“Elle, darling—”
“Don’t you ‘darling’ me. Next time you think of setting me up, Dad, stop. I don’t want another forced meeting with Greg just because you and Steve can see us playing house. I don’t want some pity introduction with men who pass your critique. And I definitely don’t want to see this one again. Ever.” I sneered at Mr. Everett, doing my best to ignore the frustratingly erotic smile on his face.
He raised his glass of clear liquor, taking a sip. His gaze drifted over me with eyes as dark as goodbyes and a jaw so sharp it would slice my finger if I were ever stupid enough to touch it.
“He said you were head-strong. I didn’t believe him.” Mr. Everett chuckled in a deep rasp. “I’ve seen evidence for myself, and I have to admit...” He leaned closer in a cloud of expensive, heady aftershave. “I like it.” Glancing at my cleavage quickly, his eyes flew back to mine. “Unhand your father, Ms. Charlston, and agree to a date with me.”
My jaw fell open.
Did he just ask me out?
After all that?
I kept my face cool and uninterested. “Never in a million years.”
“A million is a long time.”
“It’s also a lot of money if you want to be sued for sexual harassment.”
He grinned. “I happen to have excellent legal counsel. You’d never win.”
“I don’t need to win to tell you to leave me the hell alone.”
“Go on a date with me, and I might agree to your command.”
“What part of ‘leave me alone’ didn’t you hear? A date would defeat that wish to never see you again.”
He smoothed his silky gray shirt. “I decide what to hear and what not to.” His eyes narrowed with untold authority. “And I’ve decided your father is right. You are my type. And I’m yours. It’s normal for us to find out what nature intends.”
I couldn’t.
I just couldn’t deal with this insanity.
“We should find out what nature intends, huh?” I reached forward and plucked his still-filled glass from his stupidly perfect fingers. “This is what nature intends.” I dumped the contents onto his ridiculously sexy swept back hair then leaned in until our noses brushed. “Come near me again, and I’ll strike a match to see how well liquor and fire like each other.”
Not caring about my father or Steve or Greg or even damn Mr. Everett, I straightened my shoulders and stormed from the restaurant.
Chapter Thirteen
MY COMPUTER EARNED the brunt of my anger.
The poor keyboard was bruised in places no technology should be bruised.
Ever since the Weeping Willow, I’d been strung so tight, my insides had transformed into something snarling and wild with big teeth. I felt like something lived inside me, ready to leap free.
Probably been reading too many shapeshifter romances again.
But still, all night I couldn’t relax, and all day I revved with disbelief at Mr. Everett’s gall.
Then again, was there anything to be truly upset about? He was an opportunist, and my father had been his victim. No harm done. I’d seen past the ruse and kept my father safe and far away from a scam artist.
So why can’t I dampen the temper raging in my blood?
Because he’s the only man to get a rise out of me?
The only one to show me a little of the truth hidden beneath the prim dresses and eloquent politeness of a workaholic?
That I had passion.
Depth.
Needs?
No, that can’t be true.
Men were part of the population I didn’t need. Even Belle Elle could survive without the male counterparts. The sales figures for women’s fashion were two-hundred times that of the men’s department. In fact, I should propose at the next business meeting to cancel all male lines and just pretend the world had done itself a favor and deleted anyone with a penis.
You’re talking gibberish.
Thank God that can’t happen as you’d miss your father.
Thinking about my father and the word penis in the same context was disgusting.
But thinking of Mr. Everett in the same context...
Still disgusting.
My hands curled around my pen. This was Dad’s fault—the same father dead set on marrying me off before my next birthday.
The clock on my desk said it was almost 5 p.m. I’d lasted the day and used my anger to wipe my to-do list clean. I’d never finished so early before, and I wished I had more tasks to do as there was no way I wanted to go home yet.
Poor Sage fed off my nervous energy, pacing around my office rather than napping in the twilight sunshine. And I was hungry again for the fifth time today—burning through calories faster than I could replace them.
Someone knocked on my door.
I looked up. “Yes?”
“Elle?” Fleur stuck her head in. “Your father wants a word before he retires for the night.”
I froze. “Why?”
Another disastrous date set up?
Fleur frowned. “Um, not sure. He’s family...I guess he just wanted to say goodbye?”
I dropped my pen, dragging a hand through my hair. “Of course, stupid of me. You’re right. Send him in.”
She gave me a sweet smile, sidestepping enough for my father to enter. His gaze, as always, went to the Chinese wallpaper to my left with cranes and rice paddies. The decoration line had been a trial we’d done in the houseware department four seasons ago, and it’d been a huge hit. I’d used some of the product myself to make sure it had longevity and style.
“How was your day?” he asked, coming around my desk to kiss the top of my head.
“Good.” I sighed. “I got everything I needed to done.”
“That’s great.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His apology hovered in the space between us, big and marshmallow-like, and entirely obvious to both of us.
“Spit it out, Dad.” I closed my laptop and shut my diary. “What’s up?”
He blurted. “I’m so sorry about last night, Bell Button. I was wrong. You were right. He was a stuck-up jackass.”
