All That Sparkles: The Texan Quartet (7 page)

Even if he was, she couldn’t understand why Christian hadn’t made the grade. His father was a trusted employee; and he was polite and had done nothing untoward.

“Imogen, talk to me. There are a dozen different emotions crossing your face.” Christian put down his coffee and shuffled closer.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she burst out.

“Which bit?”

“All of it. Why he would give you the letter, why he would send you away, why he would lie to me after I begged him to find you.” Her voice was shaky and a tear slipped past her defenses and ran down her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently.

“I wasn’t good enough for you,” Christian said. “Maybe he decided the only way I’d stay away was if it appeared you didn’t want me.”

“He lied to me.” Not only fourteen years earlier, but on Sunday, when she’d confronted him about it. That was what hurt the most. He’d always been particular about who she befriended – but to lie about it … it shattered the trust between them. They might not always see eye to eye but they were always honest with each other.

At least that was what she’d thought.

She stood, not wanting to break down and cry in front of Christian. She wasn’t sure he’d understand; his feelings for her father were negative at best. “I should go.”

Christian took her hand so she couldn’t walk away. “Not like this.” He tugged her hand so she sat back down next to him. “You’re allowed to be upset.” He put an arm around her.

That was all it took for her barriers to come crashing down. Tears flooded out of her eyes and she lowered her head, but Christian didn’t freak out, he just pulled her close and held her while she sobbed her heart out.

*

Chris felt her sobs lessen, heard the little gasps for air, and his heart twisted. He’d not liked Remy before, but now he hated the man. How could he have done this to his own daughter? While Imogen had looked like an adult, there had been a sense of innocence and naivety to her as a teenager. He’d been two years older and two years wiser than her and he’d had the urge to protect her even then.

But he also knew how close she was to her father. She mentioned him on and off over their summer together and he’d got the impression he was her best friend.

More like her jailer.

When Imogen finally lifted her head, her eyes were red and her cheeks were stained with mascara. He gently wiped the last tear from her cheek. Her lips parted slightly. Resisting the urge to kiss her, he got to his feet. This wasn’t the time. “I’ll get you some more water.”

When he returned Imogen was twisting her hands together. She took the glass gratefully and sipped from it.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked, sitting back down.

She shrugged.

“Imi, it’s in the past. Maybe the best thing is to let it go.”

She smiled. “You were the only person ever to call me Imi.”

He remembered. She’d said her father didn’t like nicknames, which was why she had called him Christian. He liked the sound of his full name on her lips.

“It sounded more pixie-like and when I first saw you I thought you were a pixie in the garden.”

Imogen laughed softly. “And I hoped you were a knight, come to rescue me from boredom.” She sighed. “Thank you, Christian.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

It wasn’t enough. He turned his head before she could pull back very far and she hesitated for a moment. Then she brought her lips to his, kissing him softly.

Her lips were sweet like honeysuckle, soft like rose petals, and he had to resist the urge to draw her closer, take more. She was still hurting.

He broke the kiss and leaned back.

“It’s just like I remembered,” she said. Her smile held more of a sparkle.

“Is that a good thing?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Imogen pursed her lips as if seriously considering the question. Then she grinned. “I think so,” she said slowly. “But I need another sample to be sure.”

Chris’s heart leaped as she touched his cheek and then kissed him, taking the kiss deeper but with all the sweetness of the first one.

He could get drunk on her kisses.

When she pulled away, he wanted to pull her back but she was already on her feet. “I really should go. You need to get ready for your flight tomorrow.”

Damn. He’d forgotten all about going to Australia. He’d never resented his job like he did right at that moment.

But she was right. Keeping things light, he took her hand. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Imogen shook her head. “There’s no need. It’s not far and there are street lights the whole way.”

He raised his eyebrows. “My father would be appalled if I didn’t accompany you.”

She didn’t argue and they travelled down the elevator in silence. When they got out of the building, Christian said, “I’ll call you when I get back?”

“I’d like that.” She handed him a business card. “It’s got all my details on it.”

