by Shirley Jump
“Although the new big thing is muted colors like grays and browns, I think the trend is going to be bright colors. Shoes that scream ‘look at me.’ Women pay a lot of money for shoes because they want people to look at them, and I just don’t see this muted color thing hanging around long.”
Caleb leaned in closer to her, and at the same time the cab turned right, closing the distance between them even further. She inhaled his cologne, caught sight of the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, and wondered for one long second what it would be like to kiss him in that very spot.
“Then what do your footwear choices say about you?” He gestured at her feet, at the flat black leather boots she had paired with her jeans. They were plain, ordinary and exactly the opposite of what she’d been talking about. She’d had the pair for years, and their position as her favorite work shoes showed in the wear and tear on the soles.
“These?” She laughed. “These are practical.”
“Is that the real reason you wear them? Or, as you just pointed out, do you want the opposite? For people not to notice you?”
“I’d rather be noticed for my mind than my shoes.” Except a part of her wanted people to see her walk into a room and think, wow. The way they had always reacted to Diana, the one who had worn the fancy pink dresses and sparkly ballet slippers. Kinda hard to be the center of attention, though, with just her brain and a pair of scuffed boots.
“Shoes or not,” Caleb said, his voice low and dark and his gaze locked on hers, “I noticed. You.”
The sentence, broken apart like that into two separate ones, rocketed through her. He’d noticed her. Paid attention to the details. It made her wonder what he would have done if she looked like one of those models he dated. With the windswept hair and pouty red lips, the triple coats of mascara and breast-enhancing bras.
“And tell me, Mr. Lewis,” she said, reverting to the distance of using his last name, “is being noticed by you a good thing or a bad thing?”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE restaurant had been a bad choice. What had he been thinking?
That maybe he’d impress the sassy reporter with his choice of a “hot spot”? Yeah, not so much, if the annoyance on Sarah Griffin’s face was any indication of his success rate. If anything, he’d achieved the opposite result.
“Caleb!” The third model in the last ten minutes came by his table, brushing air kisses onto both his cheeks. Her floral perfume flooded his senses, shoving his nostrils into a garden of lilies. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! We should do lunch!”
He murmured something that sounded like assent, then, thankfully, the model saw someone more important and more interesting, and she breezed off, calling out a greeting to the movie producer across the room.
“Well, you’re certainly popular,” Sarah said. “Perhaps lunch was a bad idea.”
“I promise, I’m all yours. Cindy Crawford herself could come by and I’d just ignore her.” Caleb shot Sarah a grin.
It didn’t work its usual magic. If anything, Sarah Griffin seemed completely immune to his charms. Sure, she’d smiled a few times at him, but that wasn’t the same as flirting, or returning his attempts to flirt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been involved with a woman who challenged him. Who made him work for her attention. Sarah Griffin didn’t seem to be the least bit attracted to him. A smarter man would take that as a sign just to let it go.
He shouldn’t have cared—after all, she had written all those awful stories about him—but for some reason, it mattered to Caleb that Sarah saw him in a different light than the one cast on him by the gossip pages.
Okay, so the last ten minutes hadn’t exactly helped his case.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
“I thought you wanted to get something to eat.”
“This environment isn’t exactly conducive to conversation.” He rose, dropped a few bills on the table, then waited for Sarah to join him. “We’ll grab a bite somewhere else.”
If she had reservations about the change of plans, she didn’t voice them. Instead, she followed him out of the restaurant and onto the streets of New York. He hailed a cab, and a minute later they were speeding toward the shopping district. “Before we eat, I want to show you something.”
“Okay.” A little doubt edged the tone of her voice.
The cab slowed in front of a small boutique on a busy corner. A brightly colored awning hung a semicircular greeting over the antique front door. As they walked inside, a small bell tinkled a greeting. It was a cozy shop, filled with bright colors, several small loveseats and a half dozen antique standing mirrors. Caleb had always admired the combination of cozy with chic. This was the kind of shop New York was famous for—as far from department-store shopping as one could get.
As Caleb crossed the room, a small Asian woman slipped out from behind the counter. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Lewis.”
He gave the woman a smile and shook her hand. “How’s business, Lia?”
“Just fine, just fine.” She waved at the half dozen or so customers milling about the shop. The quiet sound of hangers sliding over racks punctuated conversations. “There’s been plenty of activity, and from what I’ve been hearing, people are looking forward to next season’s models, too.”
“Great.” He gestured to Sarah, and she moved next to him, but not close enough to touch him. “This is Sarah Griffin, a reporter with the fashion industry. I thought I’d give her a little insider peek at how my business works.”
Lia arched a brow in interest, and probably in the hopes of some free publicity for her shop. “That’s wonderful. If you’re going to pick a subject, Mr. Lewis is a great one. I’ve dealt with a lot of fashion houses, and his is…different.”
“Really? How?” Sarah fished her reporter’s pad out of her purse, and clicked on a pen. Clearly intrigued.
