The charity auction was being held across town in a large, high-end hotel, but he didn’t know much about the event.
“So what’s the big deal about this fashion show?” he asked.
“It’s a fundraiser. All proceeds from the ticket sales and the auction are being donated to the homeless and destitute.”
“So how much do I owe you for the ticket?”
“Nothing. You’re my guest, and besides, work is paying for them.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“What are they auctioning?”
“Top fashion designers each donate an item to be auctioned. Tour de Force has put together an amazing outfit this year. We always raise a lot of money from the auction as they’re all one-off pieces.”
Chris was beginning to get a sense this event was a big deal and not just a fashion show as he’d thought. He should have guessed it was something more by the fact he had to wear a tuxedo, but now he was beginning to get nervous. He knew nothing about fashion and he didn’t want to embarrass Imi with some kind of faux pas.
Imogen pulled into the valet parking of the hotel and handed over her car keys. Chris joined her at the hood and put his arm out so she could take hold of it. His heart was beating a million miles an hour as they walked up the steps of the most elegant hotel in Houston.
He was way out of his comfort zone.
The event was being held in the ballroom. At the entrance Imogen handed over her tickets and together they entered.
Chris wanted to stop and stare but he kept moving with her. The room was done out in a beautiful summer theme with sun-shaped chandeliers and ice sculptures of waves. Everything was tastefully decorated in blue and gold: it had been transformed into a vacation paradise.
“This place looks amazing,” he said.
Imogen nodded, scanning the room. “They outdo themselves each year.” She waved to someone and turned to Chris. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
With a deep breath to calm his nerves, he walked into the fray.
***
Within an hour he’d rubbed shoulders with politicians, CEOs, movie stars and musicians, as well as far too many fashion designers to count. Imogen knew them all, or else they knew her and she stood and chatted to them quite happily. He held his own too. Making small talk was something he was good at – he needed to be for his job.
“When I designed that suit I only dreamed it would be worn by someone as handsome as you.” The voice came from his left and at the same time a hand with meticulous nails manicured in tiger stripes clamped down on his arm. Chris turned to the speaker, who was a woman a good twenty years older than him wearing a long slinky black dress that promised seduction.
Imogen had told him the designer’s name … what was it again? “Chantelle, I presume?” he said, holding out a hand to shake hers.
She took his hand and stepped in to kiss him slowly on both cheeks. “Darling, what is your name?”
Chris was rather bemused by her show. “Chris Barker, ma’am.”
She stood back and examined him, brushing at non-existent fluff on the base of his jacket. “Divine.”
He grinned. “I must thank you. My girlfriend is rather appreciative of the tuxedo as well.” The moment he said the word he wondered if it was the right one. Could he say he and Imogen were dating, were an item, were … whatever the latest word was for being in a relationship? Or did a couple of Skype conversations and a few kisses not amount to that?
“Girlfriend?” Chantelle pouted. “Where is she?”
Imogen had finished speaking to another designer and turned to stand next to him. “Chantelle, how are you?”
The two of them kissed each other’s cheeks.
“Imogen, are you responsible for this hunk wearing my clothes?”
Imogen smiled and shook her head. “He chose it himself.”
Chantelle sighed dramatically. “Fabulous taste and gorgeous to boot. You’re so lucky.”
“I know.” Imogen slipped her hand into Chris’s and everything was right in the world.
“What has Tour de Force got for us tonight?” Chantelle asked.
“You know I can’t tell you. You’ll have to wait and see like everyone else.”
“What is Chantelle Vision showing?” Chris asked.
“Touché. You can wait,” Chantelle said and smiled. She glanced around. “Where is that incorrigible father of yours?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him this evening.”
Chris had been wondering the same thing.
“He was talking to Jacques over there,” Imogen said, pointing to a section of the ballroom.
“I will hunt him down then. Have a wonderful night.” She waved and then was off, slinking across the ballroom. More than one male watched her go past.
Chris grinned. “That’s some lady.”
“Chantelle’s a delight. One of the hardest-working women I know and yet she always looks fabulous – and as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. I don’t know how she does it.”
Chris was intrigued. “Doesn’t she just design suits?” It didn’t sound like hard work to him.
Imogen raised her eyebrows, which warned him he was about to get a lecture. “Chantelle Vision isn’t as big as Tour de Force. Chantelle does almost all the work herself; she designs the line, makes up the patterns and toiles, sources the fabrics, finds markets. She has a business partner to deal with contracts and finances but everything else is on her.”
Chris never realized there was so much to designing a clothing line. He looked over at Chantelle with new respect.
Then he noticed Remy Fontaine, or rather he saw the hostile look Remy gave him before turning and greeting Chantelle.
“Your father doesn’t appear to be very happy to see me,” he said. Imogen hadn’t mentioned the reason for her father’s surprise visit the night before and it was obvious that even after all these years Remy didn’t approve of his daughter dating the gardener’s son.
