Your Captivating Love (19 page)

“I hope so. I’m confident right now. I am very lucky to have run into you and your family.”

He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin while his arms pull me closer to him. At this moment, I realize that I’ve never felt so cherished in my life.

“I’ve always considered myself a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs against my forehead, “even more so after Bennett Enterprises became a success.” Pulling away, he tilts my chin up. “But meeting you, that was my real luck. You mean more to me every day, Nadine. You complete me in the best possible ways. In all the ways.” As he holds my gaze, it strikes me that he’s right. We’re very much alike—we’re two people learning to love and let ourselves be loved again. Without taking his eyes off me, Logan starts removing my dress carefully. I undress him too, kissing each inch of skin I reveal.

Logan makes love to me gently, for a long time. Afterward, as we fall asleep in each other’s arms, I am sure I never want to let him go.

––––––––

O
n Monday morning, I wake up with a jolt, half an hour before my alarm is set to ring. D-day is here. Logan’s side of the bed is cold. I wish he were here to hug me good luck, but he had to fly out to London to meet his brother. He’ll be gone the entire week, back just in time for Summer’s gallery. A bulge of anxiety forms in my stomach, but I push myself to my feet, and force myself to go through my morning routine.

In the living room, I find a croissant and a note on the table.

Wish I could be here for your opening week, or at least kiss you good luck this morning. I did try to hug you when I woke up, but you kicked me good (I’ll have the bruise to prove it when I return).

Love,

Logan

The note alone is enough to turn my anxiety into euphoria. I eat the croissant and make myself a coffee. Unfortunately, the coffee turns my previous euphoria into downright dangerous energy. My pulse is drumming in my ears, and my heart beats at a nauseous speed. I walk to the store even though I’m wearing high heels, hoping to walk off some of that energy. No such luck.

Once inside the shop, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, remove the paper covering the glass and turn on the sign on the door, indicating I’m open for business. Right then, my neighbor, the owner of the shoes and bags shop, passes by, offering a thumbs-up. I wave and give her a smile I’m certain came across as manic.

This is
it
. The day I’ve been preparing years for.

It’s a good thing that my euphoria level was out of this world when I entered the store, because with each hour that passes, it dwindles and dwindles. Not one soul steps inside, which makes all of my dread come back. What if this is a mistake? I’ve invested everything I had into this. To think I might lose everything makes me sick to my stomach. I play with my phone, itching to hear Logan’s voice, but he’s on the plane. I resolve not to call him when he lands either. I’ll sound like a whiny child, and that’s not sexy at all.

When Pippa sends me a smiley face, my mood lifts. I remember that I did, in fact, sell the girls four of my dresses, which gives me a great head start.
Yeah
, a vicious voice says in the back of my mind,
to four people you know. They might’ve been pity buys.

Luckily, I have the changes for Summer’s dress to keep me occupied for the afternoon. Not one single person steps into the store the entire day. When I head to Logan’s in the evening, I’m in tears. On Tuesday, I go over the advertising plan I worked on with Ava. She’s a marketing genius, but she had to scale her genius down to my nonexistent budget. The plan was to save up the money I earn in the first month of sales, and use all of it for marketing. If today is anything to go by, I won’t have anything to save.

In the afternoon, I have my first customer when an elegant woman in her late thirties walks in. I try to remember that she’s a visitor, not yet a customer. I’m determined to turn her into one.

“You have a great selection,” she comments. “I’ve yet to see the newest collection anywhere.”

I smile. Yeah, this is what my store’s unique selling proposition should be: always carrying this season’s collections, not old ones. The downside? I must also sell each collection as soon as I bring it in before it becomes last season’s.

“What would you like to try on? With your hair and long legs, can I tempt you with an Elie Saab dress?”

“Oh, absolutely, he’s one of my favorites.”

Eying her again, I decide she’s a size four, and take an appropriate dress from the hanger. “How about this one?”

“Lovely. None of my girlfriends will have anything like it.”

I show her inside the changing room.

“This looks gorgeous on you,” I say when she comes out, parading in front of the large mirror.

