Her Deal with the Devil

by Nicola Marsh

  She was doing it for Seaborns. She’d do anything for Sea-borns. The one constant in her topsy-turvy life.

  Managing the family business might have almost driven her into the ground, mentally, physically and emotionally, but it was still standing, resolute and dependable, while the rest of her life crumbled around her diamond-clad ears.

  Continuing a business relationship with Fourde Fashion was a smart move. Thanks to the Fashion Week success Sea-borns had enough orders to fill for the next decade. Only a fool would walk away from something so lucrative.

  Besides, Ruby would be at this meeting too, and she had to act as if everything was fine. The last thing she needed was Rubes freaking out if she thought Sapphie was stressing over losing Patrick.

  As she strode into the boardroom her business focus stalled. Memories did that to a girl. Memories she’d have to forget if she expected to get through this meeting without falling apart.

  ‘Bonjour,’ Serge said, bowing over her hand in the flamboyant way she’d come to expect whenever their paths crossed. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine.’

  She made a mockery of the monosyllabic response by slamming her portfolio down a little too hard on the table.

  Ignoring his questioning glance, she busied herself with setting up the data on her iPad and finding the figures they needed to go over for future projections.

  His silence unnerved her but she kept busy. As long as she stayed busy everything would be okay. She could ignore the permanent ache in her chest and the sick emptiness in her belly.

  According to Serge, Patrick had left. A day early. Caught a flight late last night. Could he have got away any faster?

  She’d been up all night, wishing she hadn’t run out on him. He’d been sincere about that stupid globe, had said she’d meant more to him than any other woman and she believed him.

  So why was he hell bent on pushing her away?

  She’d hoped to confront him today, without the heat of last night’s emotions clouding the issue. Instead he’d brought forward his departure, pretty much telling her he’d meant it when he’d said they were over.

  ‘Your sister is joining us?’

  Sapphie nodded. ‘Far as I know.’

  ‘She’s very talented.’ Serge tapped the latest industry magazine cover, featuring Patrick’s showstopper and Ruby’s choker.

  ‘Someone mention my name?’ Ruby breezed into the room, the only person Sapphie knew who could pull off a pink poncho, purple velvet mini, black and white striped leggings and maroon ankle boots. ‘Because I’ve got talent in spades, you know.’

  ‘Modesty too,’ Sapphie muttered as Serge laughed.

  ‘Can you ladies give me a few minutes while I grab some stuff for our meeting?’

  ‘Sure.’ Ruby waved him away, her astute gaze zeroing in on her, making Sapphie wish she’d cancelled this meeting after all.

  Ruby dumped her portfolio on the table and plopped onto the chair next to her, waiting until Serge had left before elbowing her.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Sapphie took a deep breath. Convincing Rubes she was fine would take a monumental effort.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ruby rolled her eyes. ‘I spoke to Serge a few hours ago. He said Patrick left.’

  ‘No great surprise there.’

  Ruby frowned. ‘But I thought…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you two were in it for the long haul.’ Ruby slung an arm around her shoulders and hugged. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ Her clipped tone suggested otherwise and Ruby sighed.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. He’s going solo in Paris, launching a new company.’

  Ruby’s eyebrows rose as she sat back. ‘He’s a talented guy. The European scene won’t know what’s hit it.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  And he hadn’t told her about it—any of it—until she’d practically dragged it out of him.

  Ultimately that was what had made her walk away last night. His lack of trust in her, his inability to confide in her after all they’d shared.

  It had hurt more than she could have imagined.

  Apparently short-term flings weren’t privy to long term plans.

  Ironic. She’d been hell-bent on confronting him this morning and demanding answers—she could thank her mum for her dogged determination too—but it had been too late.

  She’d taken it as a sign. They were over. For good.

  ‘You two were great together,’ Ruby said, patting her hand. ‘Professionally and personally.’

  Sapphie sooo didn’t want to have this conversation.

  ‘Can we focus on work today—?’