“It doesn’t matter.” Imogen turned away, her voice quiet. “I can bring a date if I want to.”
Something in her words made him stop, face her. “Am I not meant to be here?”
“Yes, of course you are.” She shuffled her feet and looked around the room.
There was something more. “Who do you normally come with?”
“Papa and I usually come together,” she admitted.
Well it was one reason for Remy to be mad at him. It made Chris uneasy. As much as he disliked the man, he didn’t want to come between him and his only child. He glanced around the room at the tables that were set for dinner. “Where are we sitting?”
“At the Tour de Force table.”
Great. He would have to sit right next to the man. Maybe it would give him a chance to win him over for Imogen’s sake.
A bell chimed and people made their way to the tables.
“Good, I’m starving,” Imogen said and took his hand to lead him across the dance floor to their table.
At their table was Abigail, the business manager, and her partner Doug; Jacques, one of the designers, and his partner, Stacey, as well as Derek, the pattern and toile maker and Remy. The only friendly greetings came from Derek and Abigail. Chris pulled out the chair for Imogen and waited for her to sit before taking his own. He felt a little as though he was sitting down for an interrogation.
At least he knew how to deal with hostile situations.
It was what being a lawyer was all about.
Chapter 10
Chris sat next to Jacques and immediately he didn’t like the man. He was one of those overly enthused people who gushed about everything and meant nothing. The word insincere had been invented for people like him.
“What is it you do, Chris?” Jacques asked.
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Oh, criminal law?”
“No, corporate and business law.”
“Is that how you met Imogen?” The question was
innocent but Chris knew the sound of digging when he heard it.
“No, we met through friends.”
“You must know Imogen well for her to invite you to this event,” Jacques said.
He was not going to discuss the status of his relationship with this rat. “Well enough.”
“Oh, you’re being modest. No one invites just a friend to an event where tickets are five hundred dollars each.”
Chris was glad he’d had years of practicing his game face, making sure no surprise ever showed, because otherwise that bombshell would have lit him up. Five hundred dollars each! He had to respond. “Maybe Imogen does.”
“I’m sure it didn’t even occur to her, since Tour de Force was paying.”
“Is that why you brought your wife along?” Chris asked, not letting his temper show.
Jacques smiled as if he were pleased by the verbal tussle. Before he could respond, the master of ceremonies took to the microphone to welcome everyone to the event. The man explained how the evening was going to run: the auction would continue between each of the meal’s seven courses.
It was a good way of organizing things, Chris decided as the evening began. It gave the guests enough time between courses to digest their food and the excitement of the bidding kept everyone entertained.
The bidding for the first garment, a hat, gloves and shoes combination from a well-known designer, started at one thousand dollars. Chris knew right then the evening would be a success. People were determined to purchase something, if only so they could say they had.
He leaned over to whisper to Imogen, “How much is it worth?”
“If it was part of the retail collection it would cost around thirteen hundred dollars, so that first bidder was being a little cheeky.”
Chris bit his tongue. He had no idea when it came to the high end of the fashion industry.
To spend over one thousand dollars on accessories was beyond his comprehension. A normal person could put together a whole year’s wardrobe for that amount of money.
He knew Imogen was wealthy, but he’d never really realized just how wealthy. She never would have had to scrimp and save for anything she’d wanted. Did she even understand the value of money, understand how important it was to have someone pay a hundred-dollar invoice on time because it meant the difference between being able to go on a school excursion or being left behind?
Imogen passed him the auction pamphlet, a glossy high-resolution bound brochure of all the items available during the night.
“Is there anything you like?” he asked her as he passed the brochure back.
“These earrings are gorgeous,” she said, pointing them out. “But I’ll see how the bidding goes.”
He doubted he’d be able to afford to buy them for her. But she’d be able to buy them for herself.
What would life be like with Imogen if she earned more than he did?
He didn’t like the thought, though not because he cared whether women earned more than men. He had promised himself as a teenager that he would never rely on anyone for money. They could too easily turn on you, as Remy had shown.
“You okay?” Imogen asked, squeezing his hand.
He was frowning; he smoothed it into a smile. “Of course.” He pushed his concerns aside.
He distracted himself by watching the bidders, some coolly disinterested as if they were only bidding because it was for charity, and others wildly waving their bidding cards in their excitement.
When the earrings came up, Imogen sat straighter and took hold of her card.
Starting bid was five hundred dollars. Imogen waited while the bids went back and forth in one-hundred-dollar increments.
Chris wanted to bid for her but it had already gone past the price he was happy to pay for a pair of earrings.
The bidding slowed, and Imogen was about to raise her card when Remy did. “Two thousand,” he said.
Imogen stared at him across the table and Remy winked at her. “A gift, ma bichette.”
Chris wasn’t sure what to make of the gesture, considering how Remy had threatened his daughter, but then Remy directed a look full of triumph at him, which explained it all. Remy was showing Chris he had more money and could buy his daughter whatever she wanted.