Caleb drifted away from the two women, figuring that Lia would feel more comfortable talking about him and his company if he wasn’t standing right there. He stood to the side, watching the shoppers go through the racks. One woman—mid-thirties, he guessed, and wearing an A-line skirt and light green floral-print cardigan—stopped by a rack filled with this season’s dresses from LL Designs. He watched her fingers skip over the hangers as she sorted through the different choices, past this one, then that one, pausing at another. She selected a camel-colored sheath, held it to her chest, considering it for a long moment. Just when Caleb thought she might buy the dress, the woman slipped it back onto the rack and moved on to the next rack of clothes—ones from another designer. Damn.
He was watching the exact problem he was having with declining profits in action. Frustration brimmed inside him. He couldn’t force people to buy the clothes from LL Designs, and if he cornered the woman and asked her why she hadn’t bought the dress, chances were she’d think he was crazy. And even if she did answer him, he’d bet she’d say she couldn’t quite tell him what it had been that had tipped the scales into the no arena. Personal purchases were emotional decisions, and clearly, he wasn’t hitting the right emotions.
“Well, you have a fan here,” Sarah said, slipping in beside him.
“Lia is a great customer. She’s been buying LL Designs since the day she opened.” Caleb sent the shop owner a wave, then held the door for Sarah as they left the shop. The afternoon sun hit them with a welcome blast of soft warmth, tempered by the noisy hum of a city at work. Taxis hurrying to their destinations, people entering and exiting buildings, delivery trucks stopping and starting along their routes.
The scents of roast beef, honey ham and spicy mustard drifted from a mobile sandwich truck half a block away. “What’s your favorite?”
She smiled. “Pastrami on rye. Not the best choice for my hips, but try telling that to my stomach.”
Caleb chuckled. “A woman after my own heart. Don’t tell my doctor, but that’s my favorite, too.”
A smile extended between them, a connection. The world s
eemed to drop away, the noises fading into the background, the stresses of a moment ago gone for now. All Caleb saw was the curve of Sarah’s lips, the way her smile seemed to light her eyes, her face.
“Sir? Can I help you?”
The question jolted Caleb back to the present. “Uh, two pastrami on rye, please.” He fished the money out of his pocket, paid the man, then took the sandwiches and handed one to Sarah. They both added mustard, which elicited another of those connecting smiles, then stepped back to eat their sandwiches.
“Lia had really nice things to say about you,” Sarah said. “Things that…” her voice trailed off. “Surprised you?”
She shrugged, then nodded. “I had no idea you were so hands-on with the shops that carry your clothes. She said you come in there regularly to see how things are going, to ask her opinion and get her feedback.”
“She’s the one dealing directly with the public. It’s better than asking a bunch of suits what they think, or pulling in some random focus group. You want answers, go directly to the source.”
“Like you?”
“What answers do you want that you haven’t gotten from me?”
An amused smile flicked across her face. “A better question is what answers have I gotten, because that answer is zero. You’ve perfected the art of no comment.”
“I don’t think my personal life has anything to do with how I run my business.”
“Maybe.” Sarah took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. “Maybe not.”
“Is that what this is going to turn into? An exposé on Caleb Lewis the playboy?”
She tossed the paper wrapper into a nearby trash can and dusted off her hands. “Of course not.”
Had he made the right choice when he’d gone to her desk instead of the desks of any of the other writers at Behind the Scenes? He tossed his trash away, then leaned against a lamppost, studying her. She had such beautiful eyes, wide and rich in color. Even behind the bronze-rimmed glasses, their unique green color showed, flashing like emeralds when she was frustrated, softening like deep jade when she was at ease. “If I trust you with this information—some of which is very sensitive proprietary information—how do I know you won’t go splashing it across the gossip pages?”
“Because writing that column isn’t what I really want to do.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
“I was assigned to that column. I didn’t ask to write it. And at the time…” She let out a sigh. “It was a job.”
What had been hidden by that sigh? What piece of information had Sarah left out?
He’d started out with one image of her this morning—a get-it-at-all-costs type of reporter. Someone who wrote that drivel, and felt no compunctions about a single word. Had he been wrong? Or was she just feigning regret?
“Exactly what kind of job has you splashing my private life all over the pages of the magazine?” he asked. “And not in the most flattering manner, either.”
“It wasn’t a personal vendetta.”
“That’s what people say when they aren’t the ones at the other end of the pen.” Caleb paced off a couple of steps, then came back.
Damn. That had come out a lot harsher than he’d intended. He thought about explaining, then caught himself. He didn’t owe anybody an explanation for his comings and goings. Certainly not the very woman who chose to post such an unflattering portrait of him.
“I’m not writing anything that isn’t the truth,” Sarah said, her voice low enough that only he could hear their conversation. “You are taking out a different model every night. You are seen at the hottest clubs in town until the wee hours of the morning.”
“Touché.” But inside…ouch.
