by A. J. Pine
Holly was still staring at her phone’s screen when an email notification popped up.
It was from Will Evans.
Holly’s first instinct was to ignore it. After all, his presence at Trousseau had been the start of the domino effect that was this crappy day. Or, technically, she supposed yesterday was the crap day, but since she hadn’t exactly gone to sleep yet, yesterday was still today. Whatever.
And why was he still up, anyway? Wasn’t he complaining about jet lag when he freaking dismissed her? Not that she was still harping on that. He was probably writing to tell her all the things he hated about her proposal, most likely about how last season it was. Not that she was still harping on that, either.
Well, if he thought he could trash her ideas and then go off to la-la land, he had another think coming. Holly unlocked her phone and opened her email, readying herself for the worst and already planning her defense. Then she read.
Ms. Chandler—
I’ve had a chance to go over your proposal and wanted to let you know what I thought.
It’s brilliant. You really do know Ms. Chan’s line, and I believe what you’ve drawn up will capture her vision for this show. I actually had a good laugh that you chose the W Hotel for the top choice in venue, as that is where I’m staying. In my preliminary research, I’d had the W on my top list of locales to scout, so I figured why not get to know the place? I’ve not yet met the events coordinator, so how about we pay her a visit in the morning? Nine a.m. coffee at the hotel? I realize you may not get this email before then, as you’re surely sleeping, in which case we can make it ten. I look forward to your response.
Good evening, Ms. Chandler.
Respectfully yours,
Will Evans
Holly giggled. And then she full-on snorted. He signed his emails. Will Evans, stuffy British arse, signed his emails like a business letter. Of course he did. And he’d also called her brilliant. She had not missed that. It wasn’t as if she had anything to prove to him, but after this day—or this yesterday—it was nice to hear something nice.
She decided to respond, on the chance he still had his laptop open, because surely Will Evans did not sit in bed tapping away on a phone. He was at a desk, in a chair, cup of tea next to him, most likely, drafting his most formal email in button-down pajamas and a silk robe.
She snorted again. He was probably still in that slate-gray suit. Then her mind went places it shouldn’t, remembering the millisecond before she made her presence known in the conference room, Will sitting with his jacket off and sleeves rolled up. With his head tilted back and expression relaxed, he certainly was a sight.
She shook her head, freeing herself of the vision, and tapped out her response.
Mr. Evans—
Actually, can I call ya Billy? Nah. Scratch that. I think I should go the other way with the full William. You don’t seem the nickname type. Anyhoo, I’m glad you enjoyed my proposal. Coffee at nine sounds lovely. I look forward to scouting the location and getting the planning underway.
I’m not always on email in the middle of the night. We’re colleagues now, right? Please feel free to use my cell phone number if you need to reach me right away—773-555-0102.
Sleep well.
H
Holly set her phone on the nightstand and snuggled back into bed, her racing thoughts finally reaching the finish line. As she sank into the pillow, eyelids getting heavier, her phone vibrated with a text. She grabbed it once more to see who it was from, not recognizing what looked like a lottery ticket number rather than a phone number, so she opened up the text to read. And now you have my mobile number, too. Sleep well. W
“Well, Mr. Evans,” Holly said aloud. “That wasn’t so formal, was it? Maybe there’s hope for the arse yet.”
Then she programmed him in as a new contact, Billy Evans, and laughed. He didn’t seem the type to enjoy being teased, but then again, he’d never know. It was her own private joke with herself. Brynn might say that was a little sad and lonely, but not Holly. Because Holly would always find Holly funny, and she’d never have to work to impress her.
As her eyes fell closed, she thought about how much better the next day would be. And in six months, Holly would impress the person who mattered most—Andrea—and she’d finally get what she’d always wanted, what she knew she deserved.
