What Lies Beneath (14 page)

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Will.” George eased back in his chair. “This e-reader project we’ve been working on has a lot of potential.”

Which is why I’ve decided to sell to the highest bidder and you’re out, Taylor.

“Which is why I’ve decided we should go forward with it.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up, his surprise plainly obvious to anyone who chose to look. “What about blood and family and all that?”

George shrugged. “Cynthia is dead, Will. Emma is sixteen, and I’m not about to marry her off to seal this deal. As much as I like working with family, there’s no one I know that can make this as big a success as you can. This is the technology of now. It needs to go forward. We’ve got everything in place to do that.”

Will wasn’t quite sure what to say. George had been adamant about this from the beginning. The turn of events was surprising, to say the least. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad to hear you’re still interested in working with us.”

“I am because you’re a good guy, Will. You stuck it out with Cynthia and took care of her even when you and I both know you were on the way out. Then you tried again to make it work, even if it was with the wrong woman. That’s the kind of dedication and loyalty I look for in a business partner.” He paused, his expression softening in a way Will had never seen before. “You were almost my son, Will. And that’s good enough for me.”

Flustered
wasn’t even the right word to describe Will’s state of mind, but he held it together. They chatted for a while about trivial things. Then he thanked George, promised to have his office send over the final paperwork later in the week and walked him out.

The rush of success-fueled adrenaline shot through his veins as if he’d been pulled back from a precipice. He knew this project was going to launch the
Observer
into the same peer group as the
Times
. He could feel it in his bones.

Will wanted to celebrate but slumped back into his chair instead. The victory was sadly hollow without Adrienne there to celebrate with him. Despite the suspicion and pain he couldn’t put aside, when it came down to it, she was the one he wanted to kiss and take out for a night on the town with endless champagne. And she was gone.

Suddenly Will’s tie felt too tight.

His office had been his retreat since Adrienne left. He’d worked more hours than ever, avoiding their empty home and the feelings he couldn’t face. Now the walls of his spacious office were closing in on him. He didn’t want to be here a second longer. Without even shutting down his laptop, he got up from his desk and walked out.

“Mr. Taylor?” Jeanine questioned when he started down the hallway.

“I’m going home. Reschedule anything on my calendar. Dan’s in charge.”

Will didn’t wait for her response. He didn’t want to be here right now. He hailed a cab on the curb and headed back to the apartment.

When he finally walked in the door, he had his mail clutched in one hand and his overcoat thrown over his arm. He stood in the entryway, hoping the restricting feeling in his chest would abate now that he was away from work, but it didn’t. And he knew why.

Frustrated, he yanked off his tie and tossed everything onto the bed as he entered the bedroom. The bed was made and had been since the day Adrienne left. Being in it without her had felt odd, so he’d returned to sleeping in the guest room.

Something felt off. He’d been fighting the feeling for weeks, but he was too stubborn and hurt to seriously consider what was really bothering him. Their fight in the bathroom kept replaying in his head each night as he tried to sleep. The expression of fear and heartache on her face. How she’d tried to explain something he hadn’t wanted to hear.

He stopped outside of the master bedroom closet. He’d slammed the door shut in a fit of rage after Adrienne left the apartment and hadn’t gone in there since then. Will hadn’t gone into her workroom either. There were too many memories locked inside.

Twisting the knob, Will pulled open the door and walked in. The neatly hung rows of clothing were the same, the boxes of priceless footwear lined up as always. The only thing out of place was a piece of clothing on the floor. He bent down and scooped up the discarded blouse. Stitched into the collar was a tag that read Adrienne Lockhart Designs. Just as she’d tried to tell him.

A million curse words came to mind, all of them directed back at himself. He was a jackass. She’d tried to tell him that day, but he hadn’t wanted to listen. He’d leapt to his own conclusions and pushed her way.

Why?

Because it was easier than admitting he’d let himself fall for her. Easier than admitting he’d made love to a woman he knew in his heart wasn’t his fiancée. He got himself out of a sticky situation by making it all her fault.

Why had he immediately turned everything she said into a lie? She was in a plane crash and nearly killed. She went through hours of reconstructive surgery, weeks in the hospital. The poor woman’s face had been smashed in so badly they couldn’t tell her from another passenger, but somehow a head trauma severe enough to scramble her memory had seemed outlandish.

