Of course, you had to be wary in the business world, and she knew nothing about the forces that had shaped Simon’s nature. Nonetheless, she felt on edge around him. Admittedly, part of it was a heightened awareness—he had an intensity, even a magnetism that pricked at her senses.
“Anything significant?” he asked as she looked through the current production notes they’d found in the studio.
“I’m hardly an expert, but there seems to be more concentration on cost cutting than top-quality design. That’s the kind of business decision every company makes and might be in keeping with your instructions, but it doesn’t fit with my sense of Liv’ing Creations in the past.”
Simon actually chuckled. The humor lit up his face and made him appear almost joyful.
“Liv considered herself an artist first, and a businesswoman second.” His smile faded and he frowned. “She’d hate a cheap product going out under her name.”
“Not cheap, it’s just that the choices always appear to bend toward reducing costs. For example, here’s a note about two similar fabrics. One was preferred, but the other was chosen because the supplier offered a better deal.”
His frown deepened. “I’m no designer, but that doesn’t seem to be an artistic way to make a decision. Miriam must be aware Liv’ing Creations isn’t doing as well as in previous years, but I haven’t asked her to cut costs, and my business manager would have consulted me before talking to her.”
Rachel’s feelings about Simon were mixed, but she appreciated the way he was holding on to the design house. A man who cared so much about his daughter and the memory of his wife couldn’t be all bad.
Simon pointed to the fabric swatches attached to the notebook page.
“Which one would you have chosen?”
“My opinion isn’t important,” she replied. “It’s more about the way the decision was made, not which fabric was best.”
“In other words, you wouldn’t have wanted either one.”
She smiled ruefully. “No, but I’m not a designer, either. I just know what I like.”
Another thing was certain, Simon was as smart as they came. Perhaps she should look him up on the internet. It wouldn’t be out of line to do so. After all, he’d done research on her.
Suddenly she felt even more uncomfortable. Simon couldn’t have looked her up without reading about the accident and the scars that had ended her modeling career. Yet it wasn’t logical to feel vulnerable. She’d grown accustomed to the way people seemed to search her face, as if to see where the damage had been done. Okay, she hadn’t actually got used to it, but she’d stopped thinking it was the only reason they looked at her.
Rachel straightened her shoulders. Most days she didn’t give a thought to the accident. She was happy. It would be impossible to feel grateful for what had happened, but she was thankful for the way things were now.
“Do you need to see more?” Simon asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve seen enough for the moment. It might be helpful to talk with members of the staff, too, but not if they’re as defensive as the manager.”
“Then let’s go to dinner.”
“That isn’t necessary. I should think for a while before discussing my impressions.”
“Come anyway. I’ve made reservations, and it’s the least I can do in return for taking your time this afternoon.”
The problem was that she didn’t want to spend time with Simon; her awareness of him set her on edge. It was ridiculous. If she accepted the design house as an unusual sort of client, then she’d be seeing him even more often. Of course, that might be reason enough for not accepting the assignment. Then again, she’d never backed away from a challenge and wasn’t going to start now.
“All right,” she agreed, pleased with her decision.
CHAPTER FIVE
SIMON LOCKED THE door of Liv’ing Creations and turned toward Rachel. She stood with her back to him. Her dark hair was caught in a silver clasp at her nape and cascaded down her back in soft curls. The early-evening sunlight glinted against the burnished waves and it was one of the most appealing sights he’d seen in a long while.
He sucked in a breath.
Fortunately, he had a personal distaste for mixing business and pleasure...though admittedly, he’d never been seriously tempted before. He couldn’t say he’d never found another woman attractive—marriage hadn’t dulled his senses—but he would never have cheated on Olivia. He’d seen too much of the pain that infidelity dished out to its victims.
“That’s an unusual clasp in your hair,” he commented, walking to Rachel’s side. “Native American, right?”
Her hand strayed to the silver clip. “Yes. It’s a style distinctive to the Hopi, but Navajo artisans are now doing something similar. I’ve always loved the artistry.”
“I see you have several pieces,” he said, noting her pendant and earrings. “They aren’t as eye-catching as some Southwest jewelry I’ve seen, but the style is compelling.”
“I agree. They aren’t colorful, but they’re very tactile. Even organic. Anyway, I wear things for me, not for other people.”
Perhaps, but the jewellike color of the turquoise silk jumpsuit she wore was a perfect foil for both the jewelry and her fine complexion. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing, I just have a lot on my mind.”
Back in the car he focused his attention on the road.
Fifteen minutes later, he parked at the restaurant and hurried around to offer a hand as she rose from the seat of the car.
A faint smile lifted the corners of her lips.
“What’s so amusing?”
“Nothing, I was just thinking that it’s a nice gesture, helping a woman from her seat. I appreciate thoughtfulness, especially with getting in and out of a low-slung car. Was your father old-fashioned?”
