by Erika Kelly
“Didn’t Gray tell you?”
She hadn’t let him. An image flashed in her mind, of her crouching beside Robert, looking up accusingly at Gray. “What have I done?”
“You didn’t do anything. You have no fault in any of this.”
Callie came back on the line. “Robert’s in all kinds of trouble with his family, though. They don’t appreciate him using their company name like that.”
“Then who backed him? Where did he get all those connections?” How had he pulled this off?
“No idea. You haven’t talked to Gray about it?”
The owner swept into the gallery, her hair tossed about by the autumn breeze. She flashed a grin, immediately glancing up at the monitors placed around the room, where another fashion show livestreamed. “Isn’t that your former boss?”
Knox glanced up. A reporter held out a microphone to Luc, and he spoke in his animated way.
God, he must be so happy to be free of her. Being associated with the white trash designer would be the worst thing in the world for him.
“That must be why he’s not feeling well,” Callie said. “Fin says he’s lost his focus.”
“He can get hurt if he’s not focused.” Oh, my God. What had she done? “He has to get his head on right.”
“Hey, slow down. Fin’s got this. You know he wouldn’t let anything happen to his brother.”
“This is my fault. I blamed him for the fight. I thought he was being competitive with Robert over me.”
“Oh, honey, no. Gray caught him in the alley buying drugs from some guy.”
Her heart lurched. Her stomach roiled. “I didn’t…” She was going to say she hadn’t known, but what she really meant was that she hadn’t bothered to ask.
On the screen, the camera panned Luc’s body, taking in his pink Tattersall dress shirt and silver metallic sateen pants, a black leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
“Fin says you guys aren’t talking,” Callie said. “Look, I’ve known Gray most of my life, and I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you. Just…maybe talk to him. Whatever it was you were building together, it deserves a conversation.”
“I will.” Peeking out of the messenger bag was a notebook. “Listen, I have to go.”
“Sure. But we’re here if you need to talk.”
“Thanks, Callie.” She pocketed the phone and moved closer to the monitor.
“I’m most excited about my next collection,” Luc said. “It’s some of the best work I’ve ever done.” Absently, he hugged his messenger bag closer to him. “In fact, I’ve already sold one of the gowns to Princess Rosalina. She happened to be in my studio as we were working on the spring collection and saw it.” Gesturing with both hands exposed more of the bag, enabling Knox to catch a clearer look at the notebook. It was the gold trim that confirmed what she already knew. A cold fluid seeped into her bloodstream.
Her missing sketchbook.
How had he gotten it?
“Did you want us to set up for your next appointment?” the gallery owner asked.
“That would be great. Listen, I have a quick meeting uptown. I’ll be back in plenty of time to get the models ready.” She pushed out the doors into a brisk October afternoon. The rush of traffic, the flow of pedestrians, only compounded her anxiety.
Luc had stolen from her again.
But how?
She hailed a cab, got inside, and said, “Lincoln Center.”
* * *
By the time the cab pulled up to the curb, Knox had contacted Zach and asked him to speak with Duck Dive’s attorney. She’d also explained the situation to Amelia, who’d vowed to do whatever Knox needed to help her nail Luc to the wall.
She had a team. And it felt damn good not to be alone in this.
But it didn’t diffuse the anger. Not one little bit. In fact, every step up the Lincoln Center’s staircase and across the wide travertine promenade, around the fountain, and through the glass doors, only ramped it up.
When she pulled open the door to the venue, she found it mostly empty.
Seriously, big let-down. She’d been prepared to call him out publicly, had imagined snatching the sketchbook out of the bag and waving it in his face.
Instead, she found a few clusters of people talking and staff cleaning up and folding chairs. She called out to the nearest group, “Excuse me? Do you know where Luc is?”
“Knox?”
She whipped around to find him entering the room with a to-go cup of coffee. It was on. She stormed over to him. “How the hell did you get my sketchbook?”
Like the moment before a crack of thunder, the energy in the room crackled. A screech of chair legs lingered in the startling silence.
“What, do you have magic fingers that can steal all the way from Paris? Did you plant spies in the bunkhouse?”
He pulled her sketchbook out of his messenger bag. “You’re talking about this?”
His tone, so casual, so open, had a few people sneering at her.
“Come. We’ll talk.” He led her up the stairs, across the dusty stage, and behind a thick velvet curtain.
“You stole my sketchbook again, and this time you can’t claim ownership because I. Do. Not. Work. For. You.”
“I didn’t steal.” He was eerily calm and unaffected. “We made an exchange.”
“And when did this exchange happen? While I was sleeping? When your thief crept in and tucked it into his luggage?”
Now, his chin tipped up. “I have never stolen from you. I used the designs you created while under contract with me. It is standard operating procedure for any fashion house to own anything its designers create.”
“That sketchbook was my private one. You had no right to it.”
“It falls under the category of trade secrets. You would not have designed those dresses had it not been for my tutelage, the exposure to my designs, my fabrics…the environment of my studio.”