Perhaps she would’ve recovered earlier if she’d been exposed to things she knew. Maybe if her family and friends had come to the hospital things would’ve clicked sooner. But the problem was compounded by strangers and doctors insisting she was someone she wasn’t.

Will should’ve spoken up instead of quietly, privately questioning every time she acted out of character. They could’ve cleared the whole thing up weeks ago. Saved himself the heartache. But then he would’ve missed out on the joy and passion, too.

He hadn’t wanted to clear things up. He hadn’t wanted the considerate, loving woman in his arms to get away. Things were better than they had ever been, and for once in his life, he just wanted to enjoy life.

But what was the point, when he just turned around and drove her off?

Will walked out of the closet and flopped down onto the mattress. He’d made a mess he had no clue how to fix. If he booked the next flight to Milwaukee and showed up at her door, she’d probably slam it in his face. That was what he deserved. That’s practically what he’d done to her.

A shift of his weight sent a piece of his mail sliding to the floor. He bent to pick it up. It looked like a party invitation for something he wouldn’t attend. He had a social pass this holiday, given most people would consider him to be in mourning. Or in hiding.

Tearing open the envelope, he realized it was his invitation to the annual Trend Next fashion show. Usually, he sent Cynthia with a check and stayed home. This year, he’d just mail the check direct. As Will tossed the card onto the bed, he noticed a tiny slip of paper floating to the floor. Curious, he picked it up to read it.

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, Nick Matteo is unable to show at this event. Designer Adrienne Lockhart will be showing in his place.”

Will’s jaw dropped. He never expected her to be back in New York so soon. And to be showing at the Trend Next fashion show…that was an incredible opportunity for her. And for him. He wouldn’t go to Wisconsin. With only days before the show, she needed to focus on her work, not deal with the emotional upheaval of his arrival.

But after the show…

Will called the number on the invitation to RSVP. This year’s check would be delivered personally.

Thirteen

“T
hat’s the wrong belt! Who put that on her?”

Adrienne dashed through the throngs of people to the line of models queued up to show her designs to the world. Whipping off one belt and replacing it with the cincher made from the same burgundy leather she’d used for a bomber jacket on another model, she took a step back and sighed in relief. That was close.

It had been absolute chaos for over three hours. The girls had to get their hair styled, their makeup done and get into their assigned clothes. Adrienne had to make sure each model had the proper accessories to finish off the look of each outfit. She was the last to go, so she’d seen how the other designers had handled their shows, but none of it could prepare her for her turn.

“Is everyone ready?”

After two weeks of working on a solid diet of caffeine, sugar and almost no sleep, she wasn’t sure that she was. But ready or not, her chance had come. If she could make it through the next hour or so, she could sleep for a week to make up for it.

“Miss Lockhart, you’re up.” The production manager smiled and handed her a microphone. “Good luck.”

Adrienne took a deep breath, straightened her own brown leather skirt and moss-green blouse, which was actually the eleventh look of the collection, and strode confidently out onto the catwalk.

It was nearly impossible to see the crowd. The bright stage lighting made her squint for a few seconds as her eyes adjusted. If not for the applause, she could have convinced herself there were only five people out there, which made the next part easier. She had never been good with public speaking. She was better behind a sewing machine, but this was part of the job.

When the applause finally quieted, she raised the microphone to her lips. “Good evening, everyone. My name is Adrienne Lockhart, and I’m thrilled to be sharing my work with you tonight. My collection was inspired by the almost unbelievable last few months I spent in New York. You might recognize my name from the local papers, but if you don’t know, I’ll fill you in. I almost died, got a new face, lost my memory, fell in love, fell out of love and finally found myself and my passion for designing again. Manhattan is a crazy town to get caught up in, and every moment of it is captured here tonight. I hope you enjoy it.”

With a wave, Adrienne turned and disappeared around the corner, the wall muffling the sound of applause. As she passed off the microphone to a stage hand, the music she had selected for the show began. It was a beautiful melody with a heavy bass tempo for the models to stomp their hearts out to.

Before she could catch her breath, the first model took off and the show was on its way.

Here goes nothing.

She watched from a monitor backstage as each woman showcased the look she designed and selected for them. It was a parade of deep, rich tones, textures, fabrics and blood, sweat and tears. It was the perfect fall collection and the perfect reflection of her time with Will.