I smothered a laugh. “Jackass, I agree with.”
His shoulders fell, his slim figure bowing while resting his hip against my glass desk. “I won’t do it again, and I promise Steve and I will back down about forcing you and Greg together. I know you’re not a fan, and it’s wrong of me to interfere.” He picked up my fountain pen with turquoise ink—the only frivolous thing I used when everything else was black and white with Belle Elle regulation. “I should let nature take its course and let you find your own true love.”
I groaned under my breath. “Don’t you start with what nature intends.”
Splashing alcohol onto Mr. Everett’s head filled my mind—payment for using that same line.
Had he thought about me in the shower while rinsing off? Had he cursed me when dropping his suit in for dry cleaning?
Serves him right.
Dad’s eyebrow rose, but he wisely didn’t comment. The soft lamp on my desk highlighted the threads of silver in his hair like Christmas fairy-lights. “Is there anyone? Anyone at all?”
I stood, grabbing my handbag and swooping down to pluck Sage from her basket. She crawled up my arm and settled like a furry sausage around the back of my neck. “No. No one. And you have to come to terms that there might never be.” I patted his shoulder. “I’m happy. I don’t need a man to validate my existence.”
Besides, I’m so young still.
He acted as if I were already slipping down the side of the age-hill of no return.
His eyes grew sad. “If you knew what love felt like, you wouldn’t be so sure about that statement, Elle.”
“I do know what love feels like. From you and Mom and Sage.” I moved toward the door, turning off floor lamps that I found gave a homely glow as I went. “Promise me you’ll stop meddling, and I’ll take you to dinner to make up for last night.”
He strode forward, happiness
replacing his regret. “On one condition.”
I sighed dramatically, reaching up to scratch Sage beneath her chin. “What condition?”
He came forward and rested his hands on my shoulders, not caring when Sage swatted him with her paw. “Just promise me that when a man does come along who makes you fall in love, that you’ll give him a chance. That you’ll reserve judgment until he’s proven he’s worth holding on to, and then you’ll never let him go.”
My heart plummeted to my toes as I smiled brightly, hiding the internal agony he’d just caused. “I’ll amend one piece of that promise and agree. If a man comes along. If that miracle happens, I’ll give him a chance before I squish him.”
What I didn’t say was I’d already met that man. That significant person who got under my skin and made me dream.
Only thing was, I hadn’t held on tight enough.
And I’d lost him.
Chapter Fourteen
THREE DAYS LATER, my life had returned to normal.
No more sleepless nights thanks to Mr. Everett—they were sleepless because of my guilt toward Nameless. Mundane mornings on the treadmill flowed into agonizing afternoons with board meetings.
Life was controllable once again.
Fleur continued to help me run the empire while Dad took a few days off at my insistence. His skin had lost some color, and I’d caught him coughing the other day with a rattle I didn’t like. If it was the flu, I wanted him safe and warm at home while Marnie, the cook, made him healthy snacks. I didn’t want opportunistic germs straining his already strained heart.
Steve helped me host a few conference calls from Beijing and Montreal about our new infant line releasing next month, and work once again tugged me deep into its clutches, erasing any memory of tipping alcohol onto some stranger’s head.
Until the third day when I scooped Sage up and headed to the shop floor for a quick walk around. I did random inspections throughout the week—never announced or fore-planned, so employees weren’t prepared.
If I had a spare fifteen minutes, I found no better place to stretch my legs than strolling around the racks of new-smelling merchandise, eyeing up displays, spying on staff, and scoring any areas that needed tweaking.
As the elevator carried me from the top floor to the bottom, the mirrored walls showed Sage as she lay over my shoulders, tapping my dangling crystal earring that matched the ivory dress with soft caramel lace. The lacy panel covered my chest and worked in a flower pattern to flare over my hips before reconvening at the hem.
Fleur had added it to my paperwork pile to take home with me last week. I’d thought it was too detailed and feminine for work attire, but when I’d tried it on this morning, I didn’t want to take it off. The paleness of it should’ve washed out my blonde complexion; instead, it made me glow as if I’d just stepped off a plane from Tahiti.
Not that I knew what that was like. The only air travel I did was to factories around the world, and I ended up wearing ear protection and overalls while marching around in heavy boots with a clipboard.
The doors opened with a soft chime, and I strode forward in matching caramel heels, clipping quickly over the anti-slip driftwood-planked floor that our focus groups said calmed them with the gray tones and encouraged spending mentality.
Everything—from the warm beige on the walls, to the deep purple curtains in the changing rooms—was chosen by a color guru who convinced us purple made people believe they were rich because it was the color of royalty and wealth, and beige stole their worries and stress, allowing them to see the treasure trove of merchandise that could all be theirs for the small price ticket tucked demurely inside.
“What department should we investigate first, Sage?” I murmured so as not to attract attention from shoppers.
Not that I could avoid being noticed, seeing as I strode purposely through Belle Elle with a cat wrapped around my shoulders. Luckily, she was of the small variety and not tubby like some cats I’d seen.
I glanced toward the lingerie department where an equal number of awkward men bought gifts for their loves ones while bold women brazenly fingered G-strings and garter belts.
