by Diana Palmer
He rose as she walked in and motioned her to a black leather chair. She knew the black-and-white-striped dress she was wearing was not very elegant, but she had altered it to fit perfectly and felt self-assured when she wore it. That assurance vanished when she saw Curry’s face. It bore an expression that was cold and businesslike.
“You’re firing me,” she said with resignation.
He leaned back in his chair with a smile. “Hardly,” he replied. “I wanted to know how things went with Harry.”
She blinked. That was a surprise. Harry should have arrived at Wall Street at least a half hour before she got there. “Haven’t you talked with him?”
He nodded. “He was here a few minutes ago, and he looked guilty. I want to know if there were any innuendos made about how you got to be a senior designer so quickly. I won’t have women harassed here—especially you.”
His concern made her feel warm inside. “I showed him my designs,” she offered.
“That wasn’t what I asked, Ivory.”
She crossed and uncrossed her legs. “He wasn’t insulting.”
“I was,” he replied. “I was damned insulting. I didn’t want to have him talk to you and he knew it, but everyone here in the executive offices was busy.”
“Yes, well, isn’t Mr. Lambert head of our division?” she asked warily.
“He is. But I usually have one of the financial people do cost estimates.”
“Oh.”
“I want to know if he upset you.”
She lifted both eyebrows. “What did you intend to do if he had?”
“I enjoyed firing Virginia Raines,” he said arrogantly. “Maybe I haven’t fired enough people yet.”
She couldn’t believe she’d heard that.
He didn’t blink. “I know. It isn’t quite rational, is it? But that’s how I feel. I don’t want you hurt by anyone.”
She smiled gently. “Thank you. But I can take up for myself when I have to. I’m not helpless.”
“Let me feel protective,” he said quietly. “It isn’t something I indulge often, and it’s usually limited to family.”
She laughed softly. “Okay. But I don’t listen to gossip and as long as I know how I get where I’m going, nobody else’s opinion matters.”
“An interesting attitude,” he mused. “It makes me wonder how it was developed. You’ve been exposed to public gossip before, perhaps?”
She stared at him with cold eyes. “There was no scandal in my family,” she said with practiced hauteur while she shivered inside. Of course there had been gossip. Far too much. “I come from a socially impeccable background...!”
He sat up, his hands folded on the desk. “I’m sorry,” he said at once. “That was unforgivable. The reason I asked you over here was to explain what we’re going to do with you,” he said, smoothing over the awkward moment. “I’m going to have your new office redecorated. You can pick and choose your own furnishings, paintings and such. I’m sure that you don’t share Virginia’s taste. An office is an extension of the person. It should suit you.”
The statement prompted her to look around his. The black leather furniture was complemented by white curtains with red-and-black ties. On one wall was a painting of a stone fort surrounded by palm trees, and crossed swords, antique-looking, hung on another. The whole office had a Latin flavor, right down to the few pieces of small statuary that graced its tables.
“My mother is Puerto Rican,” he told her, and waited for any hint of prejudice to show on her face. It didn’t.
“And your father?” she probed gently.
“His great-grandparents were Irish immigrants. He was illiterate.”
“A lot of people are,” she said. She averted her eyes. He had a background very similar to her real one. She longed to tell him the truth, but it was already too late. She was trapped by the past she had invented.
His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “You have a vague Southern accent. It’s hardly noticeable unless you’re upset or excited. You hide it well. Are you ashamed of it?”
“Not particularly, but I went to a very good private school. Before I started at the fashion design school,” she added quickly.
His firm lips pursed as he studied her. “You’re a lady of many mysteries,” he said absently. “Before I’m through, I’m going to know you right down to your bones, and you’re going to know me the same way.”
Her eyes lifted in faint surprise. He sounded very serious. He looked serious, as well.
“Don’t start looking for places to hide,” he said with a gentle smile. “We’ve got all the time in the world. And right now, I have more on my plate than I can handle, anyway. You’d be a terrible complication.”
She let her eyes fall to his dark wine-colored tie. “So would you, for me.”
“But it won’t always be this way. And that’s all the more reason to be honest with each other,” he said.
She picked at a short fingernail. “I know.” She smoothed over the picked place. Her conscience was already killing her. “Goodness, is that the time?” she said suddenly, checking her watch. “I promised Dee I’d help her with the new pattern.”
He saw the subterfuge for what it was. “All right, querida. We’ll leave it there for now.”
She searched his face with faint pleasure. “Why did you call me darling?”
He pounced on that understanding of his mother’s native tongue with a suddenness that she couldn’t foresee.
“¿Cuando aprendiste español?”
“Cuando era una niñita,” she replied without thinking, and then caught her breath at being caught out so easily.
“Well, well,” he murmured. “I would have thought French would be more natural to you than Spanish, being from Louisiana. Parles-tu français?”
When she stared at him questioningly, he looked back at her the same way. “No, you don’t speak French, do you?”
