“Why didn’t you send me a notification email?” Lark asked.
“I did. Sebastian received the email. He knew about the markdowns well in advance of the check going out.”
Lark was shocked to hear this news. She had already earmarked that money for expenditures and had no idea that Sebastian had been in contact with the buyer. “When did you talk to him?”
“Let me check the date on the email.” The buyer gave Lark the exact date and time of the email.
“Why did you email Sebastian? Normally those notices come directly to me.”
“Sebastian called to get an update on sales, and we spoke at length about how the line just wasn’t selling as well as we’d anticipated. As a matter of fact, he insisted that we deduct the markdown money from the invoice. I was prepared to give the line more time to move, but Sebastian was adamant about the reduction. He told me he would forward you the information. Is there a problem?”
“Not at all. Thanks for clarifying everything, Pat. Talk to you soon.” Lark wasn’t about to go into detail about how she thought her former lead designer was trying to sabotage her company. The buyer would probably be full of questions. Lark didn’t want rumors floating around in the industry that RR was in financial trouble. She disconnected the line and exhaled hard in despair.
“I can’t believe this! That dirty son of a...”
“What’s going on?” Dash asked, scooting to the edge of his chair.
“Sebastian pulled a fast one on his last day. He purposely didn’t tell me about the markdowns. He knew full well I would be thrown off guard once I received this abbreviated check. Sebastian and I had even talked about how the funds from the order that Pat placed would help with the production of the new collection. Now the company’s short seventy grand. I was really counting on that check.” Lark picked up a pencil and tapped the eraser on her desk. She was trying to think of a solution to her financial deficit, but nothing came to mind.
“Don’t look so forlorn. It’s not that bad.”
“Trust me. It is that bad. I’m going to have to pull some pieces from the collection. We can’t afford to produce them all.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“It’s either pull pieces from the line or lay someone off. I have no choice. After I pay the vendors, there won’t be much left.”
Dash stood up, took his checkbook out of his breast pocket and sat back down. He reached for a pen on her desk, wrote out a check, ripped it out of the book and handed it to Lark. “Here you go. Problem solved.”
Lark took the check and read the amount. “I can’t take a hundred thousand dollars from you.” She tried to hand the check back, but Dash wouldn’t take it.
“You can and you will. It’s only money, and there’s plenty more where that came from. I refuse to see all of your hard work go down the drain over money. Take the check and call it a grant if it makes you feel better.”
“Dash, how can I ever repay you?”
“You don’t repay a grant.”
Lark felt tears well up in her eyes. She had never experienced this type of generosity before. “Thank you, Dash.”
“You’re welcome. Now let me get back to work.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.
Once Dash was gone, Lark stood and walked over to the window. She looked to the azure-blue sky and said a silent prayer of thanks. Dash was a miracle, not only personally, but professionally, and she could not have asked for a better partner in life.
Chapter 22
Dash didn’t like seeing Lark in despair. He wanted to wring Sebastian’s neck for being so deceitful. If Dash knew where to find the guy, he would have gone and confronted him face-to-face. Since that wasn’t a choice, he did the next best thing. Instead of going to his office to work on new designs, he left the building to run an important errand.
Once outside, he hailed a taxi and told the driver to take him to 299 Park Avenue. The yellow cab whizzed across town through the midmorning traffic. Along the way, Dash made a call to his private banker.
“Hi there, Hans. I hope you can squeeze me in this morning. I need to take care of a pressing matter. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Good morning, Dash. Of course I have time for you. When should I expect you?”
“I’m on my way. See you in a few,” Dash said and disconnected the call.
He knew it wouldn’t be a problem seeing the banker on such short notice. Dash was one of the bank’s premier clients. He usually didn’t throw his weight around, making spur-of-the-moment demands, but this was urgent and couldn’t wait until the following day.
When the taxi arrived in front of the bank, Dash paid the driver, got out and went directly to the private-banking floor.
“Good morning, Mr. Migilio,” the receptionist greeted him. “Would you care for a cup of coffee or a Danish?”
“No, thanks, Ellen.” Dash had been a client for years and was on a first-name basis with all of the employees.
“Mr. Oppenheim is expecting you. He’s in his office.”
“Thank you.” Dash walked down the hallway with urgency. He didn’t have time to waste—he was on a mission.
“Dash, what brings you by this morning?” Hans asked, reaching his hand out and shaking Dash’s.
Dash shook the banker’s hand and took a seat. “I need to move some money and set up a line of credit.”
“How much are you talking about?”
“Five hundred to start with. That should be sufficient.”
“Five thousand dollars?” the banker asked.
“No, five hundred thousand.”
Hans looked shocked. “A half a million dollars? That’s a lot of money, Dash.”
“Yes, I know,” he said casually.
“You just came into your inheritance. Why do you need the extra cash now, if I may ask?”
“I want to start a line of credit for Randolph on the Runway. The company is up against some financial challenges and I want to have funds ready and available when they are needed.”