I knew the manager, Kim, would keep her staff in line; the displays were impeccable with its small scaffold of pantyhose, playful kink, and lace. I wouldn’t waste my time on areas I didn’t need to improve.
Narrowing my eyes, I searched for sloppily folded sale items or imbalanced banners or scruffy shop assistants.
The houseware section was a little messy with its figurines and lamp cords. The women’s shoe department needed a memo to tell them to pick up empty boxes from customers pulling them from the shelves. And children’s wear would definitely earn a slap on the wrist for a banner promising twenty percent off bibs when a high chair was bought.
That promotion ended two days ago.
However, the area that set my heart racing with chaos was the man’s division where five-thousand dollar blazers were tossed over racks, obscuring pressed trousers and faultless shirts. Ties draped over mannequin arms like streamers, and the sock table was a rummaged disaster.
Sage meowed softly, most likely saying in kitty talk for me to calm down before I found the unsuspecting manager and fired him on the spot.
“Where the hell is he and his staff?” Striding forward, my hands curled as yet more disorder revealed itself. A shirt had fallen off its hanger and lay on the floor. The floor! Belts tangled in a viper-nest on the cash register.
What the hell is going on?
“Three warnings, my ass,” I muttered. “This is grounds for instant dismissal.”
I didn’t care the men’s department hardly ever covered the extravagance it cost to run with its cashmere imported material and on-site tailor from Savile Row. This was Belle Elle, and it had severely let my company down.
“What’s the manager’s name again?”
Sage snuffled into my neck.
“You’re no help.”
She meowed.
No matter how many racks I charged down, looking for a victim wearing a Belle Elle nametag and noticeable lavender work shirt, I couldn’t find anyone. Not one.
Where on earth are they?
There should be at least three to four staff manning this section at all times.
My eyes fell on the brightly lit sign for the changing rooms.
I shouldn’t.
Women weren’t permitted in there. But surely, the boss was.
Tilting my chin with authority, I marched through the archway and slammed to a stop.
If I thought the shop floor was a disaster, the changing rooms were a catastrophe.
Clothes everywhere!
Thousands of dollars of merchandise on the floor and piles drowning the leather-studded ottomans.
“What is the meaning of this?” I placed my hands on my hips as four men—who I paid a decent hourly wage and should be on the shop floor enticing people to buy—all gathered around something of utter fascination.
Something I couldn’t see.
The floor manager swiveled in place, his mouth falling open. “Oh, hello, Ms. Charlston. I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.”
“You didn’t see me because clothes are everywhere. It looks like a World War Ten started in here.” I motioned to the pyramids of expensive suits just crumbled on the floor as if they were five-dollar t-shirts. “Clean this mess up, immediately. And get your staff at front of house. There’re no assistants out there.”
“Of course, Ms. Charlston.” The manager nodded; his identification tag showed his name was Markus. “Right away.” Clicking his fingers, he snapped, “George, Luke, get back out there. Ryan and I can finish with Master Steel.”
Instantly, the two younger staff members dropped the shirts looped over their arms onto the already overflowing ottoman and dashed past me with respectful, apologetic smiles.
I didn’t watch them go. I couldn’t. My gaze glued to the little human I hadn’t seen thanks to staff and shirts surrounding him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry; I didn’t know I’d interrupted something.” I glanced at Markus. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you’re right, ma’am. We don’t need four attendants to dress one child.”
I eyed the kid who stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, swimming in men’s trousers and a blazer that came to his knees. I gave him a quick smile, moving closer to Markus. “Why is he in the men’s department and not in children’s wear? He’ll never find anything to fit him.”
The boy looked at me in the mirror, not bothering to turn around. “I’m not a kid.”
I startled at the sharp staccato of his adolescent voice. The pinched look in his cheeks and wildness in his gaze spoke of a child running out of patience and either close to tears or temper. I hadn’t been around many kids, but I guessed he was nine or ten.
“I want a suit. Penn said I could have a suit. Like him. I want to dress like him and Larry.”
Sage squirmed on my shoulders, squinting at the boy. Just like me, she wasn’t used to bossy children. Not equipped to reply to a sentence I had no way of understanding, I looked back at Markus. “Can you explain?”
Markus grinned at the boy. “Of course. This is Stewart. He prefers Stewie, though, don’t you?”
The boy nodded. “Stewie.” He poked a finger into his chest. “That’s me.”
“Okay...” I smiled as if it was a perfectly acceptable name and not a thick-type soup I found utterly unappetizing. “And Stewie wants a suit.”
Stewie grinned, showing a gap in his front teeth where a baby tooth had fallen, and an adult one had yet to appear. “Yup. Penn is helping. He said all men have to have at least three suits. One for a wedding, a funeral, and business.”
“A funeral?” My heart sank. “Is that where you’re going?”
“No.” Stewie brushed chestnut hair away from his face, eyeing his rosy cheeks in the mirror and ears that slightly protruded. “But it’s better to be prepared. That’s what he and Larry always say.”
Crown of Lies (Truth and Lies Duet #1) Page 12
