“What about the other—” the poor woman couldn’t finish the sentence.
“We forget about those and I take you out to lunch.”
Perrin didn’t protest about the unsorted mounds of fabric awaiting her. She nodded again and worked her way through the bills.
Aubrey James paced the tables as if he were inspecting a firing squad rather than judging a cook-off at the county fair. He was a tall, spare man who walked with a pronounced stoop and clenched his hands firmly behind his back. A frock coat and a beaver top hat would have placed him comfortably in the eighteenth century where…
Josh glared at his laptop’s screen, “Where mystery novels go to die.” It was his tenth opening just this morning and not a single one had led anywhere. At least this one had the decency to die quickly unlike the three full pages of mulch he’d given to Felicity James, clearly Aubrey’s evil twin sister.
He reached for his coffee, but it was long gone cold. He took a sip anyway.
Then he looked up in some shock. The restaurant which had been comfortably dark, only the soft worklight over the server’s station lighting the entire space, was now vibrant with light, patrons, noise, and food. His stomach rumbled. Angelo’s had filled with a lunch crowd without his consciously noticing. There were chattering tourists, small family groups for whom lunch at Angelo’s was obviously a splurge—dinner being out of their reach, and many wearing Seattle-casual who were so underdressed that they were clearly labeled as being very well off.
Thinking back, he could remember hearing things. But he’d been lost in trying to grind out an opening scene to the novel. He’d been meaning to write a foodie mystery since, well, forever. So, despite the miserable openings he’d created, he’d take it as encouraging that he’d become too absorbed to be distracted by what was going on around him.
His was one of the few tables not filled with patrons. Paying patrons.
Graziella swung into the server’s station to collect some menus to take back to the greeter’s station.
“Ah. The writer emerges,” her smile lit her beautiful Italian face. Her English had only the slightest trace of an Italian accent. She ruled the front of house with an iron hand, but she added an Italian greeting and the Mediterranean flair for warmth and an ease to her seamless service. That the girl was also drop dead gorgeous and glowed with joy anytime you mentioned her chef-husband Manuel, only added to the charming atmosphere she created.
“I guess. Is it okay that I’m—”
“Angelo has declared this table as yours. Most patroni paying our prices and eating our food don’t want to sit so closely beside the wait staff. We usually only seat our personal guests here. You look hungry, I’ll bring you a bowl of chicken skewers marinated overnight in white wine and baked with an Umbrian spice rub served over fresh-made pepper linguine.”
He was too busy salivating to protest about not wanting to mooch before she whisked off to greet some new arrivals.
He was again scowling at Aubrey James to see if he was salvageable, when someone joyfully called his name and practically launched herself into his arms.
“Perrin!” he gave her a tight hug. “I’m so sorry I missed your wedding, but—”
She kissed him on the tip of his nose then snagged his left hand.
“But,” she said with a sudden, soft sympathy. She rubbed her thumb over the spot where his wedding ring had been and it all slammed back in. Then, with her flawless timing, before he could once again feel all of the gloom of the world crashing down on him, she turned on one of her radiant smiles.
“If only you’d told me sooner, Josh, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with Bill and his children. Our children,” she corrected herself and her smile bloomed even brighter. “Then I could have been all yours as I always promised. Alas, now we’re not meant to be.”
Perrin had made any number of flirty passes at him over the couple of years since they’d met. Always harmless fun. She was a truly enjoyable woman, who’d have driven him nuts trying to live with that wild energy of hers.
She dropped into a chair and turned to address her companion, “But he’d be perfect for you.”
That’s when Josh focused beyond Perrin.
Melanie stood there: quiet, self-contained, and breathtaking. In sharp contrast to the last time he’d seen her, she was impeccably dressed. Her long hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, a designer cashmere sweater that draped down to mid-thigh captured at the waist with a wide belt of hand-tooled leather that slid down over one hip like a caress, tight slacks that had clearly been made with her legs in mind. Actually, seeing as this was Melanie—they probably had been designed specifically to be modeled by her. Leather sandals and unpainted nails finished off the delightful picture. He could feel his brain knotting up again and nothing he did seemed to fight it off.
