She slips into those thoughts as if she was meant to be there all along.
I’m going to be thinking about Briar Rose for a long fucking time. It makes the task of finding someone even harder.
Because now they have to measure up toher.
She sighs, pulling a pin from the cushion in her wrist and slipping it into the suit to pinch it together. “You really weren’t. I’m a bit sensitive. We’re quiet, as you might have noticed.”
My attention flips completely, from a daze to sharpened concentration. I look around, spotting the dresses on display. They’re beautiful, but not the kind of thing you’d wear every day. To a black-tie gala, maybe, or one of the fancy charity dinners we often receive invites to and Jenson declines with a polite note and a donation.
It irritates the hell out of me. Spending obscene amounts of money on a glitzy location, copious amounts of alcohol and tiny trays of food that taste like feet to try and encourage people to spendmoremoney on top of that, because otherwise they wouldn’t donate at all.
People areassholes. Nobody does anything for the sake of being decent.
Briar is watching me, curiosity in her eyes. “Where’d you go?”
I offer her an apologetic smile. “I was… distracted. Looking at your dresses. They’re beautiful.”
Her mouth twists. “But not sellable, it would seem.”
I tap my finger on my knee. Whilst I wouldn’t consider myself a fashionista by any fucking stretch of the imagination, I knowstyle, and her dresses have it. “People would kill to wear your designs.”
Literally, more than likely. Society women don’t fuck about with their designers. “Have you done much advertising?”
The color in her face deepens. “Not really. I’m not… I wouldn’t know where to start.”
I could help you.
“Social media?” I test. “A website?”
She shakes her head, an embarrassed, shaky smile offered before she turns away. Not pushing it any further, I glance around. There’s no laptop, no tablet. On the desk beside me, a small phone that belongs back in the early noughties gives me half of an answer. “You don’t use much technology, I take it.”
“No.” Her shoulders relax a little. “My father… he has very clear ideas on the best way to spend my time. That’s never included technology. He didn’t believe it was something I needed to learn.”
Has. Nothad. My attention sharpens again, my muscles tensing and my grip tightening on the arm of the chair. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. You ask a lot of questions.”
My whole body sags in relief. “Insatiable curiosity is my fatal character flaw. There’s always time to learn, you know.”
She straightens. “You’re right. Maybe I will.”
“I usually am.” My drawled words pull another smile from her, and she crosses to her worktable. “If you need any help, marketing is something I have some experience in. The basics, at least. Enough to get you started.”
“You’d do that?” Briar pauses on her way back to the jacket, a needle and thread in her hands as she turns to face me. Uncertainty flickers across her expression. “Why?”
My eyes drop as I debate my response. She’s not wearing a wedding ring.
Instead of answering, I give her a question instead. “Have you ever felt that something important just…passed you by? Likeyou’d missed a moment, or an opportunity, and then it was too late?”
Have you ever felt like this?
Her answer feels important. It feels like it’ll dictate my next move. Because if I walk out of here today with my jacket fixed, I’ll probably never see her again.
And that feels like the biggest missed opportunity of my whole fucking life.
Briar studies me. She doesn’t rush to answer, and I like that.
I like a lot about this girl, and I barely know her.