“I’ve...forgotten most of what I learned as a child,” she said ingeniously. “I didn’t know that you spoke both Spanish and French,” she said hastily, trying to divert him.
“I have something of a knack for languages. But I can’t claim Spanish as a real accomplishment, since I’ve been speaking it all my life. Unless I miss my guess, so have you.”
She ground her teeth together. She hadn’t wanted to give herself away.
“You said your mother had French ancestry, and your father had British. Where did you learn Spanish?”
She scarcely heard him. She was choking in a stranglehold of memories of her mother. She jumped to her feet, gasping for breath. Her eyes were hunted.
He stood up, too. “Ivory,” he said sharply. “Ivory!”
She looked at him, and finally registered who he was.
“It’s all right,” he said gently. “Sit down, now. Sit down. Calm down. I promise you, I won’t ask another question.”
She fumbled her way back into the chair, pitifully aware that her face was ashen. She clung to the leather arms, seeking security.
He buzzed for his secretary. “Send Bill for coffee, will you? Cream and sugar,” he added.
“Yes, sir.”
Curry picked up a pen on his desk, toying with it while Ivory composed herself.
“That was not fair,” she told him.
He sighed roughly. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re so damned full of contradictions. It was only a simple question, Ivory.”
“A man taught me Spanish, all right?” she asked angrily.
“A man. But not a lover.”
“Not a lover,” she muttered.
“But he wanted to be?”
She folded her hands in her lap, fighting for control. She looked at him after a minute, her face composed. “About the designs,” she said, grasping for conversational gambits, “is the cost going to be
acceptable?”
He hesitated, but in the end he let her get away with it. She was too upset already. He wanted to know more about her, that was all; but she was like a clam about her past. Perhaps there had been a bad experience, and he was causing her pain. He decided to let it go.
“Hell, no, the cost isn’t going to be acceptable.” He grinned. “But I’m going to pay it anyway. I’ve always been a gambler, when I had a sure thing. This is no gamble. I can feel it.”
“What if you’re wrong?” she worried. “What if nobody likes the designs?”
“Everybody will.” He leaned forward intently. “I’d better not find out that Harry insulted you,” he added, unexpectedly returning to their earlier discussion.
“He didn’t. Not after he saw the designs,” she said with a faint smile.
“I’m not surprised. Don’t let him bother you. He’s a junior executive, and expendable if he harasses you. He came on strong at my party, but that was a social affair. In the workplace, a man has an obligation to be no more than a coworker.”
“Thank you. But you won’t have to fire him.”
He sat back in his chair. “Now. I’ve been going over the design for the suit. I’ve got people out scouring the country for Austrian crystal, and the pattern-makers are busy on sizing. I’m having the sample room run up two or three suits in various sizes for the showing. If we lose a model, I don’t want any last-minute snags about fitting.”
“Neither do I.”
“We can do the suit in wool or cashmere for winter,” he continued. “But for summer, it has to be a silk blend or linen.”
“I’d love to do it in wool,” she said dreamily.
“And we will, if it impresses the buyers.” He chuckled at the look on her face. “It will. Stop backsliding. You have to have faith in yourself.”
“I always have had, to a point,” she said. “It’s a gift, you know, not something I struggled to learn how to do,” she added. “And Harry had some very good ideas about altering the design just enough to cut costs. Like having self-buttons.”
He tossed the pen onto the desk. “My idea,” he said. “I’m glad you liked it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Harry didn’t mention that?”
She sighed. “I should have known.”
“Of course you should. I’m not a designer, but I made damned sure I knew something about designing when I took over this company.”
“You have a lot of companies.”
“Ten,” he said carelessly. “This is the only design firm.”
“How do you keep up with them all?”
“I put in good managers and scare the hell out of them with surprise inspections,” he confessed. He sat forward a little. “How does the tree look?”
“It’s beautiful. I forgot to give you your present,” she added.
“Suppose I come over Christmas Eve for it?”
Her eyes lit up. “That would be so nice. But...but you’ll want to be with your family, your mother.”
“Yes, but I can spare an hour,” he said gently. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“So will I.”
The door opened and Bill, the office boy, came in with two cups of coffee and sugar and cream on a tray. He put them on the desk, staying only long enough to deposit them.
“Drink your coffee,” Curry invited. “And while we’re doing that, I’ll explain the cost estimates to you. I think this is going to be one of my more profitable ventures.” And, he added silently, as he watched her put cream in her cup, in more ways than one.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IVORY’S LIFE TOOK on the semblance of a dream. She went to work each day with a light step and a smile, overjoyed to be doing what she loved most and getting paid for it. With Virginia Raines gone, the office was more relaxed and even more productive. The girls on the line were sewing clothes that they really liked, and they tried harder to do a good job.
The suit she had designed turned out even better than Ivory had expected. She added pleated puff shoulders to it, to emphasize the smooth line from shoulder to waist. Although the change was an extra expense, Curry didn’t say a word about the cost; he was so pleased with the improvement.
