Poor Sage fed off my nervous energy, pacing around my office rather than napping in the twilight sunshine. And I was hungry again for the fifth time today—burning through calories faster than I could replace them.
Someone knocked on my door.
I looked up. “Yes?”
“Elle?” Fleur stuck her head in. “Your father wants a word before he retires for the night.”
I froze. “Why?”
Another disastrous date set up?
Fleur frowned. “Um, not sure. He’s family…I guess he just wanted to say goodbye?”
I dropped my pen, dragging a hand through my hair. “Of course, stupid of me. You’re right. Send him in.”
She gave me a sweet smile, sidestepping enough for my father to enter. His gaze, as always, went to the Chinese wallpaper to my left with cranes and rice paddies. The decoration line had been a trial we’d done in the houseware department four seasons ago, and it’d been a huge hit. I’d used some of the product myself to make sure it had longevity and style.
“How was your day?” he asked, coming around my desk to kiss the top of my head.
“Good.” I sighed. “I got everything I needed to done.”
“That’s great.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His apology hovered in the space between us, big and marshmallow-like, and entirely obvious to both of us.
“Spit it out, Dad.” I closed my laptop and shut my diary. “What’s up?”
He blurted. “I’m so sorry about last night, Bell Button. I was wrong. You were right. He was a stuck-up jackass.”
I smothered a laugh. “Jackass, I agree with.”
His shoulders fell, his slim figure bowing while resting his hip against my glass desk. “I won’t do it again, and I promise Steve and I will back down about forcing you and Greg together. I know you’re not a fan, and it’s wrong of me to interfere.” He picked up my fountain pen with turquoise ink—the only frivolous thing I used when everything else was black and white with Belle Elle regulation. “I should let nature take its course and let you find your own true love.”
I groaned under my breath. “Don’t you start with what nature intends.”
Splashing alcohol onto Mr. Everett’s head filled my mind—payment for using that same line.
Had he thought about me in the shower while rinsing off? Had he cursed me when dropping his suit in for dry cleaning?
Serves him right.
Dad’s eyebrow rose, but he wisely didn’t comment. The soft lamp on my desk highlighted the threads of silver in his hair like Christmas fairy-lights. “Is there anyone? Anyone at all?”
I stood, grabbing my handbag and swooping down to pluck Sage from her basket. She crawled up my arm and settled like a furry sausage around the back of my neck. “No. No one. And you have to come to terms that there might never be.” I patted his shoulder. “I’m happy. I don’t need a man to validate my existence.”
Besides, I’m so young still.
He acted as if I were already slipping down the side of the age-hill of no return.
His eyes grew sad. “If you knew what love felt like, you wouldn’t be so sure about that statement, Elle.”
“I do know what love feels like. From you and Mom and Sage.” I moved toward the door, turning off floor lamps that I found gave a homely glow as I went. “Promise me you’ll stop meddling, and I’ll take you to dinner to make up for last night.”
He strode forward, happiness replacing his regret. “On one condition.”
I sighed dramatically, reaching up to scratch Sage beneath her chin. “What condition?”
He came forward and rested his hands on my shoulders, not caring when Sage swatted him with her paw. “Just promise me that when a man does come along who makes you fall in love, that you’ll give him a chance. That you’ll reserve judgment until he’s proven he’s worth holding on to, and then you’ll never let him go.”
My heart plummeted to my toes as I smiled brightly, hiding the internal agony he’d just caused. “I’ll amend one piece of that promise and agree. If a man comes along. If that miracle happens, I’ll give him a chance before I squish him.”
What I didn’t say was I’d already met that man. That significant person who got under my skin and made me dream.
Only thing was, I hadn’t held on tight enough.
And I’d lost him.
14
THREE DAYS LATER, my life had returned to normal.
No more sleepless nights thanks to Mr. Everett—they were sleepless because of my guilt toward Nameless. Mundane mornings on the treadmill flowed into agonizing afternoons with board meetings.