“Right?” She smiles in the mirror, then turns around. Her eyes widen as she gazes at something behind me. “What is that?”

I don’t even turn around to know what she means. My dresses are in that area. She picks up the train of her Elie Saab dress and hurries to them.

“These are beautiful,” she exclaims, touching the fabric of a burgundy one. My stomach feels lighter than it has in days, but immediately plummets when she glances at the tag and skeptically asks, “Nadine Hawthorne? Never heard of her.”

“Oh, that would be me,” I murmur.

“You design?”

“Yes.”

She pinches her nose. “I’d rather have something by an established designer. No offense, but I can’t show up at a charity gala wearing a no-name outfit, even though your dresses are pretty.”

I feel like someone punched me in the gut. Sure, I expected this to some degree, which is why I store many big-name designers. But having someone throw in my face that my work is less valuable because I’m not famous is still unpleasant. How can I be known if no one buys my designs? What came first, the chicken or the egg?

I plaster on a smile. “Should I pack the Elie Saab for you?”

“Yes, please do that. I’ll tell my friends about your store. It’s pretty.”

I feel a bit more encouraged as she leaves. If more people come, some will
eventually
buy my designs too. But that “eventually” will come after a long time. Pippa arrives before closing time on Tuesday to pick up the dresses for the girls. I leave her alone in the front while I bring the packages from the back room.

“How’s business?” she asks when I return.

“Not much happening.”

“Well, obviously. No one knows about your gorgeous dresses.”

“Exactly,” I say miserably. “A customer told me to my face that she likes my dresses, but she can’t buy them because she’s never heard of me.”

To my astonishment, her smile grows wider. “Things will change after Summer’s gallery, if you want them to.”

“How?” I ask suspiciously.

“I can invite some established fashion bloggers.”

“Pippa, I appreciate it, but—”

“You’re stubborn and think that my pulling some strings will give you an unfair advantage, and somehow undermine your efforts.”

“Something along those lines.” Not to mention I’m terrified at the prospect of fashion bloggers seeing my babies. What if they hate them? I suppose the downside of preparing twelve years for one dream is that when you’re finally living the dream, you’re afraid anything you do might ruin it.

Or maybe I’m overanalyzing this, and the simple explanation is that I’m a coward.

“You and I both know how the world works. You can have the best products, but if no one’s aware of them, you won’t sell. I’m not promising you anything. The bloggers might decide the dresses don’t suit their style, but at least they’ll see them.”

Now I’m downright panicking. What if the bloggers
do
hate my dresses? I try to reason with myself. She’s right. After all, my dream isn’t an empty store, but people walking in and happily walking back out.

“Okay, thank you.”

“So, I have your permission?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Thank God, because I already invited them.”

With that, Pippa winks and heads out, leaving me smiling. Then I realize my dresses will be under the bloggers’ scrutiny in a few days, and I’m right back to panicking.

***

“Y
ou’re distracted,” Max remarks. I’m sitting in my brother’s office in London, and I’ve spaced out a couple of times in the last two hours. I’m wasting both our times because I’m not at the top of my game.

“Sorry, still have a bit of jet lag.”

“Let’s grab dinner. We can come back afterward.”

We walk to the steak restaurant across the street where we eat every time I’m in London. The waitresses greet Max as if he’s an old friend. He regularly spends his evenings at the office, which irks me. Sebastian and I work long hours too, but he’s overdoing it.

“We can discuss sales—” I begin after the waitress takes our order, but Max shakes his head.

He raises an eyebrow. “No business talk during dinner.”

“You’re awfully strict about that rule, considering you’re almost sleeping at the office.”

“I have my priorities.” He smiles, reminding me of Dad. Our father always insisted that dinner is family time. “How’s Summer? Stressed out about the next gallery?”

“As always.” We continue to talk about our baby sister until the food arrives.

“What’s this I hear about someone named Nadine?”

I put my fork down. “I see the Bennett rumor mill has no problems crossing the ocean.”

Max shrugs. “Man, there’s no escape from the mill when talking to Summer.”