Ivory had no intimate contact with Curry on the job, although he spent a lot of time in the building, overseeing production. They had coffee in her office from time to time, and his quiet gaze lingered longer and longer on Ivory, who noticed and became painfully shy. He had a way of looking at her that made her toes curl up in her shoes, and the attraction between them became more intense every day. She couldn’t forget the warm hunger in his kisses, and she dreamed of him at night.
There were long conversations when he came to her office, or when she went to his, about work and politics and the world at large. She found him easy to talk to, and despite the excitement he engendered in her, she felt more comfortable with him than she’d ever felt with anyone else. He shared that contentment, it seemed, because often he sought her out for no more important reason than to share a cup of coffee with her.
He didn’t see her away from work, however, and he didn’t invite her to go out with him. He’d said that he didn’t want complications. Obviously he meant it. But he spent enough time with Ivory that she didn’t mind so much. They grew closer every day, in ways far removed from any physical attraction.
Belle was chosen to model the new suit. Ivory fitted it on her the morning of Christmas Eve, before the noontime closing. It was disturbing to Ivory to see the woman here now and to remember her connection to Curry, who had become so very important in her own life. She was jealous and insecure, especially when the gloriously beautiful redhead mentioned that she’d been to an art gallery showing with Curry just the night before.
Although Ivory had already made so much progress, she hadn’t made her mark yet and was still a long way from affording designer clothing and the kind of accessories she’d need for a high-society night on the town. She realized that quite suddenly. Curry couldn’t take her to an art gallery show because she dressed like a street person and he’d be embarrassed. Why hadn’t she thought of that until now?
The model frowned as she studied the other woman’s bent head. “You look worried. Doesn’t the suit fit me the way you think it should?”
“You know very well that it does,” Ivory replied calmly. “You’re lovely. The suit really was designed for a brunette, you know, but you have the flair and height that add elegance. And I think it would look almost as good on a blonde.”
“I love it,” Belle said with a smile. “It’s the most dramatic outfit I’ve ever modeled for Kells-Meredith!”
“Thank you.”
She finished her minor adjustments and left Dee to run it up on her machine. The other seamstresses were very good, but Dee had a special touch.
Belle’s fitting left Ivory depressed and sad. She hadn’t seen Curry for two days except at a distance as he was passing through the building. She supposed that she’d read too much into the Christmas tree, a few light kisses and sweet words and the extra time he spent with her on the job. He wouldn’t have taken Belle on a date if he’d had any real feelings for Ivory. She had to remember her place. She was just a member of the staff, after all, not his lover. He liked being with her, but that didn’t mean he wanted a permanent relationship. He was an attractive, worldly man. She couldn’t expect him to be a monk.
Besides, she’d been so busy designing and dreaming of fame and fortune that she’d forgotten her real status here. She wasn’t what people thought she was. Her carefully modulated voice and good manners had been acquired at design school. The Ivory who’d presented herself at the front door of the Paris Design Academy in Houston had been an oddity and even something of an embarrassment her first few days there. She was literate, but her clothes came from yard sales and she did not know how to use makeup, how to dress, even how to behave in civilized company.
She spoke with the kind of drawl that was the mark of the uneducated, and the pronunciation of some of the basic fashion words was almost beyond her. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of one of the female instructors, who taught Ivory speech and social graces, she might never have made the grade. No one knew that the scholarship she’d won had been the only opportunity in her deprived, and abusive, childhood.
She’d always had the gift of being able to draw what she saw; but her drawing and studying weren’t encouraged by her mother. Marlene was too busy with her own life to consider what Ivory could achieve in hers.
After her husband’s death, she’d used the insurance money to buy expensive clothes and cosmetics. Her investment in her looks had led to several dead-end love affairs, the last of which was with a rich landowner named Larry, who’d paid the bills for her and given Ivory a job working in the fields—at Marlene’s insistence. She needed the extra money to pay liquor bills she didn’t want Larry to know about.
When that money wasn’t enough, Marlene became proficient at shoplifting around town. It was easy to blame Ivory for it and then put on her martyred face, so that people felt sorrier for her and agreed not to have Ivory arrested. Those charges had hurt, because Ivory was honest. Marlene had never been.
Ivory had to fight her mother to get to finish high school. Then, two years of hard labor went by before the design scholarship contest was announced in one of the state newspapers. Ivory had entered, secretly. When she won—to her astonishment—she spent every penny she had on a bus ticket to Houston and promised to reimburse her mother for her room and board when she found work.
What a laugh—to be asked to reimburse her mother for raising her own child. But it was no joke. Marlene Costello was vicious and unpredictable. She seemed to have no scruples, and she’d spent her life creating trouble and scandal for the people around her. Before Ivory’s father died, Marlene had been a little more stable, sometimes even kind.