by Amber Kelly
Copyright © 2019 by Amber Kelly
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Cover Image: Michaela Mangum, Michaela Mangum Photography
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
Proofreader: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading
Formatter: Champagne Book Design
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Epilogue
Preview of Both of Me
Prologue
Chapter One
Other Books
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Cross My Heart Duet
Both of Me
Both of Us
To Momma, who taught me from the beginning that I am enough.
Sophie
Twelve Years Old
“Why do we have to leave now?” I ask drowsily as Momma frantically throws my belongings into my pink suitcase at the edge of my bed.
“Because we need to be gone before your father gets home tomorrow. I already explained this to you.”
“I still don’t understand. What did he do that was so bad?”
“You’re too young for all the details, Sophia. I will tell you one day, but for now, we have to get our things and get out of here if we’re going to catch our flight to New York. You’ve always wanted to go to New York, right? That’s why I chose it.”
I have always wanted to go to New York City. Ever since I became obsessed with Big City Girl, which was a television program that came on Friday nights and followed the lives of a glamorous group of friends living in the Big Apple. They were all beautiful, wealthy, in college, and having the time of their lives. I wanted to be Sinclair Alcott one day. I didn’t think that day would be today.
“When are we coming back? School starts in two weeks, and Blackberry’s foal is due anytime now. I have to be back in time to help. She’s my horse.”
Momma stops her progress and finally looks at me. The manic excitement is draining from her face.
“I’m not sure when we will be back,” she says a little more calmly. “You might be going to school in New York for a while.”
What? I might want to visit New York one day, but this is home. The ranch, my horse, Daddy, and all my friends are here.
“I don’t want to go to school there. I want to go to school here in Poplar Falls.”
Her face falls at my declaration. “We can discuss this later. Here, get up and get your coat and shoes on. Now, young lady.”
I begrudgingly do as I was told. I know my mother well enough to know that arguing with her when she is in this state is futile. I’ll just have to call Daddy as soon as I’m able and get him to calm her down. He’s the only one who has ever been able to talk her down, and he’ll convince her to come back home.
“Stop sulking, Sophia,” she says as she wraps her arm around me in the back of the taxi as we drive away from our farmhouse. “You’re going to love this new adventure of ours. I promise.”
I turn and look out the back windshield at the barn as we drive down the long driveway. I sure hope Blackberry holds on a little longer. I don’t want her to wonder where I am when her baby is born. She’ll think I abandoned her. I would never leave her or my daddy and my best friend, Dallas. They’re my absolute favorite people. Technically, Blackberry is not a person, but she loves like one.
I do my best to hold back tears as the barn fades off into the distance.
Momma continues to try to convince me of the fun we’re going to have.
“We will find an apartment in the city, close to Central Park. There are lots of animals in the park and horse-drawn carriages. You’ll be able to see horses every day. I’ll get a job and work during the day, we’ll enroll you in a fabulous school, and in the evenings, I can audition for Broadway. It might take me a little while to get back into performance shape, but I will, and you can take ballet classes and voice lessons. It’s going to be an amazing adventure. You’ll see.”
Excitement oozes from her pores as she squeezes me into her side.
There is no use in trying to reason with her when she gets like this, so I nod and play along for now.
“Sure, Momma, it’ll be amazing.”
I hope Daddy sees my note soon.
Sophie
“Stall them until I get there. Offer them coffee and doughnuts or a margarita or ten. Whatever it takes to keep their asses in those seats,” I instruct my assistant, Charlotte, as I frantically try to hail a cab.
The electricity to my building was cut while I was in the middle of washing my hair this morning. A construction worker on the building site at the corner had dug in an area that he wasn’t supposed to and cut our main power line. I got out of the shower, tried to get myself dressed appropriately in the dark, and towel-dried my long blonde hair as best I could. Then, I threw it up in an unflattering top knot and ran out the door, only to find the elevator was in slow motion, running on the backup generator. This left me with the option of waiting a long while for an elevator packed full of frustrated occupants or to take the stairs down the ten flights to the lobby. I opted for the stairs—bad choice. Ten flights down on my sky-high Manolos was a dangerous undertaking, and it took forever, so now, I’m facing rush-hour traffic in Midtown Manhattan on an unusually warm September day, heading to meet with what will undoubtedly be some pretty put-out business associates when I finally make it in.
I arrive at my office off 36th
Street and run as fast as I can to the conference room with Charlotte on my heels.