They arrived at the parking garage and her yellow sports car. It was the perfect size for her but he wasn’t sure he’d fit in it.

“Get in. I’ll drop you at your building.”

“I can walk.”

She gave him a look. “If I can’t walk the streets alone, why can you?”

He didn’t dare say because he was male. Instead he got in, tried to move the passenger seat further back to discover it was already as far back as it would go, and shuffled to make himself as comfortable as possible.

Imogen chuckled. “Maybe you would have been better walking.” She fired up the engine and drove him the short distance back to his place.

Before he got out of the car, he kissed her again. “Call me if you want to talk,” he said. “If I’m in a meeting, I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

He really didn’t want to leave her, especially now she knew her father had lied to her, but he had no choice.

He got out of the car and waited until her rear lights disappeared around the corner, then he trudged inside to get ready for his flight.

Imogen had no time to think about her father’s lie. Remy had flown to New York to examine some new fabrics for the line, which meant not only could she not confront him, but also she had to do everything around Tour de Force.

Part of her worried that if he’d lied about this, what else had he lied to her about? The other part of her argued it was in the past and there was no point confronting him. He’d done it because he thought he was doing the best for her: there was no doubt in her mind that he loved her. He was over-protective, but she’d known that her whole life – and she hated arguing with him. It was easier to acquiesce.

Work didn’t allow her to dwell on it. Designs for the next year’s catalogue were in full swing and although her father had put her in charge while he was away, she’d left it largely in Jacques’s hands, knowing he would be able to run with it while she handled the day-to-day issues that only cropped up when her father wasn’t in town. There were times Imogen wondered whether there was a conspiracy among Jacques’s supporters in the firm to punish her for being Remy’s right-hand woman. Processes that ran like clockwork when he was here suddenly had issues.

She didn’t complain to her father, though, because she had no proof. Instead she worked longer hours to get her work done, along with all the extra work that came her way. By the time she got home she was exhausted.

Finally it was Saturday.

Imogen slept late and then made herself breakfast and carried it and her laptop out to her little terrace.

It was a beautiful spring morning. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and there were chimney swifts darting around the garden. It was all very like a fairy tale. She took a deep breath of air as she sat down.

Imogen fired up her laptop and checked her emails. There was a short one from Christian to say negotiations were ongoing. She could read his frustration between the lines. In response she sent him a light email making fun of all the
major
issues people had brought to her attention during the week.

She missed him. It was silly really; they’d spent only a few days together and most of that time he’d been mad at her, but still she missed him. She didn’t normally let her defenses down in front of anyone but he was different. He’d held her while she cried and then kissed her so sweetly afterward.

Imogen sighed.

Her laptop rang, signally she was getting a call via Skype. Checking who it was, she grinned, ran a hand through her hair and pressed answer.

Christian’s face filled her screen and her heartbeat accelerated. “Hi,” she said.

“Morning,” he said. “Have you just got out of bed?”

Imogen’s face went hot as she realized she was still wearing her pajamas. “I slept in,” she said, desperately hoping she looked all right, and peeked at her picture at the bottom of the screen. Not great, but not horrible either. “What time is it over there?”

“After ten at night,” he said.

“Are you still working?” She didn’t envy him his job.

“Yeah, I’m finishing off some notes on today’s discussions.”

“You worked on Saturday?”

“Had to go over our plan with the managers here. I’ve got tomorrow free though.”

“You can go and find that beach.”

“After I’ve slept in.”

Imogen leaned in to examine the screen. Christian had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale. “You should go to sleep now.”

Christian smiled. “But I’m talking to you.”

The way he said it, it was as if it was the best thing in the world. “I’ll be here tomorrow too.”

“Sounds like you had a rough week as well,” he said changing the subject.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that.”

Imogen shrugged. “It doesn’t happen very often.” She didn’t want to talk about it now. “So what’s Perth like?”

“I haven’t seen more than the hotel room, St George’s Terrace and the office building,” he answered. “I’m going to hire a car and drive down to Libby’s beach and then back again via Fremantle, which she said I shouldn’t miss. There’re some markets there and good food.”

