Family By Design
Family By Design
Callie Endicott
He hired her…now he can’t imagine life without herWidower Simon Kessler is doing just fine on his own. Or at least he thought so, until he met Rachel Clarion. Rachel instantly connects with his daughter, and her instincts are spot on when it comes to his wife’s struggling clothing line– a legacy he’s determined to preserve.Can Rachel save the business and, just maybe, his cynical heart?
He hired her
...now he can’t imagine life without her
Widower Simon Kessler is doing just fine on his own. Or at least he thought so, until he met Rachel Clarion. Rachel instantly connects with his daughter, and her instincts are spot-on when it comes to his wife’s struggling clothing line—a legacy he’s determined to preserve. Can Rachel save the business and, just maybe, his cynical heart?
As a kid, Callie Endicott had her nose stuck in a book so often it frequently got her in trouble. The trouble hasn’t stopped—she keeps having to buy new bookshelves. Luckily ebooks don’t take up much space. Writing has been another help, since she’s usually on the computer creating stories instead of buying them. Callie loves bringing characters to life and never knows what will prompt an idea. So she still travels, hikes, explores and pursues her other passions, knowing a novel may be just around the corner.
Also by Callie Endicott
Emerald City Stories
A Father for the Twins
Moonlight Over Seattle
Montana Skies
The Rancher’s Prospect
At Wild Rose Cottage
Kayla’s Cowboy
That Summer at the Shore
Until She Met Daniel
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Family by Design
Callie Endicott
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 9781474094740
FAMILY BY DESIGN
© 2018 by Callie Endicott
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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Rachel was intrigued.
“Preserving the business for Livvie was desperately important to my wife. It also connects Livvie to her mother. I have to keep Liv’ing Creations going for my daughter’s sake.”
It was a motivation that Rachel understood.
She didn’t know much about Simon, though one of the Carthage residents had mentioned he was a successful businessman. But wanting to save the design house for his daughter—when it would be easier to sell or close the operation down—must mean he had a good heart.
“I admire your goal,” she said, “but I’m not sure what I could do to help. Are you trying to find models who might turn things around?”
Simon leaned forward in his chair. “Actually, I realize this isn’t what your agency generally deals with, but I have a special proposal for you...”
Dear Reader (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e),
I’m sometimes asked how I come up with characters or book plots. When it comes to the Emerald City Stories, it began with Nicole George, the sister of Emily, who was the heroine of At Wild Rose Cottage. I wondered what Nicole’s life might be like. What if she wanted to stop being a supermodel and try something new? At that point, her friends Adam, Rachel and Logan seemed to stand up and introduce themselves.
Nicole’s story was told in Moonlight Over Seattle. And I was pleased to continue the series with Adam Wilding in A Father for the Twins. Now it’s Rachel Clarion’s turn. She’s a woman whose beauty seems almost otherworldly to widower Simon Kessler. But underneath it all, he discovers a strong woman who might be the key to not only saving the design business his wife left to their young daughter, but to redesigning a new happy family.
I always love hearing from readers and can be contacted on my Facebook page at Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author (http://Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author).
Best wishes,
Callie
To Mom
Contents
Cover (#uf3270dc7-db67-5f85-83f2-be4255e08908)
Back Cover Text (#u29e70208-915e-52fa-93a6-de8d577aeebf)
About the Author (#u7bb5b4a5-3379-59f1-a03a-615f91c4ed23)
Booklist (#uff849c74-221d-5415-94f8-1870bade22de)
Title Page (#ua7ee5a2a-93cf-59e4-ab5f-83bcc9796083)
Copyright (#uf22a9e36-fc4b-52df-b799-b84d15126804)
Introduction (#u1b65bf20-aac0-5815-af98-c1262f88698c)
Dear Reader (#u35f9838c-ecf5-54c1-a32a-78edf3391d80)
Dedication (#u8840b5b1-2f37-5eda-a8aa-0ad50404c685)
PROLOGUE (#u36c417b1-b0d1-53e7-bbfe-1026aa140278)
CHAPTER ONE (#u3f61c639-990c-588c-80c3-eb9fc77ed08b)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua639a0c0-adec-5cfe-ab3d-b5ad4785bafe)
CHAPTER THREE (#u1c194040-a9ce-51a6-acf8-3f3c744e89a4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7365541f-1161-5545-a719-8e1091d43c2b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT FROM THE RANCHER’S HOMECOMING BY ANNA J. STEWART (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
RACHEL CLARION STARED at the check she held... It was intended to compensate for the loss of a successful modeling career, but all she wanted to do was tear it into a thousand pieces.
