"So is this why you've been to New York before? To meet with your publisher?"
"Exactly."
"Well, then, that's the problem. You don't strike me as a suits and silver type of guy, and I presume that's what you have encountered while there. Right?"
"Well, right, but I'm not sure I should be happy with your assumption. I do know how to wear a suit, I'll have you know, and I am quite comfortable using silverware."
"Quite?"
He slapped his forehead with his palm. "I can't win."
Relief that they had returned to their usual, casual banter filled her. "Be that as it may," she said, unable to stop smiling, "I promise to sneak out and show you some of my favorite places. Promise me you'll keep an open mind?"
He returned her smile. "I promise."
Chapter 11
Sophia counted through the layer of black skirts stacked on her bed. She bit her lip. Reached for one more skirt, this one a dusty gray, added it to the top of the pile, thought better of it, and quickly removed it.
"Knock, knock." Meg entered the suite wearing a chocolate-brown suit that fit her petite frame and curves as if an artist had painted it on. "How are you doing? Almost packed?"
"I'm doing my best to keep it simple." She flopped onto the bed. "So much to think about!"
"I hear you. And if you're anything like me, you like options, which makes packing difficult." Meg peered over her shoulder at the stacks of clothing piled up. "Then again, you've pretty much decided on a color scheme—black—so that should make it a little easier. Though, won't it be rather hot for all that ... dark?"
"The summer is stifling, but it's quickly turning. I've already checked. Plus, we will mostly be indoors during the day hours—sorry to tell you that."
"No need to apologize, Sophia. I'm going for you, remember? Now, have you chosen shoes?"
Sophia pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "Not yet. I haven't been on my feet all day in years, so I need more time to make footwear decisions."
Meg laughed. "I'm guessing slippers wouldn't go over well in the booth."
Sophia gave her a pointed frown.
"Okay, I get it. Just thought I'd ask." She laughed more. "At least I can assure you that these feet of mine have stood on high heels daily for years, so you won't hear any complaining from me. Now, do you need any more help getting our supplies together?"
Sophia pointed at several large boxes. "I don't think so. Despite the sudden flood of interest in my dresses, we are a low-priority company. We will have to somehow get all the samples and racks into the showroom ourselves."
"I've done trade shows for years, so I'm happy to be your lackey." She flexed her bicep like Rosie the Riveter. "I've been working out to prepare."
Relief cascaded through Sophia and sudden tears pricked the back of her eyes. Meg plunked down on the bed and hung an arm around her neck. Though Sophia had grown up alongside a half-sister, she had never had a moment like this. And never was such a long time ...
"I'm with you, girl," Meg said. "We got this—you and me. You'll see."
Sophia nodded, no words forming. Just a deep and abiding gratefulness that both Jackson and Meg had become such integral parts of her life.
"Bless you."
Meg kissed her swiftly on the cheek and stood. "I'm off to finish my own packing. Is there anything else you need before I go?"
Sophia glanced around. "No, not really. I mean, I feel like I'm forgetting something but can't think of a thing."
"You'll probably feel like that until we're back at the airport and ready to leave New York. Okay, last call before I go ... maybe I should send up dinner for you?"
Christian appeared in the doorway. "Just what I was stopping by to ask."
Meg turned to him. "Great! So you'll drag her out of here for a break and get some food in her?"
He leaned his lanky frame against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Sure thing."
Sophia waved a hand in the air. "Uh, hello. I'm here too and can speak for myself."
"I'll let you two duke this out," Meg said. She gave Sophia a warm smile and headed out the door.
Christian unfolded his arms and stepped inside, glancing around. "Looks like a bomb went off."
"That's a cliché, and I thought writers were supposed to avoid those."
"Except when they fit ... like a glove," he deadpanned.
She laughed hard for the first time all day. He walked toward her and offered her a hand, which she used to haul herself up.
"Hungry?"
"Famished, but I need to make this quick." Adrenaline had kicked in, burning up calories and creating a hole in her stomach. She hadn't worked this hard and this long without food in ... well, had she ever?
