“What?” My stomach twisted with my one-word question.
“What?” she repeated. “It’s a dinner. You eat. I know you do.”
I shook my head. “You want me to go to a city I haven’t stepped foot in for ten years and not only conduct private business but go to a dinner? Who will be there?”
“It’s been planned for months. I told you about it.”
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it. I knew you’d handle it. Who will be there?” I asked again.
“Investors and potential investors interested in Sinful Threads. All you need to do is give them a face for the product.” Louisa looked down at her ever-growing midsection. “I’m not being sexist, but I don’t think an eight-month-pregnant woman with swollen feet says sexy the way we want to project for Sinful Threads.”
“Is there more?” I asked.
“Jason isn’t thrilled with me traveling, especially if the trip will be upsetting regarding Franco, and…” Her big brown eyes looked my direction.
“And what?”
“The doctor thinks I need to stay closer to home. If this could be handled over the phone—”
I lifted my hand. “Lou, I’m sorry. I’m a bitch to put little Kennedy at risk because of some old wives’ tale from my childhood.”
Louisa ran her hand over her growing baby and smiled. “You know we haven’t settled on a name.”
“But you have to admit it has a nice ring. And bonus, it works for a boy too.”
She tilted her head. “All these years and you’ve never given me the whole story about this Chicago wives’ tale. Is it like witches and spells?”
A giggle escaped my throat as I tried to ignore the way the subject prickled my senses. “You’ve been watching too many supernatural shows on TV.”
“It’s more like books. About old cities like Chicago, especially ones where tragedies occurred.” She leaned back and nodded. “Yep. You know. You’ve heard the story of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow? Over 300 people were killed in the fire. Those spirits have to go somewhere, or they don’t and they stay. Places like that are perfect for covens and the such.”
“Stop,” I said with a grin. “You need to read lighter fare for the baby’s sake.”
Louisa took a deep breath before standing and coming around her desk to the side where I’m seated. My office was down the hall, but in her condition, coming to her was easier and usually faster.
Leaning back, she crossed her arms above her bulging stomach. “I’m serious, Kennedy. You’re my best friend. You’re intelligent and know our product as well as I do or better. The people at that dinner will love you as more than the face of Sinful Threads. I haven’t met most of the people on the guest list, but you’ve done this before in other cities. I don’t mind doing it either. Heck, I like the wining and dining.” She tilted her head toward her midsection. “It’s that now, wining isn’t possible, and well, I need you.”
“You know how I feel. I have done it, but I’ve also left most of the public appearances to you.”
“Yes. I also know that you’re the brains and you’re beautiful, in case you haven’t noticed.”
My cheeks filled with pink and warmth. “Thanks.”
“No, I’m serious. You work too hard. You never relax. You also never get worried or upset, even when Sinful Threads’ books were more red than black.”
“Because I knew we would pull this off. The product is amazing. The manufacturing—”
“See,” Louisa said. “All business. Yet the only time you pale is when the subject goes to Chicago. If it isn’t a coven, it must be the mob.”
“Jeez, Lou. Are there any other dark parts of Chicago you’d like to discuss? You know, I heard about this guy named Leroy Brown.”
“Yeah, yeah, baddest man in town. But from my experience that isn’t true. The underground is true, and there are some bad men involved.”
My stomach dropped, recalling the last conversation I had with my adoptive mother. These people are dangerous. They don’t mess around, and they don’t play fair.
“I’m not making this shit up,” she continued, completely unaware of the way this subject affected me. “I know. Do me a favor. If it’s the mob, will you find out where Jimmy Hoffa is buried?”
“Seriously? You’re all over the place with this.”
“No, I’m not. In the middle of the night, I watch the History Channel. Sleeping is getting harder and harder.”
I stood and gave my best friend a hug. “Fine, to prove that you’re blowing this out of proportion, I’ll fly there the first thing in the morning. If you can, make sure that Franco will be available, but don’t tell him I’m coming. I’ll check out the distribution center first, and then I’ll surprise him with a visit at the warehouse. When’s the dinner?”
“It’s tomorrow night at the City Winery Riverwalk. Franco will be there, and my name is on the guest list. I’ll call and have it changed to yours.”
“No,” I said, thinking it through. “Leave your name on there.” There was a bit of comfort knowing that my name, no matter what it was now, wasn’t on a guest list announcing my arrival to Chicago.
“Come with me,” Louisa said as she stepped toward the door to her office. “I have something for you. You’ll knock them dead tomorrow night.”
“I think I’d like everyone to stay alive.”
She shook her head as she walked a few steps ahead. “I want that story someday.” She turned and grinned over her shoulder at me. “If you don’t tell me, you know my imagination is going to make it ten times bigger than it is.”
I wasn’t sure that was possible.
I heard my mom’s voice telling me never to return.
It’s only one day and night, I reassured myself. No one will even notice.
I followed Louisa down the hallway until we reached a large office that she and I used exclusively to inspect new products. It was where we decided which designs would be produced and in what quantity. You would think it would be well organized because most of our business was. You’d have thought wrong.