At last the finale dress was up. The blue-gray fit-and-flare organza gown was her crowning glory, a piece even more fabulous than the green dress she wore to her party. It was one-shouldered and gathered and draped tightly around the torso, exploding into a full, sweeping skirt that started just below the swell of the model’s hips. She’d deliberately selected a fuller-figured model for this dress because breasts and hips were an absolute must for it to fit correctly.

Adrienne held her breath as the dress disappeared around the corner and all the other models lined back up for the final walk.

“Clapping and smiling, ladies,” the production manager said as they started back down the catwalk. “That goes for you, too,” he reminded Adrienne.

Pasting on a bright smile, she followed behind the ball gown, waving as the roar of applause nearly knocked her backward. She could still barely see the crowd with the bright lights, flashing cameras and the dark seating areas, but the sound they made as she came out was stunning.

This was her moment. Tears formed in her eyes as she took it all in, stopping at the end of the runway to give a short bow and blow a kiss to the audience. As she turned to follow the models backstage, she thought she caught a glimpse of someone familiar sitting in the front row.

It was just wishful thinking—her mind adding his face to another man’s body because she wanted so badly to share this moment with him. Or maybe just tears mixing with spotlights to obscure her vision. There was no way Will Taylor was sitting in the front row of her fashion show holding a bundle of pale pink roses in his lap like the petal-colored fabric in her collection.

With a shake of her head to put the thought aside, she headed backstage and tried to focus on the joy. She wasn’t about to let a mistaken Will sighting cause her to start moping and ruin this beautiful moment.

Fortunately, the chaos backstage pushed any remaining thoughts from her head. Models and designers were running around, and journalists and spectators were coming backstage to talk to people about the show. It made Adrienne wish she had someone here with her. Gwen had to work, and she hadn’t felt comfortable inviting the Dempseys so soon after Cynthia’s funeral. Unsure of what else to do, she returned to her staging area and started helping her models out of their outfits, hanging them back up neatly.

She was interrupted a few times by journalists asking questions. A couple wanted pictures, so she posed alone or with one or two of the models still wearing her designs.

“What was your inspiration for that beautiful blue gown?” one of them asked.

“That was the color of my lover’s eyes,” she said with a rueful smile. She’d searched through five fabric stores trying to find the perfect shade. Milwaukee didn’t have anything as comprehensive as the shops in the Garment District.

The journalist wrote feverishly, took a few pictures and then disappeared to talk to someone else.

Before long the noise quieted, the models and journalists left and the designers and production workers began breaking down. Adrienne zipped up the side of the rolling garment armoire and scooped the last of the accessories into a drawstring bag she tied to the rack.

It was done. She’d nearly killed herself doing it, but she’d created a collection and had shown it on the catwalks of a Manhattan fashion show. If nothing else ever came of this night, she would be happy for this chance.

“Adrienne?” a woman’s voice called, and she turned to see who was still hanging around. It was Darlene.

Adrienne didn’t hesitate to give the woman a hug as she approached. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“Honey, thank
you
. When our fourth designer cancelled, I didn’t know what I was going to do. You saved me, and you certainly didn’t disappoint. Everyone is buzzing about your work. I think it was the best of the four.”

“Really?” Adrienne had wanted to do a great job but figured that against designers with months to prepare, she’d do well just to not embarrass herself in front of the industry types.

“I was talking with Milton, the owner of
Trend Now,
and we both agree that your collection is the one we want to feature in the March issue. I just loved the leather, and that ball gown was divine.”

Adrienne’s mouth dropped open, appropriate words escaping her. “Are you serious?” was all she could come up with.

“Absolutely. I don’t know how you did it, but the work was just outstanding. If you can stay in Manhattan through the week, we’ll get the fashion shoot set up in a couple of days.”

“Of course.” Adrienne was staying with Gwen and had planned to hang around New York for a few days. She wanted to visit a couple friends from her pre-accident SoHo days and do some Christmas shopping. She always enjoyed the window displays and decorations that took over this time of year.

Adrienne handed Darlene one of her newly minted business cards with her cell phone number on it. “This is where you can reach me while I’m here.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said. “Go out on the town and party tonight. You earned it.”

She watched Darlene walk away. Once the fashion editor had disappeared around a corner, Adrienne flopped into one of the chairs at the makeup station. She was emotionally and physically spent, but she didn’t care. She
did
have the talent to make it. Sometimes she wasn’t certain, but validation couldn’t come from a better source than Darlene. She didn’t strike her as the kind to say great things when they weren’t true. She wanted to sell magazines.

