by Nicola Marsh
True enough. He’d mentioned it on several occasions—not that they’d given his aspirations much credit.
As long as he kept performing for Fourde they weren’t terribly concerned about where he expended his creative energy.
They’d assumed the failure of his first showing would maim his desire to break into contemporary fashion. No great surprise. They didn’t know him well, didn’t know he used the bitter rejection of that first show as the spur that drove him every day.
‘If you say so.’
By the dubious twist to her mouth he hadn’t allayed all her doubts. No matter. He’d add her to the list of people he had to prove something to.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. ‘We’ll chat after you’ve seen the designs later today.’
‘No worries,’ she said, but as he eased out through the door and glanced over his shoulder that groove slashing her forehead said she had worries indeed.
Irrelevant. Patrick would prove he had something to offer the fashion world.
Today Melbourne. Tomorrow the world.
‘Can’t believe we pulled this together in five days,’ Sapphie said, shaking her head as the last model took to the catwalk, wearing a leopard print mini-jumpsuit and a funky rose-gold topaz necklace and earring combo, to another round of rapturous applause from the audience.
‘The Fashion Week organisers were happy to squeeze me in.’ Patrick rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Guess the fact Fourde Fashion is sponsoring the main event helped them see the wisdom of supporting the launch of this indie collection.’
‘I think the designs have helped sell the collection more.’ She laid a hand on his arm, relishing the innocuous touch. Working on this contemporary show had been a blast, but the fact they hadn’t had a spare second to play had her jumpy. ‘They’re seriously good. Cutting edge stuff.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the model as she did her final pose at the end of the catwalk before strutting back towards them. ‘Let’s hope the critics agree with you.’
‘They will.’ She gestured towards the other models, waiting in the wings for the finale when all the designs would be on the catwalk at once. ‘Bold colours. Textured fabrics. Short diagonal hems. Asymmetrical necklines. A pretty eye-catching combination.’
‘Don’t forget the jewellery,’ he said, some of the tension in his rigid shoulders easing. ‘We’re a package deal.’
‘And doesn’t Ruby know it?’ Sapphie jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of her sister, who flitted between the models ensuring clasps were fastened tight and earrings clipped and bracelets snug.
She’d seen Ruby animated backstage before, but the fact her sister had an extra pep in her step was obvious. Ruby had freaked when she’d heard about the chance to showcase her contemporary designs, and had worked two all-nighters to ensure Patrick’s outfits were perfectly paired with the right jewellery.
Sapphie had to admit she’d been wary at first of taking a risk with designs not backed by the Fourde Fashion name. But then she’d seen the clothes, and there had been no denying this was a golden opportunity to promote Seaborns in a whole new light.
Moving into a contemporary market would be a dream come true for Ruby, and anything that put a permanent smile on her sis’s face was fine by her. Ruby deserved it after all she’d done for her and the company over the last year.
Ruby and Jax had singlehandedly wiped out the mortgage she’d taken out on the showroom and her place, and had cemented Seaborns as a force to be reckoned with again.
They’d given her a chance to resume leadership duties on her terms and she’d always be grateful. Proving she could physically handle the job would have been ten times harder if she’d had to deal with financial woes too.
She wanted these designs to rock—wanted the public to love Ruby’s creative genius as much as she did.
By the rousing applause from the crowd, they were well on their way.
‘Let the finale begin,’ Patrick muttered as the models took to the catwalk en masse.
The noise from the crowd crescendoed amid myriad camera flashes, and the hoots, stomping and wolf whistles were vindication that she’d done the right thing in taking a chance on Patrick.
Which begged the question: How far was she willing to go to really take a chance on him with what mattered? Her heart…
‘Can you hear that?’ He stared at her in wide-eyed wonder before letting out an exultant whoop and hoisting her high, spinning her around until she was dizzy. ‘They love us.’
She laughed as he lowered her back to her feet. ‘Get ready for the orders to flood in.’
Some of his joy dimmed. ‘Yeah—going to be an interesting few months ahead.’
She couldn’t fathom his shift in mood—not when he’d just launched both their companies into a new market. Unless he was concerned about his parents’ reaction…But he’d said they were fine with him branching out.
Whatever the reason, she wished he trusted her as much as she trusted him.
‘Are you going to expand on the collection?’
‘Probably,’ he said, his reticence complete as he took out his smartphone and scrolled down his to-do list. ‘But for now we’ve got a final run through for the Hollywood glamour campaign scheduled.’
She could accept his reluctance to talk, could pretend it was okay he’d given her the brush-off without consequences. But they’d come too far to fake that all they shared was a meaningless fling. She might have no idea how to label what they had, but him demeaning it with his lack of trust was unacceptable.
‘You’ve just nailed a preview show that could take your contemporary designs worldwide. So what’s the problem?’
‘No problem. I just can’t afford to rest on this success when we have a major show coming up.’
Perfectly logical explanation. But his evasiveness was palpable. And it disappointed her more than she’d expected. Which could only mean one thing. She was in way over her head.
She didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to make a big deal out of this, but she’d vowed to live every moment to the max—and that meant confronting issues head-on, not skirting around them in the hope they’d vanish.
‘Why won’t you let me in?’
His thumb stilled over the smartphone and he finally raised his gaze after an eternity.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You need me to spell it out?’
With a typically male sigh of exasperation he thrust his phone back into his pocket and folded his arms.
‘I care about you, Sapphire, but I’ve got too much on my mind to get into this now.’
If his posture didn’t scream back off, the deep frown slashing his brows did. She guessed he expected her to be happy he’d admitted he cared. How magnanimous.
Though she had to agree with him. This probably wasn’t the best place to discuss anything beyond work. Not if she wanted honest answers.
There’d be time for confrontation later, but the longer this went on she knew one thing. Patrick had grown on her, and having him walk away without giving him some indication of how she felt would be a travesty.
Letting him leave without the truth would be something she’d regret, and she was done living with regrets.
‘Fair enough.’ She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, when in fact it mattered a great deal. ‘You did good, by the way,’ she said, standing on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. ‘You should be proud.’
His stricken expression bamboozled her before he forced a smile. ‘Thanks, I’ll see you at Fourde later?’
‘Count on it,’ she said, wondering what had undermined this confident man to the point where he found praise uncomfortable, and knowing she’d never find out if he didn’t trust her enough.
Mesmerised, Sapphie watched the Fourde Fashion show from a front row seat.
She’d envisaged the possibilities when Patrick had first had the Old Hollywood Glamour idea for the s
how, but never in her wildest dreams had she anticipated something so…so…stupendous.
Vibrant satin evening gowns in magenta, sapphire, crimson and gold, bias cut and strapless, highlighted by Ruby’s exquisite creations and elbow-length ebony satin gloves.
Dramatic red lipstick, finger-waved hair and kitten heels.
Crisp white shirts tucked into high-waisted pants, hair parted on the side, lashings of mascara.
Models channelling Katharine Hepburn and Marlene Deitrich, classic elegance, bold statements.
Sapphie didn’t know where to look first.
If she’d thought his contemporary show had been amazing, this one would shoot his reputation into the stratosphere.
And hers. Having the runway hit of Fashion Week would solidify Seaborns’ success for years to come.
And she owed it all to Patrick.
He’d given her this opportunity, had believed in Seaborns despite the rumours and she couldn’t thank him enough.
Maybe she could show her gratitude later, when they finally caught up outside of work for the first time in seven days. The snatched smooches and illicit touches beneath the boardroom table didn’t cut it and she’d been clamouring for him all week.
How she’d survive—physically, she had to focus on physi-cally—when he returned to Paris was beyond her.
No way would a gym workout hold half the appeal of a night in Patrick’s arms.
Those arms… Never had she felt so secure than the times he’d wrapped her close, content to hold her. For an independent gal with no plans for marriage, let alone a relationship beyond dinner and fun nights, their closeness seriously shook her.
They’d developed a bond no matter how much they wanted to deny it.
So what now?
Back to business as usual for her—running Seaborns and trying not to run herself into the ground again. And back to Paris for Patrick.
What she wouldn’t give to swap places with him…
In that moment the catwalk, the applause, the audience faded as an idea so shocking, so far out of left field, blew away every logical reason insisting they could never be together.
Go to Paris.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the ludicrous idea. It didn’t work. Instead the idea morphed, expanded, and presented a host of unwelcome possibilities she shouldn’t acknowledge but couldn’t ignore no matter how much she wanted to.
Logically, it wasn’t possible. Even if she were to visit for a while, see how a potential relationship developed, would it ultimately change anything?
Old workaholic Sapphie insisted not a chance.
New revived Sapphie said ‘you won’t know unless you give it a go.’
Confused, and a little shaken by an irrational surge of hope, she tried to mentally recite every reason why she couldn’t do this.
Who would run Seaborns?
Well, Rubes had done a good job of it during those three months she’d had off.
Would there be a future in it?
She’d never know if she didn’t try.
How would Patrick feel?
She’d have to ask him to find out.
And that was what had her angsty. She’d have to confront the guy she loved and see how he felt about her spending some time with him in Paris.
The guy she loved…
Uh-oh.
Somewhere between him barging into Seaborns, catching her in grungy workout clothes, and romancing her in style at the Langham she’d stupidly fallen in love with the guy.
A guy based in Europe.
A guy who’d gone out of his way to spell out the unlikelihood of a future.
Sheesh, he hadn’t wanted to continue their fling for the two weeks after the hotel. What chance did she have of convincing him to give anything longer a go?
Logistically it would be a nightmare doing the long distance thing. And realistically how long could something like that last? A few months tops, before they moved on, caught up in their careers.
It might be nice to dream about, but on a practical level it couldn’t happen.
Could it?
Sapphie glanced at the stage and caught sight of Patrick applauding the excited models as they passed him, the laugh lines around his eyes as familiar as the permanent wicked tilt to his lips.
