All That Sparkles: The Texan Quartet (15 page)

All he could focus on was her lips.

Imogen caught him staring at her. “You want to taste it?”

The
it
he was thinking of was not the cookie. “Sure.”

She fed him a spoonful and she was right: it was good. But as she savored every mouthful, his attention was not on the food.

When she was finished he said, “You ready to go?”

She seemed surprised by his rush.

“We can go back to my place,” he said, and she realized what he meant.

She grinned. “Shall we?”

He hoped so.

*

It was after dark when Christian dropped Imogen off at the chateau. There was no sense in staying at his place because she didn’t have a car to get her home in the morning.

He didn’t come in. “If I come in, I’ll stay and I need to be at work early for a brief,” he said after he’d kissed her until she was breathless.

She wanted him to stay but he was right. It wasn’t fair of her to ask him to fight the morning traffic to get to his apartment and then to the office.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He kissed her again and then got into his car and drove off.

Imogen walked up the steps and into her house.

Apart from the surprise start, it had been a perfect day. She put on the kettle and while waiting for it to boil she had a shower. She slipped into some flannelette pajama bottoms and a singlet. Then she headed for the kitchen to make her coffee.

As she sat down with her mug there was a knock on the kitchen door. She knew who it would be. It was very late for him to be coming around.

“Come in, Papa.”

“I am glad you are alone.”

He meant he was glad Christian wasn’t there but part of Imogen couldn’t help asking whether he didn’t want her to have anyone ever.

“Papa, who I choose to spend my time with is none of your business.” She really didn’t want to go into this, not after the wonderful day she’d had, but it needed to be said.

“While you live under my roof, you need to respect my wishes.”

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps in some small way she was being disrespectful. She debated for a minute whether she should tell him. Now was as good a time as any.

“Then it’s just as well I’ve bought a house.”

“What? When?” Her father took a step back.

“Yesterday. It is time I got my own place and I found a wonderful 1920s house.”

“You did not think to ask my opinion?”

No, she hadn’t. And she was pretty sure if she had, he wouldn’t have seen past all the work that needed to be done. “I fell in love with it,” she said honestly.

“Then you have probably wasted your money. You must show it to me tomorrow so I can check it.”

“No, Papa. It’s too late. I’ve signed the paperwork. But I did have a builder look it over for me to make sure it was structurally sound.”

“Who is this builder?”

“He’s George’s father. I met him at Adrian and Libby’s wedding.”

Her father frowned and then said, “George was the groomsman?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know he is trustworthy?”

Imogen sighed. “Papa, he owns one of the biggest private building companies in Houston. He knows his stuff.”

“I still wish to view it.”

“It needs a lot of work. I don’t want you to see it until I’ve had a chance to do it up.”

“And so when it is ready, you will leave me?”

Imogen was hoping he wouldn’t ask about that. “It will still be a few months before it will be ready,” she said and then took a deep breath. “And then I will move out of your guesthouse.”

“But this is your house, your home.”

“That’s not what you said this morning.” The words snapped out before she could stop them. She didn’t deserve these manipulations.

He glanced away. “I was shocked this morning.”

She was certain he had been, but that didn’t excuse it. “Then I suggest you don’t enter the guesthouse without permission in future.”

Her father looked down at the ground but she refused to feel sorry for him. “Chateau Fontaine will always be home, Papa.” She took his hand, ready to lead him to the door. “But I’m twenty-nine years old. It’s time I became independent.”

“You are already very independent. You come and go as you please.”

And you track every visitor I have.

“Papa, this is important to me. Please be happy for me.” It was a simple request. She didn’t cajole, she wouldn’t stoop to his level.

He scowled at her but there was no heat in it. “I could never say no to you.”

There was no point refuting his statement.

“But,” he added, “I insist you show me your house tomorrow.”

Imogen squeezed his hand. “I’ll show you my house when I get the keys for it. That way you can see inside as well as outside.”

“You win!” He threw his hands up in the air. “Now it is late and I must get to sleep. Good night,
ma bichette
.”