Chapter Five
Will stepped into the lift at forty minutes after eight. He’d only just fallen asleep at half past four and figured he could squeeze in a dose of caffeine before Holly arrived, but when the doors opened to the lobby, it wasn’t the espresso bar he noticed first. It was the woman in the sleeveless red peplum dress and high brunette ponytail standing at said espresso bar ordering a drink. Will followed the hair to the bare shoulders and down the fitted bodice of the dress, the flare of the fabric at her narrow waist. He let his eyes dip to where the skirt hit just above the backs of her knees and then down, down to the black leather ankle boots with the stiletto heels. He waited a beat for the woman to finish her order and turn, telling himself that it was just another hotel patron. But Will Evans didn’t have that kind of luck.
The woman in red spun on her spike of a heel, beverage in hand, and beamed when her eyes locked on his. Because of course Holly was early and the type who smiled to greet the morning. Will was so sleep deprived at this point, he only knew it was morning because he trusted his mobile not to lie to him.
Despite his irritation with—well, life in general—the corner of his mouth quirked up in response to her grin, enough that he returned the sentiment, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that radiated from Holly Chandler, and she was at least fifty feet away. What would it be like as he approached her? He had to move toward her now that she’d seen him. It would be quite odd if he didn’t, yet there was this inexplicable hesitation—something that told him not to get too close to her or he’d get pulled into some kind of vortex that wouldn’t spit him out.
This was ridiculous. Nothing had changed since she’d shot daggers at him yesterday afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t swayed by the teasing nature of her email or the warmth he felt at her sign-off.
Sleep well.
Two words. And he imagined that if she’d spoken them, her voice would have been soft and dreamlike, sweet, even. Or maybe it was just that no one had said that to him in a long time. Sophie always said good night when she stayed with him, but something about those words, Holly’s words, had tugged at him.
They were coworkers for the next six months. No, Trousseau had been hired by Tallulah Chan—against Will’s urging. He’d suggested New York, a city tied more tightly to the fashion scene and one that would have provided easier travel between the States and London, the second reason the more selfish one. But Tallulah didn’t want to do what everyone else did. That was the way she designed, and that was the way she went about promoting her career—unconventionally.
So here he was, smack-dab in the middle of a country that wasn’t his, in a city that would force him to work harder to get out of it what he wanted for his client, with jet lag–induced delirium making him think a complete stranger wishing him a good night’s sleep was anything other than a courtesy.
A complete stranger who was, for all intents and purposes, his employee—and Will’s days of blurring the lines between work and play were over. So he would ignore that Holly looked stunning in that dress and that yesterday’s narrowed eyes had been replaced by a smile that lit up the whole bloody room.
“Good morning, Ms. Chandler,” he said when he was near enough, but Holly had closed her eyes, both hands wrapped around her disposable coffee cup as she inhaled the steam that seeped through the opening. Her lips, the exact shade of crimson to match her dress, pressed together in the most serene grin.
He cleared his throat, and she opened her eyes.
“Sorry,” she said, though her tone was unapologetic. “But there is nothing like the scent of hazelnut in the morning.” Her grin grew wide again. “Don’t yo
u think?”
He shook his head, pleased for a reason to disagree with her.
“I prefer the espresso as is,” he countered, stepping past her to order a triple shot. Then he looked at her over his shoulder. “I do wish you would have waited and let me put your coffee on my room tab.”
Holly barked out a laugh. “I may not be able to afford a pair of four-hundred-dollar shoes, Mr. Evans, but I can cover my own latte, thank you.”
He turned back to the barista and gave him his order, upping it to a quadruple shot, and shook his head slowly. He’d need the extra jolt to keep up with her today.
“Your quadruple shot,” the barista said moments later, handing Will his cup.
“Cheers,” he said to the young man behind the counter, then dropped a few bills in the tip jar.
“Four shots?” she asked, eyes wide. “They should make you sign a waiver for that or something.”
There it was again, that involuntary twitch of his lip, but he never let the smile poke through. This was business. Four shots meant business.
Holly lifted a bright yellow bag—Will couldn’t place the designer but knew he’d seen it on the runway somewhere—and slung it over her shoulder. She caught him staring.
