Collision Course: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Shannon Curtis

  “What was that all about?” Brooke murmured to him, and he glanced at her briefly, before turning his attention back to Thomas.

  “What?”

  “You and Taylor.”

  “What about me and Taylor?” He kept his voice low. He didn’t think Taylor would want any gossip tied to her name. She’d already endured enough in recent times.

  “What on earth would you need to talk to her about?” Brooke murmured.

  Bill frowned. “We’re friends,” he said.

  “You’re what?”

  Thomas paused with his presentation at Brooke’s cry. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “There is no problem,” Bill answered smoothly, and shot Brooke a dark look.

  She turned her attention to the report, but Bill knew she wouldn’t leave it alone. He was aware of the history between the two women, the intense rivalry between them. They’d both been drawn to Ridge Forrester, and both been married to him at one point or another. Frankly, he couldn’t understand the allure. Sure, Ridge Forrester was handsome, wealthy, successful, some would even say talented when it came to his designs, but the man was arrogant, confident to a fault, and he spent all day drawing women’s clothing. If pressed, Bill would admit he was happy the guy was “finding himself” in Paris. Whatever the hell that meant.

  “Our buyers are predominantly women, which is no surprise,” Thomas stated. “We have an established market in the older generation, but we need to draw in that younger market. Sales are in, and the line has sold well, but not as much as we’d forecast.”

  Bill arched an eyebrow. “Are you going to target Brooke’s Bedroom specifically to the younger market?” He thought of Taylor in her robe. He’d wanted to see what she wore underneath, and then what was underneath that. She was sexy and desirable—was Thomas inferring that women her age were not going to be part of the campaign? He wanted to see Taylor in more lingerie, that was a certainty. A glimmer of an idea teased at his mind. “Instead of narrowing the focus, maybe we should broaden the scope.”

  “What are you saying, Bill?” Brooke asked. Eric leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled, as he waited for Bill to respond.

  “I don’t think we want to limit ourselves to just a specific demographic,” he told them. “Does your report show how many men buy for women?”

  Thomas shook his head. “No, but most of our buyers in store are women.”

  Bill nodded. “And they’re who participated in the survey. I understand, but you’ve got online distribution now. I think you’ll find there are a lot of men out there who would see that lingerie, and want their women wearing it.” He knew Taylor wouldn’t be seen dead in a Brooke’s Bedroom negligee, though. “And what about those accomplished, sexy, older women? If this line is designed for the younger woman, you’ll lose some of your customer base.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Eric said, his voice deep with curiosity.

  Bill glanced around the boardroom table. Each member was looking at him in confusion, including his son. “Why not have a number of collections within the one line for launch?”

  Rick frowned. “Well, I guess it’s possible, but won’t that dilute the impact of one collection at a time?”

  “Not to mention the amount of work and short lead time to have the other collections designed and made,” Brooke said.

  Bill shook his head. “I’m not suggesting the same team design each collection, Brooke. I’m suggesting we have different design teams.”

  Brooke frowned. “But it’s my line,” she said.

  “And they’ll come under the banner of Brooke’s Bedroom, but with a different collection name. Your own designs have a definite personal style, and they are very appealing,” he said to reassure her, “but let’s face it—it’s a special kind of woman who’d be buying Brooke’s lingerie, one who is comfortable with that level of concealment—or lack of it.”

  Brooke’s eyes widened. “Are you saying my designs are too revealing?” Her shoulders straightened.

  Bill almost chuckled, before realizing she was seriously offended. “I’m saying that it takes a certain confidence to wear your lingerie,” he said with an unfamiliar diplomacy. All that time in therapy must be having an effect on him.

  “Of course it takes confidence. That’s the kind of consumer we want at Forrester Creations,” Brooke argued. “I think we should just stick with the core line.”

  “Wait a minute, Brooke,” Eric said, holding up a hand. “I want to hear more. Go ahead, Bill.”

