by Jenna Sutton
“What do you call this kind of bag?”
She leaned closer to him, and her hair brushed his shoulder. He got a whiff of the almond oil she used, and he barely controlled the desire to bury his nose in her curls.
“It’s a tote bag,” she explained. “I’ve used light-colored cotton twill for the body of the bag, and the polka dots are leather. The straps are also leather.”
He took a closer look at the sketch. The tote was embellished with four large, randomly placed polka dots, and each dot was a different color.
“I’m guessing all these colors have fancy, girly names.”
She laughed softly, making him break out in goose bumps. “Not so fancy. Turquoise, tangerine, tomato red, and tan.”
“I like this,” he said, pointing to the way the straps affixed to the tote’s exterior with large metal studs.
“It provides some visual interest in addition to the colors.” She indicated the adjacent page. “I’ve also designed a matching wallet. You could sell them as a set or separately.”
He ran his fingers over the swatches. “How expensive are the materials?”
“Rachelle and I worked together to make sure the materials would be cost-effective but still decent quality. The profit margin for every piece should be high double digits.”
“What kind of price point are we looking at?” he asked.
“I have a spreadsheet with my recommendations for prices. It also outlines material costs for each piece. I went ahead and chose substitute materials that would be less expensive if you think the material costs are too high with my original choices.”
He nodded and turned to look into her eyes. They were just inches from his, glinting with intelligence and warmth.
“Are you always so detail-oriented?”
She tilted her head in consideration. “Hmm . . . I do tend to prefer order over chaos.”
“The mess in my bedroom must really bother you.”
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and quickly released it, leaving her lips shiny and wet. Reaching up, he put his thumb in the middle of her lower lip.
“Stop doing that,” he ordered.
Amelia stilled. “Doing what?”
“I’m having a hard time concentrating with you sitting right next to me, and you’re making it worse by biting and licking your lips.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m anxious! I want you to like my designs.” Her voice rose. “I’ve worked really hard on them, and my lips are all you can think about?”
He knew he was in deep shit when she jerked the folio from his hands and reached for her seat belt. They’d spent a lot of time together, and he had seen her irritated and annoyed, but never truly angry.
And, oh, man, she was angry now. She was almost breathing fire.
“Amelia . . .” he began in a placating voice, but she cut him off.
“I knew it would be a mistake to sleep with you,” she said fiercely. “I knew it. It’s impossible to keep things professional.” She sucked in a deep breath. “You don’t even respect my work. You only care about . . . about what’s between my legs.”
Anger and alarm rushed through him. “That’s bullshit! I’m excited to see your designs, and I’m impressed you’ve already done all the work to cost out the materials and suggest alternatives.”
He grabbed the folio, and for a few moments, they fought over it like kids playing tug-of-war. She abruptly let go, and it ricocheted into his face, slapping against his nose and lips with force.
“Oww,” he mumbled, rubbing his nose.
Jumping out of her seat, Amelia knelt in front of him. “Quinn! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to hit you.”
She put her hand on his cheek, turning his face sideways to inspect it for damage. Even though he was fine, he let her do it, enjoying the feel of her palm against his skin.
Once she was satisfied the folio hadn’t harmed him, she dropped her hands and sat back on her heels. He moved the folio to the side and bent forward to look into her eyes.
“I know this partnership is important to you, Amelia, and I know you want to do a good job for us.” Wrapping his hand around her neck, he pulled her closer. “I promise I will devote one hundred percent of my attention to every single page in that folio.”
He gave her a quick peck on her freckled cheek. “We are not a mistake,” he added emphatically, holding out his hand to help her to her feet. “Now sit back down so we can review the rest of your designs.”
She stood, but she didn’t immediately take a seat. He couldn’t tell if his apology had soothed her anger, but he hoped it had. He had meant every word.
Regardless of how much he had pissed her off, he didn’t think she would walk away from her commitment to Riley O’Brien & Co. And if she did . . . well, there were other designers out there. They might not be as talented or have as much name recognition, but someone else could design accessories for the women’s division.
When it came right down to it, Amelia was replaceable . . . to the company. But she wasn’t replaceable to him.
Panic built in his chest. He didn’t want to lose her. Had he messed up so badly she was going to break things off?
He swallowed, trying to get rid of the tightness in his throat. What could he say to neutralize the situation?
Before he could build a reasonable argument in his head, she reclaimed the seat next to him. He fell back against the leather cushion, relief making him a little breathless. She shot him a quizzical glance, and he hastily picked up the folio and settled it across his lap. He was determined to be all business even if it killed him.
Flipping through the pages, he found the sketch following the tote bag. “Tell me about this one,” he said.
She didn’t answer for several moments, but then she sighed loudly. “Okay.” She ran her nail across the page, tracing the bag. “The shape is a modified tote called a shopper bag. See how it’s wider at the top and narrower at the bottom?”
