by Drea Stein
“This is Robin Smyth from Hot Style.” Phoebe perked up. Hot Style was one of her favorite reads, filled with all sorts of up-and-coming designers and products.
“I wanted to discuss featuring your line of pillows and accessories in an upcoming issue and on our website and TV segments. Your work recently came to our attention, and I think it would be a great fit in our next issue.”
Phoebe stopped what she was doing, trying to breathe. “You want to feature me?”
“Yes, we just love your stuff. Plus, I heard you’re restoring an old house. And that it belonged to Savannah Ryan. Listen, I was such a huge fan and was so sad when I heard your grandmother passed away. I just think that since you do such great stuff and if we can tie it in with her work, well, then it would be like the artistic torch is being passed from one generation to the next—even if the medium is different. What do you say, are you interested?”
Phoebe smiled and she could almost hear Savannah’s raspy voice saying, “You finally got your big break.”
“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with all the rumors going around now, does it?”
There was a pause. “Well, to tell you the truth, I got a call from at least four other designers who told me that they just had meetings with Serena about working on a collection together.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said.
“I guess her agent and manager are really shopping around. I am sure it would be a great opportunity for you, but I really like your stuff, even without someone else’s name attached to it.” Robin emphasized the word “your,” and Phoebe felt her heart beat a little faster.
“Plus, I am a sucker for cute little Victorian house with water views.”
Phoebe laughed. “Apparently, I am too. So, no matter what happens with the Serena deal, you want to feature me?”
She could hear Robin shuffling some papers. “Yes. And between you and me,” she said, dropping her voice, “I hear she’s a total nightmare to work with. And a total attention hog. Listen, it’s your business, but something similar happened with her clothing line. She went to ten different design teams before she found one that she stuck with, and they have a total non-disclosure agreement. They can’t tell anyone who they work for. And worse yet, they can’t put out anything of their own.”
Phoebe let that all sink in.
“Great. Now,” Robin continued, “I’m not promising anything, but many of the new designers and companies we feature, they see quite a jump in their business. Are you prepared to handle that?”
Phoebe looked around the study and her big workspace. Her sketches were spread out on it. She had been sorting through them, deciding whether any of them were worth keeping. There was a decision to be made here.
“I’m ready to handle it,” Phoebe said.
<<>>
Lynn had come over with a bottle of champagne when she heard the news. “I am so excited for you.”
Phoebe was nervous, but she could feel the adrenaline and the champagne kicking in. Excitement. Purpose. There was a chance that nothing would come of it, but she had to be true to herself.
“I think, maybe, I’m being manipulated.” She told Lynn what she had learned from Robin Smyth.
“I don’t think Chase would do that,” Lynn began.
Phoebe shook her head. She had done a little more research after getting off the phone and realized that Robin had been right. Supposedly, Serena was not known for sharing credit for design ideas. And once Phoebe had looked a little more closely at the press release about her collaboration with Serena, she saw that the language was intentionally vague about how committed Serena was to Phoebe.
“Not Chase.”
It took Lynn only a moment to put it together. “Oh, you think Dean is trying to get you away from here and Chase. I knew he was the villain.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes at Lynn’s dramatics. “Not a villain. Just being pretty aggressive in pursuing me. I think he’s doing what an agent does, spinning the media to make the situation work to his advantage.”
“So, you’re not going to get me backstage passes to a Serena concert?”
Phoebe shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I still know a few people. But I don’t think I’m going to be working with her. It’s my life, my terms this time.”
“This means that you’re not leaving?” Lynn’s face broke into a smile.
“No, I’m not leaving,” Phoebe assured her, knowing in that moment that she really did belong here, that she wanted to be here, to give this a real try.
“I’m glad. I would’ve missed you,” Lynn said, and, impulsively, Phoebe hugged her.
“This means more margarita nights at Augie’s.”
“I can handle it if you can,” Lynn said.
Phoebe took a sip of her champagne, savoring the bubbles. She would need to tell Dean her official decision. But not now. For now, she just wanted to savor the moment.
“Imagine, a major magazine wants to do an article on me…” Phoebe said, feeling her toes tingling.
“So cool. And you don’t care that they’re going to mention Savannah?” Lynn asked.
Phoebe shook her head. She had thought about this too. “It finally feels right. Like the editor said, an artistic torch being passed from one generation to the next. I think Savannah would have been proud. And happy.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
“I haven’t talked to Dean yet.” Phoebe shook her head. She wanted to keep him out of this opportunity.
“That’s not who I meant,” Lynn countered.
Phoebe turned to face her. “It doesn’t matter if I stay or go. Chase and I want different things. I want to settle down and, well, I don’t think he’s the type.”
“Did you ever tell him that’s what you wanted?” Lynn said, taking a sip of her champagne.
They had nearly polished off the bottle of champagne and were digging into a bag of potato chips when Phoebe got the text.
“Ugh, it’s Dean. He wants to see me. I guess he wants his answer.”
“Can’t you text him back?” Lynn suggested, licking the salt off a chip before eating it.