Weeks ago, her agent, Kevin McClaskey, had made inquiries to see if anyone was interested in hiring her. The answer was no. He’d been given excuses about her being out of the public eye for too long, and that regardless, people might think more about the accident than the product being sold.
Rachel thought there was more to it.
She glanced at the check she held, then touched the faint marks on her jaw; she’d come to terms with what had happened, but the insurance company had boiled it down to dollars and cents. The money was supposed to pay for negligence, pain and lost earnings. But what could compensate for a year and a half of surgeries, self-doubt and the endless gossip and speculation of the paparazzi and mainstream press?
The slip of paper drifted to the floor.
All right, she was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. It shouldn’t be this difficult—her modeling career hadn’t been a childhood dream. She’d become a model by chance when she was fourteen. Her parents were down-to-earth people who ran a popular catering company. One day she’d been helping them cater a spring clothing photo shoot in Seattle, Washington, and the next day she was in front of the camera because one of the models had come down with the flu.
The doorbell rang and Rachel hurried to answer it, finding her close friend Nicole George had arrived early for the evening gathering.
“Hey, Nicole.”
Nicole looked at her closely. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, really.” Rachel closed the door and retrieved the check from the floor. Managed right, the settlement would ensure she’d stay financially independent. “I got the money today. It’s making me think about stuff.”
She put the check away and settled on the couch with Nicole at the other end. Soon they’d be joined by Logan Kensington and Adam Wilding. Adam and Nicole were two of the hottest supermodels in the business, and Logan was a photographer whose services were always in demand. Rachel couldn’t help wondering if it would make a difference to their friendship now that she was no longer modeling herself.
She chided herself for even thinking the question. Her friends weren’t shallow, even if her ex-husband might be. Rachel wasn’t sure about Hayden any longer. It felt as if he’d left because of her scars, yet he’d stuck around for several months after the accident. Ultimately the endless round of doctors and surgeries and meetings with lawyers had chipped away at their marriage until they’d both questioned what was left.
It was also possible that since Hayden was regarded as one of the best-looking men in the business, he couldn’t handle being married to a woman who was now pitied and facing the end of her career. Still, they’d had a myriad of problems, so her appearance could only be part of why he’d left.
“Earth to Rachel,” Nicole intoned.
“Sorry.”
Nicole’s eyes were sympathetic. “I can only imagine what that check represents to you. Some people would be dancing in triumph, but life isn’t just about money.”
“Yeah. It’s like a final judgment saying my career is over, my marriage is finished and money is the only thing left.” Rachel made a face. “Sorry, I hate it when I whine.”
“Whine all you like. You deserve it.”
“But feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t help.”
“True,” Nicole acknowledged, “it just keeps you stuck in the same place.”
“And that isn’t good enough, so I’ll have to build a new life and look forward to the process.”
“You can do it. You’re one of the smartest and bravest people I’ve ever known.”
Rachel grinned. “You’re just saying that because I’m feeding you dinner.”
“You got me. I’m a sucker for your chicken lo mein.”
The doorbell rang again and Rachel let Adam and Logan into the apartment.
“Hi, guys,” Nicole greeted them. They fetched bottles of mineral water from the fridge and relaxed in the comfortable chairs across from the couch.
Furniture was another thing Rachel and Hayden had disagreed about; he’d wanted everything modern and fashionable, while she’d preferred comfort. Compromise wasn’t in his lexicon. She’d let him have every piece of furniture in the divorce, and then purchased what she’d wanted in the first place.
“Before I finish making dinner, I have to decide what to do with my life,” Rachel said. “Any ideas?”
“Wow, a new life plan in the next twenty minutes,” Adam marveled. “Is this the latest Olympic event?”
