by Shirley Jump
“If LL Designs is in such financial trouble, why isn’t your mother here? I know she retired, but wouldn’t this kind of problem draw her back, at least temporarily? To head the creative side?”
Caleb swallowed hard. He should have known this question was coming. After all, it was a logical conclusion. When the company started floundering, why not bring back its namesake and creative genius?
He considered lying, sticking to the party line he’d been spouting for more than a year. But what had that gotten him so far? Nothing but more and more entangled in a mess of his own making. Headlines blared out reporters’ conjectures, most of which were wrong. At least their laser eyes weren’t pointed at Lenora. Someday, though, he would have to admit the truth.
Still, he had yet to come to grips with the truth himself. How could he possibly admit it to another person?
“My mother is not planning to come back to the company, not in the near future,” Caleb said.
She jotted that down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sure it’s hard for you without her around to ask for advice.”
His gaze met hers and he wondered if it was possible he had completely misread Sarah Griffin. Maybe she wasn’t the headline-seeking gossip writer who wanted only to destroy his reputation. Maybe that sigh earlier had said she was as discontented with her job as he was with the results of her coverage. Maybe they had more in common than he knew.
And that could prove just as dangerous, he realized. Because knowledge could also be a weapon, and if Sarah Griffin found out the truth about what kind of son he really was, she might just choose to use that against him.
She was a smart, witty and beautiful woman. And he’d do well to remember all of that whenever he opened his mouth.
CHAPTER FIVE
SARAH had spent three days visiting shops in and around New York with Caleb Lewis. They had stopped in boutiques, in major department stores, in salesmen’s offices. In every store, with every person, she noticed one consistent fact—
Caleb Lewis was involved. Not just with the business, but with every element of it, from the designs to the distribution to the marketing. He talked to his customers, and he listened and, even more, he went back to the office with that information and implemented change. He was genuinely invested in this company, so much more than Sarah had ever thought or expected.
All this time, she’d thought he was merely a playboy who’d inherited a company he didn’t really want, a figure-head blowing through the Lewis dollars with one model after another by his side.
Could she have been wrong?
Sarah sat across from Caleb Lewis in the roomy office that had once belonged to his mother, and flipped through a selection of catalogs from past seasons. For the hundredth time, she wondered why Lenora Lewis wasn’t here. The woman had been so involved in her company, and then she’d just dropped out of sight. Retired, Caleb had said, and as far as Sarah had been able to determine, that was exactly what Lenora had done.
But why? Why would she walk away just as the company was floundering and leave it in the hands of her son, who was full of good intentions, but not so much experience? Why not return and give him a helping hand until the company got over this hump?
When he’d told her about his mother, Caleb had left something out, but what, she didn’t know. There was definitely a detail or two, though, that he’d skipped when he was talking about Lenora and why she was no longer at the company.
Had there been a familial falling-out? A corporate disagreement? Or had Lenora been so ready to retire after forty years at the helm that she refused to return?
Whatever Caleb wasn’t telling Sarah, she had the feeling it was big. Something that would make her article have that intangible element that drew in readers.
“Finding what you need?” Caleb asked.
She glanced up at him. Every time her gaze connected with his, her heart tripped. Damn. It wasn’t just that Caleb was handsome, it was the way he looked at her—looked into her. “Um, yeah. Fine.”
Caleb’s words from the other day came back to her.
I noticed. You.
The sentences echoed in her head, and sent twin thrills of suspicion and joy running through her. Because he was buttering up the writer part of her? Or because he was genuinely interested?
She had to tread carefully. Just because a handsome man was showing her attention was no reason to lose her focus. She needed her job—needed it as much, if not more now than she ever had before.
Get back to work. Get the story, not the man.
“Have you worked up any preliminary designs for the shoe line?” she asked.
“Well, we have a few. But the problem is that we want them to complement the fall line’s clothing and I’m rethinking that after your comments.”
“Rethinking the fall line? But the fashion shows are only a few days away.”
He ran a hand through his hair, making what had been neat a perfect mess. Sarah resisted the urge to tangle her own fingers in his dark curls. “I know. I know.”
She leaned forward. “I think it’s kind of like writing an article. Before I put a piece together, I figure out what tone and voice I want it to have. Snarky or serious. Funny or dramatic. If you can come up with the voice for this season’s collection, then I think you’ll have the direction for the new line, too.”
Caleb toyed with a pencil on his desk, chewing over her words. “I’ve never really approached it that way before. I think so far, we’ve just been trying to capitalize on what has been making us successful in the past.”
“Yeah, but if you ask me, what’s made this company a success in the past is that it never went back. It always moved forward.”
He snorted. “That’s a little easier said than done.”
Sarah’s cell phone began to ring. The familiar chirpy tone escalated in volume, demanding an answer. Either she answered now, or he’d call back. And back. And back. Until she finally acquiesced and picked up the phone. She fished the slim phone out of her purse. “I’m sorry. I really have to take this.”
Caleb nodded. “No problem.”
“Hi, Dad,” Sarah said into the mouthpiece. “I’m in a meeting right now and—”
“Sorry, pumpkin. But this is an emergency.”