  “I’m suggesting we broaden the appeal. When Stephanie passed away,” Bill said, referring to Eric’s first wife and co-founder of Forrester Creations, “we tried something different, but it was too different, and we lost some of our consumer base. We know that Brooke’s Bedroom was the bestselling line for Forrester Creations, and that it could be again, but do we just want to revamp the old standard? Or do we want to rebirth it in a new, exciting way that will not only pull in those clients we lost, but garner us new markets?”

  “I’m listening,” Rick said.

  Bill heard Brooke sigh in the chair next to him, and spared her a brief glance. She clearly didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. Well, too bad. He was a shareholder, and this company wasn’t just going to recycle old ideas, not on his watch. His body tightened as an excitement he hadn’t felt in months grabbed hold of him. Here was a challenge, and there was nothing Bill Spencer liked more than a challenge. His lips lifted in a smile. For the first time since the plane crash, he felt almost normal.

  “Why not target those male customers, as well? We’ve got the comfort wear for the men’s line, but what about the men who buy lingerie for their partners? We have Thomas here who would probably design something slightly differently from a man’s perspective, for example,” he suggested, and Thomas nodded, grinning.

  “Oh, yeah. I have some definite ideas on what I’d like a woman to wear under her clothes,” the young man said.

  Bill raised his hands, gesturing as he spoke. “Forrester Creations is known for high quality, class and being provocative and sexy,” he said. “Why not have a line that embodies all of that, and more? Design something for the intelligent, sexy woman who doesn’t want to reveal all?”

  “And just who would design that?” Thorne Forrester asked as he leaned forward.

  Bill gestured to the door. “What about Taylor?”

  Chapter Seven

  There was a crash just outside the office door, and loud whispering that could be heard in the suddenly silent room. Donna and Pam were listening at the door again. Eric glanced over his shoulder and then shook his head before turning his attention back to the room. Bill relaxed in his chair, waiting for the uproar.

  “But—but … Taylor isn’t a designer,” Brooke protested once she could formulate words.

  “Neither is Rick,” Bill pointed out, “but he can communicate his ideas very nicely to Caroline, who draws them up for him. You can’t tell me Taylor can’t communicate her ideas.”

  Eric’s lips lifted in a ghost of a smile. “True.”

  “But she doesn’t know the first thing about designing an outfit, Eric, let alone a collection,” Brooke argued, her gaze focused on Forrester Creations’ CEO.

  “I believe Taylor could offer us an insight into what women want,” Bill said, then corrected himself. “I mean her type of woman. You have to admit, Brooke, both you and Taylor see things very differently. That’s not to say one is right and one is wrong, in this circumstance, only that you’re … different.”

  “But she doesn’t know anything about business,” Brooke argued.

  “I think you underestimate her, Brooke,” Eric interrupted. “There’s no denying Taylor is smart and classy, with an innately feminine sense of style and taste.” He nodded at Bill. “I like the idea.”

  “And who would be translating her ideas into designs?” Brooke asked coldly.

  Bill glanced around the table. He grimaced when he met Thomas
’s eyes. The young man wore a look of panicked pain. Teaming up a mother and son to design sexy underwear was wrong on so many levels. He glanced at Eric. As head designer, Eric was an obvious choice, and more than capable of rising to the challenge—and that was exactly what gave Bill pause. He didn’t want Taylor working with her ex on anything, especially not a romantic, sexy line of lingerie. And Brooke—well, that was a no-brainer. They’d probably end up stabbing each other with the pencil.

  “What about Caroline?” he suggested.

  Eric tilted his head to the side for a moment. “The more I think about it, the more I like teaming Caroline and Taylor up to design. They both share similar sentiments on modesty, on style, on character and class.” Eric nodded and tapped the desk. “I like it. Caroline and Taylor it is.”

  “Why not just have Caroline design it on her own?” Brooke suggested. “She’s talented, and as you said, Eric, they share similar attitudes …”

  Bill balked. He loved his niece, no matter how infuriating she could be, but she and Taylor were nothing alike. His niece could be a little frivolous and flashy. Her designs brought a contemporary edge to the Forrester Creations lines, and while she could evoke something that was chic and feminine, he didn’t think she had the life experience or intuition to design lingerie for the mature, sensual woman.

