I watch as she reaches into her enormous bag and slips out an official House of Hurst envelope addressed to me, my name misspelled S-O-P-H-I-E. “Here. Read this.”
She slides the envelope across the table. Hesitantly, I pick it up and open it. Tears sting the back of my eyes as I read the contents. The letter shakes in my trembling hands. I’m being terminated at the end of this week. The reason: “Employee has failed to do her job in a timely manner and has presented herself to be a liability to the company and its owners.” At the bottom, the notice is signed by both Kendra and Roman. I recognize his simple but bold signature: RH.
My hands still shaking, I fold up the letter and slip it back into the envelope. A traitorous tear escapes from the corner of my eye. A tidal wave of sadness crashes over me. How could Roman not tell me?
Kendra flashes me a smug smile as I hand her back the envelope. She tosses it back on the table at me. “Keep it. It’ll save me a stamp. I can’t afford to be wasting pennies when the company is operating in the red . . . with a special thanks to you.”
Not having my backpack with me, I leave the envelope on the table. A fat tear falls onto it, blurring my name. I reach for my coffee, but in my shaken state, I accidentally knock over the cup. Clank! The coffee spills all over the table, soaking the letter. My lovely nearby server quickly comes to my rescue. Cleaning up the mess, she asks if I want another café crème. I decline, telling her to put my order on Roman’s account. With a generous tip.
As Kimana saunters off, Kendra lets out an exasperated tsk. “You are a liability! And wasting company money! We should have fired your scrawny ass a long time ago.” Scowling, she looks down at the soaked envelope. “Jesus. Now I have to redo your pink slip.”
I can no longer contain myself. I begin to cry full on, the tears falling freely.
Kendra rolls her eyes. “Oh, please! You’re such a pathetic crybaby. Grow up!”
The tears fall harder, faster. I’m an emotional wreck.
“I-I’ve got to go,” I stammer, reaching for my crutch. Her cruel eyes stay on me as I hoist myself out of my chair, my heavy heart weighing me down and causing me to put more pressure on my bad foot than it can withstand. I groan through my tears. Though the throb in my ankle is nothing compared to the throb in my chest.
Still seated, Kendra shoots me a broad smile as if she’s enjoying every second of my physical and emotional anguish. Flicking her manicured fingers at me much the way someone shoos away an annoying insect, she singsongs, “Bye-bye.”
With all the strength I can muster, I hobble off as a complacent Kendra gets her last words in.
“You know what they say . . . ”
Tears streaming down my face, I force myself to keep moving, but not fast enough. Her sinister voice only pains me more.
“ . . . Fly like a butterfly. Sting like a bee.”
I feel like I’ve stepped into a hornet’s nest.
CHAPTER 36
Roman
Another screw-up. I’m on the phone with my Japanese pearl supplier for almost an hour, straightening out my order. I specifically asked for natural ivory seed pearls not the cheaper, cultured pure-white variety. The fact that he can’t speak English well doesn’t help nor does the poor connection, and by the time we’ve resolved the issue, I’m bristling all over with pent-up frustration. There’s a truth to Murphy’s Law—whatever can go wrong will go wrong. And every time it does, the setback digs into my productivity and pushes back the completion of my collection. Dammit. Everyone is going to have to work longer hours to make the deadline. Madame DuBois and her team are already overworked and they can’t assemble the gowns any faster. With couture, you can’t cut corners.
“Monsieur Hurst, are you all right?” asks Madame DuBois, sensing my distress.
I shove my phone into a pocket. “Yeah. The pearls I ordered will be here in two weeks.” My eyes roam the studio in search of Sofi. I could really use that walk to chill out and get my creative juices flowing. She’s nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Sofi?” My voice is edgy.
“I haven’t seen her for quite a while,” replies my chief of staff. “She’s been working very hard. Maybe she went upstairs to take a nap.”
