"All right, but I'm putting this on hold in case you change your mind. You could use a little cha cha cha in your wardrobe, Girl."
"Why don't we just hit up some thrift shops?" Kate suggested.
"Absolutely not! If you insist on second hand, we'll visit a consignment store I know of where everything's been altered and repaired properly."
After stopping for a coffee break, they drove to a small establishment on the border of Beverly Hills. Crystal chandeliers and robin's egg blue wallpaper made the place resemble the showroom of a French atelier instead of a consignment shop.
Katrina drew up just outside the entrance.
"Are you sure I can afford this place?" she asked.
"Listen, truncate your jewelry budget for a month, okay? I don't want to hear any more about you not having a stitch to wear if you're not willing to spend a little on your clothing."
She nodded and Kiki marched ahead, pushing open the glass doors of the shop. Her friend had a point. She took good care of her work attire, but she'd purchased most of her outfits several years ago.
She stood in the doorway and caught her breath. This store reminded her of a jewel box. Feminine to the extreme, the shop gloried in pastel pinks and blues mingled with gilt moldings, antique French commodes, and furniture upholstered in velvets the color of sherbet.
She became aware of someone stretching a measuring tape about her waist and jumped. Kiki snapped her fingers several times in front of her friend.
"Stay with us, Kate. Irina has agreed to help with your, uh, our situation."
Irina, a tall, thin woman with charcoal hair piled high atop her head, looked to be about sixty years old. She wore a black dress buttoned to the neck with a small lace collar and a self-belt. Her gaunt frame and the color of her clothes added to the woman's severe appearance. The matron took a step backwards and looked down her nose at Katrina. Then she allowed her eyes to rake up and down the girl—more than once. She scares me, the auditor admitted to herself.
"I haf de solution," Irina said, jutting her lower lip beyond a slight frown and lifting her brows over closed eyelids. The woman bobbed her head in an almost imperceptible series of nods.
"Thank you, Irina," Kiki said with a tone that relayed awe, respect, and subservience.
The merchant glided to the back of the store, and Katrina drew close to her friend to whisper in her ear.
"Is she Russian?"
"I'm not sure, but we're lucky she's willing to take you on. I've been coming here for years, and I think she's fond of me. Ugh, I forgot. You have to follow her dress code to even step foot inside, and you're not cutting it today."
She wiggled her pinkie at Katrina's tennis shoes and blue jeans.
"Dis way, please," Irina commanded from the back of the shop.
The owner pointed to a settee and intimated that the Hawaiian should take a seat while she escorted Kate into a spacious dressing room with a lone, large oval mirror. Displaying the same level of taste as the rest of the store, the area contained the stuff of fairy tales—gilded French chairs, a painted coffee table, and a gorgeous chandelier.
Katrina's jaw hit the floor when her eye caught Irina's solution. The store owner had already placed her choice for her in the room. She reached out and touched the chiffon pleated dress. An exquisite color that could only be described as a shade of shell pink deepened within the many folds of the fabric. She quickly donned the gown with the help of the older woman and was surprised to find it backless. A high, double-ruffled neckline in the front gave the piece a conservative character. There, the garment's edges had been left unfinished and allowed to fray, lending the ruffles a frothy appearance. The Russian tied a bow at the nape of her neck that secured the gown's halter top and allowed its tails to drape down her customer's back. The light material felt like butterfly wings grazing her skin.
"Now you look!" Irina commanded with her gruff manner, placing her hands on the girl's shoulders and spinning her to face the mirror.
Kate gasped. The dress gave her skin a luminescent quality and hugged her curves in all the right places without being too revealing. Cinched at a matching waistband, the fabric hung in folds like the grooves of a Greek column and pooled at her feet.
"You are a flower," Irina pronounced, gathering Katrina's locks into a knot on top of her head and holding them in place with a crystal studded comb she produced from her pocket.
Katrina believed her.
The Russian led her to the foyer, where Kiki's eyes grew wide.
"Approve?" Irina asked her regular customer.
The receptionist nodded, then clapped, then broke into an enormous grin.
"That's it, Kate. You have to get that dress."
Later, over lunch, the girls shared a chuckle about Irina. She'd warned "No jewelry," and advised, "Hair up, nude shoe!" Kiki sprang for the meal, feeling a little guilty about the exorbitant price her friend paid for the vintage gown.
"So, how did that meeting go with Greir and Robert yesterday? Morris seemed happy when he left," the receptionist said.
"It went well. Mike Johnson came through for me, and the honchos from Daud are coming by Tuesday to meet with us. Well, not us, exactly. I passed on the information you gave me about the Malaysians, giving you the credit, and volunteered to back out and let the men of the office handle everything. You might want to make yourself scarce around three p.m. that day, too."
"No problem. I'll cut out early and beat traffic," Kiki said. She continued, "Who's going to be in on the meeting then?"
"Chuck, Robert, and that guy from mergers and acquisitions with the mustache. Greir said he appreciated my willingness to adapt to the situation, as if I had a choice."
