All That Sparkles: The Texan Quartet (3 page)

Instead she took a long shower and climbed into bed with her sketchbook. This was her guilty pleasure, sketching clothing ideas more suited to the street than to the runway. When she’d put enough good designs together, she would pitch the idea to her father and he would let her develop her own line of clothing, allowing everyone to have the kind of style and trend that were usually unaffordable. Adding it to the Tour de Force range would give it instant brand recognition and she was sure it would be a success.

She just had to convince her father of it.

So far, whenever she’d brought up the idea of branching out, her father had laughed and waved her off. The next time she suggested it, she’d have a full business plan and proposal to back her up.

Happy to have something to focus on other than Christian, she worked until late.

*

The next week started much like the week before had ended—with Imogen running late. She really had to learn to say no to people, but Lacey always helped
her
when she needed it. By the time she’d finished hand-stitching lace on the latest haute couture outfit she was so stressed about being late that she had to take a second to calm herself before she hurried into the room where the weekly meeting was already underway. She mouthed ‘sorry’ to her father and slid into the empty seat at the back of the room. Jacques smirked at her from the other side of the table but she ignored him and concentrated on what her father was saying.

He was reviewing the previous month’s sales figures. They weren’t as good as the previous month; in fact they’d dropped significantly. It was good the Fall/Winter fashion show was right around the corner and that starlet Nikki Jameson had worn a Tour de Force dress to the Oscars.

Remy went through the usual items on the agenda before he raised the subject of the next year’s fall collection.

“We need something really outstanding. Something that is fresh and new.” Remy looked around the room at the people in there. “I think it is time to give Imogen a chance to be head designer on a collection.”

Imogen gasped as her father beamed at her. She glanced around the room to be met with a killer glare from Jacques, who had designed that year’s collection, a surprised expression from Abigail, who was the production manager, and a big grin from Derek, who made the patterns and toiles. This was not going to endear her to those aiming for a spot in Remy’s inner circle, but she couldn’t prevent the rush of excitement through her body. Papa had seen her wedding dress design and maybe he’d changed his mind, decided her changes were the way Tour de Force should be headed. This was her opportunity to finally show him what she could do.

“Abigail and Jacques will of course be consultants and designers on the project as well.” He turned to his daughter. “I expect great things from you,
ma bichette
.”

Imogen smiled, but cringed on the inside. She hated when her father used her pet name in the office. It made everyone so much more aware that she was his daughter and she had enough trouble avoiding the jealousies. She picked up her notebook as the meeting ended and everyone left the room.

“What do you think,
ma bichette?
Are you up for the task?” her father teased.

“Of course. I’ve got some great ideas for fall.”

“Wonderful. I shall expect to review the first concepts next week.” He patted her hand and walked out of the room.

Imogen headed around the corner to her office to plan. She’d hoped to catch Abigail and Jacques but they had disappeared, so she sent them a meeting invite for tomorrow to discuss their suggestions. She wanted to make sure they had their say and were able to offer their opinions. Then with her head spinning with ideas she shut the door and drew.

*

Imogen had arranged the meeting for mid-afternoon to give Jacques time to get his notes in order. She’d arranged afternoon tea and booked a meeting room rather than hold it in her office, knowing Jacques at least would view it as a territory issue.

Making sure she arrived early, she arranged her designs on the board ready to show when the time was right.

Abigail greeted her politely and set her notebook on the table. She was closer to her father’s age than Imogen’s and they had a respectful business relationship.

“Help yourself to a muffin,” Imogen told her and checked her watch. Jacques was late.

She didn’t want to start without him.

The two of them sat in silence, eating the muffins while they waited for Jacques. Jacques sauntered in ten minutes late, and grabbed a muffin. “Sorry,
darling.
It’s been one of those days. I’m
dying
to see what you have to show us.”

“Jacques you might not have anything better to do, but I certainly do,” Abigail said.

He shrugged. “I thought you’d begin without me.”

Imogen squirmed. The rule at Tour de Force was meetings started on time no matter if people were late but Imogen hadn’t seen the point without Jacques. She hadn’t considered she was wasting Abigail’s time.

Jacques hadn’t brought anything with him. “Where are your ideas, Jacques?”

“Oh, shoot. I knew I forgot something. They’re down in my office. Why don’t we view your designs since you’re ready to go?” He indicated the display board.

