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“I don’t know. You’re the most interesting, beautiful, funny, bright woman I’ve met in…forever. Let me help you fix whatever it is that’s going on.”
“Isn’t redesigning my entire company’s inventory program enough?”
“No. I’m an overachiever.”
She tipped her head forward, resting her forehead against his chin. She dropped her hands to his waist and stepped into him.
He gathered her closer and tucked his hands into her back pockets. She laughed against his neck. “Tell me.”
“I was supposed to exhibit my spring collection at the Expo this weekend and now with Marta out of commission there’s no way I can do both.”
“And there’s no way to have one of the support clerks in the store cover you for like an hour while you set up.”
She shook her head. “Someone has to man the booth and hand out the pamphlets. A judge will go around and decide who the finalists are to possibly be picked up for their annual magazine. It’s a make-or-break kind of thing.”
“And no one else can do it?”
“No. Not on such short notice.” She sighed and kissed his neck. “I’m sorry I threw a tantrum. It’s not your fault. Even if we had the new program before this, I’m sure the Marta thing would have happened anyway.” She pressed her cheek to his chest. “Something always happens.”
He hated to hear her sound so defeated. It was something he’d heard far too often as a kid when his parents had to do without just to put food on the table. “Can you enter next year?”
She nodded against his chest and he heard a tiny sniffle.
“Ah, dammit.” He pushed her back and saw the light sheen of tears starring her lashes. His chest tightened. “I’m sorry, Goldie.” He kissed her lightly.
When her arms wound around his neck and she deepened the kiss, he forced himself not to react. She was sad and still a little mad. When her tongue teased across his lower lip, he groaned into her mouth.
“Take me home, Vance. I think I’d like to end the day with you if that’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I’m so tired of giving this store everything. I just want you tonight.” She skimmed her mouth over his chin, then back up to his lips. “Just you.”
There was no way he could say no.
He just prayed that it didn’t make him a selfish bastard.
Eleven
Presley glancedat the pamphlets for the expo that she’d stuffed in her messenger bag. She just couldn’t have them at work staring at her all day. She’d tuck them away in her studio room at the apartment.
She could enter the competition the following year. She created traditional pieces with a flair. She loved that they were timeless—that’s exactly what people wanted to wear. The twelve-piece collection would hold up. Well, maybe ten of the pieces. Two of them were definitely based on some pop culture influences.
Those were two of her favorites, of course. They were also the last two she’d worked on. The light went from yellow to red ahead of her as she came to a stop. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in her annealing room. She looked down at her fingers in the unforgiving glow of the overhead streetlights. All the burns from her soldering tool had healed in the last two months.
Every spare moment was spent correcting orders and making phone calls to manufacturers. Doing the work on her portfolio—photos, printing and all of that. Not designing. Not holding the tools she needed to feel alive.
Touching Vance had been the first glimpse of passion she’d felt in a damn long time. And if she couldn’t have the hope of the studio right now, she would hold onto him. It wasn’t entirely fair to him. In fact, her lighting into him like a hurricane earlier wasn’t fair, but he’d taken it.
Without complaint, he’d stood there like a set of steel shutters taking every scream, shout, and punch to the gut. He’d even let her cry against him.
God, she didn’t know if she should run screaming or hold onto him and never let go.
What man actually did that after knowing a woman a little over twenty-four hours? Was he just a guy with a hero complex? He had that kind of unwavering support that said he might be.
She fixed her rearview mirror. His headlights remained just as steadily behind her as the man himself. He was following her home to hold her, to bolster her, to help her and she was selfish enough to let him right now.
Her apartment was in the heart of downtown Kensington Square in one of the tallest buildings in the center square. When she’d bought the space, she’d loved it. It was everything she’d worked toward at college and with her family business.