“No. I think a part of him wants to make sure I’m back in Los Angeles. Unless I can explain it to his face that I plan on turning down this amazing opportunity and why, he’ll think I’m delusional.
“Are you rational?” Lynn asked, gesturing to the half-empty bottle of champagne.
“I poured you more,” Phoebe said with a snicker.
“Ahh, no wonder I feel all floaty and wonderful. I’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone. Have you got a TV yet?”
Laughing, Phoebe tossed her the remote. She texted Dean back and ran upstairs, changing into a sundress and a pair of high-heeled sandals. Using her sunglasses as a headband, she fluffed her hair, grabbed her bag, and was ready.
Chapter 44
Chase kept pounding on the door. Finally, he heard footsteps and when it opened, he almost barreled in, but stopped.
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“Hello to you too,” Lynn said. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, not her scrubs, and her hair was in a messy ponytail. He could hear the sound of the TV in the background, and he saw a flash of the screen and almost did a double take until he realized that it was Savannah and Leland on the big screen and not Phoebe and himself.
“Lynn?”
“She had to meet someone. You really upset her, you know. How could you? You know that’s the one thing she hates, being used because of who she is.”
“I wasn’t using her,” he said, the panic rising. “Where is she? Who is she meeting?” he demanded again, dread hitting him hard.
“Why is that any of your business? She said your deal is over. She did what she was supposed to, and whether she stays or goes has nothing to do with you.”
“She’s staying?” Hope filled him.
“Yeah, but not because of you. In spite of you. It’s all over the TV now—all the entertainment shows are replaying all th
ese programs on Savannah and Leland. Phoebe’s all over the place, the poor little Hollywood girl. She never wanted anyone’s pity, you know.”
“I know. Listen, Lynn, I didn’t leak the story. At least not on purpose.”
“Fine, I believe you, and I bet she does too.”
“Then, what’s the problem?” Chase could hear the frustration in his own voice.
Lynn rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to tell her, you big dummy. Tell her how you feel.”
Chase tried to tamp down his impatience. Lynn was obviously buzzing and he needed her to focus.
“Where is she?”
“Who, what? Oh, she went to go talk to Dean. About the job offer. Down at the hotel.”
Chase felt his stomach flip. No way he trusted that guy. Sure, Phoebe had said he was a true-blue friend, but Chase had a feeling there was more to the story, at least on Dean’s side.
Chapter 45
“Couldn’t we go someplace more private?” Dean took her arm and tried to guide her away from the dock.
She took a deep bracing breath of air and decided. It was almost fully dark now, and the lights along the dock were coming on, one by one. Music from the Osprey Arms’ outdoor terrace drifted over, and the air was warm, a hint of summer to come.
“This is fine.” All of a sudden, Phoebe didn’t feel like being in a more private place with Dean. Public was good enough for her.
“I need to say I think you’re making a big mistake.” Dean stepped up to her and pulled her up to him, his light eyes searching hers.
“He’s not good enough for you, Phoebe. I’m the one who was there for you. I want you to share everything with me. With your name and talent and my help, there’s no saying where you could go.”
He lowered his lips to hers and pulled her in tight. He tried to kiss her, but Phoebe jerked back, putting a hand out against Dean’s chest, holding him off.
“I know you did it,” she said. “You leaked the story about the collaboration with Serena. Is it even true? Does she want to work with me?” Anger crept into her voice.
His hazel eyes were confused. “But you’re making a mistake. He’s not good enough for you, and all of that romance-of-the-century stuff was complete crap. He can’t love you, not the way I do.”
“As opposed to what you’re doing?” Phoebe said coldly.
“Phoebe, please.” Dean pulled her close again and she knew he was going for another kiss. His eyes were intent, serious, but the look in them quickly turned to surprise when he fell back. All of a sudden, the dock was crowded.
“Chase, don’t.” Phoebe was too late.
Chase had already spun Dean around. “Get your hands off my girl!”
“Your girl…” Dean turned back to look at Phoebe. “See, Phoebe, I had to save you from yourself. Is this why you’re giving up the opportunity of a lifetime. For this buffoon?”
“What did you call me?” Chase’s eyes narrowed.
“Phoebe, I am so sorry.” Lynn followed closely behind Chase. “He wanted to know where you were.”
Phoebe looked around. Chase and Dean were squaring off against each other, both of them in some sort of fighting stance. She swallowed hard. Dean worked out quite a bit at the gym and was a black belt in karate. But Chase had the more muscular build, like that of a street fighter.
“I can’t believe you think you can step in and ruin her life. She’s throwing it all away.”
“What are you saying, I’m not good enough for her?” Chase’s voice was dangerously low. “Do you think you’re better for her than me? How dare you try to get between us?”
Phoebe felt the tension rise. She was about to step in between the two of them. She wasn’t sure who said what or who went for the other first, but she saw Chase’s arm shoot out and Dean staggered back, into Phoebe. She teetered, started to lose her balance, and reached out to grab one of the pilings to steady herself.
“Oh, no,” she heard Lynn say, and then Phoebe felt herself falling, heading for the murky waters of Queensbay Harbor.