Charlotte and I have been friends since we were in middle school. She was the first person I met when Mom and I arrived in New York over twenty years ago. Why my mother placed me in a private Catholic school is beyond me—I had been raised Baptist—but I’m so glad she did. I would have been lost without Charlotte and her blonde pixie cut and no-nonsense attitude.
Right now, however, she is a tad frantic. Like a little fairy flitting around me.
“The gentleman’s name is Marcus Stedman. He’s the general manager of the Park Avenue store, and the lady’s name is …”
“Gail Caldwell, the head buyer for all of the Maple and Park department stores. I know who she is.” I snatch the folders she just dug from her briefcase and pass her my coat and bag as we hurry down the hall.
“They’ve had coffee and doughnuts, and I entertained them with stories from my SoulCycle class. Thank God you’re here because I don’t think they want to hear about last night’s disaster of a date, and I’m running out of interesting material.”
Dear Lord. If I’m able to save this deal, it will be a miracle.
I stop in the hallway leading to the conference room and take a moment to compose myself. “How do I look?”
“Like a wet puppy who ran all the way here from Chelsea.”
“Perfect, just the look I was going for. How do I smell?”
Charlotte leans in and wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Like an old gym bag.”
Awesome.
She reaches in her briefcase, grabs a bottle, and liberally spritzes me.
“Ugh, what was that?”
“Perfume. It’ll help.”
“Perfect. Now, I smell like a sweaty flower.”
“There’s nothing you can do about it. They aren’t here to sniff you anyway. Go.” She shoves me toward the door. “They’re here to pitch to you, not the other way around.”
I turn back to her and say in a small voice, “Tell me we deserve this.”
“You deserve this, Sophie,” she confirms.
“We,” I correct her. “We deserve this.”
She smiles a pleased smile. “We deserve this. Now, go get ’em.”
I smooth the front of my dress and take a deep, calming breath before I open the door and walk in.
All eyes turn to me as I make my way to the head of the conference table and introduce myself. “Hello, Gail, Marcus. I’m Sophia Lancaster.” I clear my throat and continue, “But you can call me Sophie. Please accept my sincere apology for keeping you waiting. There was an unavoidable hiccup at my building this morning that delayed me.”
Marcus shifts to extend his hand to me. Annoyance clear in his expression.
Gail offers her hand next with a genuine smile. “It happens. I’m afraid we’re going to have to jump right into business though. We have another meeting in an hour.”
“Of course.”
She taps on the laptop in front of her, and the screen of the television on the opposite wall illuminates with a PowerPoint presentation.
“As you know, Maple and Park is interested in a partnership. We would like for you to design a few exclusive pieces to be sold only in our stores and online through our website.”
A small thrill shoots through me at the thought of my jewelry designs being sold in one of Park Avenue’s trendiest department stores.
“When you say exclusive pieces, that means, we can’t sell other designs to other partners or on our website, correct?”
She looks up and smiles warmly. I’m obviously new to all of this.
“No, you are only obligated to keep the pieces we approve exclusive to Maple and Park. You can continue to design and sell anything else privately or through any other retail outlets.”
I give her an appreciative nod as Marcus takes over.
“We want new designs. Something no one else has seen or worn before. We’ve outlined what we’re looking for to help you. Simple. Elegant. We’ll start small with a few pendants, rings, and bracelets. Test the market. If those do well, we can revisit our contract and extend to earrings and brooches. We want to launch the line before the holiday season, so that gives you a couple of weeks to get with our art department and get samples in.”
“Okay, I can get some sketches together fairly quickly. Do you have projected sales? As of now, our newly purchased warehouse is being renovated and equipped to begin assembly, and I think we’ll be up and running within the month. My staff is still minimal, but we’re interviewing. Depending on the volume—”
He puts his hand in the air to halt my rambling. “We realize you’re a start-up. We’re buying the designs, and the customers will know and appreciate they are custom pieces. So, at first, we’ll need a small amount for display and for purchase at our two locations. Online orders can be made to order.”
Relief replaces the tension that was strumming through my body.