Perrin waved Melanie to join them.
“We do no want to disturb…” Melanie’s soft French was firmly in place.
“Oh, yes we do.” Perrin pushed the lid of his laptop closed with a sharp snap.
“It was just as well. Aubrey James had been no more interesting than Sheldon Taylor or Percival Cummings or…” he shrugged his apathy, even if his shoulder cramped a little on the way up.
Melanie settled with a grace and poise that Perrin thoroughly lacked. But to see them sitting side by side was actually pretty surprising. Perrin’s personality was always so big that it overshadowed her beauty. But side by side with Melanie, the two women could almost be sisters.
Yet there was more to Melanie than looks. She might think she was hiding behind a tall protective wall of French elegance and reserve. But Josh had heard her true accent and seen her street-fighter’s stance. There was a strong and tenacious woman in there as well; such a sharp contrast to her outer mien that he had trouble crediting it. But he could see it in her eyes.
He shoved his laptop into his bag and smiled at the two of them. “I’d be thrilled if you two would join me for lunch.” He’d also be the envy of every man in the room. He nearly said it aloud, would have if it had been only Perrin, for she’d have been tickled by the idea. But for Melanie, it was probably something she heard far too often, being credited only for her beauty. Well, if that was how she was perceived and treated, he would be the exception to the rule. He’d start with being real.
“I’m so sorry that I scared you last night. ’Course you scared me to death; turnabout is fair play, I guess. So, we’re kind of even on that. But are you comfortable with me there in the condo? I can find somewhere else to go if you aren’t. Though I’d hate to leave that kitchen before I had a chance to try it out.”
Melanie studied him and he learned something else about her in that moment. In addition to being beautiful, Melanie was smart. He could see her weighing factors, assessing him, a quick glance to Perrin as if factoring in Perrin’s greeting of him.
He now knew that the model’s stellar career had been no lucky coincidence of fate and fortunate genes, but rather a success engineered by a highly intelligent woman. Then she offered a smile that knocked him back in his chair, not with its force, but rather its genuine unaffected nature. In a funny way, it made the gorgeous supermodel into a beautiful woman.
“I think it will be agréable if you were to remain,” Melanie offered and sipped at the water and ice tea that Graziella had somehow spirited to their table with none of them noticing.
He would like very much to know what factors had just been included in her decision.
Had Joshua Harper done more than a cursory appreciative look at her outfit, or had made some stupid guy comment about “having two tall blondes for lunch,” Melanie would have asked him to leave the condo before nightfall.
But he hadn’t.
Instead, he’d cut straight to the first thing between them. No comment about last night, no leer because he’d seen her in a state of déshabillé that few men ever had. And he’d offered to move out rather than asking if he could stay. Obviously a friend of both Angelo an
d Perrin, the latter opinion carrying a surprising amount of weight…
Melanie looked again at Perrin in surprise to see if she’d reacted, but she was still doing that cheerful, exuding-joy-at-the-whole-world thing she did so well. She was still the same woman; so whatever had shifted had been inside Melanie. Some part of her had decided to trust Perrin’s instincts, beyond the world of fashion and now extending out to people.
She’d decided it would indeed be very agreeable to have Joshua Harper staying there and had told him so. And again surprised herself. It was one thing to think it, but why had she added “nice” to her statement? Perhaps he wouldn’t know that agréable implied more than the English “agreeable.”
This time it was Joshua she turned to assess. She sometimes wished that she could turn it off, step back and simply accept people, but she’d learned to choose even casual acquaintances very carefully as a survival trait. She’d done it for so long now that she could only be amazed that others didn’t do the same.
Joshua leaned in to laugh at some tease by Perrin. He was handsome, with softly curling dark hair and a well-defined chin. He had an easy smile. However, just as she’d noted the first time they’d met months before, it was mostly for Perrin.
