Cil a walked toward the front of the store, pausing to exchange air kisses with a fashion-mad indie actress she'd gotten to know at runway shows.
"That should show up in a couple of national publications," Cil a said in satisfaction to Paige as she came to a stop beside her. "Chloë always shows up in the party pages."
"Free press is free press," said Paige, self-possessed, as usual, in a narrow honey-colored sheath. "Now, if Trish and Ty were here, you'd be set."
"Darn these actors and screenwriters, always worried about making movies." Cil a watched an editor from Vogue sink down on one of the chaises.
"Of course, the design and the artwork make the whole place."
"I noticed you had a couple of the artists here tonight."
"Why not treat it like an opening? The more buzz the better, as far as I'm concerned. It was a great idea," Cil a said frankly.
A corner of Paige's mouth quirked. "You'l be getting the bil ." She surveyed the room. "So, what does the press think about the stock in the boudoir?"
Cil a nibbled her lip. "I put it out of sight," she confessed. "I'd rather have it get out by word of mouth."
"Probably safer."
"What's safer?" Delaney inquired. She wore a stretchy-knit dress in a beach umbrel a stripe. Her white blond hair swung loose down past her shoulder blades. Sabrina and Thea trailed after her.
"Hiding the toys."
Thea nodded. "What daddy and the board don't know won't hurt them."
A waiter stopped by with a tray of hot hors d'oeuvres and Sabrina picked up a crab puff. "It's about time we got you away from the reporters so that we can gril you. So what's the deal with that man of yours?"
"He's pretty hot, even by your standards," Delaney added, and popped a bit of smoked salmon topped with caviar into her mouth.
Sabrina eyed Cil a speculatively. "This looks a lot more serious than you made it sound."
It made her uneasy to think about it. When she was with Rand, it seemed natural for them to be getting more and more involved. She couldn't imagine doing anything else. When she was away from him, it was a little more alarming, in terms of how deep their connection went. She'd grown up mistrusting relationships because of her parents. She'd kept al of hers light, intentional y. When she'd leaped into the casual affair with Rand, she'd never expected it to be more than good times, great sex. Or if she'd had an inkling of anything more, she'd steadfastly ignored it.
Now, as the weeks had turned into a month, then two, that was becoming a more and more difficult exercise.
She looked at Sabrina, at the rest of the gang. She knew they would understand anything she told them, but she wasn't sure she understood herself right then.
"Right now, he's great. I can't think about where it goes from here." It was true, so much as she said.
"You let that one get away, you've got a hole in your head," Delaney said. "He scores very high on the Supper Club-o-Meter."
"We did take a vote," Sabrina told her. "He gets the official seal of approval."
"He'l be relieved to hear it," Cil a said.
"He'l be relieved to hear what?" Rand asked from behind her.
Cil a jumped and shot a glare at Sabrina opposite her, who just gave her a saintly smile. "That you've gotten the vote of confidence from the gang, here."
Some men would have been embarrassed. Rand just seemed amused. "Good thing. I can sleep tonight," he said easily. "The reporter from the Times is waiting to interview us, so I need to borrow Cil a for a minute."
"Somehow I don't think there's going to be too much sleeping going on," Sabrina murmured to Paige as the pair of them walked away.
* * *
THE WOMAN FROM THE FASHION PAGE of the Times was rail thin and dressed in a luscious silver-and-black knit from St. Johns. "I have to hand it to you, Danforth certainly knows how to do it up right," she said, drink in one silver-tipped hand, recorder in another. "It's certainly not customary for even upscale boutiques." It was precisely the effect Cil a had hoped for. "We wanted to send the message that something different is going on here."
"That much is certainly true. The art is an interesting move. Are you anticipating that that wil be an important part of the store?"
"It's a bit like having musicians play at a bookstore," Rand told her. "We know the art wil more than likely appeal to the design aesthetic of our customers. Wil we sel some? Probably, but it won't be the mainstay of our business. That's fashion."
The reporter nodded. "Danforth Annex was a disappointing performer, by al accounts. What makes you think the reinvention wil work this time?"
"It'l succeed because of a new approach in everything from the stock to the look," Cil a explained. "We're not taking Danforth on a road show, we're building a different store for a whole separate clientele. It's our chance to carry some edgier stock, highlight some of the up-and-coming designers who are taking chances."
"Designers like Cil a D., for example?" the woman asked, fingering the silk of one of Cil a's more outrageous concoctions. "Now that you've released the line, what other retailers are going to carry it?"
"Nobody. The Annex is going to be the exclusive source."
"A single store in a single city?" The reporter's eyebrows rose. "You can't expect to get far with such a limited distribution."
"As the Annex grows, Cil a D. wil grow."
"You're expecting to expand the Annex?" The reporter's gaze sharpened.
"There's a demand for a store like this in multiple markets," Cil a told her. "As to whether we're going to expand, wel , that'l have to wait until it makes sense. Excuse me." She turned to greet box-office queen Megan Barnes, catching both her hands and kissing her on the cheek, then posing for a photo.
"Sorry about that. Are there any other questions I can answer?"
