As she made her way to the conference room, she reflected back on the incident that had sparked the blowup with the previous designer.
Lark and Sebastian, the lead designer, who had been with Randolph on the Runway for years, had been in the company’s showroom scrutinizing the collection just days before the start of the fall show. He had wanted to pull the final piece from the collection, saying the hemline was dated and the gown didn’t fit in with his designs. Lark completely disagreed. She respected Sebastian’s opinion, but she felt strongly about her design. What started off as a civil disagreement quickly turned into a screaming match, with them going toe-to-toe, neither one giving an inch.
“This piece is passé!” Sebastian sniped, plucking at the rose-colored taffeta gown. “And who uses this fabric any longer?”
“No, it’s not passé. I designed this piece myself and I think it’s perfect for the grand finale.
“This gown gives the line a touch of elegance. I realize that taffeta is a material from a time long ago, but I want to re-create a 1940s-type feeling. A time of romance, and this gown depicts that era perfectly,” Lark said.
“Romance is overrated, and this gown’s above-the-ankle hemline is off-putting to say the least. Maybe you should stick to being the COO, hire a creative director and leave the designing to us professionals.”
“I have a degree from FIT in fashion design as well as an MBA from Harvard. I’m more than capable of running this company and designing a gown!” Lark sniped.
“Obviously your creative side isn’t as developed as your business side.” He took the dress off the rack and held it in his hands. “Look at this thing. The color is dull. The neckline is too high. Basically, it’s...it’s...just horrendous!”
Lark was quiet for a moment. “Why are you being so nasty, Sebastian? We’ve always worked so well together. What’s wrong? Are you having some type of personal issues? Did you and Peter break up?”
“He moved out, but I’m perfectly fine. My love life has never affected my work. Why are you trying to overrule me? I’m the lead designer. Or have you forgotten?”
His nasty remark incensed Lark. There was only so much more she could take from him. “And I run this company. Or have you forgotten?”
“Without my fabulous creations, RR would just be another wannabe design company manufacturing run-of-the-mill dresses,” he said.
Lark could feel her blood pressure rising. Not only was he insulting her design ability, but he was now also insulting the company her grandfather had founded. “That’s enough, Sebastian. This conversation is over!”
He clenched the gown in his hands. “No. What’s over is this hideous thing you call a gown. I’m not putting it in the show.”
“That’s not your call, Sebastian. As the creative director, the final word is mine,” Lark said, getting more frustrated by the second.
“Like I said before, you need to stick to management and leave the designing to the professionals,” he reiterated, further insulting his boss.
She took a deep breath in an effort to calm down. Their disagreement had gotten out of hand and it was time to put it to an end. She counted to ten in her head. Lark lowered her voice and measured her words. “Sebastian, the gown is going into the show...period. End of discussion.”
“If you put that thing in the show, it’ll ruin the collection. A collection I worked so hard to perfect, and I refuse to let that happen.” Sebastian began ripping the seams of the gown with his bare hands, destroying what Lark had created.
“Stop! What are you doing? You’re ruining my dress! You’re...you’re fired!” Lark screamed.
“You can’t fire me. I have a contract!” he said arrogantly.
“I can, and I did.” Lark exhaled. “Obviously your business side isn’t as developed as your creative side. There’s a clause in your contract that allows the company to buy you out at any given time—a clause that I designed, by the way. So you can pack up your things and leave today!”
Sebastian stood there in shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn’t utter a sound. Finally he said, “What about the show?”
“Not your problem anymore. I think you need to start your own company, since you have such strong opinions on designs. It’s unfortunate, but we can no longer work together. I’ll have security escort you to your office so you can get your personal things.” Lark started to leave, but she turned back.
“In case you didn’t understand the legal jargon in the contract, there’s also a clause that states all of the designs you created while employed by RR are company property. If you try to take any sketchbooks or upload company files, I’ll have no choice but to sue you for breach of contract.”
“We’ll see about that! You can’t get rid of me that easily! I’ve invested too much time and energy in this company to just walk away.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Lark said calmly.
Sebastian made a hissing sound and stormed out of the room.
Lark hadn’t intended to fire Sebastian that day, but she wasn’t going to allow anyone to speak down to her and treat her with such blatant disrespect. Lark was more than a fair boss, and she didn’t have problems with any of the other employees. Although she ran a tight ship, the work environment at Randolph on the Runway was creative and productive.
“What’s the name of the designer who’s coming in at two?” Lark asked Angelica.
“Dash Migilio. I emailed you a copy of his résumé and bio. Also, here’s a hard copy.” She handed Lark a folder.
Lark opened the folder and scanned the information as she walked. “Impressive.”
When they reached the conference room, a tall man dressed in a gray European-cut suit was standing at the window with his back to the door. Lark cleared her throat and he turned around.
