"I'll need the three sketches of the Butterfly panties by noon," she barked. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Thanks for the time off."
She smiled, forced. "You're welcome." And took off to refill the coffee cup clutched in her hand, her business dramatics in full gear. She was grand, she was fabulous-- she was a nutcase. A brilliant designer but like most hyper creative people, there was definitely a screw loose.
I checked her voice mail and pulled open my drawer, going through my sketch pad to find the butterfly designs.
But as I was going through my various drawings, something didn't feel right. It was as if something was out of place.
And then I saw it.
A torn paper seam from the pad's gum back was missing.
A sketch was gone.
I fanned through the designs over and over, trying to remember which one it was.
L'Atrice whooshed by, laughing and waving to a friend down the hall.
"L'Atrice?" I asked.
She turned around in a quick model turn, arms in the air and elbows in, staring me down.
"I think...something is missing."
"Missing?"
She immediately helped me go through my entire work station and we realized not just any sketch was gone-- it was the butterflies.
Someone had gone through my desk and stolen the design.
Not uncommon in this industry but certainly a first at Tigre. And L'Atrice made sure everyone knew about it including other designers, colorists, cutters, VP's, and Tigre herself. We all knew a trust had been violated and that it was from the inside.
And I got shit, the blame-- for not locking my drawer. Geez, it's not like we're designing CIA aircraft here.
But L'Atrice pointed out my little oversight may cost Tigre millions if the design were to become a success at a rival company.
And that could happen. Me. My sketch. My design.
I knew I should have felt bad but...deep down inside, I didn't. I felt flattered. Me. My sketch-- millions?
Who knew.
