My morning passed in a blur at Eastern Couture, the upscale boutique I worked at. My cell beeped a text as I headed for the stockroom. Retrieving the phone from my pants pocket, I glanced at the display and groaned.
Doll, The Grave’s opening’s next week. Come with me? It’ll be fun.
I liked Ryder, that was when he wasn’t being a pain in the ass. My former client suffered from what Ray called the “Octopus Syndrome,” because, around me, he became all touchy feely.
Sighing, I typed back.Can’t. Am backed up with work.
A return text dinged.Okay, will ask you next week.
Of course, he would. Pushing my phone into my pocket, I met my boss’s cool, gray stare as she came out of her office, her tawny hair secured in a topknot.
Heck, it didn’t cost a dime to smile. But Kate Anders didn’t talk to her underlings much. She only talked to me because she had to. Initially, I’d been contracted to do her window displays for her string of shops, then six months ago, she’d asked me to work on displays inside the stores, too. I was grateful the two years had passed by relatively pain-free.
Kate liked themes. It meant using props along with the mannequins, and a crapload of work with resourcing things, but she paid well enough. That was all that mattered.
I selected the garments I needed from the newest collection of clothes, which had arrived yesterday, grabbed my workbasket, and headed for the front window. The papered glass gave me privacy from the street and, of course, created a great way to draw interest toward the big reveal. I dumped my load on a chair and got started.
“‘Morning, Ila.”
At the male voice, I looked up. Kate’s current squeeze stood behind the mannequin I was dressing. A grin lit Pierre Holden’s angular, sculptured features, giving them an edge the camera loved. Dark-haired and brown-eyed, the guy had to be around my age. Kate, if I guessed correctly, was in her late thirties. Given that Pierre was a model, he fit all of Kate’s criteria. She liked them young and in the limelight.
“Hey, Pierre.” I spoke around a pin between my lips as I pleated the extra fabric behind the dummy’s waist and secured it. “Kate’s somewhere in the back.”
“I know.” He handed me the mannequin’s top from the chair. “I see you’re busy, but can I have a quick word?”
“Shoot.”
He glanced past the partition separating the store from the window, then stepped inside, the scenic background and papered pane giving us some privacy. “I have a friend who needs your talent.”
“What? To dress him?” I teased.
Pierre chuckled, his gaze travelling appreciatively over my fitted, sleeveless black top, gray capri pants, and black, wedged heels I’d worn to work. The guy was fun. A flirt, but harmless. “I’m sure he’d like that. Anyway, he wants a painting done. Do you have a business card I can give him?”
“Sure.” I scratched through my workbasket. Among the spools of cotton, pins, and other stuff, I found my cards and handed one over. While window designing had its perks, it was painting that I loved. Portraits, I was good at. But my own pieces? Ugh, it simply refused to go the way I wanted. They remained too dark, underdeveloped, no matter how hard I tried to infuse a lighter feel. But hey, a model was news, right? With the parties and crowds they moved in, I mentally crossed my fingers and prayed this was it—the break I needed, even if it was painting faces.
“Ila?” Kate floated in, wearing impossibly high heels, adding more inches to her already towering six-foot height. She frowned at Pierre. The woman was notoriously possessive of her men. “What are you doing here?”
“Saying hello to Ila,” he answered calmly.
Yep, extremely possessive. But she didn’t slip her arm around his waist like she normally did. Instead, she studied the scene taking shape. “Good.” Then she ushered Pierre out of my work space.
Several minutes later, as I arranged the mannequins that I’d dressed in rich fabrics and intricately brocaded evening wear against the sunset backdrop, a door slammed elsewhere. Angry footsteps sounded.
Curious, I peered around the partition. At Pierre’s thunderous expression, I knew.
The poor guy.
Kate, it seemed, had finally tired of her latest boy toy. None lasted more than a few months. Sometimes, I wondered if Kate walked first so she wouldn’t be the one hurting when the guy left.
Heck, who was I to point fingers when I couldn’t save my own relationship?
My chest tightened as old pain shimmered awake. Devyn had accused me of spending too much time worrying about my job, my family, and then he’d broken my heart into unhealable fragments when I’d caught him with his pants down. I would never put myself through such torment again.
And here I had a date with Max—adate, really?
How I’d landed myself in this situation, I had no idea. Oh, wait, I’d walked into this one. Seriously, I couldn’t see how he’d know anything or be able to help with two rambunctious three-year-olds. A smile took over. It would be something to see the hardass fall on his sexy backside.
***