Lark took a good look at the handsome stranger. He had curly, coal-black hair, an olive complexion and warm, greenish-brown eyes. His face looked like that of a young Warren Beatty. Lark scanned the length of his toned physique. She could feel her throat becoming parched as she stood there staring at the gorgeous man. Normally, she wasn’t attracted to younger men, but this guy had her full attention.
“I’m sorry I’m early.” He walked toward Lark and extended his hand. “I’m Dash Migilio.”
“Hello. I’m Lark Randolph,” she said, still studying his chiseled face.
“I know. I’ve seen your picture in the trades numerous times. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” He beamed a bright white smile.
Even his teeth are perfect, Lark thought. “Please have a seat. This is Angelica, my assistant, and she’s going to sit in on the meeting.”
“Nice to meet you, Angelica,” he said, extending his hand.
And he’s polite, too!
After they were seated at the conference table, Lark took a breath and refocused. She had been momentarily taken aback by his good looks and charm, but now she needed to move on to business. She glanced down at his résumé.
“I see that you interned at Ralph Lauren.”
“That was during my senior year at Pratt. I worked closely with several designers there. The experience was invaluable.”
“After graduation you worked with Andrew Marc for a few years.”
“Yes, I was a junior designer and learned a great deal about the outerwear business.”
“You’ve only been employed by male designers. Do you have a problem working with women?” she asked point-blank.
“Not at all,” he said, smiling.
Ohh...I could get lost in that smile of his.
Lark cleared her throat, trying to free her mind of unprofessional thoughts. “There’s a twelve-month gap on your résumé. Why?” she asked.
“I spent a year in Italy at my family’s estate. I’m a first-generation
New Yorker. My parents are from Florence, where they own a textile mill. The plant manager had retired, so I took over until they could find his replacement. They eventually promoted the assistant manager, but I stayed on for a while. I love Italy and enjoy spending time there whenever I can.”
“So you’re familiar with textiles?”
“Yes. I spent many summers in the mill. I know everything there is to know about fabrics.”
Lark nodded her head. She liked what she was hearing so far. “Why didn’t you stay on at your family’s company? Sounds like that business is in your blood.”
“It is, but I’m a designer at heart. After my extended holiday, I came back to New York to continue my design career. Much like Mr. Lauren and Mr. Marc, I plan to make my own mark in this industry.”
Lark immediately flashed back to her argument with Sebastian. Although she wanted a talented designer on her team, she wasn’t about to hire another person who undervalued her talent. “Mr. Migilio, let me be clear from the start. As the creative director, I work closely with the lead designer. Although I’m the chief operating officer of Randolph on the Runway, I have a degree from FIT, and I design, as well.”
“That’s awesome,” he said, flashing his one-hundred-watt smile again. “As far as I’m concerned, the bottom line should be what designs will catapult RR ahead of the rest and make our company the best in the business.”
Our company? He’s thinking like a team player. I like that. Lark nodded her head again. “I totally agree. Can I see your portfolio?”
“Sure.” Dash reached into his leather messenger bag, retrieved a silver tablet, powered it up and handed the device to Lark.
Lark began swiping through pictures of his designs. His work was indeed impressive and unique. He had a keen eye for detail. There were pictures of women’s clothing, menswear and even accessories. The more she saw, the more she wanted to see. Dash was talented beyond belief. His work was a cross between Gianni Versace and Valentino—classy with an edge.
Lark swiped her finger across the screen once more, and this time, instead of seeing another one of his unique creations, staring back at her was a picture of Dash in aqua-blue swim trunks, lying on a beach next to a pretty blonde woman in a skimpy red bikini. Lark didn’t say a word. She stared at the picture, her eyes roaming over Dash’s manly chest and well-defined abs. Lark could feel herself heating up as she admired his half-nude body.
“So...do you like what you see?” Dash asked.
“I sure do.” Lark smiled. She swiped past his personal picture, turned off the tablet and handed it back to him. “I’d like to offer you the position of lead designer.”
“That’s great! I’m eager to start as soon as possible.”
“I like your enthusiasm. However, the offer is contingent upon a thorough background check. If your references come back positive, then the position is yours.”
“No worries there. I left on good terms with all of my former employers.”
“That’s good to hear. Angelica will take you to the human-resources department so you can fill out the necessary paperwork.”
Dash stood up. “I look forward to working with you, Ms. Randolph.”
“And I with you. Please call me Lark.”
After Angelica and Dash left the conference room, Lark went over to the window and stared out. “I hope offering him the position isn’t a mistake,” she said underneath her breath.
Lark had reservations about working with someone she was physically attracted to. She thought about calling down to HR and rescinding her offer of employment. Lark pondered the situation for a moment instead of making a rash decision. There was no denying that Dash’s talent would benefit the company, and with the new spring/summer line going into development, RR desperately needed a top designer. Besides, he was at least ten years her junior and Lark had never dated a younger man. She preferred her men to be more seasoned. And thinking back on the photo she’d seen on his tablet, he was probably in a relationship with the blonde in the picture.