“Good night, Papa.”

She waited until he was out of sight before she let out a breath and slumped over the table. She felt as queasy as she had on the rollercoaster, without all the fun. It was exhausting talking to her father, but at least she’d won the first battle. She would worry about the next one when it came.

Right now she agreed with her father. It was late and she wanted sleep.

The first thing Imogen did the next morning was ring her bank and arrange for a cashier’s check. Then she rang Hank and sorted out a time he could meet her at her house to review what she wanted to do. Nancy had told her she was available at any time so Imogen arranged the meeting on Thursday afternoon and cleared a place in her diary.

With that done, she collected her notes and went to the morning meeting.

She was the first one there so she turned on the computer and got the room set up. Her father, Jacques, Abigail and Derek filed in about five minutes later.

“What are we all doing this week?” Remy asked.

They each went around the room discussing the high-priority items for the coming week.

“I have decided this year we should attend a few of the smaller fashion weeks around the world,” Remy said when they were done.

Imogen frowned. Her father had never been interested in any of the fashion shows aside from Paris, Milan, London and New York.

“There is an opportunity to expand to more markets and meet more people.”

Did it mean Tour de Force was not doing as well financially as they used to? The one area of the business she didn’t have much to do with was the final yearly figures.

“An excellent idea, Remy,” Jacques said. “Will you send us each to a different city?”

“No. I believe Imogen is capable of this task. There are a number of shows in May and if I send one person, she can spend the month going to all of them.”

Imogen ignored the dirty look Jacques gave her. The idea of going to a range of shows was exciting, but she didn’t want to be away for a whole month. She’d just bought a house, and she wanted to spend more time with Christian. Her thoughts stopped. Maybe that was it. Maybe her father was trying to get her away from Christian.

“Papa, perhaps it would be better if we all went. Each person will view things from a different perspective. It would give us a wider range of ideas, maybe even for the next season’s line.”

“Pah,” her father spat. “We do not get inspiration from other people’s designs. We are our own inspiration.”

“Then Abigail – ”

“
Ça suffit
,” her father said, holding up a hand. “I will give you the list of shows you will attend and you can arrange your airfares and accommodation.”

Remy adjourned the meeting and left the room, with Abigail and Derek quickly following.

Imogen sighed and gathered up her notes. She would try again later. As much as she relished the opportunity, she had to be here to oversee her home renovations and she wanted the others at Tour de Force to share in the experience.

“It’s always Papa’s little doe who gets everything.”

Imogen glanced up. Jacques was still in the room and the look he directed at her was vicious.

“Jacques, I tried to change his mind.”

“It doesn’t matter. You will always get everything. The best opportunities, the highest pay, the least amount of work. You do realize you’re not needed here, don’t you? You don’t add anything to the production of Tour de Force; in fact you slow it down. All because Papa’s little doe needs a job and is too lazy to go out and find her own.”

Imogen gaped at him, the words piercing her head.

“You’d better find a way to share the trip because it was my idea and I deserve to go.” Jacques turned to go.

“Wait a darn minute.” Imogen grabbed his arm to stop him leaving, anger bubbling up inside her. She was tired of his attitude. “I work my butt off for this company doing the jobs
you
don’t want to do. Someone has to check the orders, arrange shows, order fabrics, and if I didn’t do it, you'd have to.” He had no idea how frustrated she was at not having the freedom to do what she wanted. It was like being trapped in a cage that everyone mistook for a palace.

Jacques was staring at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“Yes, Papa gives me opportunities – he wants me to take over when he retires. So if you have a problem with that, you go talk to him.” She clenched her shaking hands together. “It’s past time you knocked that chip off your shoulder.” She walked out the door.

With frustration still humming in her veins she strode to her office, shutting and locking the door behind her. Then she sank into her chair.

She shouldn’t have let Jacques’s words get to her. She knew he didn’t like her, but his comments came at a time when she’d had enough of everything.