“Do you think it’s wise to invest your personal money in a company you work for? Have you ever thought about starting your own company?” the older man asked with a concerned expression.
“That’s not my focus at the moment. Besides, Randolph on the Runway isn’t just any company. I have a vested interest in its success.” Dash didn’t want to divulge his personal connection to Lark. One, it wasn’t the banker’s business, and two, he didn’t have to explain why he chose to spend his money the way he did.
“Oh, I see. Okay. I’ll draw up the paperwork now.” Hans went to work on his computer and before long printed out a document. “Initial here and here, and sign here,” he said, pointing to the designated areas.
Dash authorized the papers, giving his consent to transfer funds from an investment account into a separate account for Randolph on the Runway. He knew if he had told Lark what he was planning, she would have probably forbidden him from doing so. Dash could see she’d had a hard time accepting the check, and he could only imagine what her reaction would be to a half-a-million-dollar line of credit.
The launch of the new collection was getting closer, and with Sebastian on the loose, there was no telling what else the guy had up his sleeve. It was clear to Dash the former employee was disgruntled and was out for revenge. Dash didn’t know what was coming down the pike, but he knew having sufficient funds available would come in handy if necessary.
“Thanks, Hans, for expediting this matter. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem, Dash. That’s what I’m here for.” Hans give Dash a folder with copies of the documents. “Take care.”
On Dash’s way back to work, he phoned a private chef whom he used occasionally and asked him to prepare a gourmet meal for two later tha
t evening. The chef had a key and clearance to enter Dash’s penthouse when he wasn’t there. Lark was having a trying day, but Dash planned on making her evening much better.
“Where have you been?” Lark asked the second Dash stepped off the elevator. She was coming down the hallway from a meeting and nearly bumped into him. “You missed Aisha’s presentation. She tweaked some of her designs for the collection, and I wanted your feedback.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot all about the meeting. I had an important errand to run. I’ll go by her office and see what changes she’s made.”
“Okay. I have to jump on a conference call with one of our Asian vendors. See you later,” Lark said and sped off down the hall.
Dash went in the opposite direction toward Aisha’s office. Jessica was standing outside of her new cubicle when he walked up.
“Hello, Dash,” she said in a professional voice.
“Hey there. How are you settling in over here?” he asked. Dash looked at Jessica’s outfit—for once she was dressed appropriately in a pair of black slacks, a blazer and a jacket.
“Really well. I like working with Aisha. She’s shown me a lot in a short period of time. She’s a good teacher.”
“Good.” Dash could see through the plate glass that Aisha wasn’t in her office. “Do you know when she will be back?”
“She went downstairs to see the patternmakers. Do you want me to have her call you when she gets back?”
“Yes, that’ll be great,” Dash said, and then he walked away. He was relieved Jessica was no longer trying to flirt with him. After the debacle with Heather, he didn’t need any more drama at work. He and Lark were on steady ground, and he planned to keep it that way.
Dash busied himself for the rest of the day, sketching new designs for upcoming seasons and working on a line of handbags that could possibly help expand the business into leather goods. He hadn’t spoken to Lark about this new idea yet. She was under so much pressure surrounding the spring/summer collection that he decided to wait until the shows were over.
By the time Dash had finished working, it was well after business hours and most of the employees had gone for the day. He stood, stretched and walked down to Lark’s office.
“Hey, you. Are you ready to call it a night?”
Lark was staring at her computer screen. “Not yet. I want to plug the rest of these numbers into the spreadsheet before I leave.”
“Can’t that wait until tomorrow? We’ve both had a long day. Come on—let’s go home,” he said from where he stood in the doorway.
“Well...I guess I could do this tomorrow. Let me log off. I’ll meet you by the elevators.”
“Okay.”
Dash went back to his office and called the chef to make sure everything was on schedule. “How’s it going?”
“Everything is ready. Do you want me to stay?” the chef asked.
“No, you don’t have to. I think I can manage to put the food on plates,” Dash said with a chuckle. He hung up, gathered his messenger bag and headed for the elevators.
“I’m starving,” Lark told him on their way down to the lobby.
“That makes two of us.”
“Where do you want to go for dinner?” she asked. “What about that new Mexican place around the corner?”
“We’ll try them some other time. Let’s go to my place for dinner instead.”
Lark looked at him out of the side of her eye. “Can you cook? Or are we going to order in?”
“No takeout tonight. Let’s just say I know how to orchestrate a good meal.”
* * *
The moment Lark stepped into Dash’s penthouse, she caught the aroma of rosemary and citrus. She took a deep whiff. “Hmm, something sure smells good!”
“Let’s go into the kitchen and see what the chef has whipped up.”
“You have a chef?”
“Not on a regular basis. I only call him when I want a special meal prepared. I thought since we’ve both been working hard, we would stay in tonight and enjoy a good meal and relax.”
They went into the gourmet kitchen. Everything was white, from the quartz countertops to the ceiling-high cabinets—even the appliances were white. The entire space looked like a page out of Architectural Digest.