Without another word, I bound up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. My pulse in overdrive, I rip open the door to her room with such force I’m surprised it doesn’t fall off the hinge. My nerves sizzle. Her neatly made bed doesn’t look like it’s been slept in for hours. Maybe she’s in her bathroom. I hurry inside like a madman. Nope. Sofi’s not there either.
Where the hell is she? In my frazzled state, I suddenly remember I can track her whereabouts on my cell phone. Wasting no time, I pull it out from my pocket and click on the tracking app. I do a double take. What the fuck? According to the app, she’s right here in my atelier. I speed dial her number; it goes straight to her voicemail.
Not bothering to leave her a message, I send her a text. Not waiting for a response, I fly down the stairs and try calling her again. As I reach the landing, a familiar ring chimes in my ears. I put two and two together. The ring is coming from her backpack, which is hanging over the chair she usually sits in. I jog over to it and look inside. Jesus. She’s left the premises with neither her phone nor her wallet.
“I’ll be back,” I call out to Madame DuBois as I storm out the front door. And it better be with Sofi.
The chill in the air is nothing compared to the bone-chilling apprehension that courses through my blood. Panic floods me. Where the hell could she have gone? With her lame foot and no money, she couldn’t have gone far. Dark thoughts begin to swarm me. She’s so frail and vulnerable. Christ. Maybe she got into an accident. Hit by a cab. Kidnapped by human traffickers. My alarm growing exponentially, I start to gallop down the street, stopping inside any store I pass to see if she’s there. Breathlessly, I round the corner and come to the coffee shop she likes to frequent. Without slowing down, I dash inside, my good eye scouring every square inch of it. Every corner. A tall, brown-skinned beauty, who could easily be a runway model with her lanky build and exotic looks, approaches me.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for someone.” The rapid-fire words tumbling out of my mouth, I describe Sofi. “She’s wearing a headband with butterflies and she’s carrying a crutch.”
The waitress’s face lights up. “Ah, you mean Sofi. Yes, she was here about an hour ago.”
“Where did she go?” I bite out, showing no sign of relief.
She shrugs. “I don’t know, but she seemed very upset.”
“What do you mean?”
“It looked like she was crying.”
This new information does little to calm me. It only makes me more agitated. What could upset her so much? And where would she go in such a distressed state? I’m about to call her friend Vincent when it comes to me. Her happy place.
The fastest way to get there—the subway. I bolt out of the café. Twenty angst-filled, fetid minutes later, I’m on the Upper West Side at the Museum of Natural History, madly storming through the Butterfly Conservatory. My eye oblivious to the riot of colorful winged creatures flitting around me. Looking desperately for only one.
And then I see her. With her crutch, staring at the pupa display, her back to me. I stop dead in my tracks. A torrent of emotions floods me. A turbulent mixture of white-hot rage and relief. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, my heart racing, my mind spinning with vitriol, I hasten off in her direction, taking reckless giant steps. Hot-blooded and unstoppable.
Why the hell didn’t you tell me where you were going?
What the fuck is wrong with you?
Are you out of your fricking mind?
All these heated questions are raging inside me, but when my hands touch down on her thin, trembling shoulders, only one word spills from my lips. Spoken so softly I can hardly hear myself.
“Butterfly.”
CHAPTER 37
Sofi
I recognize his
baritone voice instantly. Both the sound of him and the touch of him send a bolt of electricity through my body. With a jolt, I spin around.
Roman.
“What are you doing here?” I spit out, my voice hoarse from crying so much. Though I sound enraged, the truth is every particle of my being is charged with kinetic energy at the sight of him. Shivers spiral down my spine and my knees grow weak.
No answer. He grips me tighter.
“Let go of me!” I hiss, trying to stay strong despite growing weaker by the second.
I attempt to jerk myself free of him, but he keeps his hands cupped firmly on my shoulders and holds me fiercely in his gaze. There’s a fire behind his eye I’ve never seen before.
“Goddammit, Sofi, you had me crazy with worry. I looked all over for you.” The tone of his voice goes from wrathful to rueful, his good eye growing watery. “I thought something terrible happened to you.”
