by Cat Carmine
I look into his eyes, trying to see what he sees, but they give nothing away. Instead, Rich pushes the folders in front of me.
“The numbers are all here, Bree. We’re employing too many people for what we’re making back. Payroll is far and away our biggest expense, and until we can start making the returns that justify this kind of bloated staff, the truth is going to remain the same, whether you like it or not. We need to lay people off.”
Rich folds his arms, leaning back in the chair across from my desk. Well, my father’s desk, I should say. Everything about this office still feels like him — the cherrywood desk, the dark leather desk blotter, the bookshelves filled with art and design books and professionally bound copies of our catalogs. Every one of them since 1971, in fact, when he first opened the company.
This company meant everything to him. When I first settled into this office, three days after Dad’s funeral, I found one framed picture of me, and one of mom. The rest of the pictures up on the wall were from Bailey Living launches, magazine spreads the company had been featured in over the years, and glowing news coverage they’d gotten. Of course, most of those articles and photo spreads are old now — it’s been quite some time since Bailey Living was en vogue enough to make it into a magazine without spending major moolah.
Still, this is Dad’s baby. And I can’t help but think that the people who work here are part of that. Dad might have been a business man, but he was extremely kind to the people who worked under him. I just know in my heart that he wouldn’t want me laying any of them off.
“There has to be another way,” I say to Rich. I’m sure he can detect the note of pleading in my voice.
He sighs, loudly and with great exaggeration. “Yeah,” he says with exasperation. “Start doubling our profits. Then we could afford to keep everyone and actually make this business viable.”
I chew on the end of my purple pen. “Is it really that dire?”
I’ve looked at the spreadsheets, and sure, our orders seem to be going down at the same time that our costs are going up. And okay, salaries have been going up with inflation. And our prices have unfortunately stayed relatively stable, probably Dad’s attempt to try to avoid isolating the current customer base.
So profits are down while costs are up. That much is clear from looking at the books. But surely there’s still hope?
I look pleadingly at Rich but he shakes his head sullenly.
“I’ll be honest with you, Bree.” He says it as if it’s causing him great pain to have to tell me this. “Bailey Living is on its last legs. Your father wasn’t making the best decisions at the end. He didn’t want to admit to the fact that the company needed some serious overhauling if he wanted it to stay profitable. He didn’t want to listen to my advice — I told him we needed layoffs. I told him we needed to look at outsourcing. You know, we could get these pieces produced in China or Thailand for a fraction of what we pay here. Your father wouldn’t hear it — I just hope you won’t have the same problem.” His words are pointed, and I swallow thickly.
“You just need to give me some time,” I say, trying to mask the desperation in my voice. Layoffs and outsourcing — the very words make me shudder. “I’ve only been here a month. We’re already making progress — our social media efforts have been getting some traction … and didn’t you say we got six new big orders after that advertising spread in The Post?”
Rich grudgingly nods, but he doesn’t uncross his arms, and his expression is still sullen. “It’s not enough, Bree. If you’re going to be the CEO, it requires making tough decisions. Not posting a few pictures on Instagram or whatever.”
“I know that, but we have to start somewhere, don’t we?” I try to keep my voice level. Rich has been difficult to work with since I arrived, but lately it’s been getting worse.
“We could have started with handing over the reigns to someone who actually had experience running a company of this size and scope.” Rich mutters the words low and under his breath, but I hear them as clearly as if he’d screamed them in my ears. My cheeks instantly flush, both in embarrassment and in fury.
I’m mad at Rich … but part of me knows he’s right. What was Dad thinking, entrusting his company to me? I know fashion, not furniture. Bounce Couture is me and Margaux and a couple of part-time assistants. Bailey Living has hundreds of employees, all of them suddenly depending on me to protect their jobs and their livelihoods.
I swallow, barely trusting myself to speak.
“I think I can take it from here, Rich.” I finally manage to eke out the words. I close the file folders in front of me, trying to signal that this conversation is over.
I’m saved by Geetika’s arrival in my office. I look gratefully up at her as she hovers in the doorway, and nod when she looks hesitatingly at Rich.
“So sorry to interrupt, Bree — you have a call on line one. Should I put him through?”
“Yes, please.” I don’t even bother asking who it is — I’m just happy to have an excuse to end my conversation with Rich. I turn to him, already reaching for the phone. “Will you excuse me, please?”
Rich makes no motion to leave until I raise my eyebrows, then he finally slinks out, with Geetika behind him. I breathe a sigh of relief, glad to have him out of my office, even if his words are still echoing around my brain.
I glance down at the phone but I don’t recognize the number. Then again, I don’t recognize the numbers of most people who call me here.
“Bree Bailey,” I say, pressing the phone to my ear.
“Luke Whittaker.” The voice from the other end is teasing, and I feel a grin sweep across my face. I try to push it aside.
“Luke. Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” I can almost hear the smile in his voice, and it makes my stomach do a neat little somersault.
Gah. No. Somersaults are expressly forbidden.
“You shouldn’t be calling me,” I say, trying to make my voice sound frosty. “We agreed no contact, remember?”