  “Forgive me, Brooke,” Bill interrupted, “but I think Taylor would have more of an idea about class, sensuality and maturity, without sacrificing passion and desirability. She would know what women want for the demographic we’re targeting. Caroline might learn from her.”

  “I think Bill has a point,” Rick admitted. “We could replicate some of the Hope for the Future initiatives, using a different spokesperson for the different collections, one who is in tune with the needs of another sector of our clients. It could only help the Brooke’s Bedroom line.”

  “And what would we call this collection?” Brooke asked briskly. “Demure?”

  Demure and desirable, maybe. Bill shook his head. “While demure will probably factor in a little, it’s not the focus.” He thought about Taylor. She had a strength that was in stark contrast to her soft femininity, a core of steel that she let out when she was protecting her family, her friends, those she cared about. He’d seen that steel inside her. He’d also seen her fire, her passion.

  “We want something that shows the contrast of the women who will wear the lingerie,” he mused aloud. “Sexy but sweet. Demure but desirable. Mysterious.” He snapped his fingers. “Mystique.”

  Eric nodded, grinning. “I like it.”

  “Well, it’s all well and good discussing this, but we’re forgetting one thing,” Thorne said. “We’d need to convince Taylor to get involved.”

  Brooke shut her folder with a sharp snap. “See, that’s a problem. Wouldn’t we rather have someone designing for us who wants to be here? Taylor left. She gave Steffy her shares. She walked away,” Brooke pronounced the words crisply.

  “Well, hopefully we can get her to agree,” Eric said, and Bill heard the undertone of regret in his voice. “I’ll call her, set up a meeting.”

  “I’ll do it,” Bill offered immediately. “You two have history.”

  Eric stared at him for a moment, before reluctantly inclining his head. “You’re right. It might sound better coming from you.”

  Bill nodded, glancing at his watch. “Great. Well, if we’re agreed, Liam and I will go back and draw up some advertising campaigns for the different collections. I’ll also talk to Taylor.” He rose from his seat, as did the rest of the group.

  He strode toward the door as the others said their goodbyes, but stopped when he felt a hand on his arm. He turned. Brooke. Her face was pale, her warm green eyes showing confusion and suspicion.

  “Why are you doing this, Bill?” she asked him quietly. “Why are you orchestrating a return for Taylor? Have you forgotten what she’s done? To you, to me—to Katie?”

  Bill stared at the woman in front of him for a moment. She was beautiful. Tall and attractive with an instinctive sexuality that was like a siren’s call to the men in her sphere. He would know—he’d gotten to know the woman very well, in and out of bed. Normally he didn’t compare, but he couldn’t help noticing that while Brooke’s golden sensuality had a definite allure, it was Taylor’s fire, her dark, hidden passion, that preoccupied him.

  “I don’t know exactly what went on to make Taylor leave,” he said quietly, “but I think she still has a lot to offer Forrester Creations. Taylor and I have had our differences—”what an understatement—“but I’m interested to hear what she has to say. I’m a shareholder. I’m merely protecting our interests. Just like I did with you, when we broached the relaunch of Brooke’s Bedroom.”

  They gazed at each other for a moment. “And we both know what happened there, don’t we?” she said softly.

  He smiled. They’d fallen in love. Neither had expected it, and both had tried to resist, but the enforced time together, coupled with the struggles in his marriage with Katie, had led to a situation of shared intimacy and a moment of passion. That moment had cost him dearly, though, and had ultimately landed the final blow on a floundering marriage. He was a smart man. He’d learned his lesson. If you’re going to commit, be fully committed.

  “Are you sleeping with her?” Brooke whispered.

  “No, I’m not sleeping with her,” he answered, surprised by the question. Surprised by the need that flashed through him at the thought of sleeping with Taylor … only there wouldn’t be so much sleeping involved.