He would never understand that taking a book off a coffee table in her apartment did not fall under the category of Intellectual Property. “I don’t work for you, Luc. There is no contract.” She waved the notebook. “So, what the hell are you doing with this?”
“But we do have a contract. I entered into a verbal one with your business partner.”
My partner? He couldn’t be talking about Gray. Gray would never…
Robert? It all became clear. He would do anything to start his career—even steal from his ex-girlfriend. And, she’d bet, in Robert’s twisted logic, he believed he was doing a great thing for her, delivering her dream on a silver platter. The price? A simple sketchbook.
“He contacted me,” Luc said. “Asking how he could get you back into fashion week. We agreed on a trade. In exchange for your show…” He tapped the notebook. “I got this.”
“Well, he lied to both of us. He didn’t have my permission to take that notebook.”
“You really did not know? This is not some game you’re playing because your show went so disastrously?”
Briefly, she closed her eyes. Thanks for the brutal reminder. “I didn’t know.” She leveled her gaze at him. “So, you can tell your princess, if she wants one of my dresses, she’ll have to contact me. Because these are my designs. I had no knowledge of whatever deal Robert brokered with you.” She’d had her mic drop moment. Go. But a strange resistance kept her rooted.
“This is unfortunate,” Luc said. “We have both been deceived.”
The anger subsided, the fog cleared, leaving nothing but the truth. “You know, I wasn’t that little girl who longed for a daddy. I didn’t stand on stage during recitals and look out at all the men in the auditorium wishing one of them was watching me with an adoring smile. I didn’t feel anything at all about not having a dad, until you came into my life and acted like one.”
His forehead creased in concern.
“Do you remember that day I called you, frantic, because I’d gotten lost on the subway? You’d sent me out on all these erran
ds—buttons from Madame Michelle and crystals from Swarovski’s—and I’d missed my stop and wound up in a really dangerous banlieue.”
“I remember.”
“You told me to stay put, your driver would come for me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “If you’d just given me the right Metro directions, I’d have been grateful, but sending your driver? That was really sweet. But when I saw you get out of the car? Knowing you’d taken time out of your day to pick me up and make sure I was safe? That…it made me feel like I mattered. Not that my talent mattered, but that I did.”
She searched his gaze for something—anything—and found a hint of remorse. But it wasn’t enough. “Maybe you didn’t mean to, but it felt like something a dad would do. I trusted you, Luc. And all you wanted was my sketchbook. If you’ve lost your creative fire, then bow out gracefully. Don’t become the guy that has to steal someone else’s talent to stay relevant.” She lifted the notebook again. “Well, I guess it’s too late for that.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Phone pressed to her ear, Knox rolled onto her side, reaching for a tissue to dab her nose.
Finally, he picked up. “Hey.” His voice, all deep and rumbly, made her spirits soar.
She was desperate to talk to him. “Gray—”
“It’s Gray. Leave a message.”
Dammit. She quickly blew her nose and sat up. “Hi. It’s me again. I wish you’d talk to me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusion. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you what was going on. I’m just so damn sorry.”
How did she get through to him? “I know you think it was about believing Robert over you, but the truth is…” Shame, fear, regret swamped her, suffocating her. “The truth is that it was about hearing them call me white trash. It’s so stupid.” Fresh, hot tears streamed down her face. Stop with the excuses. Just tell him how you feel. “You’re…you’re everything to me, Gray. I miss you. I can’t stand it. I just can’t…” One beat passed, two, three. Say something or hang up. “I don’t want us to end.” Oh, come on. That’s the best you can do? “Call me. Please.”
How did she make this right?
He’d called her his heart. He couldn’t just dump his heart like this, could he?
A knock startled her. Gray? She threw off the covers and dashed to the door. That would be just like him to fly out here and talk to her in person. “Just a minute.” Stupid. Of course it’s not him. He’s in New Zealand.
Peering through the peep hole, she found the distorted image of a room service waiter. “Oh. Hang on.” Releasing the lock, she opened the door and stepped back to let him wheel in the cart. “I don’t think you’ve got the right room. I didn’t order anything.”
The guy pulled the receipt out from under a plate. “Knox Holliday, room 1262?”
“That’s me.”
“Enjoy your treat.” He started to go.
“Don’t I have to sign anything?”
“Nope. It’s all been taken care of. Including the tip.”
“Oh, well, thank you so much.” She caught her image in the mirror behind the coffee station. No wonder he’d raced out of there. Messy hair, streaks of mascara…she looked like a woman on the edge.
On the linen-draped cart, she found a silver tea pot, white porcelain cup and saucer, a folded white napkin with a knife, fork, and spoon tucked inside, a plate, and a three-tiered cake stand. Beautiful pastries filled each level. Flaky puff pastry oozing with whipped cream, custard-filled fruit tarts dotted with glazed strawberries and blueberries, pastel-colored macarons, slim cannolis, and chocolate chip-studded biscotti.
A cream-colored envelope had Knox Holliday scrawled on it.
We can’t be there in person, but we’re there in spirit. Love, Callie and Delilah.
