Masters for Life

by Ginger Voight

  I sighed the minute the door shut behind them. It was going to be a long day.

  After about an hour, I decided that everyone would have been better off if I had called in. I was unable to function whatsoever. I had to do every little thing at least three times, which made some of my paperwork even more tedious than it already was.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Devlin. I hated that our quarrel remained unresolved. All I wanted to do was fix it. We were still newlyweds, for God’s sake. This should have been the happiest time in our whole freaking marriage.

  By lunch, I was ready to march down to Damien’s office and pull him out by the ear. I was stunned that Devlin beat me to the punch. He showed up ten minutes to noon, and my heart stopped when he closed the door behind him and walked to the chair in front of my desk.

  “Your father has offered to take us to lunch, to welcome me to the Cabot’s team.” His green eyes were hard as they stared at me. Likely he was pissed that I hadn’t told him about the job.

  “I was going to tell you about it yesterday, but you left before I could say anything,” I said simply.

  It was an accusation, and he took it as such. “Apparently other things were more important to you.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Finding out my husband hadn’t told me the full truth about his past seemed a little more pressing. And if you had come back home at a decent hour last night, I probably would have brought it up.”

  “We needed time to cool off,” he said, his gaze never wavering.

  “You needed time,” I corrected.

  “Fine. I needed time.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I need to take you to the restaurant where your father and Oliver are waiting.”

  That little detail was the moldy cherry on top of my crap sundae. I shook my head. “Forget it.”

  “You’re going.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we all have our little jobs to do, Coralie.”

  His mood confused me. “Just because you got lassoed into a job…,” I started, but he cut me off.

  “I took the job because I wanted the job. We need the money, and it’d be nice to use my education for something,” he added with a sneer.

  “Devlin,” I started, but he had already walked around the desk and grabbed my purse.

  “Come on, Mrs. Masters. Your father is waiting.”

  I followed him obediently out of my office, down the hall and out of the store. Since the restaurant was close, Devlin didn’t bother with the car. Instead we walked, side by side, completely silent and without touching.

  It was the most distant I’d ever felt from him, and he was right beside me.

  This sucks, the angel on my shoulder whispered.

  For once I agreed.

  Devlin didn’t bother touching me until we got to the restaurant. He put his arm around me right before we got to the door. With disarming ease, he plastered a broad smile on his face as he guided me towards the host. “Mr. and Mrs. Devlin Masters,” he informed him. “Joining the Cabot party.”

  The host smiled. “Yes, of course. Welcome. Right this way.”

  We followed the stylish gentleman towards a table near the back of the restaurant. People turned from their meals to see who passed them. Celebrity sightings were a usual occurrence in this part of Los Angeles thanks to the theater across the street. And of course Devlin looked like a movie star, so likely they were trying to figure out if they should know him or not.

  For some of the wealthy women who smiled his direction, I couldn’t help but wonder if they did.

  It made my mood even sourer as we were seated at the table with Father and Oliver. I could tell by Oliver’s smug expression that he had assumed the upper hand in the encounter. As Devlin’s new boss, I supposed he could.

  Devlin, however, focused on Father. “Thank you for the invitation to lunch,” he greeted magnanimously.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come,” Father said as he motioned for more champagne. “We are delighted to have you join our company.”

  It was a far cry from the way he had greeted Devlin when they first met, when he looked at the younger man as someone who needed to be crushed under foot… like a cockroach.

  Devlin apparently decided to let bygones be bygones. “It’s a wonderful opportunity,” he agreed.

  “We like to think so,” Father said. “My grandfather, Adrian Cabot, started the first store in 1941, in downtown Los Angeles. At first he wanted to produce military wear for the government, since my father and his brother were off fighting WWII, but my grandmother had other ideas. With the country coming out of the depression, and the war raging overseas, she wanted to give our customers hope. The world was ugly and she just wanted to make it pretty again. It was her vision of luxury and glamor that gave birth to this company; a proud tradition every single Cabot has upheld ever since. I took over things in the 1970s, which was an ugly decade in so many ways. The beauty and grace of the 40s, 50s or 60s was squashed by things like the hippie movement, the ERA and the sexual revolution. Still, Cabot’s remains the epitome of class. It’s a rigid standard, but one every single employee is tasked to maintain.”

  Devlin nodded. “I understand.”

  “I know you do, which is why you were offered the position you were. The work you’ve done with your image consulting business is exemplary. You’ve cultivated the images of many important clients, and if some influential people are to be believed, it has even changed the landscape of the U.S. government.”

  I stole a glance at Devlin out of the corner of my eye. His face was a rigid mask that gave away nothing. “I take pride in my work,” was all he said, and I nearly choked on my wine.

  “I know that we had a rocky start,” Father said, which surprised me. “That is why I asked you here today so that we could officially start over.”

  “I take all the blame for our rocky beginning,” Devlin said. “I know it must have been a lot to take, with all these drastic changes, particularly from someone like Coralie, who has always been so steady and predictable before.” His eyes lit upon me briefly. “What can I say? Love makes a man do crazy things.”