The Times reporter's eyes were bright. "No, this wil do nicely."
"You should be careful talking too much about the spin-out idea," Rand murmured to Cil a. "People are likely to—"
A tal , white-haired man with a basso voice interrupted them. "Excuse me, Rand? Tom Montgomery from the Journal. I interviewed you back when you were with B2B.com."
"Right." Rand shook hands with him. "Glad you could make it. Meet Cil a Danforth, who's my in-house partner on the project."
He made the usual nice noises of greeting, but Cil a could see his focus was on Rand. She gave them both a bril iant smile. "I'm sure you two want to catch up. I'l leave you to it." She turned away, then her mouth curved in surprised pleasure. "Uncle Burt," she cried out, crossing to him, eyes bright.
He wrapped her in a bear hug. "Got no patience for those damned air kisses people do at these things."
Cil a stepped back from him, smiling. "What are you doing here? Did my father come?" she asked before she could help herself. The look of annoyed regret on his face told her the answer, though.
Burt shook his head. "I left those sad sacks at the board dinner."
She should have known better than to expect her father to show, Cil a thought. He had better things to do. He always had better things to do. "Won't they excommunicate you for leaving early?" she asked, struggling to hide her disappointment.
"That? Hel , that wasn't a board meeting. It was just an excuse to tel tal tales and guzzle expensive wine on an expense account. I wasn't about to sit around there with them when the biggest party event of the year was going on. Besides," he leaned in to confide, "my personal trainer would just kil me if I had had dessert. My carb count would go through the roof."
Cil a stared. "Uncle Burt, you, too? Say it's not so. Tel me you haven't gone Atkins and gotten a personal trainer," she pleaded.
He winked. "I haven't. I just heard it three times walking across the room to get to you, so I figured I'd try it out. Show you how hip I am."
Cil a threw back her head and laughed, as he'd probably intended. He'd always been able to make her feel good, always. "I've never doubted your hipness, Uncle Burt."
"I'm so proud of you t
onight, Cil a. Your father is, too, even if he's not here. You should have heard him bragging on you tonight to the rest of the guys. We al know the numbers." He gave her a fond look. "You've just done a champion job with this project, a champion job."
"I didn't do it alone," she reminded him, basking in his praise.
"I know, I know, you had your partner, but it's a lot of your hard work and inspiration, too. You do us proud," he told her, "you do us proud."
It made her want to tear up, it felt so good, and she leaned in to hug him again. He'd always known just what to say to her to make things right.
Burt patted her cheek and tucked her hand through his arm. "Now, give me the grand tour," he said comfortably.
So she started at the front of the store and worked her way to the back, showing him the various innovations, pointing out changes planned for the future. He wasn't just there to give unqualified acceptance, she understood; his questions were penetrating, his capacity for detail endless. He scanned the art with the eye of a connoisseur and gave it a ringing endorsement. He surveyed the clothing with more of a focus on the display fixtures. He looked hastily away from the models wearing Cil a D., and Cil a grinned.
"Uncle Burt, are you blushing?"
"They're young enough to be my granddaughters," he muttered. "I'm not going to stare at my granddaughters naked."
"I guess that means you're not going to get them Annex gift certificates for their birthdays, hmm?"
"Oh, I'l do that," he assured her, busying himself with a tray of canapés passing by. "I just don't want to know how they spend it."
"Careful with those appetizers. Remember your personal trainer."
Burt winked. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."
"She?" Cil a raised an eyebrow.
"Hey, if she's imaginary, my trainer can be anything I want."
Cil a laughed, delighted, then noticed a Dolce & Gabbana–clad woman hovering nearby. Interviews, she thought with resignation, glancing at her watch.
"Got to get back to it?" Burt asked, not missing their shadow.
Cil a nodded. "The editor from Women's Wear Daily, " she murmured, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Gotta make nice."
"No one better than you to do it."
She hugged him. "It was such fun to have you show up here tonight, Uncle Burt. You're wonderful."
And she turned to the editor. It didn't matter that the questions were the same as the past four interviews she'd done.
Circulating was the key, Cil a thought as she chatted with the woman. Same questions, same responses. She could see how celebrities got tired of it after a while.
Then Rand walked by with the Journal reporter. For a moment he caught Cil a's eye and gave her one of those smiles meant for her alone.
Something in her jolted and for a moment it was as though the whole scene paused. The lips of the Women's Wear Daily editor moved but nothing she said registered. Cil a gave her a meaningless smile, not knowing how to tel her that her life had completely changed in the blink of an eye, the flash of a smile. "I'm sorry, could you please repeat that question?" she said instead. After al , how did you tel someone that a look across the room had changed everything?
How did you tel them that you'd realized you were in love?
* * *
THE LONG NIGHT was over. They walked into Rand's foyer. It was as though she were walking on foam rubber in stilettos, this feeling that nothing underfoot was solid or steady.
At the same time, she felt buoyed up. Sil y, she chastised herself. It certainly wasn't what they'd agreed on when they'd launched into this affair. It made her more than a little nervous. What if he didn't love her back? What did people in love do? How did it change things? She'd seen Sabrina and Kel y and Trish go through it, but their affairs were new. She'd seen what could happen.
