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Cleveland looked down at Dee Dee, ruffling the little dog’s head. “Isn’t that right, Pookie? Uncle Jack blew it with your mama.”
Something that felt like an iceberg slid into Jack’s chest and parked itself next to his heart. He stared at Hunter, and Hunter stared back.
“It’s noon,” said Hunter. “Do the math. You can make it if Simon fuels up now.”
Not giving himself another moment to hesitate, Jack grabbed his cell phone, hitting the speed dial for Simon.
“Yes, sir?” came Simon’s voice.
“Refile the flight plan. We’re going to London.”
“Will do. Do you have an ETA for the airport?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Roger that.”
Jack flipped his phone shut.
Hunter snapped the catches on the trunk. “Grab an end.”
With Kristy’s trunk safely on a delivery truck at Heathrow, Hunter taking care of business back in New York and Zenia on deck for the switch off at tonight’s fashion event, Jack climbed into the back of the waiting Rolls.
“The Claymore Diamond Hotel, please.”
The driver nodded his acknowledgment and closed the door behind Jack.
Jack knew he should try to rest to combat the jet lag, but he was too excited at the possibility of seeing Kristy again.
Could Hunter be right? Was there a chance she was in love with him? If she was, she could make any damn fashion collection she wanted. He’d pay for it. Hell, he’d pay people to wear it if that’s what it took to make her happy.
But first, he had to convince her to give him a chance. And that meant starting from scratch, doing it right this time.
He called out to the driver. “Excuse me?”
The man glanced in the rearview mirror. “Yes, sir?”
“Can we make a stop at Tiffany’s?”
“Very good, sir.”
“Thanks.” Jack nodded. Hopefully, a two-carat, flawless solitaire engagement ring would start things off on a new, positive note.
“Don’t worry about the necklace,” said Zenia. “They need you out front right away.”
Kristy glanced around at the frantic buzz of the dressing rooms ten minutes before the Breakout Designer Contest. Elbow to elbow, makeup artists and hairdressers put the final touches on the models, seamstresses took care of last-minute repairs, and the technical staff shouted instructions or talked into their headsets. Photographers made their way between the rows of onlookers, searching for that potential cover shot. The lighting technicians were ready, music had been cued and the announcer was flipping through his notes, confirming last-minute changes to the program.
The show’s stage manager negotiated a path through the chaos. “Contestants in their seats, please. The news networks will want footage.”
Zenia gave Kristy a quick hug. Then she stood back and squeezed her cool hands. “You look fantastic.”
“Thanks,” Kristy whispered.
She’d designed the dress herself. It was the one thing she’d brought to London with her from the desert collection, short and basic black, with small triangles of lace sewn into the hem and neck, and sleeves capped with lace that matched her waterfall dress.
Early this morning, she’d come to terms with her Irene collection. It was technically sound. Zenia had said so herself. And Kristy could build on that. She could take the creativity part slowly, learn to add the sparkle and imagination as she went along. Zenia had suggested the hide of a rhino. Kristy could be a rhino. A rhino brimming with imagination and passion, but stubborn and driven and willing to take on the world. However hard she had to work, whatever it took, she was going after her dream.
The Breakout Designer Contest was televised because viewers liked to see the expressions on the contestant’s faces when their fashions were paraded across the catwalk. They particularly liked to see the delight on the winner’s face at the end of the evening.
So, along with her eleven fellow contestants, Kristy left the backstage area, took the small, side staircase down to the floor, and slid into her seat in the front row.
A program was handed to her. She flipped through the pages, the buzz of chatter wafting around her as she waited for the opening music.
A calm settled over her as the announcer’s voice came through the speakers. The spotlight hit the stage.
Kristy had seen the other designers’ collections, both in the dressing rooms and at rehearsal. But nothing compared to seeing the creations strutted down the catwalk with the music blaring and a real audience applauding from the seats.
Kristy reached out to congratulate those closest to her as their models went by.