Life was controllable once again.
Fleur continued to help me run the empire while Dad took a few days off at my insistence. His skin had lost some color, and I’d caught him coughing the other day with a rattle I didn’t like. If it was the flu, I wanted him safe and warm at home while Marnie, the cook, made him healthy snacks. I didn’t want opportunistic germs straining his already strained heart.
Steve helped me host a few conference calls from Beijing and Montreal about our new infant line releasing next month, and work once again tugged me deep into its clutches, erasing any memory of tipping alcohol onto some stranger’s head.
Until the third day when I scooped Sage up and headed to the shop floor for a quick walk around. I did random inspections throughout the week—never announced or fore-planned, so employees weren’t prepared.
If I had a spare fifteen minutes, I found no better place to stretch my legs than strolling around the racks of new-smelling merchandise, eyeing up displays, spying on staff, and scoring any areas that needed tweaking.
As the elevator carried me from the top floor to the bottom, the mirrored walls showed Sage as she lay over my shoulders, tapping my dangling crystal earring that matched the ivory dress with soft caramel lace. The lacy panel covered my chest and worked in a flower pattern to flare over my hips before reconvening at the hem.
Fleur had added it to my paperwork pile to take home with me last week. I’d thought it was too detailed and feminine for work attire, but when I’d tried it on this morning, I didn’t want to take it off. The paleness of it should’ve washed out my blonde complexion; instead, it made me glow as if I’d just stepped off a plane from Tahiti.
Not that I knew what that was like. The only air travel I did was to factories around the world, and I ended up wearing ear protection and overalls while marching around in heavy boots with a clipboard.
The doors opened with a soft chime, and I strode forward in matching caramel heels, clipping quickly over the anti-slip driftwood-planked floor that our focus groups said calmed them with the gray tones and encouraged spending mentality.
Everything—from the warm beige on the walls, to the deep purple curtains in the changing rooms—was chosen by a color guru who convinced us purple made people believe they were rich because it was the color of royalty and wealth, and beige stole their worries and stress, allowing them to see the treasure trove of merchandise that could all be theirs for the small price ticket tucked demurely inside.
“What department should we investigate first, Sage?” I murmured so as not to attract attention from shoppers.
Not that I could avoid being noticed, seeing as I strode purposely through Belle Elle with a cat wrapped around my shoulders. Luckily, she was of the small variety and not tubby like some cats I’d seen.
I glanced toward the lingerie department where an equal number of awkward men bought gifts for their loves ones while bold women brazenly fingered G-strings and garter belts.
I knew the manager, Kim, would keep her staff in line; the displays were impeccable with its small scaffold of pantyhose, playful kink, and lace. I wouldn’t waste my time on areas I didn’t need to improve.
Narrowing my eyes, I searched for sloppily folded sale items or imbalanced banners or scruffy shop assistants.
The houseware section was a little messy with its figurines and lamp c
ords. The women’s shoe department needed a memo to tell them to pick up empty boxes from customers pulling them from the shelves. And children’s wear would definitely earn a slap on the wrist for a banner promising twenty percent off bibs when a high chair was bought.
That promotion ended two days ago.
However, the area that set my heart racing with chaos was the man’s division where five-thousand dollar blazers were tossed over racks, obscuring pressed trousers and faultless shirts. Ties draped over mannequin arms like streamers, and the sock table was a rummaged disaster.
Sage meowed softly, most likely saying in kitty talk for me to calm down before I found the unsuspecting manager and fired him on the spot.
“Where the hell is he and his staff?” Striding forward, my hands curled as yet more disorder revealed itself. A shirt had fallen off its hanger and lay on the floor. The floor! Belts tangled in a viper-nest on the cash register.
What the hell is going on?
“Three warnings, my ass,” I muttered. “This is grounds for instant dismissal.”