"No, but at least you brought it up. You were proactive, and that old duffer will regard you forever with fondness because you suggested it and he didn’t have to." Kiki smiled at her friend.
* * * * *
She met Barry for lunch Tuesday and figured she'd just stay out late in order to avoid the big pow-wow at the office. Just as she guessed, he identified several of her unmarked jewelry pieces, producing old catalogs that documented the items and their makers. As per their usual procedure, the director ordered two meals, which they shared. This day, he chose a salad with grilled chicken and a Spanish flair and steak soft tacos. They skipped dessert but shared tea as he examined the baubles. Later, they went over the artist's revised sketches.
Katrina surprised the director by producing a list of local fabricators capable of making the special case to house the ice display. Her skills as a researcher came in handy again. Barry, delighted with her initiative and the time it would save him, promised to start making calls that afternoon regarding the special case.
Their conversation drifted to personal matters, Barry alluding to the difficulty of finding suitable companions in Los Angeles and Katrina mentioning her business background.
"But don't you come into contact with a lot of people? I mean, in your position, surely you meet many nice girls."
Barry laughed.
"Well, I do a lot of my work on the phone. I thought an accent was supposed to impress you Americans," he said between chuckles.
"It does, believe me," she confessed.
Barry patted her hand and raised an eyebrow, causing her to giggle.
"I think it might have something to do with your name," she ventured to suggest. She continued with a gentle tone, "Barry doesn't exactly conjure up a dashing European. I felt certain you were a much older man when we first talked. What's your middle name? Maybe you should try going by that," she suggested.
The director laughed again.
"Bothwell," he admitted after a pause.
"Bothwell! Barry Bothwell Bronson? I'm afraid your case is hopeless," she said, throwing her hands in the air.
Barry shot her The Grin.
"Violet, I'll have you know that Bothwell is a very important name in Scotland. We're descended from the Earl of Bothwell. The third and final husband of Ma
ry Queen of Scots is up somewhere on a limb in our family tree. He died insane in a prison on the continent, I'm afraid—very sad story," he said, leaning towards her, as if confiding a personal tragedy.
She fought the urge to reach across the desk and tousle his brown wavy locks. Barry oozed boyish charm.
"Glad to know you're of noble birth, Bothwell," she teased.
"Now, don't go and start calling me that. Don't want others to know insanity runs in the family, you know."
"All right, Both."
The director let the nickname slide. Katrina checked her watch and realized the coast might be clear at the office. Curious to know how everything went, she decided to head back to work.
"I'd better be going. Thank you so much for another lovely lunch, and, of course, for taking the time to look at my jewelry."
"It was my pleasure, Violet."
Barry gave her a hug as the museum's limo pulled up to get her. She felt a twinge of guilt about not confessing her real name to him but decided to wait for the perfect time.
Before saying goodbye, the director complimented her on her taste in jewelry. He claimed that what he'd seen of her collection was impressive and added that he hoped to view her entire archive someday.
Kate smiled all the way back to the office. She felt that Barry was interested in her for more than her opinion on display cases. More and more, Katrina ignored the business suits in her closet and chose feminine dresses for work. Maybe that's what attracted the museum director. Whatever it was, she returned the favor.
"I've been waiting for you," Robert said, approaching her in the lobby. His voice sounded stern as he glowered down at her.
Her dreamy smile faded, and she felt a knot form in her stomach.
"What's wrong?" she asked, sure the meeting had been a disaster. She braced herself for her boss's fury.
Robert stared at her for a moment. She caught his eyes roaming over her hair, then down to her shoes. Then, his face broke into a toothy grin.
"Nothing's wrong. You just earned us a huge commission and a foot in the door with Daud Industrial! We're all going to Barstow's to celebrate. Come on. Everyone's there already."
"That's wonderful. I'm so happy it all worked out. I need to call Kiki. If it wasn't for her, our modern western girls might have scared them off. Oh, and we should call Mike Johnson. He's the one who helped me with all of this."
"We already phoned them. Let's go!"
Robert took Katrina by the elbow, and she couldn't deny the spark she felt. She shook her head, trying to shake his effect off.
"Something wrong? You're not going to faint, are you?" He stopped and put the back of his hand on her forehead, checking for a fever.
"No. I'm just . . . nothing. I'm fine."
"You look a little flustered. Your face is all pink," he said.
She shot him a look, and he backed off. She took off towards the building's revolving door, but before she reached the exit, she felt his large hand at the small of her back, guiding her from the building.
Why does he have to keep touching me?
She preferred the friendly, non-threatening Barry to the unstable Robert and all the fireworks his touch set off.
Sure enough, the entire staff of Dodd and Company had crammed into the desert rat-themed bar. Barstow's had corrugated tin for paneling, fake cacti everywhere, and a signature margarita that was a favorite of most of the people in her building. From appearances, it looked like Chuck Manning had downed several already. She spotted Kiki chatting with Mike Johnson and headed towards them when she heard a loud clanking sound. Turning around, she saw Robert attempting to gain everyone's attention. He banged a large tin cup on a metal tub.