Alarm rose in Sarah. The last time he’d said that, he had cut his head open while he was getting out of the shower and needed a half dozen stitches. “Are you okay? Did you fall down?”
“Hell, no. I just can’t figure out how to make this damned remote control work. Every button I push turns the TV off. I just want to watch my crime shows, not get a master’s degree in techno-babble.”
Sarah let out a sigh. Thank God he was okay. “Dad, something like this could have waited until I got home.”
“How long is that going to take? Eight hours? Plus travel time? Do you know how long that is when I’m sitting here on this sofa of yours? Which is mighty uncomfortable, I might add. You should pick out better furniture.”
Sarah bit back a gust of frustration. Her father liked to think he was being helpful when he criticized everything from her dish detergent to her oatmeal selection. Sarah had grown used to Martin’s “input” long ago, and looked at it as his way of saying he loved her. Albeit, not the best way, but at least he was concerned. “Dad, let me explain the remote.” She ran through the operating instructions, then said a firm goodbye and hung up the phone. “Sorry about that,” she said to Caleb.
“I understand. I worked for my mother off and on through high school and college. It was…challenging sometimes. We loved each other, but there were days when we drove each other nuts.” With that, another small thread extended between them, knitted from shared experiences. She shrugged it off. The last thing she needed was a connection with this man. For one, she didn’t have time, and for another—
She clearly wasn’t his type. Hadn’t she gotten that message in the restaurant the other day? Or when some of the models had paraded by his office earlier this morning an
d “popped in” just to say hi to Caleb—spending a good ten minutes flirting with him?
Beautiful, leggy women, with the kind of looks Sarah had always wanted, but somehow never mastered. Not that she’d spent a whole lot of time trying. She’d been too busy holding her family together and holding down a job to do much more than apply lipstick in the morning. She hadn’t thought much about her lack of morning prep until now, when it seemed the entire fashion world was strutting by her table, and attracting the attention of the man across from her.
What if she did look like one of those women? Would Caleb Lewis brush his lips across her cheeks? Would he flash her that smile of his? Ask her on a date?
Insane thoughts, Sarah. Buy a tube of mascara and get over the whole fantasizing-about-Caleb Lewis thing.
She cleared her throat. “Now, to get back to what you were about to—”
The phone started again. The same peppy tone that was hooked to one specific caller—
Her father.
“Dad,” she hissed into the phone. “I’m in a meeting. I can’t talk right now.”
“I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but this will only take a second.”
Sarah rubbed her temples. “Okay. What?”
“I was trying to be helpful, you know, and so I started making something to eat, and well…” He paused a second. “I had a mishap.”
Oh, this didn’t bode well. At all. The last time her father had helped cook, she’d had to call the fire department. “Dad, step away from the stove. I’ll be home soon.”
She rose, stuffing her phone back in her purse. “I’m extremely sorry, but I really have to go.”
“Parental troubles?” Caleb came around his desk and stood before her.
Sarah sighed. “You have no idea. My father moved in with me last year and he’s been…difficult. He means well, but he’s not exactly Mr. Self-Sufficient. Sometimes, I feel like I have a toddler at home.”
“Want a hand with that?” Caleb reached for her before she stepped away. The momentary contact seared her skin.
She eyed him. “Why would you want to help me?”
“Because I know what it’s like to be a parental babysitter of sorts, and maybe I can run interference for you.”
The thought of having someone else there to help her get through to her stubborn father sounded good. Very good. Just someone else to shoulder the burdens that Sarah had been carrying way too long by herself.
But Caleb Lewis? Oh, that could be a dangerous mistake. Mixing business with personal? Hadn’t she vowed a thousand times to keep things between them strictly professional? Not to get caught up in his touch, his eyes, his smile? For the past few days, she’d done a good job of keeping things on a business-only level. They’d talked about the company, toured shops, spent time in the factory. All the while, she’d been aware of him—she couldn’t get within five feet of the man and not be overwhelmingly aware of him—but she hadn’t acted on any of those feelings.
And now she was considering bringing him home to meet her father? If anything opened the door to a relationship, that did. “I shouldn’t…”
“You should,” Caleb said, placing a hand on her arm again. Zings ran through her, and she told herself to pull away. Told herself to break the contact.
She did neither.
“I can see the stress all over your face,” he said. “And take it from someone who has been there. A helping hand, even if it’s just to negotiate dinner prep, can make all the difference in the world.”
Oh, having Caleb Lewis spend more time with her was going to make a difference. That, she could tell just by the way her traitorous hormones ran through in a frenzy. But that kind of difference could be dangerous.
A huge step out of her comfort zone.
Wasn’t that what she was supposed to be doing? Part of the whole new life plan? Nevertheless, she hadn’t done a single out-of-the-comfort-zone thing except take home those Frederick Ks without her boss’s knowledge or permission. Look how well that had turned out.
Sarah glanced at Caleb. “Maybe—”
Then yet another model poked her head into his office, calling out Caleb’s name. Sarah drew herself up. This was Caleb Lewis. The man who personified playboy. He was a lot more trouble than a pair of stilettos.