Set out there like that, the truth about his life sounded so…empty. Vapid. Sarah Griffin, though, didn’t know the story behind the story, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her now. Despite what she’d just said, he was sure she’d probably use any information he gave her about his life to move him to the top of her gossip column. It was none of her business why his social calendar was packed tighter than a jar of peanut butter.
The best thing he could do was focus the reporter’s attention on something of his choosing. Like his company—instead of his nightlife.
“I’d much rather write the kind of story you’ve given me a taste of today. The real inside workings of a company,” she said, as if she’d read his mind. “Something informative, fun and with a bit of in-depth analysis. So if you—” At this, she leaned forward, and the distance between them closed to mere inches, enough for him to inhale the light floral scent of her perfume, such a stark, fresh contrast to the overbearing floral scent of the model in the restaurant. “—want to work with me, instead of argue with me, then maybe I can put together something great. And if I do, that’ll give me the perfect reason to go to my boss and get reassigned.”
He’d like nothing better than to get the dogged Sarah Griffin off the subject of his personal life. Maybe some other reporter at Behind the Scenes would find a different fashion exec to focus the laser light of the paparazzi on.
Why had he even visited the topic of her columns? He should have just let all that alone. But that damned masochistic side of him kept insisting he should prove to Sarah Griffin that he was more than a playboy heir. Just because she was a reporter?
Or because she’d proven back in the shop that her opinion could be valuable?
Or for another reason? One that had more to do with the way she smiled and the light in her eyes?
Sarah drew the familiar slim reporter’s pad out of her purse, clicked on a pen, then returned her attention to Caleb. “So, shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Get to work. Instead of arguing about my job.”
“Getting back to work sounds like a great idea,” he said. And doing that would keep him from focusing on her eyes. Her smile. The way she emphasized every point with a little flick of her hand. “As I, uh, mentioned, LL Designs is launching a shoe line this spring. If you’re interested, I think it would make a great story.”
“That’s a press release, not a story.”
“Not if you cover it from beginning to end. Design to production, as it were. I’d have you be in on every step of the process, and really see how something like this comes together.”
An excited light danced in her gaze. “That would make a fabulous story. And I know the readers would love to read all that behind-the-scenes information. Not to mention it would cover one of the favorite topics at the magazine.”
He chuckled. “Let me guess. Shoes?”
She quirked a grin at him. “Of course. Is there anything else more universally loved by women?”
“That’s what my assistant says.” He ran a hand through his hair and considered Sarah again. Maybe there could be more to this than just an interview and a little good publicity for the business.
To look at her, one wouldn’t think that Sarah Griffin had any interest in fashion. She didn’t wear designer clothes, didn’t walk around in stilettos. Yet, just from the few comments she’d made in the factory, he knew she had an insight into the world of fashion that not everyone had. A way of looking at it, dissecting it and then offering perceptive comments.
If he spent the next few days with Sarah Griffin, allowing her that behind-the-scenes look, then he’d be taking a chance. Allowing a reporter—the very type he had always seen as the enemy—to get close, could easily backfire. But it could also be a boon. Having Sarah around would give him an opportunity to pick her brain. Not just to get her input on why LL Designs was struggling, but also maybe to find out a little more information about what his competition was up to. Why the other designers, Frederick K in particular, had managed to steal away so much of his market share. Not to mention why the other designer was suddenly so interested in buying out LL Designs.
“Are you interested in the story?”
“Very.” She scribbled something on the pad. “Do you have time to talk now?”
He glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the office, but we can talk while we walk.”
She fell into step beside him, as they wove between the people filling the sidewalk. “Tell me a little more about the company and what you’re hoping to accomplish by branching out.”
“My mother was…is a brilliant designer,” Caleb began, correcting himself. Already he was making mistakes in his words. “And her designs took this company to levels I don’t think even she imagined.”
Sarah nodded. “LL Designs became one of the stars in the couture world. A force to be reckoned with.”
“We were,” he said, putting extra emphasis on the last word. “But then we lost our footing. Partly because my mother, uh, retired, and partly because she may have been a brilliant designer but she was a terrible businesswoman.” Lenora had been the typical creative genius—scatter-brained, disorganized, frenzied about new ideas—and that had left the company in financial disarray. Everything in his mother’s world, from her house to her banking records, had been a mess. Only her design books were organized and labeled so that she could instantly find everything, right down to the last scarf, in her collection. It was as if Lenora had put all her left-brain cells into that one segment of her life.
“There were rumors the company was in significant debt when she retired.” Sarah jotted a few notes on the pad.
“A few months before she…left, my mother bought the building the company is in now, and had it renovated. She was counting on the next season’s revenue to pick up the tab, but then she…stepped down, and things got a little rough financially. We’ve been working on pulling out of that, but with the economy and the decrease in couture spending, it’s been an uphill battle.”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” Sarah said. Her glasses had slipped down on her nose and that inquisitive gaze connected with his. “Shoot.”