He began telling her of last night’s events and Perrin was listening as if she hadn’t already heard it from Melanie. Joshua did leave off the part of how scantily clad Melanie had been, but was entertaining Perrin with a description of his being sprawled at a beautiful woman’s feet and facing a fearsome weapon of death as if she’d wielded a machine gun, or perhaps an entire Schwarzenegger-esque arsenal based on his embellishments.
Melanie felt a pinch as she watched him regaling Perrin. Of course Perrin was smiling at him and what was she doing? Remembering from last night that he was as tall as she was, and liking that. Assessing, calculating—gods, she’d shut it off if she could.
His story over, Perrin had asked him what he was working on.
“A novel,” then Joshua had blushed.
“How’s it going?” Perrin ordered a shrimp panino and salad. Melanie selected the same, slightly envying the lush bowl of pasta that Joshua was served. This was her carbs-allowed meal, but pasta was for splurge, not for everyday.
“It sucks!”
Melanie laughed. She didn’t know why. It just came out. His clearly conflicted emotions about his book didn’t stop his wry humor. She hadn’t expected him to be so…unforced.
He looked at her in wonder as if she’d just sung an aria.
She was tempted to snap out “What?” but his smile had answered her laugh. So, she changed her path.
“And why, Mr. Harper, does it suck?”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “Been working on it all morning and I’m sick of it. Tell me something from another world. What is amazing and new in the fashion world?”
That easily, he turned the topic away from himself. She began to feel suspicious now. Nobody was that thoughtful, were they? Or had she truly become so calloused and suspicious of everyone’s ulterior motives?
Maybe—just while she was in Seattle, which wouldn’t be for long anyway—she would try being a different person.
Perrin had begun discussing her new fabrics and some of the textural ideas that were sparking already for her next creations.
Melanie waited. She’d suggested lunch to get Perrin out of her workspace and ready to talk about her business. She’d dismissed the idea when Perrin had chosen to sit with Joshua. But now… He had opened a door out of kind consideration rather than talking about himself as any normal man would. She waited her moment and joined the conversation just as the salad was served with a balsamic vinaigrette on the side.
“The amazing thing, Joshua—”
“Josh.”
“Non. I will call you Joshua.”
The polite bow of his head tickled her. She always called people by their full name to keep them at a distance. With a simple gesture and smile, he had shifted it from a formality to an endearment. So simply that she couldn’t help but feel charmed by him.
“The amazing thing, Joshua,” she smiled back despite her normal practice of reserve, “is the other requests that Perrin’s Glorious Garb is receiving.”
“It’s just letters—” Perrin tried to cut her off.
“Society weddings, an Off-Broadway show. Next, Hollywood will come calling.”
“Well, actually…” Perrin was studying her salad. “I got a couple of e-mails, but they scared me.” Then she looked up. “Melanie! I can’t do what I need for the shop. How can I do the rest of that?”
Before Melanie could begin to explain, Joshua rested a hand on Perrin’s arm and drew aside her attention. Melanie wanted to snap at him for interfering.
“The first question, Perrin,” he withdrew his hand as the sandwiches arrived. “Is do you want to do those things? I heard you absolutely killed at the opera, but did you enjoy it?”
“Are you kidding?” Perrin waved her panino in the air in her sudden excitement. “The chance to build a three-hundred piece collection was fabulous. Defining the anchoring three styles and fifteen main costumes. And big weddings are just another grand story. If I could only…”
Joshua cut her off with one of his marvelous laughs; Melanie could really get to like that laugh. It made her feel cheerful, though she was irritated with his interruption.
“So, do it!” Joshua told her.
He was right. He had cut directly to the core. Did Perrin even want this? That was the key success factor and she hadn’t even thought to bring it up.
Perrin stopped chewing and stared at him. Her body, normally vibrating with energy had suddenly gone still.
“How?” It was barely a whisper.