His words echoed something Simon had said to her at the charity event.
“You’re not needed.”

It was true.

She wasn’t really contributing anything special to the business. Sure her job was important – she did a myriad of things that others didn’t want to do, things that needed to be done – but it didn’t necessarily need to be done by her. None of her designs were suitable and they were the only thing she could offer that no one else could.

The only reason she was still there was her father. He always insisted she was vital to the company and she’d never really stopped to question it.

Opening her calendar, she checked her schedule for the day. She had to order fabric, check on the samples, call and confirm Tour de Force’s attendance at a few events and look after the new intern who was starting that week.

But really any administrative assistant could do that.

She checked her calendar for Tuesday and then Wednesday and then the rest of the week.

Jacques was right. What she really was was an over-paid administrative assistant.

But how could she leave? Papa was determined for her to take over one day.

The thought of having to ignore her own dreams just added to her frustration.

How could she explain it to Remy? How could she tell him she didn’t want the business he’d built up? It would devastate him.

She shook her head and sighed. She couldn’t keep putting her life on hold for him. The house was the first step, and this would be the next.

She just needed to figure out how to tell him.

*

Imogen still hadn’t decided what to do by Wednesday when Piper rang. “I’m in the neighborhood and hope you might be free for lunch.”

Imogen desperately wanted to talk to someone. Christian hadn’t called on Monday as he’d promised, so she had called him and left a message on his cell phone. He’d not returned it. She hadn’t wanted to appear needy so after that she’d just sent him a breezy email – again, no response.

He’d had a busy week scheduled but surely he could have managed to reply to an email or send a text.

That was if he was still interested in her.

Her words to her father echoed in her head.
That’s not all he’s interested in.
But perhaps it had been just sex for Christian. Perhaps spending a day at the Kemah Boardwalk had been too immature for him. Perhaps he’d got what he wanted and moved on.

“I’ll meet you downstairs in five.” She hung up the phone, grabbed her coat and went to meet her friend.

“What’s new?” Piper asked as they sat at their usual restaurant. Piper had been away for a week with her family so Imogen hadn’t seen her.

Imogen grimaced. “I bought a house, slept with Christian, my father found us in bed together and on Monday I realized I don’t like my job.” Despite her turmoil, she couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t often she surprised Piper.

Finally Piper shook her head and said, “Okay. Let’s take this one thing at a time, in order. You bought a house.”

“Yes. A real renovator’s delight.”

“You’re going to be renovating? Honey, I don’t mean to be negative, but I’ve never seen you even pick up a screwdriver.”

Imogen laughed. “I can learn, and Hank and Christian have both agreed to help.”

“Hank as in George’s father?”

Imogen nodded. “He checked the house before I bought it.”

“Okay. That’s good. Next point. You slept with Christian. Good for you. But your father walked in on you? I’m not sure which one of you would be more scarred from that.”

“Well, he woke us up.” She explained what happened.

Piper laughed. “If Christian didn’t run from that experience, you know he’s a keeper.”

Imogen said nothing. Maybe that was the issue. Her father.

“He didn’t run, did he?” Piper looked incredulous.

“I haven’t heard from him all week, and yes, I have tried to call him.”

Piper frowned. “Maybe he’s been busy.” She was trying to be hopeful but it looked bad.

Maybe they’d both misread him.

Piper changed the subject, putting her journalist face on. “What’s this about you not liking your job?”

“I realized on Monday I’m sick of the Tour de Force brand. I don’t have any freedom to do my designs or choose the fabrics I like. As it stands, I’m a well-paid administrative assistant.”

“Honey, we all have days when we think all we do is administration.”

“No, I mean there is actually nothing I do that an assistant couldn’t. The only reason I get paid so well is because my father owns the company.”

Piper watched her. “Take me through it.”

It was the way Piper worked: she needed to go through each step logically, examining it before moving to the next step. It was one of the reasons she was such a great journalist – because she was so thorough, she noticed things other people missed.