"Okay by me," he said.
They grabbed the elevator down to the restaurant. There was no host when they entered, so Johnny waved them toward a table by a window. She exhaled some of her stress as the bartender slid two menus onto the table. "What'll you have to drink?"
She looked at Christian blankly.
"After you," he said.
She thought a moment. "Better make it coffee, Johnny."
Christian smiled. "Make that two."
Sophia took a quick peek of the placid sea, feeling her nerves unclenching. She hadn't looked outside of her window, or stepped out onto her deck, all day.
"Are you ready?"
A ripple of worry scurried through her, but she squelched it. "I believe so. We'll see how it goes."
Johnny brought coffee and cream to the table, took their food orders, and left them in the quiet.
"A toast." Christian lifted his mug. "To New York."
"Agreed. And to a few minutes of thinking about something other than New York."
They laughed and clinked and drank their coffees while sitting in relaxed silence, except for blissful moments of small talk. A server delivered their salads—Cobb for her, steak for him—and they settled into more silence as they ate.
"Sophia?" Wade stopped midway between the bar and their table, a quizzical expression on his face. "What are you doing here?"
Unease crept into her shoulders, erasing the relief she had just achieved. Her mind spun. She hadn't made any promise to Wade, so why did she suddenly feel called out—almost as if she were cheating? Or wait... had she said she'd meet him tonight?
"Wade ... we're just having a quick dinner. Will you join us?"
He closed the gap and put his hand on her shoulder. "Did you do the interview already?"
Sophia's airway constricted and she put a hand to her chest. "Oh, no."
"You didn't forget, did you?"
Abruptly, she stood. "Oh, no. I did. I forgot all about it." She patted her pocket, searching for her phone. "Maybe it's not too late ... oh, I'm such an idiot."
Wade shook his head. "Calm down. I'm not sure how you could have forgotten—but don't worry. I'll take care of it."
"How will you do that?" The tone of her voice rose.
"I'll make a call. Tell her agent you've been so swamped—" he stole a glance at Christian as he said this—"and see if her blogger can talk with you when you land tomorrow."
"Tell her I'm sorry." Sophia lowered herself back into her seat, stunned. "If only I weren't so stupid ... how could I forget such an important interview?"
Wade held his pointer finger to his lips, and she closed her mouth. He walked away, barreling into the phone, "Hello, Leann! Hey, yes, yes, mixed signals. Absolutely, she can call your office when she lands in New York. I'll remind her twice." He laughed like they were old friends, then hung up the phone and approached their table again.
"Wade, I'm so sorry."
He bent down and kissed her cheek and sent another glance toward Christian. Sophia tried to relax, but a thousand details wrapped themselves around each other in her mind.
"It's handled," he said. "Until next week is over, I'll be in damage control mode. I promise you."
Christian rolled his hand into a fist and
pounded it on the table. "Whoa, do you hear yourself?"
Wade gave him a startled look. "Excuse me?"
"Damage control? Like she's a constant screw-up?"
Wade gave him a puzzled smile now, though his chin appeared to have hardened. "What does that mean?"
Sophia shook her head and looked from one to the other. "Christian, no—I don't think Wade meant anything by that."
Christian pinned her with a stare. "You are not an idiot, Sophia." He turned his attention on Wade. "She's not stupid, but you stand there and let her talk to herself like that. Didn't even say a thing."
Wade didn't move. "I've never called Sophia anything like that, nor would I ever."
“Right, because she's too busy beating herself up. Instead, you let her—and then show up on your white horse to save the day."
"Christian, please," Sophia said. "What are you saying?"
His eyes zeroed in on her, like spheres. "I'm saying beating yourself up all the time is a bad idea, Sophia. And this guy is also a very bad idea."
"The claims you are making are ridiculous," Wade said. "They're baseless. I want nothing but the best for Sophia and her company." He turned to her, his eyes imploring. In them, she saw how much he cared. "You know that, I hope."