“Not a clue.”
Perrin gasped, swore in a quite unladylike way, then stuck her tongue out at him.
“But,” then Joshua turned those warm, dark eyes on Melanie. “I’ll bet she knows.”
Now it was her turn to be stunned to silence. People only ever learned the hard way that Melanie was a businesswoman first and a model second. She had studied, even paid for two night courses and private tutoring from an attorney to make sure she understood contract law well enough to negotiate her own. Her contracts were the best in the business. She’d seen the dregs offered to most other models and, after soliciting Melanie’s advice, they took them; which was often head-shakingly stupid, but not unusual.
But no one had ever seen that about her until they were on the wrong side of the negotiating table. With Joshua she’d shared two meals and a mutual scare and somehow he saw—
“Do you?” Perrin was asking her. That wide-eyed innocent girl shining through despite her dark past.
Melanie took a bite of her own panino to buy herself a moment. Oh, Angelo was so good. The taste of the simple toasted sandwich unfolded in layers. She shook off the invitation to a playful journey that the food attempted to lead her along, and shifted her attention back to the discussion of Perrin’s business.
Her friend’s talent, work ethic, and dedication to the craft weren’t a question. She was one of the most innovative yet effective designers working today. She understood how to elevate both everyday wear and wedding wear without forcing them onto the runway. Melanie herself had worn some of Perrin’s styles out on the streets of New York and simply felt fabulous, not out of place.
And she knew how to make a woman look incredible; she really understood the female form. And not just the model thin; she’d seen Rubenesque women shining in Perrin’s dresses.
The demand was there as evidenced by Raquel’s numbers and the folder of requests resting in Melanie’s handbag. And if there were e-mails in addition to those… She began calculating assets. Russell had already done some ads for Perrin—his fashion-photography name still had immense clout in the industry. She’d need—
Melanie pulled back, would have sat back except for the years she’d spent training herself into a perfect posture. It was a fascinating puzzle, bu
t not one she was a part of.
“Do you?” Perrin asked again in the voice of hers that none could deny.
“It’s not a small project.”
“I get that,” suddenly the business side of Perrin was at the table as well. This was a woman Melanie had only glimpsed the once before. “Do you, Melanie, know how to do this?” This was no longer a vague question by a hopeful excited beginner. This was a fellow professional.
“No, I don’t,” Melanie had to be honest. She’d never taken a design house to market before.
Perrin looked deflated.
Joshua looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. He even had a bit of a smile. Then he said, “But…” and left it hanging.
“But,” Melanie conceded, “I do know what it would take to figure out.”
Chapter 4
Hours later, Melanie still didn’t know why she’d said that. It had unnerved her enough that she hadn’t rejoined Perrin at the shop. Instead she’d gone down to Elliot Bay Books at the south end of Pioneer Square, a few blocks past the condo.
As promised, it was a magnificent store; a labyrinthine collection set in interconnected lofty, bright spaces. A little wooden ramp led up to Pacific Northwest history and women’s fiction. At the far end of the ramp, bookcases of age-worn wood were crammed to bursting with an excellent humor collection.
In the room beyond ranged a vast collection of science fiction, romances, mystery, and more, simply poised and awaiting their moment to leap from the shelf into a patron’s hands. She found new books by two of her favorite mystery authors, and a military romantic suspense that she didn’t know but promised a strong heroine. She did enjoy reading about strong women.
She and her stack of books had ended up downstairs in the coffee shop with a pot of peppermint tea and a Bing cherry biscotti—another carb, but at the moment, she needed it. It looked as if Seattle might have been founded in this very room. Age-darkened wood tables, stout but comfortable chairs, and soft lighting perfect for reading and relaxing. Just beyond lay a line of heavy wood pillars supporting the floor above, a large array of chairs and a podium for author readings; she’d need to get a schedule to see if there was anyone interesting in the next few days. And everywhere there were colorfully filled bookcases wrapping the walls and defining spaces.
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