This might really turn things around for her. There was no way she could afford to open another shop, but maybe she could vamp up her website and send pieces to stylists who might actually use them in photo shoots for a change. Then maybe, just maybe, she could consider moving back and opening a storefront. Perhaps Gwen would be interested in sharing a two-bedroom place somewhere. Splitting rent would make life more livable.

“Are you planning on opening up a shop in Manhattan any time soon?” a familiar man’s voice called to her, the deep tones echoing off the large empty space and concrete floors.

Her mind was playing tricks on her again. First she saw Will in the audience and then she heard his voice. It was going to take longer to get over him than she’d hoped. With a shake of her head, she turned in her chair and opened her mouth to answer, then stopped.

She wasn’t crazy. Will was standing about ten feet away. He was looking more devastatingly handsome than ever, wearing jeans and a button-down shirt with a leather jacket over it instead of his standard suit. The angry expression she’d last seen on his face was gone, a bouquet of pink roses clutched in his hands.

Adrienne wouldn’t allow herself to speculate on what his arrival, with flowers no less, meant. She’d survived a plane crash and managed to fulfill a lifelong dream. Certainly her string of luck was running out, especially where love was concerned. “No,” she finally answered, standing to face him head-on. “As nice as this exposure is, I won’t earn a dime off it if it doesn’t build demand. I can’t afford a store.”

“That’s a shame,” he said. “I know a guy who has the perfect space for rent. He’d probably give you a great deal on it if you were interested.”

Had he really come all the way down here to give her a tip on a real-estate opportunity? Apparently the roses meant very little. Just a gesture for her debut, she supposed. One of the other designers got flowers, too.

No matter how good the deal, she couldn’t afford it, but she had to ask. “How great?”

“Free.”

Adrienne shook her head and looked down at the square toes of her brown leather boots. “Nothing is free.”

“Absolutely free,” he insisted. “No strings attached.”

He was just toying with her now, and it brought a surge of irritation through her body. The anger she couldn’t express when he’d cast her aside rose to the surface, her cheeks getting warm and flush. “Why would he do that?”

“He doesn’t need the money. And I think the owner feels badly about how things worked out for you.”

Adrienne scoffed, crossing her arms protectively across her chest. “Things worked out great for me. I just had my first fashion show. I’m going to be featured in
Trend Now
magazine. My career is doing great. And you can tell ‘
him
’ I don’t need his pity offering. I’ll get a place when I can afford to do it on my own.”

Will’s eyes widened at her angry outburst, and his brow furrowed in thought. This conversation obviously wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. If he thought he could just march in here, offer her real estate and some roses and everything would be better between them, he was wrong. He’d broken her heart. Sent her out the door like a pesky vacuum salesman without a dollar in her pocket. She couldn’t allow herself to trust someone who could turn on her so quickly. And there was no hope for love without trust. So what did they have left?

Nothing, it pained her to admit.

“When you came out before the show, you said that over the past few months you’d fallen in love. And out of it,” he added with a slightly pained expression.

Adrienne had made that statement without thinking for a minute that Will would be in the audience. In truth, she did still love him. She ached to reach out and brush a stray strand of his hair from his forehead. She wanted to bury her face in his neck and cling to him so tightly he could never leave her again. But she wasn’t stupid. The last time she was honest with him, he stomped on her heart. Will was a strategist, a businessman. She couldn’t let him have the upper hand this time.

“So?” she challenged.

“So,” he said, taking a few steps closer, “I wanted to know if that was true. Have you fallen out of love with me?”

Adrienne looked up, the most defiant expression she could muster plastered on her face. She wasn’t about to fly into his arms and confess her love just to get cast aside again. “It is true,” she lied. “I don’t love you anymore, Will Taylor.”

* * *

Will tried not to smile. He’d lied when he walked out of the hospital room that day. Adrienne was the worst actress ever. She couldn’t lie her way out of a paper bag, much less feign almost two months of amnesia. No way she could be the master of deception he’d accused her of being.

But more important, she was lying now. She still loved him. He was certain of it. She just wasn’t going to admit it. Will understood. He had hurt her, betrayed her. He knew how that felt. He didn’t deserve her love, but he wanted it anyway. He just had to get her to admit it.