Threads Of Desire (Creative Hearts Book 3)

by K. M. Jackson

  Nick nodded. He hadn’t known about the family’s personal connection to Bill. This meant he had to really get this one right. Nick racked his brain for what else he knew about Sutton Industries. “There are other siblings involved as well, right?”

  Bill nodded. “Two younger Suttons, a boy and a girl, but they aren’t as involved with board business. They’ll vote as their grandmother tells them.” He sighed. “Truthfully, though, I’m wary of Pierce. He’s essentially a good guy, but just a little impulsive, a little wilder than Avery. If they sell out, I worry he’ll run off with the money and lose much of the family’s assets in some wild scheme.”

  Nick thought of the differences between him and his own brother. Though to some it seemed obvious, at times, it was hard to tell who was the real risk taker of the two.

  “So just where do I come in? How do you want me to come at this?”

  “I want you to look at this from all angles, though I know you’ll do that. See how you can make everyone happy and of course make the firm come out well in the end.”

  Nick studied the file a bit and frowned. The numbers were bad. He hated to tell Bill but at first glance, he agreed with Pierce Sutton. Selling out, even at a loss, seemed like the best option. But that probably wouldn’t please Mrs. Sutton, and if she pulled her business, it’d be a big blow to the firm. Even with their struggles, the Suttons were one of their biggest clients.

  “Nick, I want to make it clear that Roselyn Sutton’s happiness is important to me, but as always, the bottom line for the company has to be our top priority.” Bill’s kind eyes went to ice, mirroring the coldness Nick had seen in Claire the other day. “Friends are one thing, but business is another entirely. You do what you have to do.”

  Nick cleared his throat. “Of course, sir. I always do.”

  Bill gave him a smile that was more a baring of his teeth than anything else. He then clapped his hands together, signaling the end of the conversation and the meeting. Nick was beginning to rise, when Bill’s voice stopped him. “Speaking of family, I spoke with Claire last night.”

  Damn, so close. The older man’s eyes were still doing that cold shark thing he did when he was in negotiations. Nick knew he couldn’t show fear. One drop of blood in the water and he was sunk. But then Bill blinked, eyes going soft as he took in Nick’s own solemn expression. “Oh, don’t worry, my boy! Buck up. You gave it your best, and who knows, she may yet still come around.” Bill leaned in. “As a matter of fact, I’m counting on you to bring her around.” Bill’s eyes narrowed again and Nick fought the urge to swallow. Fuck.

  Nick didn’t know what to say and inwardly chided himself on not finding out how Claire really had spun things with her father.

  “I don’t know if I can do that, si—” He stopped. “You know your daughter. She is quite strong willed.” There, that was vague enough.

  Bill twirled a pen between his palms, then let out a sigh. “This is true, Nick, but if anyone is up for the job, it’s you. Whatever has happened, I assure you it has not clouded my opinion of you.”

  Oh hell. What had Claire said about him?

  “Cloud? Why should it?”

  Bill grinned. “It won’t. I’m sure you and Claire will work out. You know, I still see you as the future of this firm, and I’d hate for you to get distracted. I let my daughter know that business is business, and she can’t go and take my star player out of the game.”

  Nick pushed back a frown. So she’d called her daddy and put his job on the line? Just what he needed—and probably what he deserved for screwing where he ate. Well, let her play her games. He’d deal with the rest later. “Yes, si- Bill. I’ll get right on the Sutton case.”

  “Good,” Bill responded, and Nick turned to head for the door. “Oh and Nick? Better get that watch checked out. Seems like it’s running about five minutes slow.”

  He cringed, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. Nick couldn’t afford another mistake. He had to get his head out of his love life, and into the game. Forget Claire’s games and Gabby’s distractions. As of this moment, the only woman he had time for was Roselyn Sutton.