Simon controlled the visceral reaction that came with any mention of Richard Kessler. “What does he have to do with it?”
Rachel’s expression turned cautious. “My dad says it’s a father’s responsibility to model behavior for his sons. He claims that even if it isn’t a popular viewpoint, he’d rather err on the side of good manners.”
“Perhaps, but my father has no acquaintance with courtesy or decent behavior, particularly in regard to women,” Simon returned crisply.
“Oh.”
“You don’t have other questions?” he pushed, unable to resist prodding.
“None I plan to ask. It’s your private business.”
“Yet you wanted to know if my father was old-fashioned,” Simon pressed, wondering why he was intent on prompting a reaction.
“I was just making casual conversation,” Rachel answered. “But there was an edge in your voice when you talked about him, and I don’t enjoy prodding old wounds.”
In the early-evening light, her eyes matched the turquoise of her outfit. They were fringed with lush dark lashes that looked natural, and held no hint of guile. That proved nothing. He prided himself on being able to spot a cunning business associate, but then, he wasn’t sure if his normal instincts were working for him when he was around Rachel.
“You’ve never heard of Richard Kessler?” Simon asked.
“Not that I recall. I assume he’s your father.”
“Yes. I met him for the first time when I was eleven. My mother had died two years earlier and I was living in a decent foster home when he decided to acknowledge me as his son. It didn’t go down well with his wife. They’d just celebrated their twentieth wedding anniversary. Apparently they couldn’t have children of their own.” The bald explanation wasn’t anything Rachel couldn’t find on the internet, either directly or by inference.
Rachel nodded slowly. “It sounds as if your relationship with him went downhill from there.”
&nb
sp; “There’s no love lost between us.”
“Understandable.”
Her head turned as she glanced toward the lake, so it was even more difficult to guess what she might be thinking. Simon usually didn’t persist this way. His father was a fact of life and there wasn’t any point in bemoaning reality.
“Are you hungry?” he asked to change the subject.
“I didn’t have time for lunch, so food sounds good.”
As they headed toward the restaurant, another thought circled Simon’s brain... Why had Rachel tried to cancel their dinner if she’d missed lunch?
He searched for something to say that would get his mind back in a business mode. “Becoming an agent seems like a major change from your previous career. For you and each of your partners.”
Rachel shrugged. “Not really. We’ve all worked in the fashion industry. Also in Hollywood to a certain extent. And we have all had agents. Now we’ve just flipped our perspectives.”
“Are you happy with the change?”
“That’s an interesting way to put it...in terms of being happy. Mostly people have asked if I like my work.”
“No deep psychological motives.”
She smiled, and the way it lit her face was breathtaking. “Whatever it means, I am happy. That doesn’t mean life is perfect, but I find more positives than negatives. Most of all, my work seems meaningful. I especially appreciate knowing I’m helping people succeed.”
“That’s why I thought you might be able to help get Liv’ing Creations back on track.”
“I still haven’t made up my mind about taking on the design house as a client,” she cautioned.
“Right. You need time and I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He held the restaurant door open for Rachel and saw a nod of appreciation.
Doing the gentlemanly thing had nothing to do with his father, who didn’t have a chivalrous cell in his body. Nor was Simon trying to be the opposite of Richard. But Simon had once had a teacher who’d asked how he would have wanted his mother to be treated. The more he’d thought of his gentle, hardworking mom, the more he’d wanted to be courteous to other women in her memory.
The restaurant served excellent food, but Simon had chosen it because he didn’t have memories of eating there with his wife. He could stay focused more easily if thoughts of Olivia didn’t keep intruding. But he hadn’t taken into consideration that restaurants often tried to create a sense of intimacy during evening hours. In the daytime this was an excellent location for business lunches; now it was the kind of place where couples came, either because they wanted to get closer or because they wanted to celebrate being in love.
And there was Rachel.
Her ethereal beauty made him think of old tales about fairies getting trapped in the human world, a bit of imagination his mother would have said was the Irish coming out in him. Whatever it was, he had to keep it under control while dealing with this particular fairy.
* * *
RACHEL SAW SIMON stiffen and his face regain a formal expression. Plainly it was the mask he used to put up barriers between himself and other people. Setting protective emotional perimeters was something she had experience doing, but she wasn’t sure what had prompted Simon’s withdrawal.
“This is pleasant,” she commented as the hostess seated them.
“It isn’t a family-friendly location, so I don’t bring Livvie here to eat. Actually, I’ve never been here for dinner, just for professional lunches. The evening atmosphere isn’t as businesslike as I expected.”
“You’re right, this definitely isn’t a place for kids.” Rachel eyed the delicate stemware and snow-white table linen. It was lovely, but if she had a young child or even a teenager, she’d see it differently.
“You mentioned your parents are caterers, so you have experience in the food industry.”