  Father nodded. I had to wonder if he was thinking about Mother just then, and his devoted pursuit of her. “Indeed.”

  Devlin held up his glass. “To love,” he toasted. I couldn’t help but notice how Oliver’s smile faltered.

  “To new beginnings,” Father agreed with a toast of his own.

  The waiter came for our order, but I was still operating on one functioning brain cell. Devlin ordered for both of us and I let him. It was one of my favorite restaurants, but there was no way I could enjoy this impromptu luncheon. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop

  After we were served our main entrée, it finally did, when Father explained that he had a special project for Devlin’s first assignment.

  “I can handle anything you throw at me, Charles,” Devlin assured.

  Father’s eyes traveled over my face and my outfit. “I’m sure you can. Since the project I want you to work on is my daughter.”

  I think my jaw may have actually hit the ground. “What?” I managed to finally say.

  Father sat up in his chair. “Unfortunately for Coralie, her mother died when she was very young. By the time she got around to worrying about hair and makeup and clothes, the only real feminine influence she had was Lucy Lyon. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you she is alternative at best. Certainly not up to the standard of Cabot’s.”

  I still gaped at Father. Was he really going to ask my brand new husband to give me an image overhaul?

  Seriously?!

  “I’ve watched Coralie blossom in the last few weeks, and I know that has everything to do with you. Not only have you dressed her, but you’ve made her care about the image she puts out in the world. It’s something none of us before you could do. Since she is the face of Cabot’s going into the future, I consider this the most important job you could ever do for me.�
�

  My eyes swung to Devlin’s face. He remained stoic. Why wasn’t he defending me?

  Hell, why wasn’t I defending myself? Oh right, because my father was talking about me like I wasn’t even there. And I supposed I didn’t really have to be, since once again all the men in my life were making my decisions for me. I grabbed my purse and stood, but Devlin grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me back down again. I glared daggers at him, but that sharp look in his eyes hadn’t changed.

  It was almost as if he was trying to tell me to trust him.

  If only I could…

  Devlin turned back to Father. “It would make my job a lot easier if Cabot’s sold clothes that made Coralie feel beautiful and empowered and valued. That’s a big part of the change you see. We found her the right clothes, made especially for her. That’s why she blossomed.”

  I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming. This was why Father wanted to take us out to lunch. He wanted to avoid a scene. I opened my mouth to make one anyway, but Devlin squeezed my wrist with his hand.

  “A big part of my success is that I meet people where they are. If you make someone feel important as their own unique individual, they reach higher than they ever thought to try. Forcing their choices, or worse, making their choices for them, generally always backfires. They have to get there on their own. I did that for Coralie,” he said, claiming credit that he may have been owed, but credit I certainly didn’t want to give him, especially in that moment. It was as if I were some dull old shoe he had polished. Is that really what he thought?

  Apparently it was, because that was the basis of his business.

  “I can do that for every woman that walks in your store,” he confidently promised Father, and I suspected he was absolutely correct. “And I guarantee I can make every single one of them a loyal customer as a result. Let Coralie lead the way.”

  “That’s the idea,” Father said. “What do you need to get it done?”

  I was stupefied as I watched them volley the conversation back and forth like a tennis ball. But it was my fucking ball, and neither one had thought to acknowledge me or ask for my insight.

  “Clothes,” Devlin answered simply. “We need more than the handful of clothes that she has to settle on just because nothing else makes her feel good about herself.”

  Father didn’t say anything at first, which made me suspect that Devlin had winged him. He weighed the comment a good long while before he spoke again. “You bring me a designer,” Father said. “We’ll see where it leads from there.”

  I swear to God I wanted to go on a homicidal spree with the closest butter knife. I spent years– years–of my life trying to get my dad to consider expanding our extended sizes, and he had always put me off, patronizing me like I didn’t know what the fuck I was talking about, despite the research I had done and the facts I had presented.

  Oh, and the fact I was one of those women myself.

  Now he was willing to agree to it just because Devlin suggested it instead? Devlin, someone my father had considered a suspicious outsider up until the day before?

  Clearly he trusted him now, enough to “overhaul” me so I can be a better representation of the family brand.

  After the night I had spent worrying about Devlin, and the lack of sleep, I had to fight back tears of frustration. I may not have made a scene in that restaurant, but a doozy of a hissy was brewing. I mentally crafted my verbal attack as Father and Devlin discussed the specifics of their plan.

  Of my plan.

  The only one who didn’t speak was Oliver, who sat quietly and watched the whole interaction, stealing glances at me to see how I was taking it all.

  At least he had figured out that what kind of slap to the face it had been.

  By the time the check came, I had barely touched the gourmet food in front of me. I felt bad sending it back, because I was fairly sure I would need the warm comfort from the risotto later, but I had had enough of all of it. I wanted to go home, but I couldn’t tell you which one I would return to. I felt equally betrayed by both.

  It was probably the only reason that Devlin kept his arm around my shoulders as we walked back to the store, even though I tried more than once to shake him off. Finally I let the dog off the chain. “How could you do that to me?”