“Thanks,” she said, offering him a smile, “but I’m just fine on my own. Good day, Mr. Lewis.”
Night fell, draping its blanket of darkness over the city. Outside, streetlights flickered on, incandescent bulbs warmed homes and hearths and people settled in for the end of the day.
But not Caleb Lewis. He sat in his apartment, watching the city blink outside his window. From here, it seemed like hundreds of fireflies flicking their glowing tails, flitting into a window, along a walkway, down a busy street. Jazz music played on his stereo, a lonely sweet melody filling the dark corners of the apartment, dancing life over the inanimate furniture.
He sipped at a bourbon on the rocks. The pricey liquor slid down his throat with a slight satiny burn. The alcohol didn’t make anything easier, but it sure as hell made it seem as if he could sit here long enough and the right decision would just come to him. Dozens of nights he’d spent sitting in this chair, sometimes even falling asleep where he sat, and he had yet to figure out a damned thing.
There was a gentle nudge at his elbow. Caleb glanced down. “Hey, Mac. I bet I know what you want.”
The chocolate lab panted out a yes-yes, then, when Caleb didn’t get to his feet, the seven-year-old dog let out a sigh and dropped to his haunches beside Caleb’s chair. Patient, quiet. Knowing his master would eventually pull himself out of this funk, snap on the leash and take both of them out into the night. Or even better, fill the food bowl with a second meal of the day.
Caleb rubbed the dog’s head, and Mac pressed himself against the chair. The dog, so loyal and, yet, so unaware of the agonizing decisions racing through Caleb’s head. How he tossed around the same list of pros and cons and impossible solutions. “What would you do?”
The dog didn’t answer. He never did. If Caleb really wanted an answer, he’d ask a human.
Instead, he sipped at the bourbon and watched the city. And thought about where he had gone wrong in his life, and how he would probably try to fill that hole again tonight with yet another loud, mindless night.
And in the end, come back here, exhausted, but no more fulfilled. No happier than when he’d left and certainly no closer to the right decision.
Or…he could make another choice. One that sent him down a different path than the crooked one he’d been following for way too long.
“What are you, some kind of stalker?” Martin Griffin crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Caleb. He was a tall man with a barrel chest—at least six inches taller than Caleb—and he used that height advantage to loom large and imposing.
Caleb had seen the badge encased in glass on the mantel and wondered if the interrogation was because Martin was a former cop or because he was a father or both. Either way, Caleb couldn’t blame the man. If Sarah had been his daughter, he’d have been suspicious of any man showing up on the doorstep.
For the fourth time since he’d rung Sarah Griffin’s doorbell, Caleb wondered if he’d done the wrong thing. He’d gotten her address out of the phone book, and just shown up on her doorstep. Instead of finding Sarah at the door, though, he found her father.
“Uh, no, sir. Not a stalker at all,” Caleb said.
“Just making sure.” Martin leaned in closer. His light blue eyes seemed to see into Caleb’s brain and the scowl on his face said he wasn’t happy with what he was reading there. “You never know when some stranger follows my little girl home.”
“I didn’t follow her. I just stopped by to visit.”
Martin harrumphed. Showing how much he believed that.
The apartment door opened and Sarah breezed in, a large tote bag stuffed with papers slung over her shoulder. Clearly, she’d just left work, and like him, brought as much of it hom
e as she left behind in the office. “Hey, Dad, I was thinking for dinner we could—”
The sentence died in her throat when she saw Caleb. “What are you doing here?”
“I offered to help, remember?”
“You want me to get rid of him?” Martin asked, staring at Caleb as though he was a trash bag, ready to be hauled to the curb. “Is he one of those crazy guys who can’t take no for an answer?”
“No, not at all. Caleb is a…” Her voice trailed off and she glanced at him.
“Colleague,” Caleb finished.
Could he have picked a lamer description? But another option didn’t come to mind. He and Sarah weren’t friends, exactly, and they certainly weren’t lovers. They were…
Colleagues, as cold as that word sounded. Distant. And not at all the kind of thoughts he’d been having this whole week. They’d spent day after day together, and though their every conversation had been about work, his mind had been elsewhere. Fantasizing about kissing her, about taking her in his arms, and about what it would feel like to run his hand over that sweet peach skin—that didn’t fit in the description of work peers.
Yeah, probably not the best thing to tell her father.
Martin harrumphed again, then crossed the room and dropped into a leather recliner that had seen better days. Its battered brown sides and duct-tape-repaired footrest stood in stark contrast to the sleek white-and-glass modern furniture filling the rest of the room, furnishings that reflected Sarah’s fresh, direct personality. Clearly, the chair had come with Martin.
Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes at her father before turning to Caleb. “Can I get you something to drink?” she said to Caleb.
“Get the man a beer,” Martin said before Caleb could answer. “Men like beer.”
Caleb grinned. “Beer’s fine.”
She ducked into the kitchen, leaving Caleb alone with her father. Martin eyed him as if he might make off with the silver at any moment. Clearly, Caleb wasn’t racking up too many brownie points here.