The tenderness in his voice does little to mend my mangled heart. The hurt that’s dug a hole in the pit of my stomach. “Go away, Roman. I never want to see you again.” Another round of angry tears gathers in my eyes.
“Sofi, I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you.”
Roman’s voice rises and his brows arch. “What are you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were terminating my job?”
“What!!!??”
“Kendra showed me my pink slip.”
“Kendra? When?”
I launch into my unexpected encounter with Kendra, my voice weepy as Roman listens intently, his face darkening with each word. I hold back telling him what she called me. By the end of my narrative, fresh tears are swimming down my cheeks.
Roman’s flame-blue eye blazes with anger. His grip around my shoulders loosens. “That’s bullshit. I never asked her to draw up a termination notice.”
“But your signature was on it,” I stammer, not sure if I believe him despite my father always telling me there are two sides to every story.
Roman’s nostrils flare and his jaw tightens. “The fucking bitch forged it.” He looks at me imploringly. “Sofi, you’ve got to believe me. She’s warped. She’s jealous of you.”
“Jealous of me?”
His expression softening, he strokes my hair with one hand, his eye never leaving me. “You need to know this. She has a thing for me. She always has, but I’ve never felt a goddamn thing for her. The night you fell down the stairs she was drunk and tried to seduce me.”
Again, the memory of Kendra half-dressed and barreling down the stairs flashes through my head. And again, the possibility of her pushing me down the steps jumps to the forefront. Knowing how much she loathes me, it seems more and more possible. I’m tempted to tell Roman about my suspicion, but let it go. It just doesn’t seem like the right time or place, plus I have no proof. And the cunning woman would only deny it.
“I swear,” continues Roman as I shift to take the weight off my throbbing foot, “I would have thrown her out of my study on her bony ass if I didn’t think she’d vindictively hit me up with a sexual harassment charge.”
I’m beginning to believe him. “Why don’t you fire her?”
Roman blows out an exasperated breath. “I wish I could, but I can’t. She owns forty nine percent of the company. I can’t afford to buy her out.”
A tense stretch of silence; Roman breaks it.
“Sofi, please don’t believe a word she told you. I could never fire you. I need you like the air I breathe. The water I drink. You inspire me. Ignite a fire inside me that I thought disappeared. If you only knew how I felt when I saw you sprawled on the floor, so lifeless after your fall. The light inside me flickered on and off, and I felt myself falling into the black hole I never want to know again. God, Sofi, I don’t know what I’d do if . . . ”
His voice trails off and I process his words. He’s never told me how much I mean to him. So cherished and worshipped. So needed. My heart swells with happiness. Or maybe it’s love. An emotional mess, I can’t stop shedding tears as he brushes them away with the pads of his thumbs. Then, with one thumb, he tilts up my chin.
“Hey, why are you still crying?”
Sniffling, I blink my waterlogged eyes and look away. “She called me a whore.” My lips quiver. “One of your many.”
“Damn her! Look at me!” Slowly turning my head, I meet his gaze. He tenderly cups my face between his large hands. “My sweet butterfly, you’re anything but that. You’re the purest, most wholesome being I’ve ever met. I could never use you. Or hurt and abuse you. Ever!”
On my next snivel, he takes me into his arms, crutch and all, drawing me so close our bodies touch. I melt into him, feeling his heat penetrate my skin, warming every follicle, seeping into every pore.
“You belong with me, Butterfly,” he whispers against my neck. “Let’s go home. We’ve got work to do.”
I give a silent nod and adjust my crutch under my armpit.
“Leave it,” orders Roman. “I’m all you need.”
Letting him wrap an arm around my shoulders, I lean into him.
And a butterfly hatches.
