Never Ever Gonna Happen (Complete)

Chapter Eleven

Jeanie watched Bernard as he worked, seated behind his desk with his head buried in a huge pile of paper. Amanda's instructions to stay away from work had fallen on Bernard's deaf ears because the moment Amanda walked out those doors, Bernard was headed for his office. Left with no other choice, Jeanie had to tag along; a decision she was starting to regret for she now found herself trapped in a room full of pictures of gorgeous women lining the walls and a man who had been staring at those pile of paper for what seemed to be forever. Was Bernard even breathing?

She sighed and strolled towards him, planting herself on a seat. “So, how about we go over a few questions that may be asked during the interview?”

“Not now, Jeanie.” He murmured, deep lines of worry racing across his forehead as he studied the pile before him.

“Amanda says it's important we learn a few things about each other. Things like... What's your favorite color?”

“No interviewer cares for such nonsense as colors.” He said, his eyes still planted on the desk before him.

“Perhaps not but when it's a designer you're interviewing...”

“Look, this is really important! I'm beginning to see things in these designs that I absolutely hate and I'm pretty sure the critiques won't hesitate to point out.” He chided, lifting his gaze momentarily to Jeanie before glancing back down. “I need you to be silent so I can think.”

Jeanie rolled her eyes and moved her lips in synch with his instructions in mockery of the stoic man who sat before her. Refraining from saying anything nasty was proving to be a difficult task to accomplish.

“Is there anything I can do to help with your designs?” She offered, trying politeness.

Bernard's gaze snapped up, his eyes perusing her briefly. “Yes,” He shrugged. “Silence. Your keeping quiet and not making a sound would be perfect.”

Jeanie rose to her feet and strolled around the table, ignoring his sour attitude. She glanced over his shoulder, her eyes coming to rest on pencil drawings of women wearing clothes she assumed were his designs.

“Why are they all gowns?” She frowned, her eyes traveling the length of the design.

Bernard let out a tired sigh but didn't turn to her. “It's the entire idea of the collection.”

“Seems racist to me.” Jeanie shrugged.

Bernard turned his chair around to face her. “Racist?” He rose a brow.

“I mean only the rich could possibly afford such designs. These are all fancy clothes like something a person gets to wear once in their lives because heaven forbids you repeat the same outfit and with the blood thirsty hounds of reporters out there, it's impossible to repeat the same outfit and not get ripped for it.”

“And this is racist?” Bernard observed her like a child observing his science project. While she didn't like the idea of feeling like a dissected frog, at least he was paying attention.

“Believe it or not, we the middle class and basically poor of New York, will most likely not be able to afford this. It wouldn't matter if the person is black, white, Hispanic, Indian, whatever race, we're united by our finances.” She strolled back around the desk and settled on her earlier vacated seat. “Making you, Mr Moreau, racist! Considering the economy, you'd probably get one or two pieces of each design sold. Also, considering the amount of time you spent designing them, it really doesn't seem worth the trouble if you won't get to see an average house wife on the streets wearing it or a poor little orphan child or a spinster with no hope of marriage, whose only joy is derived from wearing clothes that actually makes her feel beautiful and takes her mind off of gagging herself once in a while.”

Bernard stared at her for a few seconds. “I'll probably deny saying this if anyone should ask but...” He heaved a breath. “What do you suggest, Jeanie?”

A smile settled on Jeanie's face.

**

Bernard sat on the park's bench with an ice cream cone in his hand and a frown on his face. Jeanie had somehow managed to convince him to leave the office, sit on a park bench and try to get inspiration from peasant strangers as they passed by.

With every second that ticked by, Bernard couldn't help but feel like he had missed a year's worth of work by sitting here and doing nothing. Thirty minutes sitting on a park's bench proved too much for Bernard. Tired, he turned to Jeanie who was supposed to be seated by his side, but she wasn't there.

“Jeanie?” His gaze searched the environs for signs of her and finally came to settle on her. Jeanie was knelt in the sand box, helping a little black girl who apparently had fallen down.

Bernard, not wanting to be drawn into the drama, watched it all play out before him. Jeanie was wiping sand particles off of the little girl's jeans and her braided hair. For a second, Bernard's eyes settled on her sandy jeans before slowly traveling up her body and to her hair.

Pulling his note pad out of his bag, he began to sketch the image that was being created in his mind as quickly as was humanly possible.

“Bernard? Hey, did you see...”

“Shhhh...” He held a finger to his lips, halting Jeanie's flow of words.

Jeanie gasped and hurriedly ran to sit by his side on the bench. “This looks really good.” She said in a loud whisper.

Bernard had to smile at her attempt at silence. It was simply impossible for Jeanie to be silent but he couldn't complain because this blonde head was going to be solely responsible for his brand new collection for Paris Fashion Week.

Copyright © 2017 Lily Orevba All rights reserved.