot, I went to a lot of trouble to get a booking for that restaurant."
"Urgh. Men are pigs!" Emelia spat out, before looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I know it's not been that long since you and Lincoln broke up."
"It's fine," Amy sighed. "I'm giving up on men. I think I'll just become a lesbian instead."
Emelia was still laughing when the door to the office flew open and Clarissa tottered in carrying two small coffees on a silver tray.
"Here you go, miss Lake. I'll just leave these here for you," she said cheerfully as she placed the tray down on the mahogany side table and made a sharp exit.
"I'll have you know that seventy-two percent of men try harder in the bedroom because of small romantic gestures, it's a fact. Three hundred dollars that meal cost!"
"Amy, that was printed in our magazine, and we made it up." Emelia took off her rimless glasses and placed them softly on the desk. "Listen, darling, I need to ask you a favour."
Amy knew that meant trouble. It was probably the reason for the small talk, to try and soften her up. She grimaced in anticipation of the question as she gazed out of the high-rise windows across the corner of 8th avenue and west 57th street. The February rain streaked the tall panes of glass and blurred the view of the monochromatic concrete metropolis.
"I'm really not in the mood, Em."
"Sweetie, it's a dire emergency. I need you to head home and pack a bag." As the words sank in, Amy's eyes widened and she sat bolt up right in her seat.
"Don't you dare!" she gasped. "This is the first vacation I've had in three years, it's all booked. My mum is expecting me, it's her birthday. The whole family will be there."
"I know, I know. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. There's been a major cock-up and Jenny is stuck in Rio, I need you to do the Tom Ford interview."
"In Paris? Em, don't do this to me!" she pleaded. "There must be someone else who can do it."
"There's not, I've tried everyone. Sally is in Fiji on her honeymoon to whatshisface, and Joanna is having her appendix out. Don't make me beg, sweetie. I'll get down on my knees."
"You should be used to it," Amy mumbled.
"I heard that," her boss replied. "Come on, it'll be two days, tops. It's the feature piece for our Spring special edition, we need it."
Amy huffed dejectedly, before caving into the comically large grin plastered across Emelia's face. "All right, but I'm flying first class."
"Fine, fine. Whatever you want, darling."