  • • •

  It was all about the work. Despite whatever personal shit had happened with Dono, business was business, and she needed to be able to separate the two. In this Nick was right, Gabby told herself, as she stood at the conference room table, taking in the skeptical expression of Giovanni Caberrera and the even more displeased expression of his wife Margo. She’d just finished showing them her presentation for the spring line, which they’d show to buyers come September if they okayed it, but from the looks on their faces, there would be no okaying today. Her theme boards, which she’d spent so many late nights on, were flawless—they conveyed the feeling of timeless elegance perfectly and even had just the right touch of that Zenia flash to keep the Caberreras happy. There were countless hours of time and thought captured in those sketches. Her heart, her hopes, and a little bit of her soul were on that table.

  “But where are the sequins?” Margo asked, her voice bouncing off the conference room walls. She looked down at the boards, stabbing her red talons on one sketch. Her mouth was turned down in displeasure. “And what’s with these new figures? We don’t do a plus-sized line,” she spat out.

  Gabby had to control her emotions. She couldn’t show them how much she really cared. If she did, she knew for sure they’d rip the rug right from under her. She knew from experience. You show your heart, you only get it handed back to you raw and bloody.

  She fought to keep her voice even. “I’m not suggesting doing a designated line. I just thought we should expand the sizing across all our lines to be more inclusive.”

  Margo gave her a dismissive up-and-down, her dark eyes brushing disdainfully over Gabby’s curvy frame. “Hmm, I bet you do.”

  Gabby wanted to throttle the woman. As if she’d ever let these cheap-assed fabrics grace her body—no matter if she designed the pieces or not. She looked at Margo, forcing her gaze to flatten and kept her voice chilled. “Well, as it is, I’m too young to be a Zenia’s customer.” She looked at Giovanni and smiled, knowing she’d scored a hit with that subtle dig about the line’s old-skewing appeal. “But maybe if we brought in some of these newer fabrics and expanded the sizing line, I could be. How about we try it for one season for a capsule line?” She was doing well. This was not begging; this was business. She prayed she didn’t sound desperate, though if she spent another season designing samples of sequined crap, she knew she’d lose her mind.

  Margo’s cheeks reddened through her tan. “What the hell are you trying to say?” She turned to her husband, who had remained silent. “What is this one getting at, Gio? I don’t see any reason for this ‘updating.’ All my friends think the line is just fine. And if this upstart doesn’t like it, I’m sure we can easily get someone to take her place.”

  Gabby sucked a breath in through her nose and exhaled quietly through her mouth. She raised a brow at Giovanni Caberrera, but refused to respond further. He could take it for what it was. She was tired of designing the same old costumes for the same old women with the same old results.

  But Gio surprised her by speaking up. “Now, dear, Gabby wasn’t trying to get at anything. She was just pointing out that there are different looks for different kinds of women. You—being the more sophisticated customer—will of course have a richer taste and demand a bit more flash and luxury in your garments.”

  Gabby bit back her snort when she saw the sweat popping out on Gio Caberrera’s brow despite the full blast of the air conditioning. Maybe she should cut him some slack, but she wasn’t feeling all that generous. He’d been promising her an update to the line for so long—

  ever since she first started working at Zenia four years ago, in fact. It was time to pay up, one way or another. Besides, she knew—and she knew that he knew—this was the right business decision. It was a small company, and she had friends in accounting. The numbers weren’t adding up and if they didn’t
do something soon, even his creative bookkeeping couldn’t conjure up a profit.

  Gabby sent a small, placid smile Gio’s way. “I really think this is the way to go,” she said. “Being more inclusive will only grow your customer base. It’s the way the market is heading.”

  Gio Caberrera just cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. Gabby sighed. Clearly he was ready to let go and leave this up to his wife.

  Gabby looked toward Donovan who was seated near the center of the table. He seemed more engrossed with fiddling with his phone and couldn’t be bothered to chime in and help her out with a moment of support as he’d promised. Yeah, so much for promises made over steaks and cheap wine. She turned back Margo’s way and plastered on her best sell-it smile. What did she have to lose? She needed to finally get her life in order and make some progress, so as not to fall under the weight of her own complacency. “Margo, I researched the trends meticulously, and I know the markets. I’ve spoken with Mr. Caberrera about this and Donovan okayed these themes himself.”