“Sounds great.” Imogen had traveled a lot but never to Western Australia: it had never been on the hot-spot list for fashion. She liked the idea of going places for fun rather than for work. She grinned as she remembered her Cancun vacation with Piper. That had been an experience in more ways than one.

Christian yawned, his jaw spreading so wide it almost looked like he was going to swallow the computer. Imogen laughed. “You need to go to bed now,” she said.

“Will you be around tomorrow?”

“Sure, what time?”

They arranged a slightly earlier time and Imogen ended the call.

She grinned like an idiot.

Already her day seemed better. She finished her breakfast and rolling with her enthusiasm opened up her business plan and wrote down the companies she could use to manufacture the fabrics and clothing she wanted. Christian was right. She shouldn’t let Jacques treat her like that. The only way she was going to get it to stop without getting him fired was going out on her own.

So that’s exactly what she’d do.

*

Chris needed a vacation. He stood at the parking lot overlooking Libby’s bay and breathed deeply. The fresh, salty air filled his lungs and soothed his soul. Libby had been right. This beach was peaceful. He couldn’t believe how quiet it was. The sand was white, and the water a clear, aqua blue. A beach like this in other parts of the world would be packed so full of people, swimmers, sunbathers or people taking a walk, you wouldn’t be able to see the sand. Here though there were only a dozen or so people spaced out along the wide shore, most of them walking dogs. A couple of people even splashed about in the waves, though Chris didn’t think it was quite warm enough for a swim.

He had the urge to go down, take off his shoes and wander along the sand and so he gave in to it. There was a walkway parallel to the beach and from there paths ran down to the sand. He took the nearest one and walked down the limestone-and-sand slope. At the end of the path he took off his shoes and left them in the pile of flip-flops and other shoes nearby. He walked over the sand, feeling the grains slip under his feet and between his toes.

Again he breathed deeply to release some of the stress filling him. The negotiations were going where he’d guessed they would. Nowhere. The joint-venture partners had good lawyers who knew their stuff and, worse yet, they were in the right. It was his job to convince his employer there was no point fighting it. So far they wouldn’t listen, certain that a particular point in the contract terms meant they had a loophole.

If it was, it was a minuscule hole.

Chris walked down to where the sand was firm and let the waves wash over his feet. The water was cool, but soothing.

He passed a walker going in the opposite direction and she said, “Morning!”

Surprised he said, “Morning, ma’am.”

She grinned at him and kept walking.

Chris smiled. Australians were so friendly.

Most of the time.

He’d spent yesterday advising the Australian branch they needed to give in to the partners, that they had no case against them, but they were being stubbornly persistent. He debated calling head office and asking them to give the directive, but it would kill the relationships he’d built with the people here.

And they would listen to the senior lawyers in Australia over him. He hadn’t proven himself yet.

He continued his way along the gently curving shoreline. Chris sighed and kicked his feet through the water. He was tired of this. Tired of the business trips, tired of the politics, tired of working out ways to screw the people who signed contracts with his company in good faith. It wasn’t what he’d imagined when he’d decided he wanted to be a corporate lawyer. What he’d wanted was the money and the prestige – to be able to show men like Remy Fontaine that he was worth something. He hadn’t realized it would take up so much of his life, or make him so miserable.

The only things that made him feel good about himself were the pro bono work and Imogen.

Imogen. He smiled.

When her profile had popped up on Skype he hadn’t been able to resist calling her, seeing her face and hearing her voice. He couldn’t wait to speak with her again that afternoon.

He was worried about the way she was letting others take advantage of her. She had always been too nice.

Chris wanted her to keep planning her own clothing brand and he’d do what he could to help. There were quite a few organizations set up to ensure the ethical manufacture of clothing overseas if Imogen planned to do that. He could help her work through the options, make sure everything was legitimate, and set up the contracts to ensure the workers were treated fairly.

The thought of a worthwhile cause excited him.

Maybe it was time to change jobs, find something that was emotionally rather than financially rewarding.

