by A. J. Pine
She was just the one who proposed a bit of fun and ended up falling in love with a guy whose life didn’t seem to have room in it for her. Not that she’d truly told him how she felt—I might love you, too? Ugh. She was the worst. Not that it mattered, because Will Evans only had room in his life for his daughter.
Sophie. Even after one day, she adored that little girl. But Will was a father, with fatherly responsibilities. In London. And Holly was no stranger to putting a relationship at the bottom of her priority list. She found it unfortunate that she’d finally realized she wanted to put the work in with Will, outside the office, just as he decided he couldn’t. But she still understood.
She leaned forward, rested her arms on Andrea’s desk, then let her forehead fall with a soft thud against the wood. Again. And then one more time after that.
“What is happening to me?”
She groaned. Andrea laughed.
“They’re called feelings, Holly. Are you not enjoying them?”
She looked up and met Andrea’s gaze.
“Are you going to make me partner, or am I too distracted for the job?”
Andrea leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“How badly do you want it?” she asked.
Holly rolled her eyes—at her boss. But screw it. She was an open book at this point, and there was no reason to hold back.
“I’ve been with you from the beginning,” she said. “I’ve been loyal, hardworking, and you know I can hold my own directing a show.” Her eyes were getting misty, and it had to be from lack of sleep. She’d never had trouble sleeping alone, but now her body had the sense memory of what it was like to sleep with someone else molded to her own shape, warm arms wrapped around her naked body. As tired as she’d been—and the last few weeks before the show had been the busiest—she wasn’t getting more than three to four hours of sleep a night.
“I love what I do, Andrea. And I’m good at it, and I know you don’t want to run this ship on your own forever. You built Trousseau from the ground up, and you’ve done an amazing job. With me next door you can do even better.”
If she knew that her future was set—if Andrea gave the word that she’d start the new year as Trousseau’s new partner—then that would be enough. This was everything she’d always wanted. How could it not be?
Andrea pulled a file folder from her desk drawer and slid it across the desk.
“I agree,” she said. “Maybe you can sign these, then?”
Holly opened the folder, and inside she found a contract.
“I trust you’ll want a lawyer to take a look at the paperwork before you sign on the dotted line, but I think you’ll be happy with my terms and the location clause.”
Holly’s hand shook as she flipped through the pages. Brynn could read it for her. She’d taken a couple contracts classes in law school before going the CPA route. Everything was lining up. This was exactly what she wanted, and suddenly it terrified her to get it.
“Location clause?”
Andrea shrugged. “You’re about to solidify us in the international market,” she said. “I may need you to scout some international talent from time to time. Maybe even for extended periods of time.”
Her boss and—she guessed—soon-to-be partner winked.
“Andrea, I don’t understand. You already have the contract? B-but the show hasn’t even happened yet. What if something goes wrong? What if I mess up? What if you change your mind?”
Andrea laughed, though Holly couldn’t imagine what was so funny. Did this woman know what she was doing, giving half her company to someone who had her priorities all jumbled up?
“What if work isn’t the only number one on my list anymore?” Holly added, not realizing she knew the answer to the question until she asked it. “What if I don’t live and breathe just for Trousseau?”
Because she finally got what had changed. Just like she put her theater roles first when she was in high school and college, she put her career above every other connection in her life. Being good at something and having others recognize it was an intoxicating feeling. And those feelings were always on her terms—under her control. A performance ran from Wednesday through Sunday? She’d be adored for those four days and then move on to whatever came next. She could be a star, shine bright until her time was up, and know that feeling would come again with the next role, the next show, the next time she saw her name in the paper.
But having Will in her life? That had filled those spaces in between, the ones she didn’t know needed filling. He’d seen her pull off reconstructing a lost presentation in little more than twenty-four hours. And he’d seen her helpless and sick, afraid of failure, unwilling to admit she even missed him let alone was falling for him. Even if he wasn’t here, Will made her understand what Andrea was offering, what it really meant to put that kind of trust in someone else.
“Do you know what it means to me to have you sitting next door—or wherever you set up your home base?” Andrea asked. “It means I don’t have to live and breathe just Trousseau anymore. I never asked that of you, Holly. That was all your doing. But now I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine, and no one needs to carry the weight alone. No one needs to sacrifice one aspect of her life for another.”
Holly nodded. “I get it,” she said. “I finally get it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The taxi pulled up in front of the W at half past six, and the fashion show began at seven. In the world of professionalism, he had never cut it this close. But in all her six years, Sophie had never been so sick. He’d almost missed the show altogether until her fever finally broke yesterday morning, and he’d been lucky enough to get a flight in just enough time.
According to Will’s internal clock, it was already after midnight, and he was running on fumes. He handed the driver a wad of cash and grabbed his small weekend bag. He’d only be here for two nights before heading back to England for good. Well, he guessed that all depended on Holly.