Unlike Chris.
It was a chest-beating exercise.
Chris glanced at Imogen and it appeared as if she understood that too. Her lips were parted and there was a slight furrow in her forehead. The round ended and Remy won the earrings.
“Thank you, Papa,” Imogen said, and although she smiled, Chris could tell she wasn’t happy. Did her father not notice her unhappiness or did he not care?
When the auction and dinner ended, a jazz band started playing. Couples moved to the dance floor and a hum filled the air as people mingled again.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked Imogen. He wasn’t the best dancer in the world but he wanted to get Imi away from her father, see a smile on her face.
“Love to,” she replied and he helped her out of her chair and on to the dance floor. As he pulled her into his arms he blessed the person who invented dancing. The opportunity to hold someone so close in public while still being socially acceptable was a pure stroke of genius.
“Are you having a nice evening?” he murmured to her.
“I am now.” Imogen’s eyes were sad. “Papa bought those earrings to show he could still control me.”
Is that what she thought? “No, Imi. He was directing that at me. The look he gave me after his bid was to show me I can’t afford you.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t be silly. It’s got nothing to do with money.”
He wished it were true. “To your father it does. It’s got everything to do with me not being good enough for you.” Remy didn’t even know him but he wasn’t willing to give Chris a chance.
“But he doesn’t know you.” Imogen echoed his thoughts.
“Doesn’t matter.” He spun her in a twirl. “Let’s not let him ruin the night. I’ve enjoyed being with you, enjoyed learning about your world.”
“Really?”
“Of course. There’s more to the fashion industry than I realized. It’s great that all the money is going to a good cause too. A lot of people have hit hard times over the past few years.”
“It sounds as if you know.”
“I do pro bono work once a month. The people who come to the office are people who can’t afford to pay a lawyer’s bill but want to get their life back on track. Most of them are good people who are doing their best.” He debated confiding in her and then realized he wanted her to know. “Dad got advice from a pro bono lawyer when he was setting up his gardening business. It highlighted a few issues he hadn’t been aware of.”
“Wow.” She beamed at him, her eyes bright. “And now you’re returning the favor. It must be great to be able to help them.”
Some needed more than legal advice, they needed someone to give them a chance. “You’re helping here. The funds raised from the Tour de Force dress alone would help feed and clothe people for a month.”
“It’s just money. I’d like to do something hands on, something that actually allows me to help, but Papa always said it was too dangerous. He said desperate people did desperate things and if they found out who I was I could be held for ransom.”
Chris stopped dancing. “Seriously? Your father has some strange ideas.”
“I know. It was always easier to give in. I hate hurting him.”
So she gave up on her own hopes and dreams? He hoped not. “Are we searching for apartments tomorrow?”
“Yes, if you still want to come.”
“I like spending time with you.” It was true. He couldn’t get enough of her.
The song ended and Imogen stepped back. “I really should do some more networking.”
Chris didn’t want to let her go but it was a work function for her. “Do you want to do it alone, or do you mind if I tag along?”
She seemed surpris
ed. “Come along if you don’t think it will bore you.”
“Great.” He followed her off the dance floor to where a man stood watching the other dancers.
“Wasn’t Hans able to come today, Simon?” Imogen asked as she greeted him and kissed his cheeks.
“Ah, the lovely Imogen. Unfortunately Hans was not well this evening.”
“That’s a shame. Your accessories set was divine.”
“Thank you, dear. As was Tour de Force’s creation. When are we going to see some of your designs in the range?”
Chris examined the man. He obviously knew Imogen well if he knew her designs were not the same as Tour de Force’s.
Imogen ignored the question and instead introduced the two of them. “Simon did an internship with us many years ago.”
“Yes, and it was back then I told you you had the talent to have your own label. Why are you wasting your time there where you’re not needed?”
Imogen stiffened next to him. “I’m needed there. I have to make all the decisions when Papa isn’t there.”
“Of course. What I meant was they have other designers.” Simon was quick to soothe.
“I imagine it’s quite difficult to set up your own label,” Chris said.
“It is,” Simon replied and focused some attention on Chris, pleased he understood. “I still work out of my home and it’s a constant struggle to make sure I keep costs as low as possible.”
Chris blinked. How could it be that bad? This man’s clothing sold in the hundreds of dollars. That set of hat, gloves and shoes had gone for close to two thousand dollars in the end. And he still worked from home.
Chris considered Imogen’s business plan. He now wanted to have a closer read of it. To figure out what her numbers were so he could help her work out what the start-up costs were going to be. If it was as difficult as that, maybe she was sensible not to go out on her own just yet.
“If you’ll excuse me, Imogen and Chris. I’ve spotted Chantelle and I must catch up with her.” Simon turned to Imogen. “Remember my offer still stands. If you want help setting up your label, I’m here for you. My time at Tour de Force was life-changing and I would like to pay it back if possible.” He directed the last sentence at Chris before walking off.
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