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"Thank you, I'm thrilled to meet with you." I return his enthusiasm. I really am super excited to be here. This is a dream come true for me, and I know I have to make the most of it. Julian is a handsome man, probably in his mid-thirties, and appears too young to be running such a big fashion house. From our emails and the one phone conversation, I was imagining him to be older. When I researched the company, I did read somewhere that he took over the business from his father when he passed a few years back. Maybe he wasn't as old as I was picturing.
He ushers me through a bustling open-plan office. This must be where the other designers work. There are racks of stock patterns lined up and mannequins with half-made designs draped over them. Some people look our way and offer a smile, but most ignore us completely and continue with their work. We make it to a large room toward the back of the office, and he pushes open the door. This must be his office; a large black desk sits in the center of the room, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase a view of the city.
"Would you like something to drink?" he offers, taking a seat in a large leather office chair.
I take a seat across from him, straightening my shoulders and trying to appear more confident than I really feel. It makes me think of something my dad used to say—in business, you fake it till you make it. And it's always worked for me in the past. I came from nothing and created an amazing brand doing just that. "Sure, a coffee would be lovely, thank you."
"Clare, two espressos, please," he says into a desk intercom. I don't have the heart to tell him I don't drink strong coffee, so I just smile. He assesses me, his fingers to this chin like he’s thinking, and just by the look of me, he will be able to decide if I'm right for this project or not.
I avert my gaze, feeling awkward, and as my eyes travel around the room, I'm drawn to the pinboard to one side of his office, with collections of designs scattered across it. On closer inspection, I realize they’re my designs from my spring collection last year.
"You should design for me, Amelia," he says with a dominance to his tone that tells me this man knows what he wants, and he intends to get it.
I'm okay with that because I like directness, so you know where you stand. "Thank you." I smile, not wanting to sound rude, but I don't even know how this will work. "I do run a business of my own, though, in the States, where I have two children. As wonderful as it would be, I can't work from Paris."
"No, of course. But you can design for me. I like to work with talented designers from all over the world. It brings freshness to each of my collections, and I want you to collaborate for my next one. I think you and I together would be perfection. And I will make it worth your while. Your name will be on all the designs, Amelia Harper for House of Blanchet. I also hope you have considered my generous offer, otherwise you wouldn't be here. I don't know many fashion designers in your position who would turn down fifty thousand dollars up front, with a share of the profits after sales, do you?" The way he says it with such warmth in his eyes, I get the impression his words have a double meaning, but I overlook that part.
I’ve seen his designs; they are amazing, and I promised myself a long time ago that I would never say no to opportunities that came my way. I would accept them and find a way to make it work for me. The money would also be a life-changer for my family. "I like the sound of that," I agree.
"Good." He grins like he is the one who has just received some amazing opportunity and not me.
Our coffees arrive, and he takes a sip, his eyes still on me. I pick up the little cup and have a sip. It's strong and bitter but not as awful as I thought it would be without milk. He looks pleased that I've tried it, like it was a test that I have passed. He stands, collecting a pile of papers from his desk and placing them in front of me. I flick through them. They are all a variation of the same design with small changes. "Fix this for me and bring it back with you tomorrow," he demands.
"Okay." I look over the designs again, imagining how I can change it so it works a little better. This must be why he asked me to come for two meetings. I did think it was strange at the time but didn't want to question him. "Is this a test?" I ask, unsure how to go about this. What if I'm not good enough?
He throws his head back, laughing. "Not a test. You have the job with me, Amelia. This design is for Sophia Dubois, an actress here. She needs it for a movie premiere, and I’m out of ideas.” He stands and walks to the wall where some of my designs hang. “The truth is, this business was my father's. He was the great designer that Paris loved, the one with all the passion for fabrics and color, not me. I love this world because of him, but I don't share his natural flare for design, like I can see you do. I am obsessed with everything you do."
I blush at his compliment. I'm mostly self-taught with just a summer of college classes because it was all I could fit in with a baby, and it's really hard to believe he thinks I'm as talented as he says. "That's very flattering. I hope I can come up with something you will like."
"I'm sure you will. Then tomorrow you will meet me for lunch to discuss your ideas. My assistant will email you the details."
"Okay. Thank you for meeting with me." I hold out my hand to shake his, and he cups my hand with both of his, watching me with an intensity that's a little overwhelming.
"I think this arrangement is going to be very good for us both," he tells me.
"I hope so." I smile. He releases my hands, and I make my way back to the elevator, not feeling any less disoriented than when I walked in here. That wasn't what I was expecting at all. Not any of it. Him or the way he talked about me or even the space, really. I don't really know what I was expecting but not a quick compliment party for me, followed by him dismissing me. I feel like my head is spinning. But in a good way, with excitement for what's to come next.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AMELIA
WhenIgotbackto my hotel room a few hours ago, the first thing I did was pull out my sketch pad and pencils so I could get to work on the designs for Julian. My mind was racing in the cab ride over here, with so much beautiful inspiration everywhere I look in this city. I've come up with three different options for him. His designs were fine, they were just too complicated. Like he was trying so hard to impress that he missed the mark. Sometimes simple is better, more elegant for someone who is a movie star. At least in my opinion. Hopefully he feels the same.
I stretch my arms over my head and roll my shoulders back, catching a glimpse of the stunning view from the hotel window. I'm on the fifth floor, and the hotel looks out over the Eiffel Tower. The hotel the Blanchet fashion house has paid for me to stay in is stunning five-star accommodation in the heart of the city. I couldn't believe my eyes when I first walked in the place. Massive king bed in the center of the room and large windows with soft sheer drapery. I'm so lucky to have been given this opportunity. I keep pinching myself because I just can't believe it's real.
Having one last glance over my designs, I'm pleased with what I've come up with in such a short time, so I pack away my sketch pad and pens, needing to get my body moving. After a quick glance of the time, I see it’s 5pm. It would be morning in Palm Springs. Hopefully the kids have gone off to school okay for Mom. I send off a quick text to check in. I'm missing them like crazy already.
Thinking of home also makes me wonder what Heath is up to today. He was very vague when I asked him what he had going on this week, something about fiddling around with the boys on a new song, but maybe that's what it's like when you're a rock star making a new album. Something in my gut tells me he is hiding something from me, but I can't tell if that's just my insecurities or if he is. But I need to shake them off. As Andy said, I have to trust him and really try to give this thing a chance, and man, I want to. I can't stop thinking about him and the way he made me feel the other night at his place. I've never felt so adored, and I could do with a whole lot more of that.
A knock sounds at the door, startling me. My first thought is I didn't order anything from room service. I don't know anyone here in Paris, so a knock could really only be from someone at the hotel. My tummy rumbles at the thought. Now that I think about it, I'm starving. I skipped lunch so I could work on the designs.
I pad over the soft plush carpet to the door and peep through the little hole. I can't help the smile that takes over my face when I see who's on the other side. I open the door in a rush. "What the hell are you doing here?" I beam, not able to believe it's really him. Heath drops his bag inside, kicking the door shut with his boot, then scoops me up, his mouth coming to mine immediately, devouring me in a desperate kiss. I run my hands through his hair, holding onto his neck, pulling him closer to me. I’m surprised at how much I missed him after just a couple of days, but I really have.
He walks through the room with me still clinging on to him, kissing him. He drops me to the bed, staring back at me. "I wasn't waiting a week to see you again."
"So you flew to Paris? You're crazy, Heath."
"I was going for romantic."