Imogen hesitated. She’d wanted to see the other ideas first, explain how she wanted to tone down some of the ultra-quirky to a more acceptable range. She took a deep breath to calm the nerves ping-ponging in her stomach.

“All right. Remy wants fresh and new. I’ve taken a slightly different approach from normal and I’d value your feedback.” She took the cover off her first design and started to talk.

When she got to the end of the presentation there was silence for a long time. Abigail appeared to be considering something but Jacques had a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Do you want to ruin the brand?” he asked, his voice pitched high and incredulous.

Imogen blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Tour de Force is the number-one haute couture and pret-a-porter label in the world. We are color, we are quirky, we are different.” He waved a hand at her designs. “These are incredibly dull. This is what other designers with no imagination would come up with. This is not Tour de Force.” He stood. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. Your father will never approve any of that.” He walked out of the room.

Imogen stared after him in shock. He didn’t like her, sure, but she never would have expected him to put down her designs so cruelly in front of another staff member. She swallowed and turned to Abigail.

“He is right about one thing,” the older woman said. “Remy will not approve those for Tour de Force.” Her tone was gentle. “You know that, Imogen. You know what Tour de Force is all about. This – ” she pointed to the boards “ – is not it.”

Imogen opened her mouth to speak.

“But,” Abigail continued, “it is
good.
In actual fact I think those are some of the freshest designs I’ve seen in a long time. You should be proud of your work.”

Imogen shut her mouth with a snap. Abigail was not the type to say things she didn’t mean.

“I suggest you talk to your father before next week’s meeting. Show him your designs and tell him what you want to do. He may have a different outlet for you.”

Imogen considered her advice. If she got the same reaction from her father in the weekly meeting that she’d got from Jacques, it would be horrific. She nodded. “Thank you for your advice.” She ended the meeting and Abigail left.

Imogen lowered her head onto the table. Was Abigail right? Would her father reject her designs, or did he
really
want something new and fresh? There was only one way to find out. She had to ask him.

Pushing to her feet, she gathered her designs and walked back toward her office. There was still a mountain of things she had to do today but she had no energy with which to do it. She needed to get this sorted first.

She detoured upstairs to her father’s domain. He sat behind his large oak desk, pencil in hand, sketching on the notepad in front of him. Imogen stood at the doorway for a moment to study him. His hair was more gray than brown these days, but that was the only way you would be able to tell he was in his seventies. His face had very few lines and his body was that of a fit fifty-year-old. As usual he wore one of his own designs: a shirt with more colors than a rainbow.

She tapped on the door.

“
Entrez
.” He kept sketching as Imogen walked into the room.

She waited until he looked up. “
Ma bichette
. Have you some designs for me?” he asked, indicating the portfolio she carried.

“Yes, Papa.” She hesitated. “They are different from Tour de Force’s normal designs.”

“Different can be good,” he said, putting down his pencil and giving her his full attention.

It was one thing Imogen loved about her father, one thing he was admired for by others: when you got his attention, you had his full attention. Right now that wasn’t very comforting though.

Imogen paused before she opened the folder. “You will be honest with me, Papa? If they are no good, then I need to know, so I can improve.”

“Of course, Imogen. I will always tell you the truth.”

Imogen flipped over the folder and waited while her father examined the designs, one by one. Finally he glanced up, confusion on his face. “These designs are not seriously for next fall’s collection?”

The hope fluttering nervously in her stomach went splat.

“You said you wanted something new, something fresh.”

“New and fresh, yes, but boring, no.” He picked up a drawing. “Where is the flair, where is the color, where is the
Tour de Force
? This may be suitable for the average person but our customers are not your average person. Our clients want special, they want spectacular, they want pizazz.”

Which meant her designs were none of that.

Regrouping, she asked, “What about if we create a new line – something affordable for the average person – these designs could be used that way.”

She might have told her father she wanted to move to the moon for the reaction he gave her.

“The average person?” he repeated. “We do not deal with the average person. We make art, for people who appreciate it!” His voice rose in volume and lost some of its French cadence.

Imogen stared at her father’s reddening face. “You won’t consider a new line?”

His mouth set in a grim line. “No. Tour de Force is about people who can afford us. They do not want something anyone can have. We will not be doing a line for the
average
person.” His mouth twisted in distaste.

