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It was the first time anyone had asked, and Olivia felt like dissolving in a puddle of tears. But knowing that would not go over well with Samuel, she nodded. “I’m fine. I miss him, though.”
“Don’t we all,” he said with no emotion on his face whatsoever. “Now what brings you here today? I’m assuming this has to do with the new owners.”
“Have you met them?”
“I think one of them showed up in the studio this morning. It was before any of the other designers had arrived. I was on the phone with a new fabric broker and got a chance to observe him. I’d say he was an artist by the way he studied the design board.”
“Grayson,” Olivia said. “He’s the youngest Beaumont. And he is an artist. An amazing artist. You’ll be seeing his work shortly.”
“So the rumors are true? These Beaumont brothers from Louisiana are going to take over?”
She walked to the window that looked out on the studio. “For now. They have plans for three collections.”
“This Grayson’s designs?”
She felt her face flush. “Actually, they’re mine.”
There was an audible sigh, followed by, “Well, it’s about damned time.”
Olivia turned to find Samuel smiling. Not a big smile, but a slight lifting at the corners of his mouth. “What do you mean?”
The smile died. “I mean it’s about damned time that you figured out where you belong. And it’s not behind Michael’s desk.” He waved a hand. “It’s right here in the design studio, creating.”
She stared at him. “But why didn’t you say anything? All the time I spent here as a kid and you never once acted like I had any talent.”
He sat down behind the desk. “I told you all the time, Olivia. You just didn’t listen. You couldn’t. You were too busy concentrating on every word out of Michael’s mouth. And Michael wanted you to follow in his footsteps and run the company.”
“Then why didn’t he leave it to me?”
“Maybe he actually listened the last time I talked with him.”
Olivia moved closer. “You talked to Michael about me?”
Samuel nodded. “It was after his first stroke. I stopped by the hospital to see him.” He shook his head. “It was sad to see the commanding owner of French Kiss reduced to someone who had no control of his speech or the right side of his body. But his brain still worked. I started to talk about my ideas for new designs, but he stopped me. After a few grunts and a jabbed finger at your picture, I figured out that he wanted to hear about you and how you were taking care of the business.”
Michael had wanted the same information every time she’d visited him. But she’d refrained from talking about the company—mostly because she didn’t want him knowing how bad things had gotten. “So I guess you told him.”
Samuel leaned back and smoothed out the creases in his pants. “He needed to know—not only about the company going bankrupt but about his mistake in trying to force you to be something you aren’t.” He looked up. “You know why you’re so easily distracted, Olivia? It’s because you’re a creative person, and creative people struggle to think with the left side of their brain. Their mind isn’t on everyday life. It’s on their last creation—their last brushstroke, pencil sketch, piano note, or typed word. And Michael couldn’t see that because he thinks with his left brain. So he just thought you were forgetful. He didn’t know you were a genius.”
“I’m not—” she started, but he held up a hand.
“You are. You just needed to have someone give you the confidence.” The faint smile reappeared. “And if the new boss is responsible, then I love the man.” He winked at her. “And you should too.”