Lark took a deep breath. Hiring Dash was right for the company, and with her personal life on hold for the moment, work had taken precedence once again.
Chapter 3
Dash was meeting Vance Shelton, his best friend and attorney, for a drink at the Monkey Bar, one of Manhattan’s renowned bar-restaurants. Dash had completed the preliminary paperwork at Randolph on the Runway earlier that day, but he wanted his attorney to read over the contract before he signed it.
Dash arrived first and settled in at the bar, which was full of businessmen and -women, as well as wealthy older gentlemen vying for the attention of younger beauties. Dash drank his Manhattan and eavesdropped on the conversation unfolding next to him.
A silver-haired gentleman dressed sharply in black gabardine slacks and a baby-blue tailored shirt was trying to entice a buxom redhead, wearing a skimpy hot-pink dress and matching spike heels, who was perched on the stool near him.
“So...have you ever cruised on a yacht in the Mediterranean?” the silver fox asked.
“No, but I’ve slept on several water beds here in Manhattan,” she replied, sipping her wine.
What the hell does a water bed have to do with a yacht? Dash thought as he listened.
“Well, I’ve got one of those on my yacht,” the man said, resting his hand on her bare thigh.
Dash watched as the man ran his hand up the woman’s leg and under the hem of her dress. She did not protest.
“Your glass is almost empty.” The older man motioned for the bartender and then asked him, “What is she drinking?”
“Chardonnay,” the bartender responded.
“Enough wine. Bring us a bottle of Dom.”
“Oh, champagne! I love champagne! The bubbles tickle my nose,” the woman said, giggling.
He’s going to ply her with liquor, pop a little blue pill and then show her his water bed, Dash thought, shaking his head. Women with low IQs were not his cup of tea. He liked his women to be attractive and smart, like Lark Randolph. Dash had read about Lark’s career in the industry trades over the years and had not only admired her beauty but also her accomplishments. Lark had taken her family’s company from a middle-of-the-road dress manufacturer to a leading designer of womenswear.
He sipped his cocktail and thought back to their meeting. He had found it hard to concentrate on the interview while staring into her beautiful face. Her features were picture-perfect—small hazel eyes, keen nose and pouty lips. She could easily have been a model instead of COO of a thriving fashion company. Her lips were painted a lovely shade of red that enticed him with every word she spoke. Dash’s mind had kept focusing on what he could do with those lips outside of the boardroom and in the bedroom.
In preparation for his interview, Dash had searched Lark’s name online. He had learned that after graduating from college, Lark had worked as a junior designer at Randolph on the Runway, under the tutelage of Darcy McCay, the lead designer at the time. Lark had learned every aspect of the business from the older designer. She had even gone back to school and earned an MBA from Harvard, which Dash found to be quite impressive.
Dash had had his pick of design firms with which to interview after he returned from Italy, but Randolph on the Runway had been his first choice. Lark Randolph had a stellar reputation in the industry for being an astute businesswoman and designer in her own right. He had wanted to meet her in person. Lark had said that his offer of employment was contingent upon his background check. Dash didn’t have any skeletons in his closet to worry about. It was only a matter of time before he was designing closely with the strikingly beautiful woman.
Working in his family’s textile mill during the summers of his youth, Dash had learned early on not to mix business with pleasure. He had gotten burned once, when he briefly dated one of the other employees. She had wa
nted a relationship, and at the time he had wanted nothing more than a quick fling.
From then on, Dash vowed to keep his personal life and business life completely separate. But being in close proximity to a knockout like Lark, keeping his vow was going to be a challenge.
As Dash waited for Vance to arrive, he took out his tablet and browsed through the portfolio he had shown Lark, in order to get a jump on design ideas for RR’s spring/summer line.
“Oh, shit!” he said underneath his breath when he saw the picture of himself and Heather lying on the beach in Italy. I’ll bet Lark saw this picture.
Heather and Dash had met in design school and had dated the last two years of college. They both had similar interests—both were talented designers and loved to travel—and they had quickly fallen in love. He’d had every intention of proposing while they were visiting his family in Italy—he’d even bought a three-carat diamond ring—but he hadn’t followed through. Unbeknownst to Heather, Dash had overheard one of her phone conversations while she was standing on the balcony in the guest room of his parents’ home overlooking a grove of lemon trees.
“No, I haven’t asked him yet... Yes...I promise I’m going to tell Dash the truth tonight. I love you, too, babe. ’Bye.”
“Tell me the truth about what?” Dash had said, walking out onto the balcony where Heather was standing.
She whipped around. “Uh...Dash...hi.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“That was Stacy.”
“Your roommate?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you calling her babe? What’s going on, Heather?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, but Stacy isn’t just my roommate. She’s my...my...girlfriend.”
Season for Love Page 2
