CHAPTER SEVEN
Ford
The layout of the Callie Rose Designs showroom had been created by a master of interior design inspiration. And a marketing genius. Each section of the showroom flowed seamlessly into the next, subtly encouraging shoppers to browse through the entire collection of high-end ready to wear clothing and accessories on display.
Every detail had been crafted to provide customers with the ultimate retail experience including the interior's understated elegance with its muted color palette, sleek modern furnishings, serene atmosphere, and directional lighting that perfectly accentuated the designs it showcased.
Customers were greeted by sales associates bearing wireless notepads that contained the complete product inventory in every size and color in stock. Each department artfully displayed individual articles of the various designs around a comfortable seating area where the customer could sit and relax while considering the options.
The associates notated the customer's selections as they progressed through the departments and the items were waiting in a fitting room once the circuit had been completed. While the sales transaction was being processed and their items packaged, customers were invited to enjoy a complimentary beverage in the central lounge area.
Ford had gleaned most of this information from various articles, and he may have dropped by the showroom a time or twelve in the last year hoping to bump into Callie. He already knew his way around the building, so he waved off the sales associates and headed directly to the elevator that would take him to the second floor.
Since it was after office hours, he walked past the empty reception desk and down the hallway behind it. The door on the left was open to reveal the most unusual space he'd ever seen. One side of the room contained a sitting area facing a tri-fold free standing mirror mounted atop a large raised platform.
The other side held a wall of shelving packed with books containing fabric swatches in an endless variety of colors and textures. A small conference table and chairs placed in front of it held a sketch pad and a container filled with colored charcoal pencils. Ford realized that this must be the client consultation room.
"Tell Tomas I want the soundtrack this week," Callie's voice commanded from the end of the hallway so he followed the sound. "And tell him he'd better not try to slip that electronica bullshit into it again. It has to be serene and melodic, but with a beat."
"Got it," a woman responded and almost plowed into Ford when he turned a corner. "Can I help you?" She asked with a frown.
Ford was a keen observer of human behavior, and he knew that if a strange man entered an office building after hours that people would question his reason for being there. But if that same man were carrying a food delivery bag then he could go anywhere without question. He lifted the takeout bag and said, "Order for Ms. Rose."
"Back office," she instructed with a flirtatious smile and waved a hand toward the wall of glass at the end of the hallway.
"Is everything set for the dress rehearsal?" Callie's voice asked.
"Yes," another woman confirmed. "There are no scheduling conflicts so we're good to go. Anything else?"
"Just one thing. Call Rafael and make damn sure the models know how to glide gracefully," Callie commanded. "If they stomp around like horses in high heels, I'll castrate him."
"Will do," she agreed and turned to see him standing in the doorway behind her. The megawatt smile as she passed assured him of her interest, but he only had eyes for the woman sitting behind the desk. Once again, just the sight of Callie had left him breathless and had his cock as hard as granite.
"So, this is where the magic happens," Ford said as he entered her office and slid the glass door closed behind him. Now this space represented her professional image, he realized. Every inch of it was a glamorous, luxurious setting befitting of a famous fashion designer.
"This is where the headaches happen," Callie countered as she gestured to the stack of paperwork in the center of her neatly ordered Lucite desk. "The fun happens in my workroom."
"In that case, let's go to the workroom and have some fun." His tone was playful, but his cock was totally on board with the suggestion.
"Not happening, playboy," she laughed, and then the smile faded as her expression became somber.
"What just happened?" He asked in concern at her sudden mood change.
"It just slipped out," she said more to herself than him. Stricken amethyst eyes lifted to meet his, and she shook her head as if to clear it. "Bastion always accused you of being a playboy so that was what I called you when we would tease each other."
"What did I call you?" He asked curiously.
That impish smile appeared before she replied, "Feathers."
"Fuck. Me." A tingle shot up his spine and the fine hair on the back of his neck lifted.
"What is it?"
"Feathers," Ford said in a choked tone and had to clear his voice. "It's how I, uh... refer to you in conversation."
A frown marred her brow before she shot to her feet to admonish, "Ford Hammersmith, have you been gossiping about me?"
"Fuck, no," he adamantly denied. "But I have been discussing our situation with a trusted confidant. It felt wrong to reveal your identity so we refer to you as... Feathers."
Callie looked surprised by the revelation. "That's a crazy coincidence."
"I don't think it is," Ford differed. "I think my subconscious knows what my conscious mind won't reveal. That's why I've been obsessed with you since we met again. Because I know you even if I don't remember you."
"Something smells wonderful."
He went along with the abrupt change in topic without protest because he'd witnessed Callie's awe-struck expression before she'd extinguished it. He was getting to her and nothing could have pleased him more. "I thought you might be hungry, so I brought chili cheeseburgers," he admitted and waved the bag at her.
"That explains your text asking what my favorite food is," she said in amusement and moved around the desk.
