Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries, the characters, or their likenesses. No copyright infringement intended.
See that zombie passed out on her desk surrounded by enough empty double-shot espresso cups to fuel a small nation? Yeah, the one with the greasy bird's nest for hair and no doubt killer morning breath. But hey, great earrings, huh? Hand-made from repurposed glass beads at the coolest little Boho accessories shop in Williamsburg. I have the matching necklace, which I haven't seen since… a while actually, the Polo show I think. I wonder what happened to that? Alas, I digress…
Like I was saying, that's yours truly… Elena Gilbert.
If you asked Forbes magazine, I'm a twenty-nine-year-old fashion mogul slash entrepreneur and one of last years' 30 Under 30. Fancy stuff, right? If you asked my employees I'm a perfectionist to a fault and I have very high expectations of people when they show up to work in the morning, which I'm sure drives most of them crazy. If you asked my friends, I'm a simple, small town Virginia girl living my insane big city dream with my best friend. But if you want to know the truth, I'm just tired… really, really tired.
Fashion Week is set to take over New York City in thirty-two days and Chateau Verveine will be premiering our brand new line of organic cotton summer dresses at our very own runway show. It's a huge opportunity for our brand, huge. Not only was it a peerless honor to be asked to headline our very own show, but also this is where Chateau Verveine could potentially make the leap from small NYC fashion house to international brand. I have wanted nothing more than exactly this since I can remember. I mean, my Barbie dolls walked Fashion Week runways when I was a kid. I imagined how my prom dress would look on a Fashion Week runway. Every design I've ever approved for production has been mentally strutted down that hallowed strip of stage. The only problem is… I've got nothing.
Zilch.
Nada.
Nil.
This time last year, I was a font of brilliant ideas. I kept a sketchbook in my gym bag, on my nightstand, and by the TV at home just in case I came up with something and needed to put it on paper immediately. I could go to sleep and wake up in the morning with an entire season's worth of beautiful designs, just like that; but now… not so much. The last time I flipped open my sketchbook I ended up drawing a picture of some ducks at Central Park. They were really sweet ducks and so cute with their curly tail feathers and little orange feet, but Fashion Week is no duck show.
I don't know how to describe it, I just feel like I'm a little inspiration deficient lately. I know it's partially because of stress and I'll be the first to admit that I am losing my freaking mind over this whole Fashion Week ordeal, but there's got to be something more to it. I just can't put my finger on it, but as of late I just feel like something has been missing.
I really think I just need a nice long vacation somewhere sunny and beautiful, like Tahiti or Bora Bora—two weeks of blue water, white sand, and cold mai tais. Yep, that ought to do it. Unfortunately I can't even think about anything like that for at least another month. So here I am, holed up in my office sleeping off another espresso hangover and trying to remember the last time I was at my apartment long enough to water my poor neglected orchid. It's probably dead now, dammit.
At this point my only saving grace is my partner in crime… I mean, business… the indomitable Caroline Forbes: varsity cheer captain, three-time Miss Mystic Falls, and all-around ball of sunshine. We've been best friends since forever; we were born within two hours of each other. Our moms say that we bonded instantly in the hospital nursery and we've been best friends ever since. Caroline is my heterosexual life partner and I love her to little blonde pieces. As soon as we were old enough we made a pact to get out of our little one-horse town and make something epic of ourselves. The day after we turned our tassels and bid adieu to Mystic Falls High we moved to New York City with $3,453, my third-hand Honda Civic, and enough ambition to make up for our lack of everything else. We found some very generous cockroaches in Queens who agreed to share a fourth-floor walk-up with us for six months and we got down to work. Now here we are, eleven years later living next door to Bono in Manhattan and headlining our own runway show at Fashion Week.
When I put it like that, I really should be a lot more excited. And I am, don't get me wrong! I am so so grateful for everything that this insane trip around the sun has given me, but right now I just want a good night's sleep. A home-cooked meal and a night of cheesy chick flicks wouldn't hurt either; while we're at it, let's just throw in a mani-pedi and a stack of celebrity gossip rags for good measure. It wouldn't be Bora Bora but it's a good start.
When we first moved here Caroline blended easily with the fast pace of New York, she's a perfectly-coiffed round peg in a round hole. She got one taste of the Big Apple and never looked back. Anymore, people think she's a native; she's even picked up the accent and mastered the commanding taxi-heralding wrist snap. Me, on the other hand, I'm still a simple, small town girl at heart. Sure, on the outside I'm all charcoal pencil skirts and high-end haircuts but sometimes, when no one is watching, I let myself miss chasing fireflies and the smell of magnolias on the breeze back home. I miss seeing a familiar face every time you step out of your house. I miss Saturday farmer's markets and all of the zany town soirees that Mystic Falls throws. I miss my family like crazy, even if they are weird and loud.