If Luke is put off by my abrupt change in attitude, he doesn’t let on. “I know, Ms. Bailey,” he says teasingly. “But I’m calling about the fundraiser. Is that acceptable to the terms of our agreement?”
I slip my shoes off under the desk, relaxing a little. “Yes, that’s acceptable. What’s up?”
“Well, Tomas and I were thinking that it would be nice to host the participating bloggers and designers for a welcome event of sorts. Give them a chance to pick our brains about the projects.”
I’m already nodding. “That’s a great idea. Were you thinking of doing it at Tomas’s offices? Or maybe back at the Grand Windsor again? I’m sure we could get a conference room there.”
“Actually, I was thinking of something a little more informal, like a bar. Somewhere where we can have some drinks, some snacks. Really get a chance to get to know each other.”
A flush crawls across my cheeks. “To get to know the bloggers, you mean?” I prod. I can’t help but think that what he’s describing sounds more like a date than a welcome event.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “For the bloggers.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. I have to admit, I’m both nervous and excited about the idea of spending time at a bar with Luke. Even if there are other people involved. “Did you have a specific place in mind?”
“I do. Have you ever heard of Two Steves?”
“I have, actually. I’ve been meaning to check it out. I’ve heard they have amazing grilled cheese.”
“They do. And it just so happens that the bar’s run by my brother and his fiancee, so they’ve already agreed to let us host it there if we want. Tomas and I were thinking maybe Thursday.”
“So it sounds like it’s a done deal already, then.” I should have known that Luke would try to monopolize the publicity on this thing. I curse myself for not staying more on top of things.
“Not at all,” Luke says in surprise. “That’s why I’m calling you. We’re equal partners in this, as fa
r as I’m concerned. And if you have other suggestions about where to hold it, I’m more than happy to hear them. I just thought Two Steves would be easiest because Jace and Celia can accommodate us on short notice.”
I have to admit that his reasoning is fair, and ever since I’d read a review of Two Steves in The Post a couple of weeks ago, I’d been meaning to stop by. So I’d really be killing two birds with one stone — three birds, even, if you count the fact that I’d get to see Luke again.
No, I chide myself. That is not a bird. No stones, no birds. No nothing.
“That sounds great,” I say, trying to calm the fluttering of my heart.
“Great. I’ll call my brother and set it up. Tomas will send out the invites to the bloggers, but I asked him to run it by us so we can look at the wording. I mean, if you want to weigh in, that is.”
“Sure. That sounds great. Thank you, Luke.”
“Oh, no problem at all. I look forward to seeing you. Jace and Celia will love you.”
My jaw drops but he’s gone before I can say anything else. I’m assuming Jace is the brother he mentioned ... but why would he care whether they love me or not?
Argh. I hang up the phone and then pad barefoot over to the window. I can see a small sliver of the lake from here, and though it’s not what Chicago realtors would call a million dollar view, it’s a nice glimpse at the hustle and bustle of the city. I still miss Paris sometimes, but every day, Chicago feels a little more like home.
For better or for worse.
I press my head against the cool glass as I watch the city streets below. I think about what will happen when I see Luke again ... I want to say nothing will happen, but so far my resolve doesn’t seem to be any match for those dancing brown eyes, for that broad muscled chest. In fact, the last couple of times I’ve seen him, all my resolve has gone straight out the window.
I try to gather my strength as I stand there. He’s a good looking guy, sure, but so what? There are a million more like him in this city, and in cities all over the world. Luke is nothing special, and he’s certainly nothing special to me.
Then why the hell am I so damn excited for Thursday?
15
Bree
Two Steves turns out to be just as adorable in person as the review I read made it out to be. I’ve arranged to meet Luke and Tomas there at six o’clock on Thursday, an hour before the bloggers are scheduled to arrive. The weather outside is grey and cloudy, and it’s been raining on and off all day, but as soon as I walk into the bar, I feel as cozy as can be. The interior is filled with warm wood, soft lighting, and farmhouse touches like a vintage tin cola sign, and even what looks to be a real wagon wheel affixed to the end of the bar.
I don’t see Tomas yet, but Luke is deep in conversation with a couple behind the bar. The guy looks quite a bit like Luke — a little younger maybe — and I have no doubt that this must be his brother. Luke’s face lights up when he sees me, and I very studiously ignore the way my heart flutters a little at his expression. He comes over right away and helps me with my coat.
“Bad news,” he says. My heart sinks.
“What?”
“Tomas isn’t going to be able to make it.”
A wave of relief comes over me. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I can handle that.
“I hope everything’s all right,” I say, as Luke takes my coat.
He nods. “Just caught up in work stuff. So it looks like it’s just you and me tonight.”
“You and me and forty bloggers,” I point out.
“Touché,” he grins. “Come on over. I’ll introduce you to my brother and his fiancee.”
He leads me to the bar and makes introductions. As I shake hands with Jace, I catch him shoot Luke a questioning look, and I feel my cheeks color. I can’t help but wonder what Luke has said about me.
When Luke introduces me to Celia, she comes around the bar instead of shaking my hand. “I’m sorry,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “I just have to give you a hug.”