This was not supposed to be how their reunion went. There was going to be coffee or beer or wine. And a quiet space, like a corner booth at Kingston’s. Her kitchen. His hotel room. After missing his chance to ring her on Christmas Eve, he decided the only way to do this was in person. They would have a chance to sort them out, if there was still a them, before a perfectly amazing event that would earn Holly an office with a door and Will his year to leave everything behind to focus on his daughter.
He found Tallulah in a lounge just next to the ballroom, one that would serve as the dressing area for the models. She was putting finishing touches on her pieces now that the women were wearing them, and there was Holly, lining them up in the order they would enter the room and take the stage.
His breath caught in his throat, and his first instinct was to go to her, but he wouldn’t interrupt her moment. This evening belonged to Holly, not him. So he watched her from a distance, heart pounding in his chest.
“There he is!” Tallulah called, her long black hair swishing across her shoulders as she strode toward him. “This is sound, Billy. Really sound. I mean, I loved the photos you and Holly had in your presentation, but seeing this place in the flesh? Just brilliant.”
Holly looked up, her eyes meeting his. He smiled, because how could he not? She was the woman he loved, and no matter what came of this evening, he couldn’t react to her in any other way. Holly’s eyes widened for only a second, and then she returned the gesture.
Marisa burst through the door, grinning from ear to ear.
“We need to get everyone backstage,” she said. “It’s just about go time!”
Holly tore her gaze from his and nodded in Marisa’s direction. “Here we go!” she said, and led the line of Tallulah Chan–clad women out the door.
He let out a breath as he watched her exit, his eyes finally registering the dress—black lace hugging her skin at the bodice, long bell sleeves, and an asymmetrical skirt that hit just below midthigh. Her bare midthigh. A Tallulah Chan origi
nal. But it was what came next that nearly drove him to madness, his eyes raking down her legs that were covered from knee to toe in ruby-red suede.
“Your lass is quite a stunner, yeah?” Tallulah said, sidling up to him.
“She’s not my…I mean, we aren’t…”
She nudged his hip with her own.
“Bollocks, Billy. Pick your chin up off the floor and come watch my show. Then she’s all yours.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but he was obviously an open book.
“Maybe you could refrain from the whole Billy thing at least.”
She laughed. “Is that what your…” She cleared her throat. “Is that what Holly calls you?”
Will closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I’d actually welcome that at the moment. But no. I think she has a larger vocabulary of words to describe me these days. Arsehole. Wanker. Bloody prick.”
“Ah.” She grinned. “It’s worse than I thought. She’s quite a talent, too. The whole package. Well, don’t let my little show get in the way of your love story.” She winked at him and then sauntered toward the door, graceful and poised as if she was about to take the runway herself. “I saw the way she looked at you, William,” she called back to him. “You’ve still got a shot. Don’t blow it this time.”
He loved Holly. A month hadn’t changed that, but his timing was shite. And the distance that had grown between them since he’d blamed her for his own insecurity as a parent? He had to hope one evening would be enough time to get from one end to the other.
He stood at the back of the ballroom and watched as Holly Chandler and Tallulah Chan took the stage hand in hand as the DJ played Fleetwood Mac’s “Go Your Own Way.” The industry professionals stood for the women, applauding as they took a lap down the runway together. Holly had gotten what she wanted. She was a star, and he only hoped she knew how brightly she shone. He clapped, too, hidden behind the crowd that was already transitioning to New Year’s Eve party mode.
When designer and director exited the stage, he hurried back to the dressing area to catch up with them, to grab a few precious minutes to tell Holly everything he should have said weeks ago. But as soon as she entered the room, Andrea was already there doling out champagne. Someone from the Sun-Times walked past, flashing a press pass and asking to speak to the two women, and he watched as Holly beamed, nodding yes but asking the guy to wait a moment while she grabbed a bag from a nearby dressing station and pulled out a folder and a pen. She opened it on the table and bent to sign a page before handing it to Andrea.
So she’d made partner, not that he doubted she would. He realized this was her night, though. And he had no business making it about him. So he backed out of the room, letting her have her moment.
Even if it meant he might not get his.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gemini: Just because you make the rules doesn’t mean you can break them. Or does it?
After the W had gone from fashion show to fashionable New Year’s Eve festivities, Holly headed back to Kingston’s. She’d originally planned to stay at the W long after the show had ended, but when it had sunk in after Christmas that she’d be staying alone—well, that had altered her plans. Jamie had offered up the bar for anyone who wanted a more intimate celebration.
Once Holly arrived, though, she wasn’t quite ready to put her party hat on. She stood at the foot of the stairs. Annie’s boyfriend, Brett, was on the upper level playing DJ for the after-party, spinning a perfect sixties- and seventies-inspired set that continued the boho vibe from the fashion show. “Benny and the Jets” had Jeremy dancing behind the downstairs bar while Jamie stayed composed as he filled pint glasses for those who’d taken the shuttle from the W. Everything was—dare she say it?—perfect.
Everything except that sinking feeling in her stomach, the one she’d felt when she saw Will leave the hotel without so much as a congratulations.
“I’ve already seen pictures online, Holl. You were amazing tonight,” Brynn said, sidling up beside her. “So what’s with the frowny face?”