Maybe I should consider a trip home rather than Tahiti: shorter flight, better cobbler.
"Rise and shine my dearest darling!" Caroline's chipper voice rings through my ears, rousing me from a very pleasant dream; I don't want to say that Kit Harington was involved, but Kit Harington was so involved and let me tell you… Jon Snow knows a lot. Good thing Caroline was too busy buzzing around my office to notice my grumbling and glaring.
"Oh my gosh, have you been here all night? Ugh, this place smells like a musty Starbucks. I mean really, El, eww. You're all, like… filmy," my best friend shudders as she pulls the drapes in my office open and stares at the landscape below. I had to remind myself that she is my best friend, no matter how badly I want to throw a stapler at her head and get back to my dream. "Look at that city, El, just wanting to be conquered and made fabulous. And here you are, sleeping the day away."
"Caroline, jeez. What time is it?" I finally grumble, trying to get my bearings but all I can see was a wall of blinding light where Caroline peeled my blackout curtains away from the windows. Ever so slowly the city skyline begins to bleed in from the edges of my vision and everything before me becomes clearer.
"Nine thirty, Sleeping Beauty," she twitters and circles around my office throwing away my hard-earned coffee cups and chip bags and straightening some of my picture frames. She's always after me about being a slob, which I kind of am, but she's bordering dangerously close to OCD with her tidy tendencies. What can I say? Opposites attract. "Up! Up! The newer new law department guy is going to be here soon for that thing."
"What thing?" I ask, rubbing the last scraps of sleep out of my eyes and stretching some vitality back into my limbs. I guess four hours of sleep will have to suffice for today. How many Saturdays would it take to make up for three months of sleep deprivation? "Gorgeous skirt, by the way."
"Eh, you know the thing with the stuff. She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named wanting to sue us or whatever and thank you… it's ours." Caroline looks down at her knee-length white eyelet tulip skirt and smiles with a one-shouldered shrug. The skirt must have been from our new line (more like Caroline's new line), which is a bid to get back to our Southern roots: simple, feminine, classic.
"Ugh, I can't even deal with that right now. Can't we just send her a poison fruit basket and be done with it, Snow White style? And why did we get a newer new law department guy?" I groan, somewhat distracted by shaking my few remaining cups searching for even a drop of caffeinated nectar. I'm usually much more on top of the workings of the company and I do feel a little guilty that I have no idea where we are in the Saga of the Imperiled Law Department. All I know the old new guy (we've been going through a lot of lawyers as of late) accepted our termination letter without any argument… and fast. I'm guessing it had something to do with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Twenty dollars says that there was a promise of a hefty payday involved, but Caroline's betting there were some threats thrown out. When I think more about it, either option is completely plausible. I thought that the new new guy we hired after him was still around. Guess not.
"Because the old new new one is letting us get sued!" Caroline replies with a playful eye roll. How she gets all of this energy is beyond me, I've never even seen girlfriend with a cup of coffee in her life but she's always like this. "Besides this guy is supposed to be super smart, like top-of-his-class-at-Yale smart, and he does a ton of pro bono work at Sierra Club and Earth Justice."
"Swell, I'm sure he'll be a peach," I mumble sarcastically and pull a pocket mirror out of my desk drawer to touch up my puffy, exhausted face. I've got nothing against the green agenda, in fact Chateau Verveine is making huge strides in sustainability, but I've dealt with these Ivy League types and their egos before. Our first attorney attempted to take us to the cleaners, misguidedly thinking that two teenagers from the sticks without a college education wouldn't see his poorly veiled attempt at a corporate take-over coming. Well, wrong day, wrong girls Mr. Big Shot. Caroline and I spent thirteen days straight at the New York City Public Library reading legalese and district precedent and guess what he's doing now? Trying to get truckers out of their DUIs in some fleabag law office in Vegas. No one messes with Carolena and gets away with it. No one.
"Also someone mentioned something about him being super hot, and I figured hey, we need a little more eye candy around here," Caroline added nonchalantly and plops down on the armchair across from my desk examining her perfectly pink manicured nails. When did she have time to get those done? It's official, she's a vampire who never sleeps.
"Care, you and I both know that's the first thing you thought of," I laugh and comb hasty fingers through my hair. I feel like hell, and if I look even half as bad as this I'm going to chase this guy off before we get through the standard introductions.
"True, that Yale thing and the other stuff is just a bonus," she winks mischievously. "Now get up, and for the love of Prada, please brush your teeth before he shows up. I don't want you to kill the hot guy with your dragon breath."
"Whoa, whoa, hold up. Why am I seeing this guy? You're more up to speed on everything. I just woke up and I haven't slept in ages. I'm going to make us look like a bumbling gaggle of idiots. Plus, I'm in a bad mood and I was thinking about bouncing early to take a nap in my actual bed."