When Imogen was finished Piper’s expression was sad. “I’m sorry, honey. I have to agree with you.”

Part of Imogen was relieved that someone else could see what she’d only now realized, and part of her was just plain sad. “Have I wasted the last ten years of my life?”

“No way.” Piper’s answer was instantaneous. “Think of everything you’ve learned being with Tour de Force. You know the business inside and out. Why do you think you wrote such a damn good business plan? Think of the time as training for your own label.”

Was Piper right? Imogen thought about all of the interns they had through Tour de Force, thought about people like Simon who had told her again and again what value they’d gained from their time with the company.

Perhaps she’d had the best internship of anyone, ever.

“Then why did Papa make such a big fuss about me creating my own label?”

Piper hesitated. “I might have an answer for you.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve been doing some digging into your mother’s side of the family,” she said.

Imogen closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear this yet. Not with everything else that had happened lately.

“Is it bad?”

“It depends on how you look at it.”

Imogen made her decision. “Don’t tell me now. I have to go back to work this afternoon.” Her father had to be involved, and she was having enough difficulty keeping her thoughts to herself at work. She did not want to make a scene.

Piper nodded in understanding. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’m meeting Hank at my house at four to go over plans but I’ll be free after that.”

“This is your new house?” Piper asked.

“Yes.”

Piper grinned. “Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

Imogen blinked.

“What? You didn’t think I would jump at the first opportunity to check out your new digs, did you?”

Imogen laughed. “No, I guess not.”

Feeling a lot better about the whole situation, she went back to work.

*

On Thursday Imogen left work early and arrived at her new house at the same time as Nancy, who opened it up.

She stood at the front verge, feeling the same warm tug of emotion she had when she’d first seen it. She got out the notebook she’d brought with her and started writing.

The picket fence had a dozen or so palings missing and some were hanging on by a nail. The whole thing needed a decent coat of paint. There were some shrubs in the front yard which might be pruned back into life, but what was left of the lawn had mostly turned to weeds. She’d give Mr. Barker a call and get him in to do an evaluation of both the front and back yards. It would be great to watch him work again.

Examining the front of the house she decided the whole thing needed a new coat of paint. Some of the porch also needed to be repaired. As she was writing it down a car pulled up in the driveway.

“Holy hell, Imogen. You bought this place?”

Imogen laughed at the disbelief in Piper’s voice.

“You should have said demolition delight not renovation delight.”

Knowing her friend was mostly kidding, Imogen said, “It’s got good bones.”

Hank pulled up behind Piper and got out.

“Sorry I’m late. Got held up at the last job of the day.”

Imogen smiled at him. “That’s no problem. I was making notes about what needs to be done.”

Piper muttered something about nothing a wrecking ball wouldn’t fix, but Imogen ignored her. She introduced her to Nancy who was waiting on the front porch.

“The cleaning crew is due tomorrow,” Nancy said.

Imogen didn’t care how it looked. She entered her house.

Her heart beat a little faster. This was hers. Every square inch of it was for her to do exactly as she pleased. Walking through it again slowly, she sketched the floor plan out on her notebook. Hank showed her the things she would need to do in order to make it livable again.

“These rooms here don’t need more than sanding and painting,” he said of four of the five bedrooms.

“Could we knock out that wall and make those two into a big bedroom?” she asked him, pointing at the wall she meant.

He went over and examined it, checked the ceiling. “Doesn’t appear to be load bearing. I’ll have to get up in the roof to check, but if it isn’t, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

They discussed the upstairs bathroom and Hank measured its dimensions, marking up where the plumbing and electrical points were. Imogen wanted to keep the huge bathtub but the rest of it needed gutting. She drew a quick sketch at how she wanted the layout.

Hank nodded. “If you change that to there,” he pointed, “you’ll have more space and you won’t need to move the pipes.”

Imogen grinned. Hank was a gem.

Downstairs she checked about knocking out the wall between the formal dining and living area and then explained her vision for the kitchen, which included enlarging the windows so there was a better view of the garden.