I didn’t care the men’s department hardly ever covered the extravagance it cost to run with its cashmere imported material and on-site tailor from Savile Row. This was Belle Elle, and it had severely let my company down.
“What’s the manager’s name again?”
Sage snuffled into my neck.
“You’re no help.”
She meowed.
No matter how many racks I charged down, looking for a victim wearing a Belle Elle nametag and noticeable lavender work shirt, I couldn’t find anyone. Not one.
Where on earth are they?
There should be at least three to four staff manning this section at all times.
My eyes fell on the brightly lit sign for the changing rooms.
I shouldn’t.
Women weren’t permitted in there. But surely, the boss was.
Tilting my chin with authority, I marched through the archway and slammed to a stop.
If I thought the shop floor was a disaster, the changing rooms were a catastrophe.
Clothes everywhere!
Thousands of dollars of merchandise on the floor and piles drowning the leather-studded ottomans.
“What is the meaning of this?” I placed my hands on my hips as four men—who I paid a decent hourly wage and should be on the shop floor enticing people to buy—all gathered around something of utter fascination.
Something I couldn’t see.
The floor manager swiveled in place, his mouth falling open. “Oh, hello, Ms. Charlston. I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.”
“You didn’t see me because clothes are everywhere. It looks like a World War Ten started in here.” I motioned to the pyramids of expensive suits just crumbled on the floor as if they were five-dollar t-shirts. “Clean this mess up, immediately. And get your staff at front of house. There’re no assistants out there.”
“Of course, Ms. Charlston.” The manager nodded; his identification tag showed his name was Markus. “Right away.” Clicking his fingers, he snapped, “George, Luke, get back out there. Ryan and I can finish with Master Steel.”
Instantly, the two younger staff members dropped the shirts looped over their arms onto the already overflowing ottoman and dashed past me with respectful, apologetic smiles.
I didn’t watch them go. I couldn’t. My gaze glued to the little human I hadn’t seen thanks to staff and shirts surrounding him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t know I’d interrupted something.” I glanced at Markus. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you’re right, ma’am. We don’t need four attendants to dress one child.”
I eyed the kid who stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, swimming in men’s trousers and a blazer that came to his knees. I gave him a quick smile, moving closer to Markus. “Why is he in the men’s department and not in children’s wear? He’ll never find anything to fit him.”
The boy looked at me in the mirror, not bothering to turn around. “I’m not a kid.”
I startled at the sharp staccato of his adolescent voice. The pinched look in his cheeks and wildness in his gaze spoke of a child running out of patience and either close to tears or temper. I hadn’t been around many kids, but I guessed he was nine or ten.
“I want a suit. Penn said I could have a suit. Like him. I want to dress like him and Larry.”
Sage squirmed on my shoulders, squinting at the boy. Just like me, she wasn’t used to bossy children. Not equipped to reply to a sentence I had no way of understanding, I looked back at Markus. “Can you explain?”
Markus grinned at the boy. “Of course. This is Stewart. He prefers Stewie, though, don’t you?”
The boy nodded. “Stewie.” He poked a finger into his chest. “That’s me.”
“Okay…” I smiled as if it was a perfectly acceptable name and not a thick-type soup I found utterly unappetizing. “And Stewie wants a suit.”
Stewie grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth where a baby tooth had fallen, and an adult one had yet to appear. “Yup. Penn is helping. He said all men have to have at least three suits. One for a wedding, a funeral, and business.”
“A funeral?” My heart sank. “Is that where you’re going?”
“No.” Stewie brushed chestnut hair away from his face, eyeing his rosy cheeks in the mirror and ears that slightly protruded. “But it’s better to be prepared. That’s what he and Larry always say.”
I moved forward, my hand sliding upward to scratch Sage as she hissed at the small creature. “And who are Larry and Penn? Your fathers?” The world was an open society these days. Larry and Penn could be married. Or they could be his uncles or teachers or just friends. Or brothers. Hell, Larry and Penn could be generous kidnappers for all I knew.