  ‘Serge said he’s never seen Patrick like this—totally obsessed with a woman.’

  Yeah, gaining that extra ‘flag’ would be enough to fuel any obsession.

  ‘Rubes—’

  ‘He hasn’t dated for a year. Has focussed on making it big in this biz.’ She frowned. ‘Not that his parents care. He got shafted in Paris.’

  Despite her wanting to put Patrick behind her, Ruby had piqued her curiosity.

  ‘What happened?’

  Ruby rubbed her forehead. ‘Apparently his first show years ago was too cutting edge. Buyers rebelled. Cost Fourde megabucks. His parents distanced themselves and the company, treated him like a second-class citizen. So he’s worked his ass off since—was the sole inspiration behind the Fourde spring collection, coming up with that unique twist on the Eighties. Fashion world went wild for it.’

  ‘Like they did for Old Hollywood Glamour?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Ruby picked up a pen and doodled diamonds. ‘Another employee took the credit. Patrick didn’t tell his folks the truth.’

  ‘No way?’

  ‘Serge said they’ve got this screwy relationship.’

  ‘I figured from what he told me.’

  Ruby smirked. ‘So you guys did manage to talk between other activities?’

  Sapphie punched her in the arm.

  ‘Explains why he’s so determined on heading back to Paris.’ Ruby tilted her head to one side, studying her. ‘Don’t you think this start-up company has a lot to do with proving his success to his folks?’

  ‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’

  ‘Liar,’ Ruby said, swivelling to face her. ‘Are you going after him?’

  Sapphie stared at Ruby as if she’d suggested Sapphie steal the Crown jewels alone. ‘Even if I were remotely interested any more, which I’m not, remember that business I run? Sea-borns? Ring any bells?’

  ‘I’ve run it before. I can do it again.’ Ruby shrugged. ‘You’re obviously in love with the guy. Why don’t you give a relationship a chance?’

  ‘Because I don’t—I can’t—ah, hell…’

  ‘Deep breaths, sis. It’s not that hard, really.’

  Sapphie sighed. ‘I already told him I was willing to head to Paris for a while. See how things developed between us.’

  Ruby squealed and clapped her hands.

  ‘He said no.’

  Ruby grabbed her hand. ‘What the—?’

  ‘Looks like launching his precious company is more important than what we shared.’

  Ruby squeezed her hand, released it. ‘You’re both as bad as each other.’

  Sapphie pointed at her ear. ‘Did you hear a word I said? I was willing to follow him—’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’

  ‘Because he doesn’t bloody want me.’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘At some point in time both of you will need to stop hiding behind business and lay your hearts on the line.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m doing—’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Ruby gestured to the stack of work on the table in front of them. ‘It’s what you’ve always done, Saph. Put the business ahead of your own needs. Don’t let it ruin what you could have with Patrick.’

  When Sapphie opened her mouth to reiterate that Patrick didn’t want her, Ruby
held up her hand. ‘And don’t give me that bull about him not being interested. He’s ga-ga over you.’ She paused only long enough to draw breath before continuing, ‘The guy’s probably terrified. He’s spent his life searching for approval he’s never got from his folks. Maybe he’s scared he won’t measure up to your expectations? Maybe he’s scared of failure? He failed workwise once. Maybe he doesn’t want to stuff up with his new company? Or maybe he’s scared of failing at a relationship with you—?’

  ‘Stop.’ Sapphie held up her hand. ‘That’s a heck of a lot of maybes.’

  Ruby grinned. ‘Here’s another one. Maybe you should give over that six-month supply of Tim Tams you owe me.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘That bet we made when he first arrived on the scene.’ Ruby smirked. ‘That you wouldn’t last two weeks without getting up close and personal with the delicious Patrick.’

  ‘You’ve got a memory like an elephant,’ Sapphie muttered, relieved to be joking rather than contemplating her sister’s outlandish encouragement to follow him to Paris.

  Ruby rubbed her hands together. ‘Now we’ve got my chocolate bikkie situation sorted, when are you leaving?’