  “Do what to you?” he asked. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “I’ve been telling him to expand our selection since I was fifteen years old. You know that! And now, because you’re a man, he’s going to finally consider it?”

  “At least he’s considering it,” Devlin said. “You do realize that this is the break you have been waiting for, right?”

  “Of course,” I snapped as I tried to shrug away from him. “My break, Devlin. Mine!”

  He stopped us both on the sidewalk, grasping my wrist in his. “Are you listening to yourself, Coralie? This is the kind of open door you’re going to need when Darcy finishes her collection. You heard what he said. Find him a designer. You’ve got one. Win/win. Who the hell cares who opened the door? Just walk through it.”

  “It mattered to me,” I gritted between clenched teeth. “I’ve been fighting this war almost ten fucking years, and you won it all by riding onto the scene and firing one goddamned shot. It’s not fair!”

  He chuckled, which only pissed me off worse. “Life isn’t fair, darlin’. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

  “I’m learning!” I yelled as I wrenched my arm away from him and stomped all the way back to the store.

  I had no more shut my office door when Devlin wedged a foot in between and pushed his way in, locking the door behind him.

  “Get out of here,” I demanded.

  “No, we need to get something straight first,” he said before he spun me around into his arms. His mouth crashed on mine in an instant, but I was not in the mood. I struggled to get away from him, which only made him hold me even tighter and kiss me harder. I was pretty sure there would be bruises when he was done.

  It was the only thing that made me stop fighting. I couldn’t imagine how dear ol’ dad would think of his paper doll if I had bruises all over me. I had to be perfect, didn’t you know? I went limp in his arms, which finally ended his brutal kiss. His mouth still hovered above mine, almost as a threat.

  “I want you to listen to me,” he said, his eyes drilling holes into mine. “Remember yesterday, when I told you that Oliver was up to something?” He waited for me to nod, which I eventually did. “Now I’ve figured out what it is. They’re trying to wreck us from the inside. What better way than to ‘hire’ me to groom you? Like you’d ever stand for that.”

  I practically bared my teeth at him. “Isn’t that what you claimed credit for at lunch?”

  “I’m playing their game, Coralie,” he said. “They think that you’ll kick me to the curb by the end of the summer, frustrated and disappointed that I’m just like them. But I’ll tell you what’s going to happen instead. I’m going to play nice. Say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ with a smile on my face. It won’t be the first time. I’m going to ace any challenge they put in front of me, even the ones that piss you off. Because at the end of the day, we’re going to start selling extended sizes at Cabot’s, designed by Darcy, and it’s going to be such a huge fucking success they won’t be able to change their minds about it later. All I have to do is play their game until those clothes are on the floor. The consumers will take it from there. Then you’re going to get everything you wanted, and they’re going to think it was their idea.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, you’re really good at that I hear.”

  His hand slid over my hip to squeeze my ass. “The best,” he confirmed in a whisper. “I’m a master. And now, thanks to me, you will be, too.” He kissed me again, this time much more persuasive than punishing.

  I hated myself for how I ultimately responded to him. At last he dragged his mouth away. His eyes were dark as he stared down at me. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

  I s
ighed as I looked away. “You’re asking a lot, Devlin.”

  “Not really,” he said as he finally released me and reached for the door. “Just pretend I’m your husband.”

  He exited my office with a slam.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Steam was still coming out of my ears by six o’clock, when Devlin arrived at my door to escort me to my car.

  Escort, I thought with a snort. The irony.

  He didn’t say much. Neither did I. I followed him in my car all the way back to the apartment, where we parked side by side in the underground garage. He exited his car first, before waiting for me as I gathered my things and locked my car with a loud chirp. His palm landed on the small of my back possessively as he guided me upstairs, stoic and silent.

  It was honestly kind of intimidating, but I was still fairly pissed at this point, so I fumed all the way upstairs to our apartment. He let me go in first. I stomped all the way to the bedroom and slammed the door behind me.

  I wondered if he might chase after me, but after long moments passed I figured he was content to let me stew. It only made me madder. I threw off my business clothes and headed for the shower. It was time to wash this day away.

  A glimpse at my naked body as I passed the mirror reminded me of how my father had virtually asked Devlin to fix me, to turn me from a sow’s ear into a silk purse, his very own Eliza Doolittle.

  The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I may not have been tall, lean and stunning like my mother, but I still managed to make a guy like Devlin fall in love with me.

  Or so he said, anyway.

  That he could so easily agree to everything only boiled my blood even more. Was I some sort of fixer-upper or something? Had that part of the plan from the beginning? God only knew that I couldn’t fucking ask him either way. I was supposed to stay quiet and look pretty, and he got to take all the credit.

  By the time I finished my shower, I was even more steamed than the pristine glass stall. I stopped at the sink to scrub my face clean. The longer I stared at my reflection, the angrier I got at every guy who supposedly loved me. I was enough, goddammit! I shouldn’t have to keep proving it to the people who claimed to love me the most.