CHAPTER 38
Roman
Things go back to normal, and thanks to everyone’s passionate hard work, the collection progresses. Kendra gives me no chance to confront her, once again leaving town to look for investor money—this time to Europe. She’s made no bones about it that the company is on the brink of collapsing, yet when it comes to herself, no expense is spared. First class all the way, 5-star hotels, and Michelin restaurants. I’ve challenged her spending habits, but she insists image is everything, and we can’t look desperate to outside investors. At the end of the day, I acquiesce. The less I have to do with her, the better, and I have more important things to focus on. My collection. If it turns out to be everything I’ve hoped it to be, investors will be crawling to us. Begging us to take their money.
And honestly, I don’t give a shit about Kendra. There’s someone who needs me more. Someone I care about. My butterfly.
At the end of the long, busy week, Sofi asks if she can have Friday evening off. It’s her father’s sixty-fifth birthday and she wants to go home to celebrate it with him. No problemo—except I’m going too. There’s no way I’m going to let my precious butterfly take a train alone to some hick town in New Jersey. Or let her out of my sight.
Her parents’ house is located in the middle of a tree-lined street in a surprisingly charming town called Maplewood. Less than an hour out of the city. The narrow two-story clapboard dwelling resembles all the other houses on the block, with a tidy garden bordering the neatly clipped lawn and a “Welcome” mat at the front door. Standing beside me with a shopping bag in her hand, Sofi rings the bell.
A short but sturdy woman wearing a floral apron and half-moon glasses, who looks to be in her mid fifties, immediately comes to the door. With graying chestnut hair, a round visage, and rather ordinary features, she looks nothing like Sofi. Her honey-brown eyes light up at the sight of my companion, but then grow wide with alarm when she notices Sofi’s still bandaged ankle.
“Oh my goodness, darling. What happened? Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing, Mom. Honestly. I took a fall. It’s just a mild sprain.”
“She’s fine,” I interject. “I’ve been taking good care of her.”
Sofi’s mother shifts her attention to me. I give her a shit-eating grin as Sofi introduces us.
“Oh, Mom, this is Roman Hurst. The man I told you I work for.”
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing him along.”
“It was a last-minute decision,” I apologize. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lockhart.”
She breaks into a warm smile. “The same, but please call me Jan. Come on in. Sofi’s father is eager to see her. And thank you for making the trip to Jersey!”
Before heading back inside, she eyes the limousine parked on the street. The long, shin
y black car sticks out like a serpent among the compact Toyotas, Hondas, and Fords that surround it. Sensing her mother’s bewilderment, Sofi explains.
“Mom, Roman didn’t want me to take the train, so he rented a limo.”
“Oh.” I guess she’s never seen one in this middle-class suburban neighborhood.
With a silent chortle, I usher Sofi into the house, my hand on the small of her back as she limps ever so slightly across the threshold. The tantalizing aroma of something baking immediately invades my senses and makes me realize how hungry I am.
“That smells delicious, Jan.”
“I’ve made Sofi’s father his favorite meal for his birthday—pot roast, Yorkshire pudding, green beans almondine, and a strawberry shortcake for dessert. Hope you’re both hungry.”
“My mom’s a really great cook,” beams Sofi as we follow her into the living room. Upon seeing her father sitting in an easy chair with a book in his hand, she breaks free of me and gimps over to him. Leaping up, he meets her halfway and they hug.
“Happy birthday, Dad! And before you ask, it’s just a sprain.” She looks my way. “Roman, this is my father, Paul.” Her mother informs him that I’m her boss. He looks me over with a discerning eye while I do the same. Dressed casually in a burgundy cardigan, plaid shirt, and khakis, he resembles Sofi much more than her mother does. They share the same slight build, dimpled chin, and squiggly eyebrows.
“Happy birthday,” I tell him. “I brought a couple bottles of wine I thought you might enjoy.” I hand him the bag I’m holding.
“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you, Roman. Why don’t we open one now and enjoy it with some hors d’oeuvres? Relax and have a seat, everyone.”
We spread out around the coffee table, where there’s a platter of raw vegetables with some kind of creamy dip as well as some cheese and crackers. Sofi’s father places the bag next to the platter while her mother scuttles to a cabinet and returns with a corkscrew and some wineglasses.
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