  Dono finally looked up. “Oh yeah, Ma. I saw them. I think they look good. What, you don’t like ‘em?”

  Margo looked from Donovan to Gabby and then back again, her eyes narrowing. “No. I don’t like them.”

  “How about we come to a compromise,” Gabby said. “Maybe add a few pieces just to see how the buyers respond?”

  Mr. Caberrera chose then to speak up. “I don’t know, Gabby. New styles will mean new patterns, samples, and money. And we don’t have it to spend.” Gabby could feel defeat in her grasp. Another season down the drain. She didn’t know how many more of these she could take.

  “What if I’m able to source the fabric in our price range? We could take a chance on a few styles.” She looked directly into Mr. Caberrera’s eyes, ignoring Margo and Donovan. Time to lay it all on the table. “Take a chance on me, Mr. Caberrera. If you don’t want to integrate, we could try a small line. Let me do the samples and put my name on them. The risk will be mine.” Gabby took a breath. “Gabrielle Russell by Zenia. That way, if they don’t sell it will be my name taking all the heat, and if they do sell, you can get a big piece of the pie.”

  “They won’t sell,” Margo piped up.

  “I think they will,” Gabby countered, totally focused on Giovanni Caberrera.

  “I don’t know, Gabrielle. We have our usual line to do. The expense—”

  “—will be recouped in profit ten times over. If I can find cost-effective fabrics that are also eco-friendly, marketing will have an instant hook and the clothes will sell themselves,” she said, calmly. “You said at my interview, Mr. Cabrerra, that you liked my vision and my fresh approach. I’m just asking you to let me do what I was hired for.”

  Margo opened her mouth, no doubt to protest yet again, but Giovanni reached over and put a stilling hand over his wife’s, silencing her. “Fine, Gabrielle. You can give it a shot. But I want to see sketches for the full line by next week, so the samples can get started. You’ll also need to meet with marketing to go over a sales plan. It’ll be a lot of work, but just remember, you asked for this.”

  She nodded enthusiastically, unable to find her words to properly express her gratitude as Gio and Margo started to leave. “If this fails, it will be you hitting the door along with your line,” Margo spat over her shoulder. But Gabby was so happy and grateful, she couldn’t even spare another thought for the woman. Her brain was too busy reeling with ideas already.

  “You were great. You really handled them.”

  Gabby looked at Donovan with shock. “With barely any help from you, I might add.”

  “Come on, Gab, I know my parents. If I had said any more, my mother would have lost her shit and you may have been out the door.” Dono smiled darkly and came up behind her, rubbing a hand over her partially bare shoulder. “You played them perfectly, Gabby. We both did. Like I said over dinner—if you stick with me, we’ll both come out winners in this situation.”

  As Donovan helped her gather her presentation boards and carry them back to her office Gabby had the distinct feeling she’d made some type of unholy fabric alliance with the devil.

  Chapter 6

  The sound of the blaring music was the first assault to Nick’s senses as he walked into the apartment. The second was the smell. What in the hell was Gabby cooking? Not cooking, but burning, maybe? Obliterating?

  He walked into the apartment and looked around. There was no sign of smoke and, thankfully, no fire. There was no sign of Gabby either. Or at least, she wasn’t there physically. Signs of her, though, were everywhere. It was as if the living room had exploded in a tornado of fabrics, papers, magazines, and then more fabrics. He looked down, stepping over the piles of chaos as he made his way in, shaking his head at the mess.

  That damned rap music was pounding his already on-edge nerves. He looked over at the old stereo system that had been in the apartment since his aunt had lived there. The bass was hitting him deep in his gut. He snaked his way through the mess and flipped the switch on the attached iPod abruptly cutting the sound. Nick let the silence wash over him and let out a much-needed breath.