  So much for a reprieve.

  ‘Rubes, drop it—’

  ‘Jax is in South Africa for the next six weeks so I can hold the fort ’til then. You should go,’ Ruby said, slipping Sapphire her mobile—to book a ticket, presumably. ‘I’ve done this before, remember? It’ll be a cinch.’

  Handing over the reins of Seaborns to Ruby again wasn’t the problem. Potentially having her heart broken by Patrick Fourde was one big problem waiting to happen.

  But what if Ruby was right?

  What if Patrick did love her?

  What if he’d pushed her away deliberately for some warped rationale she had no hope of figuring out?

  And, the doozy, what if she headed to Paris to lay her heart on the line once and for all?

  As Patrick waited for his folks to wrap up a conference call with a buyer in New York he lounged in a Louis XIV chair next to his favourite window.

  How many times had he sat here, waiting for his folks to give him a few seconds of their precious time? Hardy and Joyce, the toast of Paris and beyond, willing to do anything in the name of Fourde Fashion.

  He’d always wondered how far they’d go for their company…and he’d found out the hard way. Interestingly, after his first disastrous show and the fallout, they hadn’t spoken of it. Had swept it under their priceless antique rug as if it had never happened.

  They’d never trusted him to run a show again until Melbourne, and that was probably only because of the distance from Paris and their low expectations. If he stuffed up in Australia who would care?

  He’d shown them. Not only had he hit a home run, he’d landed on the front page of every fashion mag in Europe and beyond.

  Old Hollywood glamour was the new catch cry and he knew knock-off designs would be in shows and shops worldwide in the upcoming season.

  It pleased him, leaving the company on a high, having given something back to his parents, ensuring he’d made his mark at Fourde—a positive mark this time.

  As he stared out over Paris and the exquisite view of the Montmartre district he couldn’t wait to get this meeting underway.

  It would be predictable. He’d tell them his plans, they’d nod absentmindedly, ask a few questions out of politeness and leave him to it. Classic Fourde parenting.

  It wouldn’t matter if he strutted into their office wearing a satin sheath and stilettos. They wouldn’t notice.

  Who knew? Maybe his new company, in opposition to theirs—and grabbing consumer dollars—would finally make them sit up and take notice of their youngest son?

  He’d make his fashion house succeed if it killed him. And that included accessorising with the right jewellery. Jewellery he’d scoured Paris for but had come up with nothing that matched the stunning creations by Seaborns.

  If he wanted to succeed he needed the best, which meant he needed to talk to Sapphire. But he hadn’t figured out how to do it in business terms without letting emotions cloud the issue.

  ‘Patrick? You wanted something?’

  Joyce’s cultured accent sounded the same as ever: cool, clipped, closed. He’d never heard his mother sound warm or happy and it saddened him. Amazingly glamorous at sixty, one of the most envied women in the fashion world, but with an aloofness that underscored her timeless beauty.

  He stood and headed towards the door that had opened on silent hinges. ‘Hey, Mum.’

  He kissed her cheek, not surprised when she bustled him through the door as if she had more important matters to attend to.

  ‘Dad.’ He nodded a greeting at his father, who glanced up from the spreadsheets scattered across his desk long enough for a reciprocal nod.

  Joyce sat on a chaise and gestured him to a seat opposite. ‘Do you have more projection figures from Fashion Week?’

  Not How are you? How was your flight? Congratulations on doing an amazing job in Melbourne. Nope, straight to the point: how their number one baby, Fourde Fashion, was doing.

  ‘I haven’t come here to discuss that,’ he said, picking imaginary lint off his trousers before realising how nervous he looked. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’

  He’d finally captured his father’s attention. Hardy pushed back from the desk, rounded it in three strides and took a seat next to Joyce.

  ‘What’s going on? Did that order from the mega department store fall through? Thought it was too good to be true—’

  ‘I’m leaving Fourde’s to start up my own fashion house.’