A shiver ran down his spine. The very idea made him feel slightly nauseated. It didn’t matter that he had his savings, he still had a mortgage and he remembered clearly those days after Imogen’s father had kicked them out. They’d lived with his aunt and uncle before they could find somewhere to live and his father could find a job. It had been six months of uncertainty before his father managed to set up his own landscaping business with the help of a loan from the bank.

The first few years after the business started had been tough for both of them. It took his father a while to make a name for himself, and there had been some hard times when they’d been forced to eat canned soup for weeks while waiting for clients to pay their bills. That had been the hardest part: the debt collecting when his father had done the work required and people refused to pay. He remembered hearing his father on the telephone asking people to pay their bills. All the while he was struggling to pay his own bills because of it, but his father never got angry or mentioned the fact. It was something Christian had argued with him about, often.

But in the end it had all worked out. His father’s business took off and more and more people wanted him to design their gardens. It got to the stage where he branched out and not only designed gardens but had a company that maintained them as well. Chris was proud of his father’s success, but he never forgot the hard times.

Which was why he’d worked so hard to get where he was today. Sure, he didn’t always enjoy it, but did that mean he should throw it all away? So many of his colleagues would kill for the opportunity Dionysus was giving him. He’d be foolish to give it up so soon. It would have to get better as he became a more senior member of the team.

The day was warming up and he would soon start to burn so Chris turned around and retraced his steps up to the parking lot, picking up his shoes on the way.

He had more thinking to do.

*

Imogen had spent the day planning her business and woke the next morning, eager to tell Christian about it. She set up her laptop on the kitchen table, making sure she was logged in to Skype, and then made herself a coffee. She still had another hour before brunch with her father at the chateau.

Settled at the table she checked whether Christian had logged in yet. The ring on her computer answered her question. Quickly she checked her reflection – she’d made sure she was dressed and presentable today – and pressed answer.

She grinned at Christian, who appeared a lot more relaxed today, dressed in a red T-shirt rather than a work shirt and tie. “Morning.”

“Evening, Imi.” He grinned.

“How was your day?”

“Great. Libby and Kate were right about the beach. It was beautiful. Hardly anyone on it at all.”

“Did you go swimming?”

“Wasn’t quite warm enough.” He chuckled. “Then I went to the port of Fremantle and ate my way around the markets there. So much good food.”

“Sounds like fun.” She loved trying different types of food but was always conscious of the amount she ate. She had a certain reputation to uphold as Tour de Force’s representative.

“What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been working on my business plan.”

“How’s it going? Have you come up with a name yet?”

“It’s coming together. I’ve been brainstorming names but I’m not sure what to choose yet.”

“Hit me with them.”

Imogen wasn’t sure whether they were a bit obvious. “Originally I was thinking
Tour
as a shortened form of Tour de Force but that was when I assumed Papa would support my idea.”

Christian screwed up his face.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s not different enough. It’s not you.”

Warmth filled Imogen’s veins. He was right. She’d come to the same conclusion. “Then I considered
Fontaine
because Papa’s name means something in this business and I could use it as a springboard.”

Again Christian looked unimpressed. “What else?”

There was another name she was thinking about but she wasn’t sure she was ready to tell Christian. It was possibly too soon for that.

“Come on, spill.”

Imogen sighed. “I did think maybe
Imi.
”

Christian’s mouth gaped a little and he sat up straighter. “That’s my name for you.”

She nodded. “I know.” She tried to gauge whether he was happy about it or not.

“How about if?”

She’d take that as a no. She frowned. “If?”

“Your initials,
IF
, capitalized. It makes me think of hope and possibilities.”

“Maybe.” She could visualize the label; a clean font – something modern but classy. “Hang on a second.” She got up and grabbed a notebook and pen from the kitchen drawer and sketched her idea on the pad as she sat back down. Turning the notebook around so she was showing the screen she asked, “What do you think?”

“Wow, that’s fantastic. You drew that just then?”

She nodded and fiddled with the design some more. She wasn’t entirely sold: some people might think
IF
was conditional and view it as a negative.

“You’re so talented.” The admiration in his voice made her look up. He was so serious.