If the Red Slipper Fits...

by Shirley Jump

  He scowled. “I told you, I’m done with that life.”

  A soft smile curved across her face. “I heard you say the same thing two months ago.”

  “I did?” He thought back, and couldn’t remember a single conversation he’d had with Sarah or any of the other reporters. “Not to you.”

  “To one of your friends as you were walking out of that club in the East Village.”

  He thought of the place on 21st Street that he liked to frequent. Every once in a while, one of his college buddies or one of the guys he used to work with at the marketing agency would tag along. The club was famous for its wooden dance floor, decadent martinis, energetic patrons. The night Sarah was talking about had been late in the summer. He’d gone out with one of his college friends, a guy named Rick, but Caleb had left early—for him, at least. He’d ducked out of there somewhere around eleven, just as the crowds were starting to fill the place. Rick had tried to argue him into staying longer, but Caleb had been adamant.

  “I did say that,” he said as the memory came back. “I hadn’t realized you were there.”

  A slight smile crossed her face. “That’s where I always seem to be, in the shadows.”

  He leaned forward, his gaze meeting hers. “Why?”

  “Why was I there? Because the magazine pays me to be. I—”

  “I meant why are you always in the shadows?”

  “This isn’t about me. I was asking about you and why you said that two months ago.”

  “Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

  “That’s not playing fair.”

  “I’m the bad boy, remember? I’m not supposed to play fair.”

  She laughed, but the sound was short-lived. Sarah got to her feet, and crossed to a CD player on the shelf. She toyed with the selection of music, as if looking at the albums of Norah Jones and Colbie Calliat would provide the words she sought. “It’s easier,” she said finally, the words so soft he almost didn’t hear them.

  “Easier than what?”

  She opened one of the Norah Jones CDs and inserted the shiny disc into the player, then turned it on. Soft bluesy tones filled the apartment. “Easier than being a part of that world.”

  He rose, and came up behind her. His hands ached to reach out and touch the silky strands of her chocolate-colored hair, but he held back. Didn’t touch her. “Why?”

  She turned to him, and that smile appeared on her face again, weaker this time. “Isn’t that like ten questions to my one?”

  “You keep answering with very short sentences. Ones that don’t tell me anything.”

  Like why she had hung around the world he had dived into with the enthusiasm of a lifetime swimmer. Like why she had never joined in on any of the parties at the clubs, even though he’d seen her get invited over and over again by the dozens of people in the industry who knew who she was. Always, she’d used the excuse of working, but Caleb didn’t buy it.

  “If you’d really been seeking that exclusive scoop that would pull you out of the gossip pages, you would have accepted those offers to sit at the tables with the powers that be,” he said. “But I never saw you do it. Why?”

  “You watched me?” Surprise lit her eyes. “Noticed me?”

  He reached up and captured her jaw, unable to keep his hands away from her for one more second. God, she was beautiful. Enchanting. “Every time.”

  “Just so you knew where your nemesis was?”

  He laughed. “Partly. But partly because you intrigued me.”

  “Me?” She let out a gust. “Yeah, right.”

  “You did. I wondered whether you were some kind of nun or someone very committed to her job. Or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Or involved with someone.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “Oh, yeah. In all my spare time, I’m going to have a relationship, too?”

  His thumb traced over her lower lip and she opened her mouth against his touch. The sarcasm dropped from her features, and her eyes widened, locked on his. Why hadn’t some smart man snapped her up already? Why was she as alone as he was? “Why not?”

  Sarah swallowed hard, and in the background, Norah Jones sang a melody about temptation and love. “Because my family needs me and I have the job and…”

  “Excuses.” He should know; he’d been using the same ones for years to justify his one-night interactions with the models that flocked around him. A few drinks, a spin on a dance floor, and more often than not, he went home alone, unentangled.

  “And who would I have a relationship with?”

  Her question hung between them, asking something neither of them wanted to come out and say. But both of them had clearly thought. Get involved with each other? Or not?

  “I know this CEO of a fashion house…” Caleb said, unable to take his gaze off hers or to release her. Everything inside him pounded with the same insistent message—

  Kiss her. Kiss her.

  “You do?”

  He nodded. Slow. “And he might not come with the best personal recommendations when it comes to relationships, if you believe the tabloids, but I hear he’s not so bad in person.”

  She shook her head. Slow. Her silky skin slid against his fingers, so, so tempting. “No, he’s not so bad, not at all.”

  “Then maybe you should give him a try.”

  Now a new smile curved on her lips, one that teased and tempted him. “I believe I already did that.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember that. Very well.” He brought his face closer to hers, until his mouth was only a millimeter away from hers, until they were sharing the same breath. “Perhaps you should do that again. Just to make one-hundred-percent sure, of course.”

  “Perhaps,” Sarah breathed, and before one more second of agonizing want passed—

  Caleb kissed her.