“I love your kitchen,” Lark said, glancing around.
“I’ll tell my mother you said so. She designed the space after I moved in. I told her I didn’t need all these high-end appliances, but she insisted, saying that when I got married my wife would appreciate a nice kitchen.”
“That was thoughtful of her. I for one rarely use my kitchen. I’m not home enough to cook on a regular basis.”
“That makes two of us. That’s why I have the number to an amazing chef. What have we here?” Dash said, going over to the eight-burner range. He lifted the lid off a roaster pan. “He made baked chicken with rosemary and lemon with baby vegetables.” He opened the oven, took out a dish and removed the glass top. “And macaroni and cheese.”
“Yum, I love comfort food! What a treat!”
“Glad you approve.” Dash removed his blazer, washed his hands, took plates out of the cabinet and dished up their meals. He put the plates on the counter, and they wasted no time digging in.
Lark was speechless as she devoured her food. She hadn’t eaten much all day, and she was enjoying the delicious treat. “That was so tasty,” she said, wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“Would you like seconds?”
“I shouldn’t, but...why not?”
Dash refilled her plate and his, cleaning the roaster of its contents.
“Tell your chef he can cook for me anytime,” Lark commented after she polished off the last of the macaroni and cheese.
“Will do. Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No, thank you. Having finally gotten rid of my tequila headache, I need a break from alcohol for the next few days. Water will be just fine.”
Dash reached in the refrigerator and took out two bottles of water. “Let’s go into the living room and relax,” Dash said, leading the way.
Lark kicked off her shoes and settled on the oversize sofa while Dash put on a smooth-jazz CD. When he returned to the couch, she snuggled up next to him. “Thanks so much for such a wonderful meal. This was exactly what I needed.”
“You’re quite welcome. You want to watch a movie?”
“No, thanks. I just want to sit here and listen to the music. It sounds so soothing.” Lark closed her eyes and was soon in a Zenlike state. She was totally satiated. The day had started off rocky, but now everything had mellowed out, thanks to Dash. Her mind was free from the stress of work, and she drifted off to sleep with ease.
Chapter 23
Lark had fallen asleep on Dash’s sofa, but she was jolted awake by the sound of her own light snoring. Dash had been asleep next to her. He was sleeping so soundly that she hadn’t wanted to disturb him, so she’d quietly put on her shoes, gathered her things and headed home before midnight. She had wanted to sleep in her own bed in order to get a good night’s rest. Now, early in the morning, she was refreshed and ready to face the day.
Lark was sitting in her kitchen, dressed in a terry-cloth robe, drinking a cup of freshly brewed hazelnut coffee. Her tablet was propped up on the counter next to her. Instead of reading the New York Times, she was perusing the daily fashion blogs to catch up on the latest news. She had been so inundated with her own designs that she hadn’t taken the time to check out what the other designers were creating. With fashion week approaching, she wanted to check out the competition. Lark normally stayed on top of the latest happenings, but with dating Dash and her heavy work schedule, she had fallen behind. Lark was scanning the page of Iman M, a hot young fashion stylist and blogger who reported on the latest trends on Se
venth Avenue before, during and after the fashion shows. Iman had written...
An Old Face with a New Look. Sebastian (no last name required), former lead designer of Randolph on the Runway, has launched his own line. His new womenswear collection is fresh and exciting. I’ll be at his Tribeca loft this afternoon for a sneak peek before fashion week starts. I’ll be posting pix of Sebastian’s new line on my page. Ciao!
“Sebastian’s preview, huh? I’ll be there, as well,” Lark said aloud. She was curious to see what her former employee had been up to since his firing. Lark knew exactly where Sebastian’s loft was located—she had been there numerous times for his quaint cocktail parties.
Lark dressed for the day in a slate-gray jumpsuit with an asymmetrical collar—another of her latest designs—and a thin gunmetal belt around her slim waist. She headed to the office. When she arrived, her assistant was sitting at her desk.
“Good morning, Ms. Randolph. Here’s your mail.” Angelica handed her a stack of envelopes.
“Thanks.” Lark took the pile of mail and headed inside her office. She dropped the mail on her desk and scanned through it. She could see from the envelopes that some of them were bills. She put them to the side and logged on to her computer. There was a slew of new emails—some professional and some personal—that she hadn’t read yet. Lark knew she should open and answer them, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was on Sebastian. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had purposely left her in the dark about the markdown money. Lark planned to show up at his loft and give him a piece of her mind.
After forcing herself to focus, she finished plugging numbers into the spreadsheet she had been working on the day before. Even though it wasn’t noon yet, she decided to head over to Sebastian’s to get their unpleasant exchange over with. She wanted to confront him before the blogger arrived.
“Angelica, I’m leaving for a while. I should be back in an hour or two,” she said.
“Don’t forget you have a meeting with production at three,” Angelica said.
“I’ll be back before then.”
Season for Love Page 13