It was cold, Phoebe thought, as she hit the water and began sinking. The shock had her hesitating a moment before she was ready to kick herself back up to the top. All of a sudden, there was something around her waist, pulling her up, up towards the fading light of the surface.
“Are you crazy?” Chase yelled when they hit the surface. Phoebe gasped in breaths of air, unable to answer. The water was cold and she was shivering. A crowd had gathered and there were flashlights being shone their way.
“Come this way, there’s a ladder,” someone called. Phoebe coughed, realizing she had swallowed more salty water than she had thought. Chase’s arm was still around her as he towed her against the current and towards the walkway.
Strong hands lifted her up. Phoebe looked around. Dean was sitting, holding his nose, while Lynn hovered over him. Someone had a first aid kit and she had broken out an ice pack. She glanced up, gave the thumbs-up sign.
Phoebe felt Chase’s presence behind her. “Does someone have a blanket?” he called out and, in a moment, she felt something draped over her. The police were there and so were the paramedics.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Phoebe waved them away.
Everyone was looking at her, at them. “I can swim, you know.” She pulled the blanket more tightly around her and started walking off the dock.
Lynn stood up, but she waved her away. Phoebe stopped in front of Dean, who looked up at her, an ice pack on his nose.
“Dean, I’m really not going back to California. I don’t want the job and I don’t want you. And that has nothing to do with him.” She nodded towards Chase. “I’m staying to pursue my business. And you and me, we’re done.”
Dean stood up. A lock of his blond hair fell across his eye, and he tried his best to work his charm as he stuck out his hand. “It’s my loss. But good luck, I guess. When you change your mind…”
She ignored his outstretched hand. “I’ll know who not to call.” And with that she kept walking.
Chapter 46
Chase found her by following the wet footsteps across the front porch, through the front door, which she hadn’t locked, down the hall and to the terrace. She had lit a fire in the fire pit and changed, though she was still wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the new outdoor couch she’d had delivered.
It had taken him a good hour to straighten things out with the police. Luckily, Dean, like Chase, hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it, so they shook hands, Chase with his stomach aching from Dean’s nicely placed roundhouse kick, and Dean with a shiner that made him look more like a biker than a preppy Hollywood type.
She was drinking tea, wrapped in a soft blanket, staring out at the water. The sun was well down below the horizon, but the last streaks of purple-pink suffused the indigo sky.
“I’m sorry,” he said, deciding to lead with an apology.
Her face didn’t turn. He could see her exquisite profile, the long straight nose, the way the fire picked up the red-gold highlights in her hair.
“Why did you come today?”
“I came because I thought you were going to Los Angeles with him, for him,” Chase said, and felt his hands clench and then unclench.
“Dean?” She had turned now, surprise lifting her voice.
“Yes. I thought you were going to walk out of my life and I was crazy. Crazy that I would lose you.”
He came around the couch and dropped down in front of her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Chase took her hands in his. They were still cold and her hair was still damp, probably from her shower. She smelled like her flower-and-citrus shampoo.
“Phoebe Ryan, I love you. I love you because you’re you. Stubborn, caring, loving despite never being loved, because you’re talented and creative. Because I can’t think straight when you’re around. Because when your blue eyes look at me, I would do anything for you.”
“You did jump into the water after me. I was on the swim
team or didn’t you remember?”
“Shh.” He put a finger to her lips. “No sarcasm. I am trying to tell you something here.”
She shook her head, lifted her chin. “Then just say it, Chase Sanders.”
He smiled. “Phoebe, I love you. Every single thing about you. From your fuzzy slippers, to your silly salt-and-pepper shaker collection, to the way you look in the morning when the sunlight hits your hair on the pillow, to the way your skin smells in the rain. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you because you’re you. And no one else. Will you marry me?”
Chase looked at her, barely breathing. Slowly, excruciatingly, she reached up with her hands and brought his face close to her. She laid a gentle kiss on his lips and breathed the word, “Yes.”
They sat there on the couch, entangled in the blanket, watching the dying embers of the fire. It was fully dark now and frogs had grown loud around them.
“So, about this house,” he started to say.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
“I was thinking that we might need to expand it, just a little bit. You know, so you have a proper studio and there’s plenty of room for the kids to run around. That’s if you want to stay here. If not, I am sure we could find something else.”
Phoebe’s mouth shushed him with a row of kisses along his cheek.
“We can’t leave Ivy House. It’s magical.”
“Romance of this century,” he agreed, as his mouth caught hers and kissed her.
About Drea Stein
Andrea Stein is a writer of contemporary romance, a blogger, wife and mother who lives in central New Jersey. When not writing, she’s probably trying to squeeze in some reading, in between chauffeuring kids, making dinner, folding the ever-present laundry pile and updating her popular blog: www.dreastein.com or on facebook at http://www.facebook.com/DreaSteinAuthor.
Copyright
Copyright 2013 by Andrea Drea Stein and Barn Hill Media, a division of Chanumas, LLC. All rights reserved.