“That’s right. When I was a kid, I helped in the kitchen and with serving food.”
“I didn’t know kids could be employed.”
She made a noncommittal gesture. “Mom and Dad followed the laws for minors working in a family business. When my grandmother was busy, we went with them. They made sure we had a place to study or play, but once I was old enough, I preferred helping. It also added to my college account.”
“I see. The family that works together stays together.” A hint of sardonic skepticism laced his voice and Rachel struggled to keep her expression neutral. She couldn’t imagine living with someone who had such a negative view of the world. It made her wonder if his wife had shared his attitude, or simply had been very tolerant. At any rate, she felt bad for Livvie, who was going to grow up seeing other people through her father’s jaded eyes.
“That’s one way to look at it,” she demurred, feeling she had to say something.
Given what he’d told her about his father, Rachel figured his childhood must have been really strange, and anyone else’s life might seem alien in comparison. What would it be like to have a father who’d ignored you until two years after your mother was dead? She shivered. Not a pleasant thought.
The waiter arrived to fill their water goblets.
“Your youthful habit of saving sounds disciplined,” Simon said when they were alone again. He opened one of the menus the hostess had left on the table.
“We knew we’d have to save and apply for scholarships since our parents couldn’t afford to give us free rides through college. But they wouldn’t have paid for everything, even if they’d had the money.”
“Oh?”
“Sure.” Rachel gave him a practiced smile, the one she’d used as a model on photo shoots. “They believe you get more out of things when you have to invest in them personally. I didn’t understand at the time, but I do now.”
She glanced at her menu and then closed it. The waiter must have been watching because he appeared seconds after Simon had set his own menu aside. They ordered and Rachel looked at Simon, who still seemed to be mentally at a distance.
He cocked his head. “You think parents who give too much or make things too easy for their kids are doing the wrong thing?”
Rachel wasn’t sure whether he had a personal ax to grind or was simply continuing the conversation, but wished she’d tried harder to cancel dinner with him.
“I suppose every parent has to decide that for themselves,” she said carefully. “But isn’t it a truism that we get back what we put into things? When we’re invested?”
“I agree, though being invested has become a cliché.”
“No question. In my parents’ case, they helped us. They just didn’t pay for everything.”
“But did they use what they gave as something to hold over you?”
Now Rachel was certain a personal devil was behind Simon’s questions. For a man who wanted to keep their relationship strictly business, he stepped into personal territory quite often. “No,” she replied casually, “except we were expected to work hard and refrain from too much goofing off.”
“That isn’t unreasonable.”
She didn’t explain that in her case she’d been making plenty of money from modeling by the time her college years arrived. The threat to her grades had come from work assignments, not partying, but she’d managed to graduate. She’d also offered to help with her siblings’ university expenses. Her parents had refused...out of pride, as well as for the reasons she’d already described to Simon.
Thinking about the prosaic past wasn’t natural in this setting, anyway. Simon had alluded to the restaurant not being as “businesslike” in the evening as he’d expected. He was right. The understated lighting was designed to induce a romantic atmosphere. She didn’t want to think in those terms, so she focused on the mechanics of how the atmosphere had been created. Lighting wasn’t something her parents handled as caterers, but they’d talked about its impact on social interactions, mood
and even the way food was perceived.
“You seem curious about something,” Simon commented.
“Excuse me?”
“You keep looking around.”
“I was interested in the way they’ve lit the place. Lighting has an unconscious effect on how people view food or other products, for that matter.”
“Positive or negative?”
“Both, of course,” she answered. “My folks say that bright fluorescent lights make people believe food is more economically produced, whereas subdued lighting enhances the opinion that it’s gourmet. They have to be aware of the impact because customers might value the same menu completely differently, depending on how it’s presented.”
“Doesn’t that bother them?”
“It’s just the way things are. People are influenced without even realizing what’s happening.”
“Perhaps that’s a life lesson,” Simon suggested. “At the very least, being aware would help the rest of us avoid being conned.”
She clenched her jaw. He was skating close to insulting her, her family and everyone in the food or advertising business.
“Someone isn’t a con artist just because they present their product in the best way,” she enunciated slowly and distinctly.
“I apologize. Your tone suggests I’ve offended you.”
As she’d noted before, he was smart, although his IQ in human relations appeared to have hit rock bottom.
Rachel lifted her chin. “You can’t tell me that as a businessman, you don’t advertise and you don’t have people put together catalogs and other promotional materials to represent your product at its best. Does that make you a con artist?”
His chiseled face was remote and hard. Then he smiled ruefully and her pulse fluttered at how compelling that made him.
* * *
SIMON KNEW HE’D been impolite. It might not have been so bad if he hadn’t made his conned remark while discussing Rachel’s parents and their work. Nor had it been fair. She was absolutely correct that quality food would be seen differently depending on how it was displayed.
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