“I like color,” she said, then did a mini curtsy. “Like the dress? I went for the red.”
She raised a brow at him, and he knew she still hadn’t let go of the shoe comment from their first meeting.
She sat on one of the high-backed, white leather couches that curved like snakes through the W’s ornate lobby. Then she patted the spot next to her.
Will unslung his leather case from over his shoulder and smoothed out his vest.
“You’ve got something against it, I can see,” Holly said as he sat instead in a chair across from her. “Color, I mean.”
He looked down at his beige linen vest and matching trousers, then back at her.
“Shirt’s blue,” he retorted, making sure not to sound defensive. “Tie’s navy. I think I’ve got color taken care of.”
She shrugged and took a sip of her hazelnut concoction. He removed the lid from his four shots, enjoying a larger swig of the rich yet bitter liquid.
Holly wrinkled her nose and leaned over the small coffee table between them, peering into his cup.
“You like that?” she asked. “Like, you really, truly enjoy it?”
Will sighed. “When it’s brewed right,” he admitted. “Yes, I quite like it. Right now I suppose I just need it.”
Holly hummed and leaned back against the couch.
“Hard time falling asleep last night?” she asked, and Will straightened in his chair.
“Right. What are we doing chitchatting over coffee? I thought we were going to call on the hotel’s events coordinator. I’ve looked her up. Marisa Gonzalez. She will be in her office at ten, so I thought we’d go over a game plan, talk about a couple of notes I have on the proposal.”
Holly set her coffee down on the table and held up her hand, giving him a pointed look.
“Slow your roll, there, Prince Harry. I thought my proposal was—and I’m quoting you here, by the way—brilliant.”
Will rolled his eyes. “Right. That doesn’t mean I don’t have a few notes. Mainly, it’s the date you propose.”
Holly clasped her hands in her lap. “Ms. Chan is busy on New Year’s Eve?” she asked.
“No,” he said firmly, “but hotels like this throw mammoth parties for the new year. It’s June. I’m sure they’ve already got this year’s planned.”
“Riiiight,” Holly said, drawing out the word with a tone Will knew was surely mocking him. “Why would the W want a high-profile event such as this on the same night ticket-buying partygoers will be deciding where to drop a load of cash on a celebration and a room to sleep in? I’m assuming we’ll make the show invitation only, but imagine the classy crowd the hotel will draw for other concurrent events with this one on the docket as well?”
Will scrubbed a hand over his jaw and sighed, scratching at the itchy start of the beard-growing process.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” she asked with a self-satisfied grin.
“You may be onto something,” he allowed. “But we won’t know until we speak to Ms. Gonzalez and get a quote. A holiday will up their fee, especially if they don’t know who Ms. Chan is yet.”
This wouldn’t surprise him, but then again, that’s why Tallulah had hired him in the first place. Will Evans made sure that those who were unknown to the public did not remain as such for long.
“I’d suggest we offer a few alternative dates, as my client has said she could do anything before January 15, which is when the new line launches officially in the U.S.”
Holly nodded. “Challenge accepted,” she said.
“Pardon?” Will asked.
“You propose your dates, and I’ll propose mine,” she added. “We’ll see who wins.”
Will leaned back in his chair and sipped his espresso. “It’s not a competition.”
They were meant to work together on this, so why the need to challenge him? Then he remembered their introduction yesterday, Andrea’s mention of this event being the end of her sitting in one of those cubicle things.
After this account—once the calendar rolled over to the new year—Will’s contract would be up, and he’d finally be free to be the father he should have been all along. This show meant amazing life changes for both of them. He could respect that.
Holly held up her cup in a gesture of cheers. “It is now.”