This office was the exact opposite of organization.
I let out a laugh as she opened the door. Instead of orderliness, the room was chaos. By the way items and boxes were strewn about, it appeared more like a dressing room in a high-end boutique, one recently vacated by an exceptionally picky customer who had tried on every item in the entire store.
It was bedlam, and I loved it.
“One day we’ll organize…” My words trailed off as my sentence went unfinished.
We both knew that this mess was our secret to success. It was how we worked best when it came to the hands-on part of Sinful Threads. We both needed to touch, hold, and smell. A silk accessory or garment was meant to be more than viewed. It was also meant to be inhabited. That couldn’t happen in an orderly manner. When the days became filled with numbers on reports and conference calls, this room was my salvation.
Louisa was correct. I lived and breathed work. She had too until Jason entered her life. I didn’t fault her for falling in love. I was happy for them and still am. She found that person with whom she could share her world. He’s an interior designer, and while what he created was different, he understood her passion for Sinful Threads. They’re a good team.
None of the men I’d dated knew what teamwork even meant. Louisa said I was attracted to assholes, and she might be correct. There was simply a type of man who caught my eye. I wanted an equal partner in life; in the bedroom, my desires were different. Apparently, that combination didn’t exist. Therefore, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, I’d decided that the best way to avoid assholes was to not date at all. It wasn’t great on the sex life, but that’s why God created vibrators—or God created man and man created vibrators. The end result was that man wasn’t necessary for a nice release.
For everything else, if I became stressed or needed a break, I came to this room and wrapped myself in potential Sinful Threads merchandise. It was all the diversion
I needed.
“Here,” she said, opening a box I hadn’t seen before. “This just arrived.”
My gasp filled the room as I reached below the tissue paper and pulled the dress from the depth of the box. This was a new product and the first time I’d seen it in anything beyond a sketch.
“Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me this was here?”
The luxurious silk was like liquid in my grasp. The neckline was constructed of onyx-like jewels designed to surround the neck, while the halter bodice would accentuate a woman’s curves. The waist had loops to hold the golden silk scarf that would wrap around, while the skirt contained extra material that would flow and swish as the wearer stepped or turned. It was a stunning prototype. If this concept went viral, Sinful Threads would no longer be limited to accessories.
The real-life version took my breath away.
“Because it just came about an hour ago.” Her smile grew. “There’s more. I think you should wear it to tomorrow night’s dinner.”
I held the one-of-a-kind dress against my chest, and for a moment, lost myself in the image of actually wearing it out in public. “It’s not really me.”
“It damn well should be. You’re half of Sinful Threads. Make a statement. I bet those investors will be falling all over themselves to order these.”
“What are the numbers on this prototype?”
“Let’s just say that retail will be a four hundred percent markup.” She tilted her head with a grin. “That is, if they order soon. It’ll go up higher after that.”
I used to wonder how much people would spend for quality. That was what Sinful Threads was about. It seemed that the higher the price, the greater the demand.
“I’m not…”
“It’s your size. Take it. And when you come back Friday, I want to hear how it went. The hell with that, call or text me tomorrow night. I already know that it—no, that you—will be a hit.”
Kennedy 2
“I’m on the way to the warehouse now,” I said into my phone, speaking with Louisa from the comfort of the back seat of the car I’d hired. “The distribution center’s first-shift manager, Ricardo, is standing by his claim that the merchandise numbers on the arriving manifests are incorrect. I also spoke with the second-shift admin, Vanessa, and she also agreed. She offered to come in early tomorrow and show me some specific evidence.”
“Will you still be there?”
I took a deep breath, watching the city where I was raised pass by the darkened windows of the car as my driver navigated the city. Being summertime, the streets overflowed with both automobiles and pedestrians. Not only were there the inhabitants of the windy city on their way from point A to point B but also vacationers, large groups with children in tow to see the sights of Chicago.
With the cloudless blue sky, breezes rustling the bright green leaves of the trees lining the streets, and the sparkling waves of Lake Michigan visible from Lake Shore Drive, the ominous feeling I’d anticipated overwhelming me the second my feet touched Illinois soil was nowhere to be found.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll stay through that meeting and then fly back tomorrow.”
“Tell me you’re going to wear the dress?” Louisa’s voice raised an octave in anticipation.
My cheeks lifted. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror. The smile on my face was the opposite of what I’d expected to wear while in Chicago. Nevertheless, I embraced it. “I tried it on. Oh, Lou, it’s stunning.”
“No, sweetheart, you’re stunning. With your blonde hair and that gold scarf as a sash, you’ll wow them at that dinner. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have thousands of orders waiting by tomorrow.”
Since meeting her at St. Mary of the Forest, Louisa and her family have been my biggest cheerleaders. The Nelsons became my family as I’d been without one. With two daughters of their own, they didn’t have to take me in and include me, but they did. From school breaks to family vacations and even holidays, Louisa and I became like sisters as well as best friends. That didn’t mean we agreed on everything. It meant we were together even when we disagreed.
