Urban God of Rebate: Infinite Returns Of Women And Powers

”I’m aware,” said Sean. ”I’m answering the practical version of the question.”

Vanessa looked at him for another moment. ”You are standing on a platform in something I made and you look like the reference image I had in my head when I started designing it eight months ago. Experience is something you develop. What you have right now is something considerably harder to develop.”

She was looking at him with the specific attention that had nothing managed in it, the direct version, the one that appeared when the professional composure had decided the situation didn’t require its full effort.

”You’re exceptionally handsome,” said Vanessa, simply. ”The camera will understand that immediately. The campaign needs someone who looks like they already know where they’re going. You do. Constantly. It’s actually slightly irritating.”

From somewhere near the fitting room entrance a sound arrived.

Ahem.

Very deliberate. Very specifically timed.

Both Sean and Vanessa looked toward the doorway.

Sarah Kim was standing there holding a coffee tray that nobody had asked for, her expression the specific expression of someone who had been standing there for a portion of the previous conversation and had decided a well-timed throat clearing was her professional contribution to the situation.

”I brought coffee,” said Sarah. ”For the fitting.”

”We don’t need coffee for a fitting,” said Vanessa.

”I thought it might be nice,” said Sarah. ”Given the length of the session.”

”The session has been eleven minutes,” said Vanessa.

”It felt longer,” said Sarah.

”Sarah,” said Vanessa.

”I’ll just leave it here,” said Sarah, setting the tray on the small table near the entrance with the focused care of someone completing a mission. She looked at Sean on the platform. ”The suit is beautiful, Mr. Miller.” Then at Vanessa. ”Both of them.”

She left.

The fitting room was quiet for a moment.

Sean looked at Vanessa. Vanessa looked at the doorway Sarah had just exited through.

”She was standing there the entire time,” said Vanessa.

”Not the entire time,” said Sean. ”Approximately from the point where you mentioned the campaign.”

”That’s most of the time,” said Vanessa.

”She’s loyal,” said Sean.

Vanessa pressed her lips together with the expression of someone deciding whether to address this directly and concluding that addressing it would require acknowledging things she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge in a fitting room on a Wednesday afternoon.

She turned back to Sean on the platform instead.

”The campaign,” she said. ”I’d like you to consider it seriously. It would involve one shoot day in Paris, while we’re already there. The collection showcase is Saturday evening. The shoot could be Sunday morning.”

”You already planned this,” said Sean.

”I planned for the possibility,” said Vanessa. ”There’s a distinction.”

”There really isn’t,” said Sean.

Something crossed her face that might have been the beginning of a smile. ”Will you consider it.”

Sean looked at himself in the three mirrors, the navy suit, the Paris collection, something that had been made with eight months of genuine work and had somehow turned out to be made for him specifically without anyone planning it that way.

”Yes,” he said.

”Yes you’ll consider it or yes you’ll do it,” said Vanessa.

”Yes I’ll do it,” said Sean. ”On one condition.”

Vanessa looked at him. ”What condition.”

”You tell me what you were actually thinking when you designed it,” said Sean. ”Not the professional version. The actual version.”

Vanessa held his gaze for a moment. Then she looked at the two pieces on their stands, the navy and the ivory, the suit and its counterpart.

”I was thinking about confidence,” she said, after a moment. ”The specific kind that doesn’t need anything to confirm it. The kind that exists before the room decides whether to approve of it.” She paused. ”I’ve been trying to make that into a garment for eight months. I had a very clear picture of what it looked like on a person.” She looked at him on the platform. ”I didn’t know the person had a name until he walked into my store without an appointment.”

The fitting room was quiet for some few seconds.

”You esteem me too highly,” said Sean.

Vanessa looked at him with the direct version of her attention. ”That’s what I think you are,” she said simply. ”Mr. Perfect.”

Then from the doorway, very quietly, the sound of someone moving away from a position they had definitely not been occupying.

Sean and Vanessa both looked at the empty doorway.

”She was back,” said Sean.

”She was absolutely back,” said Vanessa.

—------------------------

They spent another thirty minutes going through the Paris details at Vanessa’s desk, the itinerary she’d prepared with the same thoroughness she brought to everything. Flight departure time. Terminal. Hotel details, a property near the venue with the architectural precision of somewhere chosen for reasons beyond convenience. The Saturday evening show running order. The Sunday morning shoot logistics she’d apparently already begun planning before Sean had said yes to it twenty minutes ago.

Sean listened and asked questions, the specific questions of someone who was actually processing the information rather than waiting for it to finish.

”The private viewing Saturday afternoon,” said Sean. ”The collection pieces available before the show.”

”The full collection,” said Vanessa. ”Not just the showcase selection. Everything I’ve developed over eight months. The showcase is the highlight reel. The afternoon is the complete work.”

”I want to see the complete work,” said Sean.

Vanessa looked at him across her desk with the expression she sometimes had when he said something that landed somewhere she hadn’t fully defended.

”Good,” she said. Quietly. ”I wanted you to.”

Sarah appeared in the office doorway. ”I’m finishing up the pre-filing,” she said, to no one in particular.

”There’s no pre-filing,” said Vanessa.

”I find it helps,” said Sarah, disappearing.

Vanessa looked at the door. Then at Sean. Then at her desk with the expression of someone who had made peace with certain facts about her working environment.

”She’s going to be insufferable in Paris,” said Vanessa.