"Attention All! I just got off the phone a few minutes ago with William Dodd. He sends his congratulations to everyone and says we're to enjoy drinks and dinner on him!"
Dodd and Company employees roared their approval. Barstow's offered hamburgers, tacos, pizza, and the like from their kitchen.
"Hey, Kat! Did you think when you called me it would end like this?" Mike Johnson asked, smiling.
"I certainly did not. But you came through, big time, Mike. Thanks so much."
Robert approached and placed one arm around Katrina and the other about Kiki.
"These girls really pulled off a coup!" he said.
Something Mike said when she contacted him flashed across her mind. She turned to her boss.
"Actually, Robert, you're the one who suggested I dig further into Daud. When I phoned Mike, he assured me you had a good reason for pursuing the matter. You deserve as much credit as anyone."
Katrina recognized a softness growing in the man's eyes as a strange smile crept across his face. His granite features relaxed a little. The man looked pleased! His arm still draped around her shoulder. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and shifted her gaze to Mike. Her old friend started complimenting her boss, something about how his acumen was legendary and so forth. She couldn't follow it all. So much turmoil brewed just below the surface inside her, while her skin tingled beneath Robert's touch. She stared at the countless beer bottles on the wall behind the bar and felt a familiar prickling at the top of her head. She took a gulp of air and decided she had to get out of there before she fainted.
Without a word, she slid from her stool and hurried from the bar, trying to smile and nod at coworkers as they patted her shoulder, offered congratulations, or just gave a shout out in her direction. Outside, she found a bench, sat down, and inhaled exhaust-laden air deep into her lungs. She wanted to go home. She closed her eyes and exhaled.
"Katrina?" A deep voice she'd know anywhere hovered above her. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Robert," she said without opening her eyes.
She felt the bench move as he sat next to her, then his hip and thigh pressing against hers when he slid closer.
"Then why are you sitting on an LA street corner with your eyes pinched shut, breathing smog? Anyone could come upon you and mug you, hurt you or whatever."
"Anyone did," she said, opening the eye closest to her boss and raking her gaze over his face.
He burst out laughing, forcing a giggle from the girl as she clamped her eye shut again.
"That's my girl," he said after a long howl.
She felt his arms encircle her at the shoulder and give her a hard squeeze. Somehow, she didn't mind.
"Would you like me to take you home? I don't think you should be driving a two ton weapon of destruction right now. I'm not convinced you're well."
"Yes," she heard herself say.
"All right. You feel strong enough to walk? My car's in the garage."
She nodded and allowed him to assist her from the bench. He kept his arm around her all the way to his car and helped her inside the vehicle. He drove a black Range Rover, which surprised her for some reason. Back at Wood and Associates, he owned a compact, and the sight of his large form filling the front of the car always struck her as humorous.
"What's so funny?" he asked, pulling his vehicle out of the building. "You look amused."
"I'm remembering that old Honda you used to drive."
Robert stopped at a red light, and she shut her eyes again.
"I always noticed how you made it look like a clown car. I'd watch from our office when you pulled in the lot each morning to see if you'd hit your head getting out," she said in a sleepy voice.
She couldn't see him as he allowed his eyes to roam over her, drinking in every detail of her appearance. A horn honked and he hit the gas, jolting Katrina forward.
"Sorry," he said when she opened her eyes and shot him a disapproving look.
"Take it easy with this two-ton weapon of destruction, will you?" she said and closed her eyes again. Late hours spent working on her blog and researching manufacturers took their toll, and Katrina drifted off to sleep. She woke when Robert tapped his brakes on the freeway off ramp.
"So, did James agree to escort you to the Spring Fling on Saturday?" he asked
in a low tone.
"Yes! He did. I can't wait to see him. We don't get to spend as much time together as we'd like." She came alive at the mention of her brother, and her enthusiasm for him showed.
"I see."
"I think you'll like him, Robert. You two have a lot in common," she added as the Rover rolled to a stop outside her apartment.
She glanced at her boss who held the steering wheel in what looked like a death grip. She noticed how his large hands almost covered the top half of the circle.
"Thank you for bringing me home. Would you like to come in?"
"No," he said, steel in his voice.
"Well, thank you again. I appreciate your leaving the party to see me home."
"I didn't want a lawsuit against the firm in case you caused an accident."
She'd have thought he teased her if his voice hadn't been so cold. Hurt and confused, she got out of the car and leaned over to get a look at him before shutting the door.
"Goodbye," Katrina said, seeing the familiar twitch as he clenched his jaw.
He kept his face forward and didn't answer. She stood on the curb and watched the Rover disappear around a corner, tires squealing.
Chapter 9
-A Spring Fling Like No Other-
"I'm going to have to meet you there, Sis," James said.
A Solitary Romance: Book 1 in the Only Love Series Page 9
