AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Iwas only nine when my father disappeared,” Olivia said as she hand-stitched the binding to the mock-up corset. “And yet I still think about him almost every day. Which is silly since he probably hasn’t given me a second thought.”
Grayson’s gaze lifted from his sketchpad. They were the same color as Deacon’s and Nash’s, but Grayson’s eyes held an innocent compassion that would make anyone want to share their deepest hurts. Which made Olivia continue to babble.
“I wanted to blame my mother. I thought if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in money, my father wouldn’t have left after his company went bankrupt.” She re-threaded her needle and went back to work on the deep-purple corset fitted to the dress form. It was one from the Valentino Collection. A sexy confection of velvet and ribbon lacing.
“Then, when I became a self-conscious adolescent,” she said, “I blamed myself. I thought if I’d been cuter, smarter, more lovable, it would’ve been enough to make him stay. It was Michael who finally made me realize how wrong I was.” She pushed up her glasses. “Not because of anything he said, but because of his actions. He had faith in me.” She paused. “Then I went and almost bankrupted his company.”
Grayson skillfully wielded the charcoal pencil. “From what Deacon says, French Kiss was on its way to bankruptcy long before Uncle Michael died. And he was right to have faith in you.” He stopped sketching and looked around the large design studio. “All these works of art are yours.”
Olivia followed his gaze. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, gilding the dress forms draped in their colorful satins and silks as if they were princesses in a fairy-tale ballroom. Each designer danced around their princess, their attention completely focused on the design. She understood how they felt. While she struggled to remain on task with everything else in her life, she had no problem remaining focused here.
In the past week she’d completed her own pieces for the new collections, including the dark-purple corset with its silver binding and lavender ribbon laces. And she was starting to believe Samuel and Grayson. She was an artist.
For a long while she and Grayson worked on their own creations without saying a word. The silence would’ve been uncomfortable with any other man, but with Grayson it just seemed right. There was something so soothing about the glide and pull of the needle and thread accompanied by the wisps of Grayson’s pencil as it softly stroked the paper.
“What are you drawing?” she finally asked.
“Just a few ideas I have for the next catalog.”
“Can I see them?”
He turned the sketchpad. It was a drawing of Olivia, her expression intent as she worked on the corset. There was nothing sexual about what she was doing—it was just a woman in skinny jeans and a button-up blouse sewing—and yet the entire undertone of the drawing was sexual. She should’ve felt embarrassed that Grayson had pictured her like that. She didn’t. Probably because there was nothing sexual about their relationship. He treated her like a sister, and surprisingly, she felt that way.
“It’s beautiful, Grayson,” she said, “but we can’t use that in the catalog. We need models.”
He shook his head. “No, we don’t. We need ordinary women in love.”
“Are you saying that I’m ordinary?” she teased.
He blushed. “Not at all. I’m saying that even beautiful women are more beautiful when they’re doing something they love. You’re in love with design, and it shows in every movement, in every emotion that plays across your face.”
Before she could even begin to marvel at his perception, a voice broke the silence.
“Here you two are!”
She pulled her attention from the sketch to watch as Nash wove his way through the tables. At least she thought it was Nash. The camouflage pants and T-shirt had been replaced with dove-gray pants and a light-lavender dress shirt. But his new clothes weren’t as startling as his clean-shaven face. A face that was so handsome that she understood why the women—and men—of the design staff had stopped work and were now staring in openmouthed lust.
While the attention would’ve had most men puffing up with pride, Nash behaved as he always did. He stopped to admire each designer’s work, said something that had them laughing, and then slapped them on the back before he continued on his way. This easygoing friendliness had endeared him to Olivia. And after only a week, she felt as if she’d known him all her life.
He flashed her a blinding smile before his gaze rested on the corset. “Nice. Is that part of my collection?”
Nash did have a corset in his collection, but with its black leather and studs, it was much edgier than this one. Although Olivia had yet to see the edgy side of Nash. He just seemed like a good ol’ country boy to her.
“No,” she said. “I have my designers working on yours and Grayson’s.”
His eyes sharpened, and then twinkled. “So Deacon is all yours?”
She blushed. Until now she hadn’t given it much thought. But Nash made her realize that she had taken all the designs Deacon liked. Something she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“So what happened to the grizzly bear that made me breakfast this morning?” she asked in an attempt to change the subject. Nash was an excellent cook and had made the most amazing brioche French toast that morning. It had sent Babette into fits of French praise.
Babette was still living with her. Olivia had bought her a plane ticket, but Babette kept postponing the departure date. And Olivia didn’t know if it had to do with the fact that she didn’t miss her beloved Paris as much as she claimed, or with Nash and Grayson’s shirtless morning runs. Even now Babette ogled Nash from the table where she worked. Once Samuel had taken charge of the whiny woman and given her direction, she had turned out to be quite a talented seamstress.
“A grizzly bear?” Nash stroked his chin as if his beard were still there. “I’m crushed.”
“Right,” Olivia said. “I don’t think you’d be crushed over anything a woman said to you. So why did you shave?”