He nodded, and she continued her explanation. “I chose coated cotton canvas for this one. It’s durable, and the coating makes it less vulnerable to stains.”
“I know my fashion sense is questionable, but I like these prints together,” he said, tracing his fingers over the swatches that showed a bright combination of hot pink, white, turquoise, and navy.
She smiled. “They’re fun, aren’t they? I thought the hand-drawn floral pattern worked well for the body of the bag, and I mixed in the gingham print for a nice contrast on the sides.”
He nodded his agreement. “I could see this appealing to teenagers and younger women.”
Her eyes lit up. “Exactly. That demographic group wears jeans more often, so I designed most of these pieces with them in mind.”
He flipped to the next page, and they repeated the process. It took them nearly three hours to review the rest of her designs. She had included a mix of bags, wallets, and belts, about forty pieces in total.
When they were finished, she took a deep breath. “So what do you think?”
He paused to gather his thoughts before shifting in the seat to meet her eyes. He wanted to make sure she knew he was being completely honest.
“I think they’re great,” he answered sincerely. “And I mean for this to be a compliment when I say it. I’m surprised by how talented you are. Some of the designs were better than great. They were awesome.”
A huge smile blossomed on Amelia’s face. “Really?” she asked, her voice a little higher-pitched than normal.
He nodded. “I would be proud to put the Riley O’Brien logo on every single one of the designs I saw here today. I’d be proud to put my name on them.”
Chapter 29
There had been very few instances in Amelia’s life when the reality had been better than anything her imagination had conjured up. But Quinn’s response to her designs ha
d far exceeded her wildest fantasies, and she was surfing a wave of euphoria.
She had hoped he would like her sketches, but she had prepared herself for a lukewarm response. Disappointment was her old friend, and even though she hadn’t hung out with him in a while, he was always around and often dropped by unannounced.
Amelia had no doubt Quinn truly liked her designs. He didn’t pull punches when it came to business, and even though they were sleeping together, she knew he wouldn’t lie to her about something so important.
He took his responsibilities seriously, and his comment that he would be proud to put the Riley O’Brien logo on her designs had sent a rush of pleasure through her. His obvious appreciation for her work meant a lot to her because she knew he was protective of his family name and the jeans that bore it.
In some of her more fanciful moments, she thought Quinn was like a pair of Rileys. At first glance, the comparison might seem unflattering, but the same attributes that made Rileys so special were also the same elements that made him such an amazing man.
The jeans were marketed as “genuine” Rileys, and she thought “genuine” was a great word to describe Quinn. Rileys also were known for their quality, and again, that word fit Quinn perfectly. With the exception of Ava Grace, he was the best person she knew.
Ava Grace had a word for men like Quinn: “solid.”
In her best friend’s mind, solid wasn’t a physical attribute; it was a personality trait. Men who were solid did what they said they were going to do and took care of the people they loved.
Solid guys were few and far between. And before Quinn, Amelia had never really known one.
While she held herself back, he was open. He expected the best from people and was disappointed when he didn’t get it. She, on the other hand, expected the worst and felt validated when she got it.
And, having witnessed Quinn with his parents and siblings, she knew their differences were even more fundamental. He wasn’t afraid to love. He gave it expansively and generously.
For Amelia, love wasn’t so simple. She hadn’t had an abundance of it in her life, and she hoarded it like a miser. Loving someone was even more difficult because she always worried the recipient would take more from her than she could give.
“Where did you get your inspiration for these designs?” Quinn asked.
“All kinds of places.”
He cocked his head. “Like where?”
“Pick a sketch, and I’ll tell you how I came up with the idea.”
He flipped back to the first page, the one with the sketch of the polka-dot tote. “This is my favorite.”
She smiled. “There’s a reason why it’s on the first page.”
He returned her smile. “So it’s your favorite, too?”
She nodded. “I got the idea from Teagan’s dress. The one she wore last week. Do you remember it?”
Quinn frowned. “How could I remember? She wears a dress every day, damn it.”
Amelia laughed at his chagrin. “The top was red with black polka dots, and the bottom was black with red polka dots.”
He nodded. “Okay, yeah, I remember it.”
“I thought it was gorgeous, and I was jealous that I could never wear anything like it. My consolation was designing a purse with polka dots. That’s where I got the original idea.”
Quinn glanced at her quizzically. “Why couldn’t you wear anything like it?”
Teagan’s dress had been vintage, and it had featured a corset bodice, tight waist, and wide, full skirt. It would have overwhelmed Amelia’s short, pear-shaped frame, making her look stocky.
“I’m too short to wear that kind of dress,” she explained.
His eyes darkened to a smoky blue, and he tugged on a curl that had fallen into her face. “I don’t think you’re too short, Juice. You’re the perfect height for some of my favorite activities.”