Her motto after she’d left Tenang was to live in the moment more, to take calculated risks rather than playing the safe option all the time.
But there were risks and there were risks, and following Patrick to Paris on a whim in the hope he’d love her back…
That wasn’t risky. That was downright certifiable.
CHAPTER NINE
PATRICK WOULDN’T ADMIT it to anyone but the backstage buzz at a fashion show really got him going. He couldn’t thank his folks for much, but for unwittingly instilling a love of fashion into him? Yeah, he could be magnanimously grateful for that.
As Fourde Fashion’s showstopper, a daffodil-yellow shimmering silk sheath that cascaded in layers from the waist to the floor, took to the stage a roar from the crowd filled the room.
Thunderous applause, standing ovation, photographers’ flashes for the second time this week as Fourde Fashion wrapped up Fashion Week with a requested encore show reinforced what he’d known: this collection would be going places.
And so would he.
He’d done it. Put his past behind him once and for all. Vin-dicatedinstinct to flee might the trust his folks had placed in him this time around. Proved he could take an untried entity and turn it into a winner. Which meant it was time. Time to confront his parents with his plans. Big plans.
Never in the history of Fashion Week had a house been asked to repeat their show, but that was exactly what had happened when the audience and media had gone wild for his Old Hollywood Glamour campaign earlier in the week.
His phone hadn’t stopped ringing with congratulations and orders—so many orders for the gowns his idea had inspired.
This was the beginning. Next stop Paris, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d gone all the way to the top.
Pity the only congrats he’d received from his folks consisted of a brief e-mail citing revenue projections if initial orders continued and a terse ‘good show’.
It should have stung but it didn’t. He’d done this for himself, to prove he had what it took to launch solo.
As much as he hated to admit it, albeit to himself, the failure of his first show all those years ago had left a lasting legacy.
Logic explained away that initial disaster as being a combination of factors—wrong show at the wrong time, too innovative, breaking out of an established mould, not delivering on a tried and true brand—but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to a sliver of doubt undermining his big plans for the future.
He wondered if his folks even remembered him mentioning his plans to leave the company and set up on his own. Doubtful, as unless anything he had to say involved Fourde Fashion they weren’t interested.
No matter. They’d hear it soon enough when he confronted them shortly, for he had every intention of capitalising on the buzz surrounding his indie show to open his own label.
‘We did it.’ Sapphire sidled up to him, touched his arm, and he immediately wanted to bundle her into his.
‘Never any doubt.’
Her eyes shone with pride.
‘I wondered if we could pull this off.’ When he raised an eyebrow she hurried on. ‘I mean, your idea was amazing, but to squeeze in the contemporary show, then co-ordinate the clothes and the accessories for Fourde in a month, and make it look like that—’ she gestured towards the models tittering in a huddle backstage ‘—nothing short of a miracle.’
‘We’re a good team,’ he said, meaning it. She’d inspired him, both in and out of work, and for the hundredth time this week he wondered how he could walk away from her.
‘This could be the first of many successful Fourde/Sea-borns collaborations?’
‘About that…’ He intertwined his fingers
with hers and tugged her towards a quiet corner, away from sound and lighting technicians, models, dressers and neurotic designers.
There’d be no easy time to tell her and he’d rather she heard it from him.
‘I’m leaving for Paris in two days.’
Shock widened her eyes. ‘So soon?’
‘Yeah—have to capitalise on this success while the entire fashion world is still talking about it.’
‘Makes sense.’
He’d been worried how she’d take the news. Sure, they’d agreed on a no-strings-attached fling, but they’d grown closer than he’d expected. And the way she’d bailed him up after the indie show, asking why he wouldn’t let her in…
Yeah, there were emotions at play here and this could get messy.
‘My time in Melbourne has been great—’
‘Maybe I could visit you in Paris?’
His heart leapt in exaltation, before logic slapped it down. Her making a trip to Paris to continue their fling wouldn’t ultimately change anything. Their relationship had an end date and prolonging it would only make it more difficult.
He needed to focus on work for what was to come. The confrontation with his folks and the resultant fallout wouldn’t be pretty. The paparazzi would have a field-day, plastering his proposed defection to start up his own fashion house to rival Fourde all over the media.
Then there were the actual set-up logistics: finding offices, showroom space, hiring staff, marketing plans…Yeah, he needed to be one hundred percent focussed, and having Sapphire alongside him in Paris would guarantee a major distraction he didn’t need.
‘For a holiday?’
He hated seeing her tentative joy at joining him in Paris crumple in the face of his deliberately cool response.
‘For a few weeks. To see if…if we—’
‘We’ve had a great time, but I’m going to be pretty busy in Paris for the next few months, so maybe you should postpone your holiday?’
The words tumbled out of him in a rush, harsh and confronting. He willed her to understand, to be grateful for the time they’d had together.
Pain lanced his chest as she yanked her hand out of his and stepped back, her accusatory glare filled with retribution.