She hurried back to the nightstand to grab her phone. Taking a picture, she sent it to both of them. You guys are the best. Thank you. Just as she sat down to pour her tea, the phone chimed. Bowie. Her heart jumped into her throat. “Hello?” Please be let it be Gray’s voice. Please.
“Hey, honey,” Delilah said.
“Oh. I…” Working hard not to sink into despair, she turned back to the cart. “I can’t believe you guys did this.”
“I only wish we could be there to stuff our faces with you,” Delilah said. “Because that looks amazing.”
“Hey, girl,” Callie said. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she said. “But I think I’m going to move my flight up and come home. I have a ton of work, and there’s nothing left for me to do here.”
“What about the gala?” Callie asked.
“I don’t care about that.” As if she wanted to see Luc win a lifetime achievement award off the backs of all the young, hopeful designers he’d plucked out of college.
“But isn’t it a big deal?” Callie said. “A chance to get in front of everybody and promote your brand?”
“I don’t want to promote this brand. I’ll work on a whole new collection, come back next year, and blow them all away.”
“That’s great,” Callie said. “And you should definitely stick with that plan, but after you wow them tomorrow night.”
“I’d rather come home.”
“Honey,” Delilah said. “I don’t like the idea of letting the bullies win.”
Oh. Was that what she was doing? “If I leave quietly, no one will notice. If I stay, I’ll give them more opportunities to post pictures of the White Trash Wedding Gown Designer. It’ll only draw attention to me.”
“That’s offensive and racist,” Callie said. “And we’re going to ignore it, because we don’t give attention to bad people. Your show was a hit.”
“When does Alayna’s blog come out?” Delilah asked.
“She’s been posting randomly throughout the week, but she always does a couple of major posts after she gets home and sorts through all her photos. She does a Hits and Misses column, predicts the up-and-coming designer to look for. Stuff like that.”
“How do you feel, honey?” Callie asked. “And I’m not talking about the gala.”
It all came rushing back, the horror of her loss. “I ruined everything, and I don’t know how to make it better. He won’t talk to me.”
“The competition’s happening right now, sweetie,” Delilah said.
“No, I know. That’s not the issue. Seven years ago, Robert ruined the prom. Gray told me to leave with him, and I didn’t. I chose Robert. And, now, during my show, Robert messed up again, and instead of asking what happened, I immediately blamed Gray.”
“You’d been around Robert the whole week,” Delilah said. “He’d been sober, he’d done everything he needed to do…why would you think he was high? I don’t think you did anything wrong.”
“I think,” Callie said. “It’s more about the past than the present. The three of you have some pretty intense history, and once you talk it out, I’m sure you’ll get through it.”
“I’m not so sure. I think this time he’s done with me for good.” The pain engulfed her. Streaming tears had her snatching the napkin off the table, the silverware clattering onto the table. She swiped her cheeks frantically. Make it stop. “I never dreamed I could have him like that. He was my best friend. He was…everything. And I didn’t think enough of myself to see him as the man of my heart.”
“What if he’s just upset that he had a hand in ruining your event?” Delilah said. “I mean, they fought on your catwalk.”
“No, I know him. He’s disgusted with me for jumping to the wrong conclusion. It just never entered my mind that Robert was doing drugs. I thought Gray was being competitive over me.”
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, hon,” Delilah said.
“I don’t,” Knox said. “He always felt like he was invisible in his family. And, now, I just showed him he’s invisible in his relationship with me and Robert.”
“Then I guess you just have to prove that you see him,” Callie said.
Go time.
Body tense with electric energy, Gray twisted his board in the fresh, packed snow.
Visualize. But the only thing he could see was Knox’s horrified expression, thinking he’d instigated the fight with Robert the night of her fashion show.
I lost her.
For good this time.
Because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—do it again. Love someone who didn’t love him back.
“Hey, man.” Fin came up to him, snow crunching under his boots. “You good?”
“What’re you doing? Get out of here.” The prequalifier got a lot of attention in the freestyle world. It set the tone for the season, introducing the world to the contenders. Gray was already in the lead, going into this final run.
Fin tugged on his scruff, glancing at the halfpipe. “Don’t need to tell you how important it is to get your head on right.”
“Sure as hell don’t. Now back off and let me get in the zone.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. Not sure you’re anywhere near the zone.”
“What’s going on?” a staff guy asked. “Is there a problem?”
“Fixing it,” Fin said.
The guy gave a curt nod and said something into his headset.
“The thing is.” Fin looked anywhere but at Gray. “When Mom left, Dad got a pretty serious wake-up call.”
“You’re not seriously talking to me about our parents right now?”
But his brother ignored him. “He quit his job and had to raise the four of us wild-ass kids by himself. I think herding us all into snow sports was the only way he could handle it.”
By the twist in his heart, he knew his brother was right. “You want me disqualified? Keep talking.”
“Dad saw you. I know he did. He just couldn’t be in four places at one time. He was in survival mode, and I think he raised us the best way he knew how.”
“Okay.” I still would’ve liked a nickname. He actually cracked a smile at how dumb that sounded. But it was true.