Imogen’s and her dreams tumbled down like a child’s building blocks. “But – ”

“I will have no more talk of it.” He closed the folder and pushed it away from him. “If this is the best you can do, I shall make Jacques head designer for the collection.”

Imogen stared at him, astounded by his refusal to listen to her. She drew her folder to her. This was what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to design things that were ridiculous for the sake of it; she wanted to do real things.

Making her decision she stood. “I’ll tell Jacques he’s been promoted.”

Her father gaped at her. Imogen turned and left the room. Nausea rolled in her stomach but she was determined not to run to the toilet to be sick.

She wouldn’t give in to the disappointment.

She just had to get it under control.

Imogen spent the weekend drafting a business plan. It was obvious her father wasn’t going to let her have the opportunity she wanted, so she would have to make it herself.

The more she wrote, the more daunting the idea became. It wasn’t just about designing clothing, it was about making sure those designs could be transferred to pattern, about sourcing the right fabrics and factories to make the clothing, finding shops who would agree to stock her label and working out how much the setup of the business was going to cost.

The idea terrified her.

She would be announcing herself to the world, saying, ‘here I am’ and everyone would compare her to her father. They had such different styles. Would her designs be enough to keep people interested past the initial gawking stage?

Abigail had said they were good, but she was one person. Imogen really wanted to have others review them. If no one else liked the designs there was no point going forward. Before she could talk herself out of it, she dialed Piper’s number.

“Hi, I was about to call you,” Piper said after Imogen had said hello. “Libby’s invited us around for dinner. Do you want to come?”

Imogen wanted to show her designs to Libby and Piper and if Adrian was there, she could get a male perspective as well. “Sure. There’s something I want to ask your opinion about.”

“Sounds very mysterious. What is it?”

Imogen hesitated. “I can’t explain over the phone, I need to show you.”

“You’re going to keep me in suspense all afternoon?”

Imogen laughed at Piper’s mock outrage. “You’ll live.”

“All right. I’ll meet you there about six.”

Imogen hung up the phone and tucked her designs back into her portfolio holder and put her business plan notes together in a binder. It was far from finished but the bones were there. She swallowed down her nausea. Everything would be fine.

Her friends would be truthful but kind in their comments even if they didn’t like the designs.

But if she was going to dinner, she wanted to get Kate’s flower-girl dress completed. Walking into her sewing room was like walking into her own comfortable lair. This was where she could create, this was where she had no restrictions, this was her workshop. She spotted Kate’s dress over the mannequin and some of the tension left her.

She
was
good at this, no matter what her father said.

Hitting play on the stereo, the room filled with one of Kent Downer’s rock songs. The energy of the music surrounded her, and she nodded her head to the beat as she got to work on Kate’s dress.

*

At six sharp, Imogen knocked on the door to Libby and Adrian’s house.

“I’ll get it!” Kate called and Imogen heard thundering footsteps to the door.

As the door opened, Imogen said, “Hi, Kate.”

“Hi, Imogen. Is that my dress?” Kate opened her eyes wide.

“Sure is. I’ll get you to try it on later to make sure it fits properly.” She followed Kate into the open-plan kitchen and her footsteps faltered.

Christian.

He was delightfully casual in a green collared shirt and denim shorts, with low-slung sneakers on his feet. Even his profile was enough to make her heart go into a rock-and-roll beat.

She wasn’t supposed to be having this kind of reaction to him. He wasn’t interested in her in the slightest.

Bumping her huge portfolio against the doorway she had the sudden urge to hide it, but it was too late.

Christian glanced over. “Bringing a little work with you?”

“Something I wanted to show Libby and Piper,” Imogen said brightly, trying to make it sound like the dreams for the rest of her life weren’t hanging from her shoulder.

Christian nodded and went back to his drink.

Libby glanced over from the kitchen island where she was chopping up a salad. “Put it in the living room if you want.”

Grateful for a reason to exit, Imogen moved through to the living room and propped her portfolio against the couch. As she turned to return, Piper came through the door.

“Is that what you want to talk to us about?” She indicated the folder.

Imogen nodded as the swirly, icky sensation in her stomach returned.

“Great. I’ve been in suspense all afternoon. Let’s grab some drinks and go through it now.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to hold up dinner.” The doubts came crushing around her.