  This day had kicked his ass. After his meeting with Elliot, everything had seemed to implode as the market suddenly went haywire with the talk of a new conservation initiative by the president. It had brought a few of his back-burner clients hurtling to the front, and what had looked to be a semi-quiet week was quickly turning into just the opposite. To top things off, he’d had no time to deal with the Sutton account—at least nothing beyond having his assistant set up a meeting with Mrs. Sutton for next week. He’d thought things over and decided to go straight to the source and feel her out. Let the matriarch lead this charge and then get the brothers to fall in line. He was looking forward to a quiet evening just chilling, catching a game while he went over files that he didn’t have time to get to during the day.

  “Was it too loud?”

  Nick whirled around toward Gabby’s voice, and it was as if the stress of the day melted away with just one glance at her. She was dressed far more casually than she had been this morning, but still no less disarming, in some sort of see-through tank top and lacy underthing that did nothing to hide her luscious curves. She wore tight, black leggings and her feet were bare, showing off candy apple red toenails. Staring at those toes stopped him in his tracks. Suddenly, he was near sweating. Damn, this apartment was hot.

  “Nick? The music? Did you have to turn if completely off?” Her voice brought his attention back up to her face. Her brown eyes were wide with the question, and her cheeks were flushed and rosy with a small hint of pink.

  “You were really listening to that tuneless crap? And your ears aren’t bleeding?”

  He watched her lips twist. “Okay, I’ll give you that, but after my day, I sort of welcomed the pain. This seemed better than self-flagellation.” She let out a sigh, the gesture sending her bottom lip blowing out and a few of her loose curls wafting up into the humid air.

  Nick cocked his head to the side, trying hard to push the non-PC erotic image that jumped into his head at her comment right back out. So he wasn’t the only one to have a shit day. “And what’s with the air in here? It’s hot as all hell.”

  “I know.” She went to the window and banged on the ancient air conditioner. “Sorry. It goes in and out.” Gabby gave it a bang on one side then the other, and the contraption—seemingly into a little paddling too—whirled to life. “It’s been on our list,” Gabby continued, “but not a priority. Who knew it would get so hot so fast this season?”

  “You and Steve have a list?” His voice rose incredulously.

  She turned to him. “What’s with the tone? Don’t we seem like list people?”

  He gave the apartment a look and cocked his head to the side. “No. You seem like fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants people.”

  She followed where his eyes went around the apartment then caught his gaze, pulling his attention back to her. Her hands ran languidly along her
collarbone, and her tongue darted out along her top lip. “And how would you really know how we fly anyway? I swear, you really are presumptuous.”

  Nick would have thought this was an argument, but she smiled as she said it so he didn’t know how to come back. And really, she was right. How would he know? He frowned, fighting against the urge to stare at her silky expanse of chest, to grab her and kiss that smile right off her face. “Yeah, you’re right. How would I know?”

  Her brows drew together, and he spoke up. “Speaking of the heat, what is it you’re cooking? It’s making my eyes water already.”

  Her eyes got wide as she ran to the stove, lifting the lid on a large pot. “Oh no. I’d almost forgotten. I had a taste for curry. I may have been a little heavy handed with the spices.”

  Nick pulled a face as the strong curry scent seemed to reach up and grab at him.

  “Oh, come on. What, you don’t like a little spice in your life?” Gabby said, turning his way with a teasing grin as she absentmindedly stirred the pot.

  “It’s not that,” he said.

  “Well, what is it then?”

  Nick put his briefcase on the nearby counter chair, since it was the only free spot in the midst of the apartment’s chaos. The sink was over flowing with pots and pans. The counter was covered in spoons and ladles that were dripping with lord only knew what. There was a chopping board with leftover bits of green. Why she didn’t just clean up as she went along? It took all his strength not to strip off his shirt and start cleaning now. As a matter of fact…

  Gabby stopped stirring and stared at him. “Can I ask what the hell you’re doing?”

  His eyes shot up and away from the messy counter. His tie was draped over his briefcase and his shirt was folded and draped over that too and now here he was standing in his white tank almost ready to get fully naked about to clean up a mess that wasn’t even his. He looked at her. “I, um, I was going to clean up the kitchen?”