"My dear, sweet, single Elena," Caroline sighs dramatically and leans over my desk like she is about to lecture me. "Did you miss the part about him being totally smoking hot?"
"No, but I just—oh my god, Caroline! You are not setting me up with the law guy! That's not even ethical!" It finally dawned on me; this was another sneaky Forbes dating ambush. This is the second time this month! I really need to be more observant. Last week she tried to set me up with the barista at the Starbucks downstairs based on some "coffee compatibility" rubric she designed while waiting in line. However, two cappuccino preferences do not a relationship make and he bored me nearly to death fifteen minutes into our lunch date. I had to fake a fabric shipment emergency and hide from Caroline in the mailroom for the sake of my sanity. Kind of a win in the end though, because I finished seventeen more levels of Candy Crush in the mailroom and got a cat nap in on a stack of padded mailers.
"What? Why not? Nic thinks you guys will really hit it off," she whines with her big blue eyes shining with innocence and dammit! She can make herself look just as pitiable as she did in kindergarten when she used that same look to get us out of trouble for writing on the walls with crayons.
"Nic knows this guy?" I question with a raised eyebrow. Don't get me wrong, I'm Team Niklaus all the way. Dude shows up out of nowhere a year ago with his elegant accent and European charm and swept Caroline right off her feet, and rightfully so; they're the perfect couple and someday they better make me the godmother of their adorable blonde babies. But, ever since breezing into our lives Nic has been Caroline's primary accomplice in Mission: Single No More. I think it's their collective opinion that because they're so damn happy in their relationship that I'm entitled, nay required, to be equally happy in a relationship of my own. I want Mr. Right just as much as the next girl, but I've got a lot on my plate right now and, despite was Caroline and Nic believe, I am happy. Who cares that I go home to an empty flat every night and warm up take-away left-overs for one? Certainly not me. I'm single and I'm happy and anyone who thinks otherwise can bite me.
"They rowed crew together at Yale. Come on, Elena. Crew! Just imagine, spending a ski vacation in Jackson Hole wrapped up in those sculpted arms in front of a giant granite fireplace. He can tell you stories about fighting corporate America and saving cute, furry little animals and climbing redwoods. And you can wear his flannel shirts that probably smell like pine needles and heroism," she says dreamily while she twirls a lock of hair around her finger. Where does she get this crap from?
"No, and we are corporate America," I gently remind her. I don't even let myself consider that it might be kind of nice to curl up in front of the fire with someone, because it would be… nope, she's not going to break me down on this one. Stay strong, Gilbert!
"Oh come on, El," Caroline huffs and drops her elbows onto the armrest of her chair indignantly. "It's not like I arranged a marriage for you, I just found a hot, professional, available man whose ass you can ogle instead of procrastinating on the new line."
Yikes! Here that clucking? Those are my uninspired chickens coming home to roost in the form of Caroline flipping her noodle when she sees my empty sketchbook.
"About that, I—"
"Have nothing. I know, but no worries because I have it all covered," she smiles and I actually believe her. She pulls her perfectly organized sketchbook out of her leather handbag and slides it across my desk. I stare at her for a moment before flipping through the pages to see sheet after sheet of beautiful, perfectly-on-point designs.
"You have the entire line," I gawp like a fish. It's official: I am the worst business partner ever. I need to get something truly great for her for Christmas. I wonder if I can find a unicorn online.
"I'm sorry did you want to show up to Fashion Week with half of a collection? Besides I got some ideas that just went crazy and I couldn't stop myself."
"Jeez, Care. These are gorgeous." I'm especially in love with a cute cropped denim blazer she paired with a seersucker peplum skirt. I can see that on about a thousand young and upcoming stars at Cannes.
"You think so? It's not too hick-y. I don't want people to feel like we're riding the whole Southern Charm thing too far," Caroline asks in that voice that I instantly knew as the I'm-super-confident-but-sometimes-I-need-a-little-reassurance voice.
"Not at all, these are… they're perfect." And yeah, perfect is the only word I could use to describe the pages of gauzy sundresses with subtle feminine details and adorably wearable linen crop pants. Once again, Caroline saved our skins.
"Thanks, that means a lot to me," she smiles and squeezes my hand in what has become our grown-up secret handshake.
"Now!" she claps and jumps up from her chair while tossing a tube of lip-gloss at me in one fluid motion. "Let's get you ready to meet New Law Guy! And it wouldn't kill you to keep the Queen Castration glare under wraps while he's here."
"I do not have a Queen Castration glare?" I remark indignantly and Caroline just stares back at me with skeptically crossed arms. I suppose I might have a bit of an intimidating look when I mean business. "What? I don't."
"Sure you don't. Just try not to chase this one away like the cute mail guy we had. Your lady parts might thank me someday."
Best. Friends. Forever.