"It's a bribe to let me stay," he confessed and followed her across the room. They exited through another door and he stared at the organized chaos in awe. It looked like a rainbow had exploded. Every square inch of space was covered in brightly colored fabric, feathers, sequins, and rhinestones. "Let me guess. The fun room."
"That's where the magic happens," she confirmed and slid open an opaque glass panel on the opposite side. "This is where relaxation begins."
Entering her warm, welcoming loft area was like stepping into another world and he fully appreciated the difference between her personal and professional space. She moved into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator so he went to the breakfast bar and took a seat. "I have beer, wine, soft drinks, juice, and water," she offered.
"Whatever you're having is fine," he agreed and began removing items from the bag.
After dinner, they moved into the living area and got comfortable on the couch. Before he had a chance to broach the subject, she said, "I have pictures. Of us. If you'd like to see them."
The words were barely out of her mouth before he said, "Yes," with enough enthusiasm to make them both laugh.
"I'll go get them," she said as she rose.
Callie exited through the opaque glass door on the opposite side from her workroom, and Ford was so excited that he could barely sit still. After ten years he was finally going to see what he had forgotten. Actual, photographic evidence of his past. Doctor Wilkes's apprehensions would be appeased.
His heart was racing, his palms were damp and a fine sheen of perspiration covered his brow. He was a nervous fucking wreck by the time she returned. Even though he wanted to devour them all at once, he asked, "Can we look at them one at a time while you tell me about them? It will help me put them in the proper perspective."
Her smile was understanding, but the amethyst eyes held a deep sadness. "Sure. I already put them in chronological order thinking that might help."
Ford had to wipe his palms on
his pants legs before he reached out with a trembling hand to accept the first one. He looked down at the decade-old image of himself and Callie and inhaled sharply. "I saw you like this. In my dreams," he confessed hoarsely. "You had short black hair and..." he groaned as if in pain. "those fucking amazing lip rings."
"Could it have been a memory?" She asked and the excitement was evident in her tone.
"God, I wish," he replied with a self-deprecating smile and could not tear his eyes away from the photograph. His fingertip traced the line of her jaw reverently as if he were actually touching her skin. "You were on your knees in the shower. With my cock in your mouth."
"That um, did happen," she admitted. "More than once."
His expression was genuinely pained as he lifted his gaze to meet hers. "You have no idea how much I regret not remembering that," he practically growled in frustration before realization dawned. "So we were lovers."
"You were my first," Callie confessed.
"Fuck," he breathed on a harsh exhale as he rose and began to pace back and forth. Ford lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. "Of all the things to forget, that would not have been my choice." The knowledge that he had forgotten how she felt, looked, and sounded during sex was frustrating as hell.
Not remembering their first time together was bad enough, but forgetting her first time was like a fist in the gut. He stopped pacing, turned to face her, and the remorse he felt was visible in his expression. "I am so fucking sorry," he said in a tone that conveyed the depth of his sincerity. "It's no wonder you hated me."
Callie
Despite the pain it caused her, Callie had committed to discussing their past with him and that was exactly what she intended to do. What she hadn't bargained for was how his emotional response would affect her. She wiped a tear from her eye and said, "I guess you meant it when you asked to share my pain."
"I did," he confirmed and resumed his seated position. "And it hurts like hell."
She offered him a watery smile and replied, "We got a little ahead of ourselves. Do you still want me to explain this picture?"
"Yes," he fervently agreed and looked at it again. "Tell me everything."
"The day we met, you had asked me out before Bastion came in and blew a gasket," she explained. "This was our first date at Illicit's rooftop nightclub, Lascivious, and that’s the Vegas skyline behind us."
"We look happy."
"We were," she admitted. "We sat there and talked for hours about everything and nothing. You were so easy to talk to, and I told you about my dream to become a fashion designer. Once you found out I'd made the dress I was wearing, you told me I'd make it to the top because my designs were sexy as fuck."
"I was right. On both counts," he acknowledged with a wicked wink that made her laugh.
"We discussed your dad's heart attack and my mom's cancer, the strained relationship with your mom, and complete lack of a relationship with my dad," she recalled. "You told me how you felt it was your duty to take over the family business even though you didn't want to, and that Opulent would be your first major project."
"I was told that Baines backed out of the deal, but no one ever explained why," he commented. "I guess I know the answer to that now as well."
"Bastion is very loyal to those he allows close to him. And he does tend to hold a grudge," she admitted with a fond smile.
"Does he know about us? Now, I mean," he asked curiously.
"There is no us to know about," she denied firmly to make it clear that there could never be anything between them. "We're just two people discussing our shared past."
"Doesn't that at least qualify us as friends?" Ford pressed.
After all that they had been through, could she be his friend? Callie honestly didn't know how to answer that. "I'd like to think that we could be," she finally admitted. "I guess time will tell."
"I guess it will," he agreed before looking back at the picture again. "We look so fucking young. How old were you?"
"Eighteen."
"No wonder Baines thought I was too old for you."