Stewie screwed up his nose. “Ha, that’s funny.” His mirth faded. “Wait…I kinda suppose they are. Now, I mean. I never had a dad before.” His angular face brightened. He wasn’t chubby like some children of his age were. He had a hard edge about him that couldn’t be tamed, even in the ridiculously huge suit with cuffs hanging over his hands like penguin flippers.
I glanced over my shoulder to Markus. “Where are his fathers? Why are you and my staff playing babysitter?”
“Um, he’s only here with one gentleman, Ms. Charlston. And he just popped out for a moment. Urgent phone call, I believe.” He shuffled. “But he made the mess, not us. He and Stewie tried to find something smaller—smaller belts, socks, ties—an entire wardrobe, you understand. We settled on agreeing that Stewie would pick a suit he liked, and then we’d send it to be tailored to fit him.”
My eyes widened. “But that will end up being an entirely new suit. There is no way a tailor can turn a man’s thirty-eight into a boy’s twelve.”
“But isn’t that what I’m paying for?” a cool, svelte voice murmured behind me. It throbbed with glamour while somehow bordered curt impatience. “Isn’t that what Belle Elle prides itself on? Providing what other stores cannot? Because if it isn’t…then my apologies; we’ll go somewhere else.”
I spun in place, my heart already leaping into a churning sea at his tone.
The moment my eyes locked onto the newcomer’s dark brown ones, the past three sleepless nights and long hours caught up with me. Shaking hijacked my arms and not because I’d upset a customer and tarnished a little of what he rightfully said was our motto but because it was him.
Him!
“You.”
“Yes, me.” Mr. Everett smirked. “Nice to see you again.”
“What are you doing here?”
He rolled his shoulders, his fingers tightening around his phone. “Same thing as everyone else, I suspect. Putting our money into your pockets.”
I crossed my arms. “Yet you leave your son for my staff to babysit. That isn’t part of their job description.”
“I apologize. It was an urgent call and only lasted a few minutes.” He looked past me to the boy swim
ming in wool and hand stitching. “You okay, Stew? Find something you like?”
Stewie turned and headed toward us, his feet dragging the trouser lengths like clown socks behind him. “Yep. I like this one.”
Mr. Everett eyed the soft gray with navy blue pin striping. “Me too. Good choice.”
Stewie shrugged out of the blazer and passed it to Markus who stood ever professional, minding his own business.
I couldn’t decide if I wanted to run away or shove this miscreant out of my store. Son or no son.
Wait…he has a son.
He’s married to a man named Larry and has a son.
Not only had my father got the story completely wrong at the bar, but Mr. Everett had also fibbed about being interested in me and having a ‘knack’ with women.
My temper steamed, and before I could censor, I said, “Turns out you’re full of lies, Mr. Everett.”
His eyes narrowed as a dark cloud settled over his face. “Excuse me?” He opened his arm as Stewie slotted himself against his side, reaching for his phone and swiping in the passcode to pull up Angry Birds.
I stepped back as Sage sank her claws into my neck in warning.
Good call, kitty.
I let my arms fall, and tension disperse. It meant nothing that he’d lied or that he was gay. Why hadn’t I seen it? Of course, he was gay. He was far too well dressed and manicured in every way—trim nails, groomed eyebrows, and thick sorrel hair with the occasional honey highlight. That couldn’t be natural.
He wasn’t natural.
He was fake.
And I was done.
“I apologize for interrupting your shopping experience. I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit to Belle Elle.” Stepping forward, I did my best to avoid his bulk in the narrow hallway with changing rooms on either side.
He wasn’t courteous and didn’t step aside to let me pass. He just stood there, giving me the choice to squeeze past the small gap or wait and glare into his eyes.
The same eyes that had molten heat and a perpetually pissed expression. He was like sugar and salt, pollen and poison—someone dangerous. Prickles of self-preservation urged me to leave while frissons of curiosity whispered for me to stay.
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 339