And yet she'd seen it could work, she'd noticed Rand's parents, the moments in which the depth of their feeling for one another was nearly palpable.
"You okay?" Rand asked. "You've been pretty quiet."
"I'm just exhausted," she said truthful y, walking over to the slider to stare out at the lights.
He walked over to put his arms around her from behind. "You should be proud of yourself." He kissed her hair. "Tonight went incredibly wel ."
"It did. We both should be proud of ourselves." She turned in his arms to face him. "It's going to be a success, Rand."
"It already is."
He kissed her and the kiss flowed through her body, liquefying her muscles. Was it just different because of the awareness that now flowered in her? Was it different because they had built something together?
She wasn't ready to trust the words or the feeling, but she could show him. She couldn't pledge her heart but she could touch him. And in a room lit only by moonlight and the faint light in the foyer, they came together in tenderness, the slow grace of it like emotion brought to life. The slide of hand over skin, the touch of lips to body, the act was a sacrament, the slow shudders of orgasm irrelevant. And when he slipped inside her, they were one.
17
CILLA SAT IN HER OFFICE as the morning wore away, trying to knock items off her to-do list even as she found herself interrupted by congratulatory phone cal s about the Annex and updates from the store manager. Unfortunately, focusing on any of it was nearly impossible. She hadn't slept much of the night, probing at her newly realized feelings like a loose tooth. She wasn't sure what to do about them. She wasn't sure how she felt about, wel , how she felt. As the morning wore away, though, she became increasingly certain of one thing: she had to talk with Rand.
It would be okay, she told herself. Two things she knew she could expect from him were tolerance and patience. He would understand if she told him about her feelings, even if she didn't completely understand them herself. She had to tel him.
If she could just find the nerve.
Cil a groped for her coffee cup, hoping more caffeine might help her fight off the leaden fatigue. Her phone rang. She wondered briefly how the board meeting was going, and she groaned. She'd forgotten to tel Rand about the memo. He ought to at least know they were going to be on the hot seat, given that they were on the agenda to report on the Annex just before lunch. She reached out for the telephone receiver just as a cadaverously thin woman barged into her office.
It was the head of the couture department at Danforth, an excitable ex-model with snow-white hair swept back from her face. "There's a problem with the Yamamoto trunk show."
"We'l take care of it, Simone," Cil a soothed. "If you'l just give me a minute."
"Give you a minute?" Her voice rose. "I'm going to have a department ful of people in exactly," she checked her watch, "six hours, and the merchandise is stil held up in customs."
"I just have one phone cal to make and I'l get in touch."
"No." Simone stood before the desk ready to go into a classic meltdown, and Cil a gave up al hope of being able to do a single thing before Simone's crisis was dealt with. By the time she'd sorted everything out, sending a flurry of faxes and making crack-of-dawn phone cal s to Tokyo, getting the local customs officials involved, she was already late for her slot at the board meeting and her grace period with Rand had gone. It would be al right, she reassured herself. He'd understand.
"Okay, Simone, everything's taken care of with customs. I've got to go speak with the board."
Simone's nostrils flared. So long as she had to rely on others to solve her problems, she was unlikely to ever deal with the board, Cil a thought, stifling a sigh as she walked down to the conference room.
Rand was already there, waiting for her.
The room was paneled in walnut and lit from above. The enormous ebony-colored slab of the conference table gleamed with polish. Abstract art—
original—adorned the back wal . The board sat around the table in deep leather chairs, looking as if they ought to be smoking cigars and drinking port. Sitting among them, Rand looked right at home.
Cil a took
the empty seat next to him.
"Here they are, the whiz kids," Burt Ruxton said with a smile. "You two have done quite a job with your project."
"I see we made the nationals." Bernard Fox held up the newspapers, each folded to the story. "I have to say, when I first heard about the party idea I thought it was a waste of dol ars, but I see the value now. Excel ent exposure for the project. For Danforth and Forth's, also, for that matter."
"The exposure's good," her father agreed. "The revenue reports are better."
"The exposure's going to make the revenue reports shoot through the roof," Cil a assured him. "We've already seen a jump in sales this morning, according to the store manager. Several of the pieces of artwork went last night, and we've had inquiries about others."
"We aren't trying to run a gal ery," her father rumbled.
"Any revenue we get from the art is just gravy," Rand pointed out. "The value is in the cachet it gives the Annex and the quality of customer it attracts."
"And it's working," Cil a said firmly. "If you take a look at the numbers for the first six weeks of operation, you can see we're ahead of budget despite outlays for redecorating and restocking."
Paper flapped as the board examined the documents. Cil a waited. Fox glanced up at her. "Wel executed. The key, though, is going to be holding to the curve."
"Considering that the current set of numbers has only been fueled by word of mouth, I'm confident of that." It was working, she thought jubilantly. The project was a success.
"The other thing you'l find in this section is the strategic plan going forward," Danforth said. "Cil a, here, has an idea about spinning the store out into a chain, assuming its current success continues."
Rand whipped his head around to stare at Cil a, and she felt a sudden twist of anxiety.
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