All That Sparkles: The Texan Quartet (19 page)

She forced herself to move forward and put the keys to the house on the desk in front of him.

He didn’t touch them.

“I’ll be staying with Piper for a few days and then I’ll move into my own house.” She put the piece of paper where she’d written the address in front of him.

He stayed silent. It was as if he’d turned to wax.

Was this the treatment she deserved after a lifetime of obedience? The hurt outweighed the anger.

“Papa, you’ve truly disappointed me,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “I love you and you’ve always been there for me, but the first time I want to exert my independence you shut me out.

“I know you loved Mama, I know you still grieve for her and I know her family said some horrid things to you, but that doesn’t give you the right to keep their existence a secret from me.” She embraced her sorrow. “I may not have known better at the time, but as a child I was desperate for cousins I could play with. I can only imagine the mischief Cece, Sophie and I would have got up to in my tree house.”

Her father continued to stare at her, unblinking.

The anger stirred. “I hope it won’t take you thirty years to talk to me again.” She turned and walked out of her childhood home, her heart cracking as she did so.

Imogen walked in to work the next morning as uptight as if she was walking into a minefield. After her father’s lack of response yesterday, she wasn’t sure how he was going to behave today, in front of all of his staff.

She slipped into her office and stopped still, her heartbeat speeding up.

There was a box on her desk and everything else was spotlessly clean. There were no coats on the coat rack, no papers on her desk, and the few little mementos she’d had on her shelves were gone.

Taking a breath to prepare herself, she walked over and peered in the box. All of her things were in there.

There was a knock on her door and Imogen turned to Abigail. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Abigail blinked. “Your father said you’d found another job and asked me to pack your things for you.”

Imogen’s legs went weak so she leaned up against her desk. “When did he ask?”

“Yesterday evening.” Abigail hesitated and then asked, “Is everything all right?”

No, it wasn’t, but she didn’t want to drag Abigail into it. “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting Papa to be so quick,” she said with a smile. She walked over to Abigail and held out a hand. “It was lovely working with you.”

“Same here.”

Imogen walked back and took the box off the desk.

“Imogen, if there’s anything I can do to help …”

Imogen suspected Abigail knew what was going on, but she wouldn’t be able to help Imogen without upsetting Remy.

“Thank you for the offer.” Imogen walked out the door, carrying her box of possessions. Jacques’s look of shock when he saw her made her pause. “Looks like you might get to go to one of those shows, Jacques,” she said and continued on her way, out of the door and to her car. Keeping herself on autopilot, not allowing herself to feel or think, she drove back to Piper’s place. Luckily Piper had already gone for the day.

She carried her box of possessions inside, put them on the kitchen table, made herself a cup of tea and sat down.

Then she allowed herself to think. To feel.

Her father had disowned her.

After decades of talking about his undying love and support for her, he’d turned on her the first time she’d done something he didn’t agree with.

She’d been expecting sorrow, she’d been expecting tears, but when the emotion came through, all she felt was anger.

Red-hot burning anger.

The intensity of it scared her.

She’d loved her father unconditionally all of her life, given in to him time and time again, accepted he knew best for her, even when she’d disagreed. And it had all been for nothing.

She’d thought he’d loved her the same way but there were conditions on his love. She had to dress his way, design his way, live where he chose, date who he chose, socialize with whom he deemed appropriate.

And only then would he love her.

Well to hell with him.

He could love her as she was, as she wanted to be, or not at all.

She had other family now: people who’d loved her instantly for who she was. She had wonderful friends. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him.

Just like he didn’t want her.

Her angry walls came crashing down and the tears flooded out.

*

It took until midday for Imogen to recover from her crying jag. When she had no more tears, she’d crawled into bed and slept until her stomach woke her complaining of hunger.

Though the last thing she felt like doing was eating, she opened a packet of nuts and sat down to contemplate her life.

She had a house, even if it wasn’t quite livable. She should get the keys by the end of the week and she still had the money to do the renovations. What she didn’t have was a job.

Now her father had disowned her, she could continue with her plans to build her own label, but it was going to take time and money, perhaps more than she could spare now she was unemployed. Of course, there was nothing stopping her from getting a job.