“Nadine and I are dating, and it’s going great.”

“Good,” he says between bites. “It was about time.” His tone is final, and I know he won’t ask more; my brother’s not one to pry. And thank fuck for that, because there’s enough meddling going on from the rest of the Bennett clan. Christopher was in Hong Kong when Sylvia and I broke up, but Max was still in San Francisco. He was my drinking partner of choice because he can down whiskey with me, while keeping his mouth shut. Sebastian would always follow that whiskey with some ridiculous advice. Blake and Daniel are even worse. “I want to find a replacement for myself, here in London. I want to come back home.”

I stare Max down, then nod. “Sure. Do you have a timeline in mind?”

Sebastian and I had hoped the twins would stay overseas for about ten years, but it was obvious from the very beginning that neither was thrilled by the prospect of spending so much time abroad. We’d prefer to have someone from the family lead foreign operations, but I can understand his wish to return.

“No, but I’m already searching for someone to take over here.”

“Let me know if I can help. Does Christopher also want to return home?”

“Haven’t talked to him about it lately, but I think he’d like to hang out in Hong Kong for a few more years.”

“I—”

That’s when a group of holiday carolers enter the restaurant and start singing “Carol of the Bells” at the top of their lungs. Since there are three weeks to go until Christmas, the city’s already in holiday mode. Out the window, I notice the light decorations up and down the street. I was so engrossed in business matters that I hadn’t paid attention before. If Nadine were here, she would’ve made me pull my head out of my ass and admire everything. That woman loves her Christmas decorations. Her shop gives Santa’s workshop a run for its money. The only things missing are elves.

I can’t wait to return to San Francisco. I miss her and knowing she’ll be home, waiting for me when I arrive, makes me even more eager to return. I can’t convince her to stay with me every night because she insists I need my space, even though I’ve repeatedly told her it’s bullshit. But on the nights she
is
with me, everything feels right.

On a whim, I snap a picture of the singers and send it to Nadine.

Nadine: They’re adorable, but I was half expecting a nude pic.

Logan: That’d raise a lot of eyebrows, considering I’m in a restaurant. But you’re welcome to send me one.

Nadine: No can do. Too busy fretting over my lack of customers.

Logan: Relax.

Nadine: Have to go. Someone entered the store. I’m one step closer to world domination.

I imagine her enthusiastic smile as she greets her customer. I couldn’t have timed this business trip worse—Nadine must be a wreck. In a stroke of genius, I realize what would make her day better. Lucky I have the chocolate shop on speed dial.

I convince Max to move the after-dinner business talk to his apartment instead of his office.

Later that night, when I collapse in my bed in the empty bedroom, I still can’t shut my mind off, thinking about Max’s return to San Francisco, and finding the best replacement for him here in London. Then my mind slides to Nadine, and that makes me smile. Actually, it makes me fucking grin.

Sebastian and I started Bennett Enterprises with one goal in mind: to make sure our family would be well taken care of. It didn’t cross my mind that Nadine would have a similar goal behind her dream. My woman rocks, and I couldn’t be prouder of her. If she thinks I’ll let her go, she hasn’t been paying attention. Yeah, she’s an independent woman who doesn’t like to rely on others and all that, and I respect that. But I’m her man. I’ll do everything in my power to help her.

I only have to be careful not to cross the line and become overbearing—Pippa’s favorite accusation—while I’m at it.

L
ogan sends me a box of chocolate on Tuesday and on Wednesday too. The problem? I don’t want chocolate; I want Logan. I miss him like crazy.

When the delivery guy brings the chocolate box on Thursday at lunch, I decide to tease Logan. I ask the guy if it’s okay to take a picture of him. He’s happy to pose for me.

I text the pic to Logan.

Nadine: Can I consider this hottie part of your gift too?

I don’t expect to receive an answer right away because it’s very early in the morning in London. But Logan surprises me.

Logan: Be careful. Elf on the Shelf is watching you.

Nadine: What are you talking about? I didn’t buy Elf on the Shelf.