The Job, Mary-Kate Olsen

Chapter One

I was walking down the streets of New York City, a warm latte in hand. It was early December, and the air was crisp. I felt grateful the coffee I was holding in my hands was making my fingers freeze a little less. The moment felt surreal. Just five years ago, I was studying in my small apartment in France, dreaming of crossing the Atlantic and never looking back. Now here I was, reminiscing about those years as music blasted through my earphones. But dwelling on my study years was merely a distraction from the nervousness building inside me since I landed this job.

This position, my first in the fashion industry, was where I was headed right that moment. A week ago, I received an email offering me the job, against all odds. They liked my portfolio—apparently enough to hire me. I never formally studied fashion, though I'd been designing and painting for years. I went to law school instead, for complicated reasons. What matters now is that somehow, I managed to secure a position at The Row.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the imposing building before me. It wasn't as opulent as the classic structures of Rockefeller Center in Manhattan. This one was slightly off-center, located in the West Village—convenient, as I lived in the area. The streets were quiet, save for a few FedEx workers identifiable by their vests.

After a moment of hesitation, I took a deep breath, unplugged my earphones, and approached the entrance. There wasn't even a sign indicating that this building was The Row's LLC—privacy was clearly paramount here. I inspected the building again, using every excuse to delay my entry. Large glass doors revealed an entrance hall worthy of an interior design magazine. Strange wooden sculptures, likely worth twice my salary, stood between two massive wooden chairs. Those chairs could probably seat two people cross-legged, though I doubted that was their intended purpose. Perhaps they were meant solely for admiration.

I checked my phone one last time. It was time to go in. I gave my outfit a final once-over in the reflection of the glass: wide black wool pants with an oversized burgundy-red tailored jacket. My natural blonde waves cascaded down. I stepped inside.

The interior was strikingly minimalist. Besides the wooden furniture visible from outside, a wall adorned with paintings and magazines led towards the elevator. A receptionist, finishing a call to my left, promptly beckoned me over. She asked for my name, nodding as if she'd been expecting me. Clearly, visitors here were rare and purposeful. She handed me a paper to sign—an NDA, unsurprising given who the bosses of this line were. I read and signed without hesitation, then stepped back to admire the space at her instruction.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked towards the wall of magazines and pictures. Framed covers of renowned fashion magazines, like Vogue and Vanity Fair, which had dedicated their cover to The Row, were hung upon the wall. About ten abstract, colorful acrylic paintings stood among photographs—likely of Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen with other fashion designers. It still amazed me that I was about to work for the Olsen twins. They were bona fide superstars, known universally for their acting careers, fashion prowess, and the air of mystery surrounding them.

"Ahem." Someone cleared their throat behind me.

I realized I'd been staring at the wall for minutes. Turning on my heels, my eyes locked with the person before me. Despite my mental preparation and the plethora of scenarios I had made in my head beforehand, I couldn't help but be taken aback. There stood not just the co-creator of The Row, but one of the famous twin sisters—now my boss. She gave me a once-over, her gaze sweeping from my face to my feet and back. I froze, desperate not to start on the wrong foot.

"Hi, I'm Ana, the new employee," I managed.

She remained silent, her stare unwavering. I was feeling real discomfort under her gaze ; I would have given anything to escape her scrutiny.