She nodded. "Of course, I do. And I'm so thankful to you ... for everything." She frowned at Christian. "What's gotten into you, picking a fight like this? Can you stop that right now?"
"Picking a fight?" He dropped his gaze to the table as if reloading, then shot her another look. "You are a beautiful, kind, and talented woman, Sophia. But you are also your own worst enemy. I know that's a cliché—but I don't care."
"I agree with how you described Sophia—everything except her being her own worst enemy. She made a mistake and I helped her through." Wade's steely glare did not waver. "If you're her friend, why would you see anything wrong with that?"
"You're twisting my words."
Wade placed a hand on Sophia's shoulder and continued to look at Christian like he'd been out in the sun too long. "I think you'd better go."
Christian's gaze shifted, staying with her. "Is that what you want?"
Sophia pressed her forehead with her hand. She blew out a sigh. "I'm leaving in the morning for the biggest week of my career, and this is all ... too much." She inhaled and squared her shoulders at him. "Yes, I think you'd better go."
Christian stood up from the table, dropped two bills onto its surface, and walked out of the restaurant.
He always booked an aisle seat, but on this particular afternoon, Christian wished he had secured a spot by the window. He had forgotten about the lengthy circle the pilot would make around the bay before landing. Always reminded him of a game of "psyche." Passengers would sit, cramped and bound to their seats, the airport in view, when—whoosh!—the airplane would pass the coveted airstrip at JFK and fly out over the water, toss a wave to Lady Liberty, and tease its inhabitants with another approach to land. If he were by the window, he could at least pass the time by staring out at the sights, instead of brooding over his confrontation with Sophia—and what's-his-name.
He bypassed baggage claim, pulling his carry-on behind him, and skipped the snaking cab line too, opting instead for Uber. His driver mistook his silence for a desire to know more about Manhattan. Accordingly, he yammered on through Jamaica and Queens and through the tunnel until they finally reached Lower Manhattan. "You stayin' in Midtown?" the guy had said when he'd been offered an address. "Man, that's the best area—in my opinion. The best."
Christian hopped out of the car and shut the door behind him before the driver could point out one more must-see venue. A bellman took his name and his bag, and within minutes, he was checked in to a room with a view of Rockefeller Center.
He checked his phone. A voicemail from Lisa and a missed call from Burns. He blew out a breath. It was Friday and he'd agreed to meet Lisa over the weekend because she'd be leaving on vacation soon. But Burns had no part in his plans. Wasn't invited nor was he kept abreast of Christian's travel details. He'd made Lisa promise him that.
"Welcome to New York, Christian. This is Lisa Caldwell. I trust you have arrived and are enjoying the sites of our impressive city. I would like to meet you tomorrow for coffee. I'll take a train into Manhattan and meet you at Espresso Hub on 38th at 11:30 a.m. sharp. Looking forward to it, Christian. Goodbye."
He tossed his phone onto the bed, grateful she hadn't wanted to meet tonight. He needed a shower and a decent night's sleep before he could find the temperament to converse like a professional. The street below his window teemed with people—tourists, laborers, executives—all going somewhere. Maybe even buyers and designers strolling around in couture as they readied themselves for another iconic week of fashion.
Christian stood at the window a moment longer, ran his hand along his beard, and let out a low growl. No matter that his brain was a befuddled mess after that confrontation with Sophia—or that he'd come all this way to meet with Lisa Caldwell—Christian had a book to finish. With some reluctance, he pulled his laptop from his bag, set it up on the hotel room desk, switched on the light, and got back to work.
Sophia's hotel sat midway between Central Park and Times Square, her room on the forty-fourth floor offering her a glimpse of the gaudy lights of the latter—even in the morning. Her phone buzzed.
Ready to set up? I'll call a cab.
She answered: Call one with a big trunk!
Though they'd stayed up late in Sophia's room watching a rom-com and eating far too much mini-bar chocolate, Meg had insisted on booking—and paying for—her own room. They each needed their beauty sleep, she'd reasoned.