…
Holly sat next to Will in a reception area outside a small set of offices on the W’s lobby level. He was reading a newspaper on his iPad, so Holly decided to check today’s horoscope. She thought back to yesterday’s consideration that a person’s clothes spoke the truth about them. Holly had gone to Andrea’s office hoping for a promotion and instead felt like someone had told her that her cat died—and she didn’t even have a pet. Maybe she gave off the wrong vibe by wearing all black. Maybe the app was onto something and she hadn’t listened.
She chuckled softly. Holly knew her horoscope didn’t control her destiny or anything. She had free will, made her own decisions, and trusted herself to make the right ones. But she felt a certain comradery with the stars—the ability to shine so brightly from so far away. That was a powerful sort of magic. Okay, fine, it was science, but couldn’t everyone use a little magic in their life? Maybe her little horoscope app was just that—still believing in magic.
Gemini: A strange visitor will come to you in search of a gift. He/she will offer you something in return. Professional obligations intensify. Prepare to bring the office home with you this week.
This time she held in a snort. Bring the office home. Her whole life was her office, and that was just fine. She knew she was still young by industry standards. At twenty-six she was still four years younger than Andrea had been when she’d finally left modeling for the business side of things. But Holly had been with Andrea from the ground up, one of her first hires. For five years she’d learned the ins and outs of the business. She knew she was just as good as Andrea, and she also knew Andrea wanted to share the growing workload. The carrot still dangled, and Holly had not yet caught it. This show would be it, her ticket to the top. If that meant bringing work home this week, next week, next month, then that would be the plan. Thanks, magic, she thought. No need to hit her over the head with the obvious.
“Ms. Chandler and Mr. Evans?”
Holly’s head snapped up to see a young woman in a chic, short-sleeved black pantsuit—and red pumps. Will cleared his throat and threw her a glance, and she threw him a mental screw you.
Holly stood to shake the woman’s hand, but Will beat her to it.
“Ms. Gonzalez?” he asked, hand gripping hers, and the woman nodded, soft brown curls bouncing on her shoulders as she did.
“I’m Will Evans, and this is Holly Chandler,” he added, his smile broad, and Holly almost stumbled at the sight of it.
She’d only known him for twenty-four hours, but she knew well enough that the Will Evans she met yesterday didn’t smile like the guy standing next to her right now.
Wait a minute. Why hadn’t he smiled like that when he met her? Holly considered herself smile inducing enough.
“Holly?”
She blinked at the sound of her name and realized that Marisa Gonzalez was now holding out her hand. How long had she zoned out? Was she staring at Will or Marisa? Because right now, both were staring at her.
“Sorry, right.” Holly shook Marisa’s hand. “Holly Chandler. But I guess Will already said that.”
She waited for Marisa to usher her into an office or something, but the woman made no move to do so.
“My assistant tells me you are interested in booking a fashion show at the W?”
Okay, so it looked like they were going to have a meeting right here.
“Yes,” Holly said. “Our client—Tallulah Chan—would like to do her American launch here in Chicago, and we thought the W on New Year’s Eve would be perfect.”
Will gave her a pointed glance, but he didn’t interrupt or correct her on the date. It would be poor form for them to argue when they were trying to make a deal for the busiest party day of the year. Competition or not, Holly considered this a point for her team.
Marisa’s smile faltered. “Look,” she said. “I would never give an outright no to business for the hotel, but we don’t need any business on New Year’s Eve. Our party sells out every year, and we use the grand ballroom for the event, which would not leave you much space in the venue should you choose one of our other rooms. Plus, there’s no way I could offer you any sort of a deal on a night when, six months out, most large venues in the city are already booked. It would cost your client a fortune. If there’s any other night—”
Holly opened her mouth to speak, but Will cut her off.
“My client…” he said, then paused for a second. “Our client,” he continued, his eyes on Marisa and Marisa only, “would love to ring in the new year at your hotel. Ms. Chandler and I have a few brilliant ideas for how this could benefit the W’s turnout for the new year as well as Ms. Chan’s launch. We’d love to put together a formal presentation for you and see if we can’t come up with something that has as much to offer you as it does us.”