Pocketbook Designers Novels & Stories

Jason, who was right next to her, quickly picked up on the change in her expression. "Yeah, I was just browsing earlier, and it looks like loads of people wanted that sketchbook. I suppose we don't have a shot," she said with a disappointed sigh. Bob's sketchbook was like a goldmine of his brilliant ideas. It offered so many advantages for them as designers. It gave them a peek into the potential hurdles they might encounter and ignited boundless inspiration. When she saw this invaluable resource on the brink of being taken by someone else, how could she possibly feel content with that?

I asked a million questions. And I started to draw again. I dug out my old sketchbooks and brought them to work. One of the head designers, an older woman named Colette, looked at my sketches. She was fierce and brilliant and had been with the company for forty years. “These are good,” she said, pointing to a drawing of a dress with flowing lines and pockets. “Fresh. Different. This is what we need.” With her help, I started making changes. Small ones at first. We started using more sustainable fabrics. We added pockets to everything. We made more sizes.

She then winked at Christian. “I thought it was for something else that you decided to do that because that is something most people don’t have a degree for, yet you think you have to have a master's in it.” Henni laughed. “Such a waste of time and money. I mean, they literary have apps that do your job.” “But they don’t get the same thing.” Abby stuttered. “I handle them all personally.” “As you feed their information into an app, and you get the credit. It’s really a good scam.” Henni said, and she could see the other woman was going to blow up. “As for the store you all have, I would be careful about calling yourself true designers.”

The weight of our situation pressed down, heavy and suffocating. It was then, amidst the debris of a collapsed building, that Kelly unearthed it – a small, tarnished silver locket. It lay half-buried in the dust, its surface scratched and worn, yet somehow managing to retain a faint, almost ethereal glow. We gathered around it, the faint glimmer a stark contrast to the surrounding darkness. Inside, nestled amongst the faded velvet lining, was a single, faded photograph.

The models we standing ready to go, Laura and her stinky eyes, I heard one of the other girls talking. "How she's still here?" the first asked "She belong to Mdme Ricci, touch her and you're out" the other replies. "I heard she even got one of her work showed, the navy dress it was by her" a third voice says. "No way interns don't get a chance to design...they fetch coffee" the first voice replies. "Not when you're Rebbe Ricci little designer, that's what Aldo said" the second replies. "Not time for gossip let's go let's go" Alice voice break their little conversation.

Madam Cecilia asked me respectfully after I sat comfortably at the couch "I'll choose a design for my gown first" He handed me a thick 'designer's book'. It is a compilation of work and designs of the owner. And I am very familiar with this because in modern days, it is called brochure. The only difference is the designer's book was made purely with designer's effort and skill in drawing every pages while brochure was made by hiring models and using camera. Technology makes everything easier

Oh, I also saw a lot of business books, never knew Nate was a reader. After over thirty minutes of flipping pages of finances, old tax forms and various contracts, I gave up. I was about to sit back down when my eyes caught a little drawer on his desk. It was almost nonexistent, like it wasn’t supposed to be part of the design, but the designer decided to include it last minute. Quickly, I opened it, the small knob of the drawer feeling like a secret door knob. There was only a piece of paper, the edges rough, like it was torn out of a pack of compiled folders.

I had seen it at the mall but it was quite expensive, that's why I settled for the one I had gotten. Aww, he added a standing shelf with my design tools and other sewing supplies neatly arranged on each sub shelf. I could count more than five packet of sketch papers with my eyes from where I stood. Why getting me seven packets when one was more than enough since I wouldn't be staying here for long. Hmm, would ask him about that later. "Ohh...my..." I gasped when I saw the the design on the wall. My brand name, boldly written...no, more like engraved. There was a slight difference though...the O in Voss, he replaced it with an image of a pumpkin.