Her father had already told Abigail she had one so no one would be surprised to find her working somewhere else. With that in mind, she gave Simon a call.

“Imogen, to what do I owe this honor?” Simon asked when he answered.

Imogen bit her lip. She should have considered how to phrase it before she’d called him. “Is anyone hiring at the moment?”

“Hiring? You know someone who wants a job?” he asked.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Me.”

There was deathly silence. “What happened, pet?” Simon finally asked.

She kept her voice light. “You were right. Tour de Force doesn’t need me and it’s time to try something a bit different.”

“Why not your own label?”

“I’ll do that eventually, but I need something to keep the money coming in.”

Simon was intelligent. He could read between the lines. “Did you have an argument with your father?”

Imogen sighed. “Sort of.” She didn’t want to tell him details. “Do you know of any vacancies?”

“Chantelle was telling me the other night she wants to hire a production manager. She’s grown to the stage where she can’t do it all.”

Imogen closed her eyes in relief. She would enjoy working with Chantelle, if the job was still available. “Thanks, Simon. I’ll give her a call.”

“You tell me if you need any help, pet. And when you start your label, you come to me and I’ll put you in contact with all my suppliers.”

“I will,” Imogen promised. She hung up. She wasn’t alone in the world. She had plenty of people who cared for her. She needed to remember that.

She dialed Chantelle’s number and crossed her fingers.

*

By the time she hung up, Imogen felt a whole lot lighter. She was starting at Chantelle Vision in the morning.

Her phone rang. It was Christian.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. How was your father this morning?” he asked.

“He fired me,” Imogen said and was able to laugh at Christian’s exclamation. She explained what had happened. “I’m all right. I’ve already found another job. I’m going to be Chantelle Vision’s production manager.”

“I knew the woman had good business sense,” Christian said. “I’m not sure what time I’ll be finished tonight,” he said. “Do you want me to come around afterward?”

She wanted to see him, but it wouldn’t be fair on Piper if he came around late. She didn’t want to take advantage of her friend’s hospitality. “I’m fine. I think I’ll have an early one. I’m pretty exhausted.”

“All right. Call me if you need me.” He hung up.

Imogen ended the call and fired up her laptop. She wanted to review her business plan and check if Hank had sent through her house designs yet.

To her excitement, he had. He must have been working on them all weekend. She made a note to send him something in appreciation.

She needed every boost she could get.

Examining the floor plan from every angle, she considered how she wanted to use the rooms, where she needed additional power, and planned a little for the future, for if she should ever have children. Yesterday, when she’d dropped her boxes at George’s house, he’d shown her around and explained all the extras he’d put in – things people often forgot about; plenty of power points in the theater room, or in her case the sewing room; LED lighting, network connections and outdoor power. She’d made notes of the things she liked, glad of his advice. Then she sketched up how she wanted her sewing room to be set out and what furniture she would need for it.

While she was thinking about that, she wrote a list of the minimum furniture she would need for the whole house.

There was a lot.

She was going to have to be careful with what she bought, because she now seriously needed to think about setting up her own label. It was a strange feeling. For the first time in her life she had to consider her budget. She’d been incredibly privileged until now.

Luckily Imogen and Piper had discovered some great thrift shops and consignment stores around the city when Piper had first moved out.

After finishing her list, Imogen arranged a meeting with Hank during the week to discuss the materials she wanted in her bathrooms and kitchen.

Then she turned to her business plan.

It had been a while since she’d read it. She would be clear about her future with Chantelle. It wouldn’t be fair to be working on her own label and leave her friend in the lurch when she was ready to launch, but Imogen was fairly confident the older woman would be supportive.

She examined her male and female lines. Without her father’s financial backing there was no way she could do both at once. It made sense to concentrate on the male line. Adrian and Kent wearing the clothing was a big deal.
Get the look of the rock star without the cost
. It made smarter business sense. But Chantelle Vision was all about men’s clothing and that would mean going into competition with the woman who was helping her out. Though Imogen’s range wouldn’t be focussing on the high end of fashion like Chantelle’s did.

Imogen sighed. It was difficult. She had to talk to Chantelle and perhaps concentrate on women’s clothing.

Whatever happened she was determined to move forward with her life.

And be a success.