"Five years is not that big of an age difference," she denied.
"Not in years, but in life experience it's eons," Ford reasoned. "Compare your twenty-three-year-old self with the girl in this picture."
There was no comparison. By then she had her bachelor's degree and was in Paris as an apprentice to one of the top fashion designers in the industry. Callie had put her foolish notions about love behind her and focused on her career. "I was definitely a different person," she agreed. "Wisdom and maturity come with age."
"So do gray hair and wrinkles," he said with the devilish grin that never failed to make her smile. "But you'll still be sexy as fuck at seventy."
"Damn right, I will," she confirmed with a laugh. "I'll create a line just for gorgeous grannies and we'll rock old age."
"Make sure you throw a showgirl costume in there just to keep it interesting," he teased. "Fuck. I wish you had a picture wearing the flamingo costume."
"I do," Callie admitted and saw his dark, intense eyes flare with excitement. "I have pictures of every design I ever created."
"Can I see it?" He asked hopefully.
"Sure," she agreed and laid the pictures down on the coffee table as she rose. "It might take me a few minutes to dig it out."
"I'll help," he offered as he stood as well.
They went back into her office to a wall of built-in file drawers that housed her entire portfolio, including the costumes she had created for Illicit. Since it was located on the bottom, she sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled the drawer open. Somehow, she wasn't surprised when he did the same thing on the opposite side.
"This drawer contains the costumes and the items I created in design school so it's not in any particular order," she explained as she ran her fingers over the file folder tabs. "I keep meaning to organize them, but never seem to have the time."
Since she had started at the front, Ford began looking from the back. After a couple of minutes, he said, "This one is labeled Pink Peacock."
"That should be it," she confirmed and accepted the folder when he handed it over. Callie opened it and flipped through her detailed drawings of the various sections of the costume before she came across the eight by ten photographs. "Here they are," she said and extended the front and back pictures to him.
Ford stared down at them for endless minutes before he said reverently, "My God. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
She laughed and admitted, "That's exactly what you said when you made the pictures."
"I took these?" He asked in surprise as his eyes met hers.
"Yes. You took your camera everywhere and made a ton of pictures of us," she admitted. "You told me that photography was your passion and you loved it because the world looked different through a camera lens."
"I had a camera with me?" He asked in confusion.
"You did," she confirmed. "You said you had several but that one was your favorite. It was an old one that had belonged to your dad. It had an odd name that reminded me of that actor, David Hasselhoff."
"Hasselblad," he corrected and appeared to be concentrating intently if the frown marring his brow was any indication. "I distinctly remember finding my camera at home when I got out of the hospital. I was glad that I hadn't taken it with me because it would have been like losing an appendage if it had been damaged."
"That's strange," Callie acknowledged with a frown of her own. "What about all those rolls of film?" At his blank look, she added, "You had this roll developed at a pharmacy and didn't like the quality, so you were planning to develop the rest of them yourself when you got home."
"There wasn't any film in the case," he denied. "How many rolls did I use?"
"At least a roll per day," she guessed since he had made pictures of everything. "So maybe four or five dozen."
Ford looked completely stunned when he asked, "Callie, how long was I in Vegas?"
"Eight
weeks," she admitted.
He swallowed painfully and asked, "You know about the entire missing eight weeks?"
"Day and night for most of it," she confirmed.
Eyes damp with unshed tears, Ford lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to it. "Thank you. For giving the lost time back to me," he said in a choked tone.
Tears welled in her own eyes as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're welcome. Now, how about I show you the rest of those pictures?"
Ford
Ford was surprised to discover how much behind the scenes work went into a fashion show. Not that he'd ever given it any thought before, but apparently it took a hell of a lot of planning, coordination, and preparation before the models hit the runway for a less than one-minute walk. It was exciting to be a part of, if only from the sidelines.
Callie's schedule had run late into the evening hours as she and her executive staff rushed to complete the thousand and one small details to make their portion of the event perfect. He had done what he could to assist them by staying out of the way, having meals delivered, and massaging her neck and shoulders at the end of a grueling day.
He'd really enjoyed the last part.
So had she.
Every night Callie told him more about their past, and he fell a little bit harder for her every day. The visual image her memories painted told a poignant story of two young lovers enthralled by their all-consuming love for each other. It was beautiful and painful, and he knew that they would have still been together if the accident hadn't torn them apart.
Little by little, he was gaining her trust and the knowledge thrilled him. Because Ford wanted nothing more than to pick up where they had left off. He needed Callie in his life and hated the hours that they spent apart. Leaving her each night and going home to his solitary bed had become a true test of endurance.
Those wonderful, vivid dreams tormented him with what had been, and what he hoped to have again. Callie in his bed. In his arms. In his heart. Making the dreams become a reality were the sole focus of his life. He'd do anything, give anything, to make her love him again. Because losing her would be unbearable.
Heartless Bastard (Rich Ruthless Bastards, #1) Page 8