“First things first,” I said. “I’m off to Franco.”
“Call me as soon as the meeting is over. He has been…” She searched for the right word. “…evasive in our emails and phone calls. I can’t thank you enough for making this trip.”
“You know that I want you to stop worrying. Auntie Kennedy wants her niece or nephew to be stress free.”
Louisa laughed. “I’m not sure what part of owning Sinful Threads you think is stress free, but fine. If only I could drink wine.”
“One day and then we will each have our own bottle.”
“It’s a deal. Call me.”
“I will.”
After our call disconnected, I gave stress free a thought. I wanted that for Louisa, especially now. I wasn’t confident I’d ever been completely without concern, not since the last day I saw my mom—my adoptive mom.
Through life, things happen. I had to learn that it was normal and not build each incident up in my mind.
There was the one time when I was skiing in Vail with Louisa’s family. While out on the slope, there was an incident with a ski lift. Regular mechanical malfunction we were told, yet it seemed Lucy, Louisa’s mother, was overly concerned. And then when we returned, we discovered the condo had been broken into.
I pushed those thoughts away. Things like that happen to everyone. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t a target. I was Kennedy Hawkins. That was all.
Taking a cleansing breath, I pulled up the latest Chicago manifests on my tablet. They were the up-to-the-minute reports from the distribution center where I’d just been. Ricardo had sent them to my secure email while I was still there. I hadn’t gotten any vibes from him, other than he was unhappy that there were problems. As a matter of fact, he seemed overly confident that the problems were not on his end.
That confidence was contagious.
It was the first time I’d met him, but I wanted to believe him.
Comparing the numbers to the manifests from our corporate office that updated hourly, the numbers didn’t make sense. The discrepancies varied by item. Ten off on one, sixteen off on another, exact on the next, and two off on yet another. Even our numbers from corporate didn’t match.
I started to wonder about the computer program and made a note to have Winnie, my assistant, check with IT.
No matter how much I searched, I couldn’t find a pattern nor a rhyme or reason to the discrepancies, scribbling more notes with each turn in the road or change of lane.
Numbers were my thing. I understood them.
There was no emotion in numbers. They simply were.
I’d learned too young to turn off feeling.
Sometimes, it was as if one side of my brain wrestled with the other. While numbers didn’t have sentiment, our merchandise did. Louisa and I worked with our designers. Originally, we’d created the prototypes from sketch to fabric. It became too much. Either we could oversee the creative side and run the business or vice versa.
Having the fashion designers in Boulder, we were still hands-on. Trusting other people with our numbers, our business, the profits and losses was a bigger risk in both of our opinions. We still decided upon what creations became Sinful Threads—the emotional side of our business—and we kept our fingers on the pulse of the numbers.
The car bounced upon uneven pavement, pulling my attention away from my task at hand and back to the world outside the windows. The warehouse district was a far cry from the beauty of Lake Shore Drive. Large industrial buildings surrounded by chain-link fences filled the landscape as cargo trucks sat at loading docks.
“Ms. Hawkins, this is the address,” Patrick, the driver, said as the car moved through an unlocked gate within the fence surrounding the facility.
Beyond the darkened windows, I noticed a tall man walking from my warehouse toward a large black SUV. There was another man in a dark sui
t, a step behind.
Curiosity? I wasn’t sure what had drawn my attention, other than he was leaving my business and definitely not dressed like a worker or truck driver.
The vehicle reminded me of the kind used on television shows for law enforcement or important government officials, big and powerful as if it were reinforced. While the second man hurried to the driver’s side, the dark-haired man in the expensive gray suit caught my eye.
If I were to believe Louisa, that probably meant he was an asshole.
His suit coat was unbuttoned, blowing back from the starched white shirt tucked into the trim waist of his slacks. He wasn’t wearing a tie, and his collar was unbuttoned enough to show a small view of his tanned neck. An important man on a mission could be his description, and again, I wondered what he had been doing at Sinful Threads.
And then he turned our way.
With his hand on the passenger-door handle, his steps stopped as he looked our direction. Even from a distance, I was struck by his aura of authority. His features were granite as he studied our car, as if he had a say in who came and went from my warehouse.
His dark hair blew slightly in the summer breeze, and the same color lined his strong jaw in a trimmed professional style. Removing his sunglasses, his handsome face remained creased as his eyes narrowed, and he continued to study our car.
I thought to ask Patrick if he knew who the gentleman was, but why would he?
Before my arrival in Chicago, Winnie hired an agency that offered both transportation and security. I may have told Louisa that this trip was no big deal, but I couldn’t forget my mother’s words. My assistant’s idea was a good compromise. A few thousand dollars seemed a fair trade for my peace of mind.
Our car stopped a few parking spaces away from the large SUV.
“Ma’am, would you like me to accompany you into your meeting?”
I’d said no at the distribution center, but the twisting of my stomach told me to trust my instinct. After all, I’d hired this company, I might as well utilize more than the transportation benefit.
Mafia Romance Page 2