Her nipples hardened. It just so happened that his favorite activities were also her favorite activities.
He smiled slowly. “Can I stop being professional now and kiss you?”
She stared at him. No wonder she had given into temptation. A nun would raise her habit for Quinn O’Brien and his sexy smile.
“Yes.”
Leaning forward, he caught her mouth with his, a somewhat chaste kiss given the look he’d had in his eyes. He pulled back and stroked her bottom lip with the tip of his finger.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said.
His apology flooded Amelia with guilt. She was the one doing something wrong.
“It’s okay,” she choked out, hating herself for continuing to keep Teagan’s project a secret. Hating herself for being too much of a coward to tell the truth.
At first she had stayed quiet because she hadn’t wanted to risk the accessories partnership. Of course, she hadn’t wanted to ruin her chance to finally open her boutiques, either.
Now she was more concerned about how Quinn would react to the knowledge that she had been working behind his back while they were together. Her deception was a personal betrayal, not just professional.
Earlier in the week, she had stopped by Teagan’s office. She had wanted to talk to her about what happened with Nick Priest at the football game. But Teagan had deflected her questions, and somehow Amelia ended up in the hot seat.
Teagan had wanted to know exactly what was going on between Amelia and Quinn. Despite the other woman’s skillful interrogation, she had managed to remain silent. But that hadn’t stopped Teagan from making sure Amelia realized how beneficial the relationship could be for the redesign.
“If you’re sleeping with him, he’s more likely to listen to you,” Teagan had said. “He’s like every other guy who thinks with his penis. He’ll go along with whatever you want to do.”
Amelia had been horrified by Teagan’s comment. What kind of sister thought it was okay that someone used her brother to get ahead?
Would Quinn think she had slept with him because she was trying to curry favor for the redesign? Would he feel she had manipulated him with her body, just like Amelia’s mother had done with so many random men?
It had never occurred to her that Quinn might think she was using him to further her career. She tried to work through the mess she had created. Was there anything she could do now to stop the train that already chugged down the tracks?
Quinn’s deep voice interrupted her internal debate. “Why didn’t you design any footwear?”
The change of subject threw her for a moment, and she struggled to focus on his question. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“If you want to produce boots and shoes that won’t fall apart, they’re going to be fairly expensive. More expensive than a pair of Rileys.”
“But you think there’s a market for them?”
She thought about how to answer his question. This conversation was turning into a minefield.
“Yes, there’s a market. But you heard Shelby’s presentation, Quinn. Rileys are known for being casual. They’re not an upscale brand, and the footwear I would design would require upscale branding. We’re talking about price points well above three hundred dollars for boots, maybe closer to five hundred.”
Closing the folio, he tapped his fingers against the leather cover. “So you don’t think women would associate Rileys with high-end footwear?”
She hesitated before answering, and Quinn turned toward her. He leveled a probing look at her.
“No.” She took a deep breath. “But they might if Rileys produced a line of designer denim. Or jeans that were more stylish and flattering.”
With a loud sigh, he leaned his head back against the leather seat. “So, you feel the same way Teagan does. You don’t like Rileys. That’s why I’ve never seen you wear a pair.”
His voice wasn’t angry. It
was strangely flat, almost unemotional.
She saw his lack of anger as a good sign so she pushed forward. “Have you thought about getting rid of your existing styles and starting over? Producing several different designs and sizes, along with different price points?” She paused. “Maybe even expanding your product line to include shirts and skirts?”
He rubbed his hands over his face but didn’t answer. She decided she’d come too far to turn back now.
“Do you remember that day in the workshop?” she asked.
He dropped his hands to his thighs and glanced at her alertly. He obviously didn’t need her to explain which day she referred to because his eyes darkened.
“Yes,” he answered warily. “What about it?”
“I was wearing a denim skirt, and you got upset because your name wasn’t on it.”
His face flushed. “Yeah, I was a little upset,” he admitted.
She nodded. “More than a little.”
His face tightened. “What’s your point, Amelia?” he asked harshly. “Why are we rehashing my crazy behavior?”
Reaching over, she stroked the top of his hand. “I explained that Riley skirts didn’t even exist. Did that sink in?”
He stared at her. “No.”
“Is it sinking in now?”
He frowned. “So you think we’re losing customers for two reasons: they don’t like our jeans, and we’re not giving them other kinds of apparel.”
“Exactly,” she answered with a nod. “If I want to wear a denim skirt, it’s not going to be Rileys.”
He pulled his hand from hers before unbuckling his seat belt. He sprang from his seat and began to pace the small cabin area.
“You have no idea how difficult it would be to implement the changes you described, or how expensive it would be.” He made a deep sound in his throat, turning to spear her with his dark blue gaze. “We’re talking about tens of millions of dollars, maybe hundreds of millions. It’s a huge risk. No, it’s more than a risk.”