I started designing quirky jewelry pieces while I was a student at New York School of Design. I would sketch out each unique piece, then buy the materials, and make them by hand in my apartment at night. I sold a few of them at the Williamsburg open market in Brooklyn on weekends, and that led to me opening an online Etsy shop. It was a way to make easy money while finishing my degree. Sales were steady enough, and I was pleased to be creating something. Then, one day this past June, my world exploded when the Judy Winston wore one of my brooches to the Tony Awards. She won for Best Actress in a Musical and was photographed with her award, wearing my piece front and center on her gown. She later that night told an E! News interviewer that she had purchased it from my online site. The next day, orders started pouring in—hundreds and hundreds of orders. There was no way I could fulfill the volume from my living room. That was when Stanhope stepped in. Stanhope Marshall is one of the most successful businessmen in Manhattan, and he just so happens to be married to my mother, Vivian. He came to me with a proposition, and just like that, I had my first investor in Sophia Doreen Designs, LLC.
It’s been a whirlwind ever since. Now, I have a sleek office in an uptown building owned by Stanhope; twelve full-time employees, including Charlotte; and a warehouse in the Fashion District that is being converted into a workshop as we speak. I’m about to close my first major deal to have my line in a real-life brick-and-mortar store. Exciting doesn’t begin to describe this feeling.
After we hash out costs and crunch numbers, they stand to leave with a signed contract in hand.
“Thank you for your time, Sophie. I think this is going to be a profitable relationship for both our companies. I love your designs and think they will fit perfectly with the Maple and Park brand.” Gail squeezes my hand before they enter the elevator.
Marcus gives me a quick wink as the doors slide shut, and I release the breath I’ve been holding since I walked into the meeting.
Charlotte comes bounding out from behind her desk and skids to a halt in front of me. “Well?” Her eyes, full of nervous anticipation, expectantly stare into mine.
“We did it,” I whisper through a huge grin.
“Oh my,” she squeals as we both start jumping up and down. “I knew you would nail it. In spite of the wet doughnut on your head and your sweaty pits.”
“Thanks. We need to celebrate.”
“Okay, I’ll call and get us a table at Marea for seven p.m. Just us?”
“And my parents. I’m going to call Stanhope now and tell him the good news. I know Mom will want to rush right over.”
Sophie
Four hours later, Charlotte and I walk into Marea on Central Park South. The hostess spots us immediately and motions for us to follow her to a quiet table in the back where my mother and stepfather are already seated with a bottle of red wine breathing. Stanhope stands when he sees us approaching. He’s a towering man with silver hair and kind eyes, dressed in an expensive, custom gray business suit. He reminds me of Michael Douglas, and my mother is very much his Catherine Zeta-Jones,
more than a decade younger and a classic beauty. Once we are seated, he motions for the waiter to pour the wine.
“Darling, I can’t tell you how proud Stan and I are of you. I always knew you were destined to light this city on fire.”
My mother has always been my biggest cheerleader. I know she was disappointed when I showed zero interest in the performing arts. Her greatest desire was to be an actress, and she wanted so badly to pass that passion on to me. She named me for Sophia Loren after all.
Mom was a dancer and vocalist. Those talents—along with her long, dark hair, ice-blue eyes, and svelte figure—got her cast in a handful of background roles in a few off-Broadway musicals through the years, but she never quite achieved the level of stardom she’d dreamed of reaching.
Once she knew it wasn’t in the cards for her, she set her sights on her little girl becoming the next Kristin Chenoweth. Unfortunately, I had been born with two left feet and without the ability to carry a tune.
I tried dance lessons and voice lessons from some of the most renowned instructors in New York, but she finally had to accept that her daughter was a theater dud.
One thing I have always been good at, however, is drawings. So, she decided to help me hone those skills, and she and Stanhope paid for fashion design school. I think she was hoping I would be the next Kate Spade or Vera Wang, but the way she is beaming at me at this moment tells me that she would be thrilled if I were to become the next Harry Winston instead.
“Yes, Maple and Park, that is quite impressive. You must be extremely excited,” Stanhope says with pride in his voice as well.
“I am—and a bit nervous. I hope they like the designs I present to them and, more importantly, that their customers like and purchase them.”
“Oh, nonsense. Stop biting your bottom lip,” my mother says as she swats at my face. “Everyone is going to love them.” She brings her hand to her chest, and her voice catches with emotion as she adds, “And with Judy wearing one of your brooches at the Tonys—the Tony Awards—that’s just incredible. That buzz will make you the go-to designer for jewels for galas and events for the rest of this year’s award season. You need to make sure that you send a few unique pieces to a couple of A-list stylists for free as well.”