Holly eyed her sister, taking her in from head to toe, pausing at her feet.
“When did I lend you those boots?” she asked, and Brynn laughed.
“I might have snuck them out when you were putting the finishing touches on your hair.”
Holly let out a sigh.
“Do not walk in the snow with those. You took a cab here tonight, right? Please tell me you took a cab.”
Brynn gripped her sister’s shoulders.
“It’s a wind chill of negative eleven out there. I took a cab from the bathroom to this end of the bar.”
Holly rolled her eyes.
“Relax, honey,” Brynn continued. “You did it. And, um, you look gorgeous.”
She curtsied and smiled. “Thanks.”
“Is he here yet?” her sister asked, and Holly knew she meant that certain Brit.
She shook her head. “I’m guessing he’s not even coming. He was at the show, but he left without really saying a word to me. I think this might have been it, B. I think it’s really over.”
“Then you guessed wrong,” Brynn said, nodding to the door.
There were times Holly wished she could conjure a thought and just as quickly have that thought become reality. Like when she ran out of ice cream. If she could think about Häagen-Dazs salted caramel and make a pint appear on her counter, that would be fantastic. This season’s Jimmy Choos? If she could think those into existence, she’d have Carrie Bradshaw’s closet in no time, and she’d probably live in it—happy and fulfilled with all the shoes. Or Choos. Either way.
But as much as she’d been thinking about Will, she couldn’t conjure the right words, especially if the words included good-bye.
“Oh, shit, honey,” Brynn said. “Look at him.”
He was taking off his coat and handing it to one of Kingston’s servers who was acting as coat check. Holly knew Brynn wasn’t referring to the fitted red sweater or the shirt and tie underneath. Yes, he was gorgeous. But he looked how she felt—bone weary and dejected, and she wasn’t sure she could handle more.
“I know he said hurtful things, Holl. But I can also tell that man is hurting himself.”
Holly shrugged.
“Our six months are up,” she said. “That’s probably all he has to say.”
“Your six months are bullshit,” Brynn countered.
Holly had no argument left in her, so she just watched him as he scanned the crowd, his eyes finding hers. Jeez, the two of them were dressed like they were ready to pose for their own couple’s Christmas card. But they weren’t a couple. Not anymore. And not ever, if they were going to get technical about things.
Holly turned toward her sister to argue, but Brynn was already behind the bar helping Jamie and Jeremy.
Traitor, she thought. And then she heard the voice she’d longed for since that awful day after Thanksgiving.
“Everything all right?” he asked, and she nodded, then shook her head.
A small smile broke through his morose, Eeyore-like expression, and Holly realized that’s what she must have looked like for the past few weeks.
“I don’t mope,” she said, and Will’s brows drew together.
“Okay—” he began, but she wasn’t going to let him. The floodgates were open, and she suddenly had everything to say.
“I don’t mope, not over relationships. I walk away unscathed. I dust off my sleeves and go back to life as it was before. No harm, no foul.”
He crossed his arms and nodded. They stood off to the side in a quiet nook of unused tables, a stream of figures striding up and down the stairs behind them.
“And I get that you have Sophie and that your life is in England and that you said some really awful things because you were in a really awful situation. And as much as it hurt for you to blame your insecurities on me—because that’s what they are, Will, your issues that you need to straighten out—I should be over it by now. I sho
uld be over you.”
He grinned. Dammit, he freaking grinned, and he looked so good doing it she almost forgot she was giving him hell for making her fall in love.
“May I have permission to speak, Ms. Chandler?”
Holly huffed out a breath and tried to think of something else to say just to spite him, but she couldn’t. She’d just about said it all.
“Fine,” she told him. “Permission granted.”
He took a step closer, enough that she had to back up against the underside of the stairway, enough that she could smell him, and she had to fight not to let her familiar urges win out over logical thought.
“I am an arse,” he said, and she nodded. He laughed, and again it took effort not to smile back. “Thank you for agreeing.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she ached to do the same, to run her fingers over the world-weary lines at the corner of his eyes. She had to remind herself what had weighed on him from the start—how they’d ended up where they were now.
“Shite,” he said. “I don’t even know where to begin. I probably should have planned this better.”
Holly rolled her eyes.
“Maybe that’s part of the problem,” she said. “Trying to fit everything into a plan.” She knew she wasn’t only talking about him, but he had the floor. “Why don’t you try just saying whatever it is you want me to know without worrying about the right words or the plan or—”
He placed two fingers gingerly over her lips, and she stopped talking.
“Fine,” he said. “No plan. Just me telling you that I’ve been a mess since Thanksgiving. That I never should have let the past month go by without speaking to you. That my behavior was inexcusable. But I didn’t know how to fix what I thought couldn’t be fixed.” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t blame you for what happened at the museum, Holly.”
“Aquarium,” she corrected. Then her own hand flew to her mouth. “My bad,” she said, the sound muffled through her hand. “You sound like you’re gearing up to something good, so I’ll just zip it.”