  The rhythmic tick-tock of a grandfather clock filled the silence as his stony-faced folks stared at him as if he’d proposed they scale the Eiffel Tower in couture.

  ‘I’ve already mentioned this before, and the time is right now.’ He tapped his smartphone and pulled up the spread on his indie show. ‘I had a test run at Fashion Week in Melbourne. The contemporary, edgy stuff I want to focus on. It was a hit.’

  ‘Interesting concept.’ His father studied the phone screen through narrowed eyes. ‘Is it sustainable?’

  Surprised by his father’s apparent interest, Patrick nodded. ‘From the positive feedback so far, I think so.’

  Hardy swiped his finger across the screen, a frown denting his brow. ‘These are good, but it takes more than modern concepts to build a company.’

  Patrick had expected censure, not praise—however begrudging—and he eased into a smile. ‘I’d like to think I’ve learned from the best.’

  Hardy’s bushy eyebrows bristled before he cleared his throat. ‘Fourde has dedicated workers, that’s for sure. If you put in the hard yards, who knows what can happen?’

  Patrick knew. He’d be sitting across from his folks at the next premier fashion show, sharing top billing.

  ‘Thanks, Dad. I’m grateful for the experience but I’m looking forward to the challenge.’

  Concern bracketed Joyce’s pursed lips as she glanced at the phone screen. ‘These designs are stunning, Patrick, but have you forgotten the disaster of your first show?’

  ‘No, Mum, I haven’t.’ He refrained from adding, It’s what drove me every day. ‘Paris wasn’t ready for funky and contemporary back then. It is now.’

  His father nodded, thoughtful. And with this meeting working out better than he’d expected, Patrick ventured into uncharted territory. Having a real family conversation.

  ‘Why did you leave me to take the fallout back then?’

  There—he’d asked the million-dollar question. He’d bet their answer would be priceless too.

  Joyce had the grace to blush as she fiddled with a ruffled lace cuff and Hardy looked plain embarrassed. ‘You were new to the business. Any adverse publicity wouldn’t affect you as much as it would the company. We chose to protect the company.’

  How noble. At the expense of their son.

  His mum piped up. ‘And we were right. Everything b
lew over. You returned to work, the company absorbed the financial losses and we moved on.’

  They made it sound so simple, compartmentalising everything into a neat box. The disaster might have blown over for them, but he’d spent years trying to outrun the laughing stock he’d been made out to be in the press—had portrayed himself as a slick playboy to prove he wasn’t the worst in the business. Gaining attention from all the wrong sources when he should have captured the attention of the two people standing before him now.

  ‘I guess we’ve all moved on,’ he said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. ‘I’d like to resign—effective immediately.’

  Joyce’s perfectly plucked brows arched. ‘That soon?’

  He nodded. ‘I want to capitalise on the buzz surrounding my Melbourne indie show.’

  A loaded glance he had no hope of interpreting passed between his parents before his father sagged onto the nearest surface—his desk.

  ‘Before you go, there’s something we need to discuss.’

  Here it came. A counter-offer? A buy-out before he’d begun?

  ‘We recently learned you came up with the spring collection concept.’ Hardy shook his head. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  How could he explain that pride had kept him silent? That he’d hoped his parents would recognise his signature talent? That even though his first collection had tanked for being innovative before its time, some of the same flair had been evident in those spring gowns? That even when he did voice his ideas they rarely deemed him worth listening to?

  He could have said so much, but after a lifetime of their not being interested in what he had to say what would be the point now?

  ‘Because ultimately it wouldn’t have changed anything.’ He thrust his hands in his pockets and took a few steps, pacing, before he stopped. He had nothing to be uncertain about. ‘My plan was always to leave. I wanted to do the best job I could before that happened.’

  ‘Then why did you take on the CEO role in Melbourne?’ His mother laid a cerise-taloned hand on his forearm.

  ‘Same reason.’

  Not entirely true, but his folks didn’t need to know his number one reason for nailing that show in Melbourne: proving to himself he could do it.