Piper studied her. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

Imogen waved her off, but Piper didn’t change her gaze. That gaze was one reason her friend was such a good journalist. Imogen examined the ground. “It is to me.”

“Stay there. Let me check how long dinner will be.” Piper left the room, returning only a minute later with Libby and a bottle of wine.

“We’re having a barbeque,” Libby said. “The guys are happy with their chips for the moment. What gives?”

Imogen sat on one of the couches and then, too agitated to stay put, got to her feet again. “I’ve got this idea,” she began. “Papa doesn’t like it, won’t let me do it at Tour de Force, but I could maybe do it myself. But I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much; maybe I’m kidding myself.”

“Slow down, Imogen,” Piper said, watching her pace. “What’s the idea?”

Imogen took a deep breath. “My own clothing label,” she said in a rush. “I haven’t figured out a name yet, but it would be clothes for everyone. Stylish clothes anyone could afford.” Now she’d started, she had to explain it all. She opened the portfolio and spread out designs on the coffee table. “These are my ideas for a winter collection. Coats, scarves, hats, pants, jumpers – maybe even boots down the track. I’ve drafted a business plan and was going to show Papa but he’s not interested. I needed a second opinion.” Imogen stopped talking as Libby and Piper passed her sketches to each other.

“I love that,” Piper said, pointing to one of the coats.

“Those pants are gorgeous,” Libby said, holding one of the drawings for longer.

“Is it seriously something you would buy, though?”

Both women looked up at her with similar expressions of disbelief. “Of course. This stuff is fabulous,” Piper said.

Some of the nerves settled. “What about the men’s clothing?”

“Why don’t you ask the guys?” Libby asked.

It was a huge step for Imogen. Still, she wanted an honest opinion, and she needed it from people other than her best friends.

“All right. Should I take it in to them?”

“No, I’ll go get them.” Libby jumped to her feet and left the room.

Imogen clenched her hands and then sorted through the designs to put the men’s ones on top.

Piper put a hand out to still Imogen’s fidgeting. “These are really great,” she said.

Imogen closed her eyes. It meant a lot for her to say that, but it didn’t stop the doubt.

Adrian, George and Christian walked into the room with Libby and Kate right behind them.

Imogen stood up again, unable to sit.

“Libby said you wanted our opinion on something,” George said.

Imogen nodded, and then cleared her throat. “I’m considering my own clothing label and wanted to find out whether my designs for men were any good.” She picked them up and passed them over. “Would you wear anything like this?”

Christian didn’t even glance at the paper. “Could we afford to wear this?”

Imogen bristled, but kept her expression pleasant. “My aim is to have an affordable clothing line that the average person can afford.”

“So you’ll get it manufactured in some Asian sweatshop?”

Imogen gaped at him. “No! I’ll do my research and find out where I can have the line made. It’s all part of my business plan.” Or would be when she got to that stage in it.

“You do realize most of the people working in manufacturing plants in Asia earn less per year than what one of Tour de Force’s shirts would cost?”

She didn’t, but she wasn’t going to admit that to him. “As I said, I’ll do my research.”

Before Christian could say anything else, George nudged him in the ribs. “I think this is something you’d wear.” He showed him a picture and then winked at Imogen. “He studies labor rights as a hobby.” He turned back to Chris. “Maybe you could advise her on the better places to go.”

Christian looked directly at Imogen, a dare in his eyes. “If she’s really interested.”

The last person she wanted to be taking advice from was Christian but she couldn’t say that here. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Imogen, there are outfits here I’d wear and definitely stuff Kent would wear. Are you going to start manufacturing soon?” Adrian glanced at George. “We could use this stuff for the next tour.”

Imogen sucked in a breath. To have Kent Downer wear her clothing line would be a massive coup. “Really?” She didn’t mean to sound quite so pathetically hopeful.

Adrian smiled at her. “Yeah.”

“There’s a lot to do before I can start production. I have to register a business, and a label, I need to source fabrics, manufacturers, find some funding and shops to sell the line …” Listing them out sounded so daunting.

George picked up her business plan and flicked it open.

Imogen resisted the urge to grab it off him. “It’s not finished yet.”

“You’ve covered all the bases.” He passed it to Christian. “What do you think?”

Christian scowled but spent more time reading through her plan.

Kate piped up. “Are you doing a kids’ range too?”