  Desire surged through him the second their lips met, and instead of the tender embrace he’d planned, Caleb found his arms going around Sarah’s body. She fumbled to put the wineglass on the shelf, the crystal goblet nearly toppling and sloshing both of them with drops of chardonnay. Then her fingers wove through his hair, pulling him closer, closer still, until Caleb couldn’t tell where he began or she ended.

  Their kiss was fire, tongues dancing and intertwining, lips claiming one another. He crushed her to him, feeling the smooth temptation of her breasts between the soft fabric of their T-shirts. He pulled back just enough to slide a hand between them and under her shirt, drifting over the creamy expanse of her belly before his hand claimed one breast, fingers cupping the soft round flesh, his thumb tracing over the sensitive nipple. She arched against him and let out a gasp. Her pelvis pressed against his erection, and in that moment, Caleb thought for sure he’d go insane if he stopped touching Sarah.

  “Caleb,” she whispered, his name sounding deep and throaty. “Oh, God, Caleb, we shouldn’t—”

  “Mmm…probably not.” He dipped his head to taste the sweet skin of her throat while his hand continued to play with the sensitive peak of her breast. Sarah pressed into him even more.

  “No, seriously. We, uh, really need…to…stop.”

  Something about her tone made him draw back. He connected with her gaze and saw that she was serious. “Why?”

  “Because we’re working together and I don’t want to taint what I write with a personal relationship with you.”

  He grinned. “Are you saying I’m a conflict of interest?”

  “In every way possible.” She let out a sigh, then slipped away from him. “Let’s be real, Caleb. Even if we didn’t have this article as an obstacle…” She paused, then met his gaze. “I’m not your type.”

  “How do you know what my type is?”

  “I’ve been photographing it and writing about it for a year.”

  “Those are not the kind of women I want to have a relationship with. You are.”

  A smile surged across her face. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Really, really.”

&n
bsp; She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, then drew back, a question in her eyes. “Then we’re back to my original question. Why are you out every night if you don’t want to be and these aren’t the kind of people you want to spend your time with?”

  He let out a long breath. He’d just told Sarah he wanted to have a relationship with her, and in a relationship, people were open. Honest. About everything, even their worst faults. And their worst choices.

  If he told her the truth, how would she react? Would she ask him to leave? Or would she understand that he was merely a man who was wrestling with an impossible decision? “Like you said, it’s easier.”

  “Than dealing with the problems at the company?”

  “Something like that.” If he stayed any longer, he’d do one of two things—kiss her again, and she’d made it clear that she didn’t want him to do that unless he answered her question—or tell her the real reason he went clubbing all the time.

  So he didn’t have to make the agonizing decision to let his mother go.

  He crossed the room, picked up the leash. At the sound, Mac scrambled to his feet and hurried to his master’s side, dropping into a sit to wait for the leash to be attached. “I should go. It’s late and if I stay…”

  “We’ll probably end up right where we were before.”

  He nodded. “And you’re right. We shouldn’t do this.” He couldn’t, not without being honest with her, which was only fair. And right now, he’d rather leave than see the look in her eyes when he gave her the answer she wanted.

  Caleb clicked the leash onto Mac’s collar, then headed out of Sarah’s apartment and back into the cold, lonely night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE factory was humming with a new energy, one Caleb hadn’t seen in years. As he walked the floor, he heard the buzz from the employees—they were overwhelmed by the additional work, but excited about the new designs, ones that he and his team had put together with inspiration from Sarah’s shoe design. He’d tacked it up in the conference room and told them to build the collection around the satin high heel. At first, the team had thought he was crazy, then they’d gotten to work and had dozens of new ideas by the end of the day. That buzz extended to Caleb, too, and his steps held a new energy. He had a good feeling about this collection. A damned good feeling.

  And it was all thanks to Sarah Griffin. If he hadn’t asked her opinion, he’d be putting out the same tired product as before. But that wasn’t what he thought about when he thought of her. No, his mind drifted to her smile, her eyes, the way her face lit up when she laughed. It had been years since he’d spent his days thinking about a woman, her presence lingering in the back of every sentence he spoke, every move he made. He was already wondering how long it would be until he saw her again.

  “I think you’ve done it,” Martha said.

  “Done what?”

  “Brought this company back from the dead.” Then Martha’s blue gaze softened and she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Caleb. Bad joke.”

  “It’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad to see things are back on track. I really think these new designs will do it for us. They’re bold, bright and—”

  “Not quite what your mother would have done.”

  Caleb stopped walking and looked at Martha. “What do you mean, not quite what she would have done? That’s exactly what I was going for.”

  “Lenora was an amazing designer, don’t get me wrong, but she had a tendency to run a one-woman shop. She was the vision for this company, the one who created everything herself. She chose every element, right down to the thread they used in the sample pieces. She had designers, yes, but they weren’t used for much more than translating her ideas onto paper.”

  Caleb thought back to the Saturdays he’d spent here as a little boy, playing trucks on the floor of the very office he now occupied. The summers he had spent working here, both while he was in high school and during college. Martha was right—it had been the Lenora show, every year. Every collection.