*

The week flew by for Imogen. It didn’t take her long to settle in at Chantelle Vision. There were only the two of them in the small warehouse the label rented. Imogen had always known Chantelle was a savvy businesswoman and she was impressed by the level of organization and professionalism. Everything was filed and correctly set up and there were documents outlining exactly what needed to be done in each stage of the process.

Chantelle had some great contacts in the manufacturing industry and Imogen was able to use some of her own as well.

On Wednesday Imogen collected the keys to her house. In celebration of the event she invited everyone around for pizza dinner on the floor. She’d already arranged for the utilities to be turned on so they had electricity and water, if no other creature comforts.

Chantelle had declined the invitation but had allowed Imogen to leave work early in order to pick up the keys and arrange dinner.

Imogen pulled in to her driveway and sat there for a while. This was her house, this was her driveway, all of this was hers.

The giddiness bubbled up and out of her as she giggled and hugged herself. Getting out of the car, she noticed one of her neighbors arriving home from work. She waved and then waited as the woman walked over to her.

“Hiya. Are you our new neighbor?” The woman was in her forties, had thick, short, brown hair and was wearing a gray skirt suit.

“Yes. I’m Imogen.”

“Natalie. Pleased to meet you. You’ve got your work cut out for you with that place. Or are you going to knock it down?”

Imogen was horrified. “Of course not. My house is beautiful.”

“Glad to hear it. It would be a shame for her to go. Old Mrs. Smithers loved that place and hated the fact it was falling down around her.”

“I’ll do my best to bring it back to life.”

“You got any family?”

Imogen’s heart twinged. “I have some friends who are going to help.”

The woman smiled. “Well, good luck to you. I’ll see you around.”

Imogen unlocked the front door, her smile getting bigger as the lock clunked open. Then she pushed open the door into her home.

The smell was a combination of cleaning products. Imogen inhaled it. Her house would smell like a lot of other things until it was ready for occupancy. She walked in, the floorboards giving the occasional groan or squeak as she walked along them. She moved up the stairs, running her hand over the banister as she climbed. This was all hers. Every square inch.

She would make it a home.

Her home.

Where everyone would be welcome.

A knock came from downstairs. “Imogen, you in here?” Piper’s voice.

“I’m upstairs,” she called down and Piper soon joined her.

“How are you feeling?” Piper asked.

“Happy. Sad. Excited.”

Piper nodded in understanding. “This place is going to be wonderful when you’re finished,” she said.

Imogen smiled. She hoped so.

“Wow! Check out this place.” Kate’s voice came floating up from downstairs.

Imogen shared a grin with Piper. “Let’s go down and show the others,” she said.

*

George had arrived right behind Libby, Adrian and Kate, so Imogen took them on a grand tour of the house and garden.

“Dad said you’d got a steal and he was right,” George said. “This place will be great when you’ve done her up.”

Imogen beamed at him.

“When are you going to start?” Adrian asked.

She didn’t want to rely on Piper for too long. “This weekend.”

“We going to have a demolition party?” George asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

Imogen hesitated. “I don’t feel right asking people to come and do so much work.”

“Nonsense,” Piper said. “We all want to.”

“You made all my wedding dresses for nothing,” Libby said. “I’d love to be able to do something to help you in return.”

Imogen didn’t think it was quite the same thing. She’d been doing something she loved to do making the dresses. This would be a whole lot of hard work.

“I’ll borrow some of Dad’s gear and we should be set,” George said. “A weekend of demolition.”

The others were nodding their heads. Giving in, and relieved her friends were so understanding she said, “That would be great.”

Her cell rang and she answered it.

“Imi, I’m so sorry. I’m still at work.” It was Christian.

She could hear the stress in his voice. “It’s all right. Do you think you’ll make it for dinner?”

“No.” He sighed. “I’ve got a brief to prepare for tomorrow. But I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”

Imogen couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment. This was a big moment in her life and he wasn’t here for it. But then he had been there when she’d decided to buy. She had to understand the demands of his job. “I’ll see you then.”

She ordered pizza and when it was delivered they spread out picnic rugs on what would be the dining-room floor and ate and talked.

Imogen showed them her plans and they made up a list of things to do on the weekend.