Imogen blinked. She hadn’t got that far. “I might, when I get settled. Do you like these designs?”

“Yep. I could be your research assistant if you like. Tell you what kids want.”

Imogen smiled. “That would be great. You’ll be the first person I call when I’m ready.”

“Can I try my dress on now?” Kate asked.

Imogen laughed. She’d forgotten about the flower-girl dress but it was obvious Kate hadn’t. Christian was still reading the plan so she said, “Sure.”

“I’ll light the grill,” Adrian said.

Piper and Libby followed Kate into her bedroom. Imogen fussed around when Kate was wearing the royal blue dress, checking the seams, making sure everything sat right. “How do you want your hair?”

“I don’t know.”

Imogen rummaged in her bag and produced the couple of barrette options she’d brought with her. “I think it should be down, or partially up. Your hair is too beautiful to be restrained.”

Kate beamed at her.

“So we could clip it here …” Imogen slid in a clip to show Kate what she meant. “Or we could pin the front up like this.” She demonstrated.

“Like this,” Kate said when she saw the final version. “I look like a princess.”

Imogen’s heart warmed.

Piper whipped out her phone and took a picture.

“Shoes?”

“She’s allowed a small heel,” Libby said and retrieved the shoes, pretty black strappy sandals with a tiny heel on the back. Kate slipped them on and preened in the mirror.

“Do you want to show your uncle?” Libby asked.

“Yeah.” She walked demurely out of the door.

Imogen smiled. It was the slowest she’d ever seen Kate go.

“I think it’s a hit,” Piper commented.

Down the corridor the men told Kate how beautiful she looked.

“
Ma belle, tu es très chic
.” It was Christian’s voice, in perfectly accented French, telling Kate she was gorgeous.

Imogen ignored the shiver his voice caused and wondered how much French he spoke.

Kate returned to the room, her cheeks flushed red. “Chris spoke French to me,” she said, blushing brighter.

“Do you know what he said?” Imogen asked.

Kate shook her head.

Imogen translated for her and Kate shut her eyes in delight.

“He’s a bit of a hunk, isn’t he?” Piper asked.

Imogen glanced at her friend, wondering if she was going to make a move on him. Wondering why it mattered so much if she did.

“Yep.”

“Was he cute as a boy?” Piper asked Imogen.

Startled, Imogen stared at her. She’d never mentioned Christian’s name to anyone.

“You mentioned his dad used to be your gardener,” Piper prompted.

Of course. “I didn’t see him much,” she said, busying herself putting Kate’s dress back in its bag. Piper waited for an answer but Imogen ignored her. “Shall we check if dinner’s ready yet?”

Piper gave her a look that said she wasn’t finished with this, but didn’t stop Imogen as she left the room.

Back in the kitchen Imogen immediately noticed her business plan sitting on the table. Both Christian and George were standing by the barbeque on the patio with Adrian, so Imogen grasped the opportunity to retrieve it. She was at the doorway when Piper said, “Don’t you want to know what Chris thought?”

“I’m sure he read it because George handed it to him. I don’t want to put him on the spot.”

Piper raised an eyebrow and called, “Chris, what did you think of Imogen’s business plan?”

Piper had no such qualms.

Imogen cringed.

*

Hearing his name called, Chris turned from the conversation he was having with George. His gaze immediately found Imogen, but from the expression on her face, he didn’t think it was she who had called him. It was Piper who was waiting for an answer.

Beside him, Adrian was piling up the meat in a dish to carry inside, so Chris wandered in. “What did you say?” he asked Piper.

“What did you think of Imogen’s plan?”

He’d been impressed but he wasn’t going to admit it. Imogen’s father’s company would have plenty of people to write that kind of thing. “It’s a good start. Did one of Tour de Force’s business managers write it?” There was no way she’d know how the real world worked. People as rich as the Fontaines had minions to do all the hard work.

Fire flashed in Imogen’s brown eyes, an intriguing contrast to the smile on her face and her pleasant tone as she replied, “I wrote it. It has nothing to do with Tour de Force.”

He believed Imogen was a harder woman than she pretended. That fire proved it. It was a good reminder not to trust her. “They’re not footing the bill?”

“No.”

Chris was intrigued but he didn’t want to seem too interested. Luckily George was curious as well.

“Your label isn’t going to be part of Tour de Force’s empire?”