  His mother’s creative genius was unmatched, except by her need to control every element of the production process. He’d thought it was because she wanted to ensure quality and perfect execution of her vision, but he realized now that it had been part of her personality. As well as something that hurt the company in the long run because LL Designs lost one too many smart and talented people who were frustrated because they weren’t being heard or utilized. “Do you think that’s why two of them left just be fore she got ill?”

  Martha nodded. “They wanted a chance to shine on their own. To actually design.”

  “I can understand that,” Caleb said.

  “The designs you and the team came up with yesterday are collaborative,” Martha said. “They have that feel of…” She paused, searching for the right words. “…being created to appeal to a broad audience.”

  “You trying to tell me nicely that they’re cookie-cutter?”

  Martha laughed. “Not at all. Rather a wider variety of offerings. Something for everyone. And, you’ve managed to incorporate the flair that LL Designs is known for. Not to mention, you weren’t afraid to bring in an outsider for an opinion. Brilliant, if you ask me.”

  Caleb basked in the praise. For a year, he’d been struggling in the top spot. Most days he felt like he had no idea what the hell he was doing. He’d come over to the company from a totally different field with a lot of good intentions and not a lot of fashion experience. Coupled with the constant worry about his mother, the stress of the last year had been a heavy load for Caleb to bear, and there were days when he’d thought he couldn’t do it one more second.

  But now, it seemed things were finally turning around. As if he had hit his stride. “I have Sarah Griffin to thank for that. She got me thinking in a new direction. Well, not new, but rather, the way I used to think when I was a creative director. If one brain isn’t doing the job, bring in outside brains and tap the talent you already have. We’d have meetings once a month in the pit, as we called it. No idea was too off-the-wall or bad. We found that a couple hours of collaborative thinking brought out some of the coolest ideas.”

  “So how is this ‘collaboration’ going?” Martha asked, putting air quotes around the word.

  “Great. You’re seeing it at work right now.” He waved toward the busy factory floor. “And over there, they’re starting the prototype for the shoe line. It should be—”

  “I meant with Sarah Griffin.”

  That was a question that required a much more complicated answer than the one he’d just given. How were things with him and Sarah?

  Well, if those kisses were any indication, things between him and Sarah were hot—and heating more by the day. She was the first woman in a long time—maybe ever—that he found himself looking forward to seeing. Wondered about when she wasn’t with him.

  Sarah Griffin had gotten under his skin, and he was damned glad. He was thinking about things he hadn’t thought about in a long time—like a future.

  “That’s…developing,” Caleb said.

  Martha chuckled. “Is that a smile I see on your face? Are we going to have some Lewis babies running around here someday soon?”

  Caleb backed up, putting up his hands to ward off Martha’s words. “Whoa. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. All I did was kiss her.” A foolish grin filled his face, and a lilt of joy simmered in his gut. “Twice.”

  Martha’s hand landed on his shoulder again. “I think you’ve changed more than just the company, Caleb. And if you ask me, it was about damned time.”

  The scoop broke over the next day. Headlines everywhere, blaring at Sarah as she walked to work.

  Famous Designer on Deathbed. Callous Son Leaves Lenora Lewis to Die. Couture Queen in Coma.

  Sarah’s steps sputtered to a stop as she took in the headlines from several publications, the words hitting her like punches. Each publication said pretty much the same thing. Sarah knew how it worked—one magazine got the story, the o
thers rushed to blast the same scoop on their pages. It was an incestuous business, with each trying to top the other for better newsstand sales. She skimmed the competition’s front pages, thinking in her head about which ones had hit the street first, who had the earliest deadlines, trying to figure out the pack leader for the story. She stopped when she got to Behind the Scenes.

  Lenora Lewis at Death’s Door while Son Parties!

  Sarah gasped, yanked the tabloid off the pile, and skimmed the article. According to the “source,” one of the employees at the rehab center in New Jersey where Lenora Lewis was being treated, the famous designer had been in a coma for a year, while Caleb Lewis went about his life. “He just ignores her,” the staffer said. “I’m sure it pains her.”

  Lenora was in a coma? Not retired at all? And Caleb hadn’t told her? Why?

  “You going to buy that, miss?” the tall dark-haired man behind the counter asked, gesturing at the tabloid. “Because this ain’t a library, you know.”

  “Uh, yes.” Sarah dug in her pocket for a few bills, then added the other tabloids to the pile before paying. She headed to work, flipping open the article from Behind the Scenes to read that first.

  She read it twice, three times, sure that it wasn’t Lenora’s name she was seeing at all. But no, it was. Caleb had kept a huge secret from her. There was only one reason why he would do such a thing.

  Because despite everything they had gone through together in the week and a half they had spent with each other, he still didn’t trust her. At heart, he still saw her as the gossip reporter.

  As she read the pieces, she was more and more sure that Behind the Scenes had been the one to break the story, and the others had followed, like vicious dogs nipping at the publication’s heels. But the real question was who had written the piece for Behind the Scenes? Why? And where had they gotten the information?