She’s a beautiful girl, with wild black hair and sharp green eyes, but there’s a friendliness and warmth about her that immediately sets me at ease. Still, as I hug her back, I can’t help but wonder again what Luke has said to them. I try to brush it off.
“This is a beautiful spot,” I tell her. “Thank you so much for hosting us here.”
She brushes it off. “Oh, it’s no problem at all. We’d do anything for Luke. So Luke says you’ve just moved here from Paris?”
“Yes — I grew up here but I’ve lived over seas for about six or seven years now. I just moved back a couple of months ago.”
“And you ... run a clothing line, or something?”
“Yes, it’s called Bounce Couture.”
“Oh my God!” Celia claps her hand over her mouth, and then turns to glare at Luke. “You didn’t tell me it was Bounce.”
He shrugs, looking somewhat confused. “I didn’t know that meant anything.”
Celia raises her eyebrows. “Uh, yeah, it’s kind of a big deal.” I have to giggle at her enthusiasm — and at Luke’s surprised expression. “Can I get you a drink?” she asks, shaking her head and turning back to me.
“Sure — a chardonnay?”
“You got it.”
Celia returns with my drink a moment later and then starts peppering me with questions about Bounce, and I’m happy to have someone to talk to about it. Bounce has been my passion for so long that it feels natural to go on and on (and on) about it. I probably end up talking a little too long just because it feels so good to talk about it again. Plus it keeps me from having to talk to Luke. He and his brother pick up their own conversation, but every once in awhile I feel him looking over at me. Each time it happens, the heat from my gaze makes me lose my concentration.
“Sorry,” I say to Celia, shaking my head. “What was I saying?”
“Something about formalwear.”
“Oh, right.” I take a sip of my wine. “I’ve been wanting to branch into formalwear for awhile now — party dresses, bridesmaid dresses. Maybe even bridal gowns.”
Celia’s eyes light up. “Bridal gowns, you say?” she says with a grin. “If you ever need a guinea pig or a test client, I’d be more than happy to help.”
I know she’s joking, but the suggestion intrigues me. “When are you and Jace getting married?”
“This fall.”
“And you don’t have a dress yet?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve started looking around but it’s so overwhelming. So many cuts and styles and fabrics ... I don’t know.” She trails off, her expression already looking exhausted.
“Well, I’d be happy to help. I could even just pull together a few images of styles I think would work for you?”
“That would be amazing!”
“Let’s see,” I say, studying her. “You look basically like an hourglass, I think? Turn around.”
Celia holds her hands out from her sides, and turns slowly around.
“What’s going on over here?” Luke asks, sidling up to us with his beer. “Are you hitting on my brother’s fiancee?” he teases me.
“Well, can you blame me?” I tease back. “Look at her.” I’m only half-joking too — Celia’s nothing short of stunning, and the red off-the-shoulder blouse she’s wearing is sexy yet fun. Except Luke isn’t looking at Celia. He’s still staring straight at me, and his eyes have taken on a smolder that makes me suck back a huge swallow of wine.
Luke looks as if he’s about to say something, but before he can, the door to the bar swings open and a group of giggling women push through.
“I think our bloggers are starting to arrive,” I say. I don’t know whether I should be happy or sad about their timing.
“Right,” Luke says, and turns to face the women, plastering a gregarious smile on his face.
We spend the next hour or so chatting with the women — and a few men — who will be taking part in the challenge. They all have interior design
or home decorating blogs, and each of them has been assigned a room in one of the lottery homes to decorate. There’ll be a contest based on public votes, which will help draw more attention to the fundraiser. The group seems enthusiastic about the project, though I can’t help but notice that Luke gets way more questions about the Loft & Barn collection than I get about Bailey Living. Though I can’t tell if that’s because they like the furniture more — or because they like Luke more.
Luke, to his credit, handles their questions and heart-eyes smoothly and easily, seeming friendly without being too encouraging.
Soon the crowd is clearing out and I’m actually starting to feel sad that the evening is over.
I pick up a mostly-eaten tray of nachos and bring it over to the bar.
“What are you doing?” Celia asks, frowning.
“Just helping you clean up.”
She flicks the bar towel at me. “That’s our job.”
“I know, but you were so nice to host us here tonight.”
She shakes her head. “It was our pleasure, honestly.” She looks at me and there’s something about her squinty gaze that makes me pause.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, what?” I barely know her but I can already tell she’s suppressing a smile.
“Nothing,” she insists again.
“Fine.” I turn to go back to the table to pick up a few more empty plates.
“It’s just that Luke talks about you.” Celia’s voice draws me back over to the bar. I can feel my heart starting to thud just a little more quickly in my chest.
“He ... talks about me?”
She nods, then glances around, as if she wants to make sure no one will hear us. “Luke doesn’t usually ... talk about women. If you know what I mean.”
“No.” I can feel my cheeks starting to flush. I look around to make sure Luke isn’t around and then lean in closer. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable, but I’m too intrigued to let her off the hook. “I mean, I haven’t known Luke all that long, but I thought I had a pretty good read on what kind of guy he is. And now...”