  “I’m not planning a repeat performance,” he said. Despite this unexpected attraction between them, he and Taylor were just too different. He was curious, but really—this was Taylor they were talking about. “I believe this is the best avenue for Forrester Creations. The relaunch hasn’t worked as well as we’d hoped. That may have something to do with the personal divisions and conflicts that have been played out in the media—my divorce, Taylor’s split with Eric. Whatever the reason, I believe we need to show unity, a level of cooperation and teamwork that would bring us all together in front of the media, and in front of our customers.”

  Brooke shifted to the side as her son, Rick, left the office with Liam. “You’ve said before that it was my passion, my sensuality, my talent, that people were drawn to, and that was why Brooke’s Bedroom had been such a success. You said that I had a gift for inspiring lingerie that made women feel and look beautiful. You drove the relaunch of Brooke’s Bedroom, you convinced me to do it. It was your idea, not mine. Why do we need another inspiration?” She folded her arms.

  Did Brooke feel threatened by having lines inspired by other women? Or did she feel threatened by just one other woman—Taylor? Bill tilted his head toward her.

  “The Brooke’s Bedroom line is definitely inspired by you. We worked very closely on it. Together. But we have to do something—we don’t want another sales cycle like the one we’ve just experienced. As a shareholder, that’s my concern. I think this is one way of breaking that mold.”

  “Inspired by Taylor,” Brooke muttered, her lips pursed.

  “Inspired by Taylor.”

  “I just thought …” Brooke ducked her head. “I thought Brooke’s Bedroom was our project. That it would be you and me, working together.” She lifted her gaze to his, and he saw the hesitancy, the doubt, and something else—yearning?

  He realized she wasn’t just talking about the designs and line relaunch. Their time together had been tempestuous, passionate—she’d been the consoling confidante when he’d needed one, the sensual partner in bed. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. It had been so good—and yet so wrong.

  “You and I, Brooke—” However he addressed this, it was going to be painful for both of them, “—it was … beautiful,” he admitted. “But it was also hurtful. Us getting together caused so much pain. It wrecked my marriage. It wrecked my son’s chance at growing up in a home with a loving mother and father.” That was the part that hurt
the most, the part that held the most shame. He’d wanted to provide for his son a life that was as different to his own childhood as night was to day, but he’d screwed up.

  “No, Taylor did that. We’d already decided not to continue with our relationship. Katie wouldn’t have known if Taylor hadn’t told her—in the worst possible way, I might add.”

  “I still played my part in that, Brooke.”

  He watched as Brooke looked around, then tugged at his arm, dragging him into the hall. Pam looked up in surprise as they passed her desk, and Bill followed Brooke as she stalked down to her office, her hand gripping his arm. She closed the door behind them with a low click.

  “You can’t blame yourself entirely for that, Bill. Your marriage with Katie had problems before we slept together, or have you forgotten?” She folded her arms.

  Bill shook his head as he paced in Brooke’s office. “No, I haven’t forgotten, Brooke. Katie’s postpartum depression changed her significantly. It was hard living with her for a while; she was definitely a different woman than the one I’d married.” He turned to face her. “And yes, she took off her rings. She told me it was over. Hell, she pretty much taunted us to get together … but Katie and I took vows, and I should have kept mine. Through sickness and in health. Through good times and in bad times.” He shrugged. “I lost sight of that, somehow.”

  Brooke stepped closer to him. “She ended it, Bill,” she whispered fiercely. “I saw her, heard her. She gave you her rings and said it was over. That was when we—” she gestured between them, “—when we made love. Not before. You didn’t cheat. We didn’t cheat.” Brooke’s hands lowered to her hips. “She finished it,” she said, quieter.

  Bill nodded. “My marriage wasn’t perfect, but it was worth saving. I should have fought harder.”

  “We were both shocked when Katie ended up in hospital. When she came out of her coma, and asked for her rings, you and I were both prepared to abandon our relationship in order to help her. If it wasn’t for Taylor …” Brooke shook her head. “She shouldn’t have done what she did. I will never forgive her for telling Katie about us, about our baby. She caused so much pain—oh, I still want to hurt her as much as she hurt us. And you want her to work with us?” Her expression was one of disbelief. Then her face softened. “You seem to have done some serious soul-searching.” It was a statement, not a question.