Considering Meg had fallen asleep twice during the movie, while Sophia had watched every minute with eyes wide open, she knew which one of them would be needing a second coat of foundation today.
She slipped into a pair of Adidas and waited for the bellman to arrive with two carts to help her haul the boxes downstairs. Two bellmen loaded the cab with boxes.
"Wish we could take those two with us," Sophia said.
Meg looked out the back window. "Oh, honey, I think they're too young for you."
Sophia laughed, thankful for the break in tension. An impressive wall of windows greeted them as their driver pulled over to the unloading area. Her lungs constricted and Sophia gasped for air, one hand on her chest and the other on the seat back in front of her.
Meg had already exited the vehicle, but ducked her head back inside "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
She didn't answer, instead reminding herself to breathe. After prying her fingers from the seat back, Sophia pushed herself out the door. "I'm fine—I'll be all right."
Meg stuck an arm through hers. "Of course you will be! Let's get in there."
For the next few minutes, they worked quickly to unpack a couple of dollies and load up their boxes. More than once Sophia sensed her knees buckling at the amount of money those plain cardboard boxes held. The samples alone had cost her, but if sales would be a fraction of what Raven had predicted, she'd more than make back the money she'd laid out. More than that, she would make enough to help her brother out of the red.
As expected, Sophia's label was assigned a plain white table in a plain white corner. Even though she was not situated near the bank of windows that overlooked a magnificent skyline, she could see it from afar. That was good enough for her. For now, anyway.
For the next two hours, she and Meg worked quietly alongside each other. Representatives from other brands had begun to dribble in, most with severe faces, walking at fast clips, their arms laden with supplies.
"Isn't this great?" Meg turned side to side to point out what she wore.
Sophia tried not to laugh at the hot pink tool belt her sister-in-law had strapped on. She bit her lip.
Meg put her hands on her hips. "What?"
"It's just that I don't often include that type of accessory with my designs."
"It's a gift from my dreamboat."
Sophia snickered.
"Hey, look over there."
Along the bank of windows where lengths of white tables were positioned end to end, where women and men hustled to display their wares in the best light and layout possible, stood a lone mannequin.
"Doesn't it look like she's wearing a halo?"
Sophia turned her head, eyeing it like an art critic.
"Well, she certainly does look angelic over there. When I was a little girl, I always loved to walk along the street and look in the windows at the mannequins all dressed up."
Meg stepped up next to her. "Where I'm from, you have to go to an indoor mall to find much of that, but I know what you mean." She threw an arm over Sophia. "Florence had windows I could have stood in front of for hours. Swoon-worthy."
Sophia smiled. "I had forgotten about your time there. Would be wonderful for us all to go back and visit together sometime."
“Oh and to see Domenic and Elena!"
The dear, sweet people who had been instrumental in helping her find her family again ... Sophia exhaled, trying to refocus on the work in front of her. She thumbed through her dresses and took another glance at the line sheets she had prepared with specifications for her garments. The space was basic but clean and colorful. The colors of her dresses alone—raspberry, blueberry, kiwi, and lemon—had changed the feel of her collection from last spring to now, and a fresh lift washed over her. The memory of her stepfather's note had dimmed the more she toiled over this collection the last few months, giving her a sweet sense of renewal and hope. She blinked away tears of relief.
"If you don't mind," she said to Meg, "I'd like to take a walk and get my bearings. Are you okay here?"
"Absolutely. Enjoy yourself."
She began to wind through the crowded showroom, dodging an influx of people and garments and rolling racks. Creative energy buoyed her steps. Within the walls sales-minded people with an appreciation for great design moved swiftly, earbuds attached to phones, mouths moving. She'd been fearful to come here, not sure what to expect having always relied on Raven to face her buyers. But something worthy and wonderful swelled inside of her as she took in the variety of garments and leather bags and shoes—oh the beautiful shoes!—that lined the walls and hung on racks.
Windswept Page 13