Rachel laughed, feeling more normal. The four of them had known each other for years and no one could have been more faithful visiting her at the hospital and then at home, phoning and using Skype when they were out of town on jobs. Maybe friendship was better than romance. It certainly seemed more reliable.
“I thought you had two operations to go before making a decision,” Logan said.
“The benefits would be marginal at best, so I told the surgeon that enough is enough. Besides, Kevin made inquiries and nobody wants to hire me. They say it’s been too long and there was too much press about the accident—that my injuries are all consumers will think about. If they even remember me.”
Adam scowled. “Advertisers are remarkably shortsighted. But I’m glad you’ve decided not to have more surgery. We’ve hated seeing how much it drags you down.”
Rachel squared her shoulders. “Well, now I can rebuild myself and move on.”
“What about buying into your parents’ business in the Seattle area? You’re a great cook.”
She shook her head. “That isn’t the answer. For one, my little sister hopes to eventually take over Clarion Catering, and my being there would be a complication. Not to mention it would be like going back to childhood.”
Nicole shuddered. “What an awful thought.”
Both Logan and Adam groaned in a chorus of agreement.
Ironically, of the four of them, Rachel had experienced the most normal life growing up, but she still didn’t want to go backward. Anyhow, each time her parents visited, they wanted to coddle and protect her...and deny the reality of what a huge, ancient lighting boom could do to the human body if it wasn’t properly secured. She loved them, but she needed to reclaim her life. It was what her trauma counselor kept saying, but that didn’t make it less true.
Logan leaned forward. “Is there anything you’re especially interested in doing?”
“Not really. I’ve enjoyed the travel connected to modeling, but I can’t see becoming a flight attendant.”
“How about doing makeup for photo shoots?” he suggested. “You’ve helped out several times when the professional artist couldn’t get the look I wanted. And there was that one shoot where the entire makeup staff got food poisoning from sushi and you did it for everybody.”
Makeup artist was an interesting idea. She had the insurance payout, so she didn’t have to worry if the work wasn’t regular. And she’d be in the same field as her friends.
“Would it be hard to work in a setting similar to where the accident happened?” Nicole asked, looking concerned.
“Maybe, but I’m getting counseling for post-traumatic stress and I doubt that running away is the answer.”
Rachel almost felt guilty for talking about PTSD. After all, she’d been posing for a picture when something heavy fell on her, not saving lives like the two firefighters she’d met in the hospital. They ran into burning buildings when everyone else was running out of them. But when she’d tried dismissing her own experience, they’d said to stop, that trauma was trauma, no matter what had caused it.
Rachel struggled to smile. Right now she needed to concentrate on getting through each day, one step at a time.
“What do you know?” she announced in a determinedly cheerful voice. “You’ve managed to help me plan a new life in less than ten minutes. I’m impressed.”
CHAPTER ONE (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
Eight years later
RACHEL ATE BREAKFAST on the balcony of her new condo overlooking Lake Washington, relishing the crisp, cool air of early fall. The view was partly why she’d bought this place. At night, the sparkle of electric lights ringed the dark lake, and in the daytime the vista was ever changing, depending on the weather and which boats were out.
It was funny... She’d grown up in a small town near Seattle and had resisted returning after the accident, yet here she was, less than thirty miles from where her parents lived. Maybe Washington would always be home, or maybe she was just happy that the goal she and her friends had set three years earlier—buying a talent agency—had finally been reached.
Actually, they’d owned Moonlight Ventures for a year, but Nicole had run it alone at first, and then Adam had joined her. Now Rachel was here, and Logan would be joining them soon, as well. Becoming a talent agent was a challenge, the same as when Rachel had built her reputation as a model, and then as a makeup artist.
She decided to go for a walk and automatically checked her appearance in a mirror by the front door. It was Saturday and she didn’t have any appointments, but makeup was a habit that made her more confident. She kept it as light as possible, using the barest amount necessary to cover the lingering scars from her old injuries.
Rather than taking the elevator, she ran down the stairs. Since her accident and being bandaged like a mummy so often after surgeries, she’d become slightly claustrophobic.
“Hi,” said a childish voice as Rachel walked through the building lobby. A little girl gazed up at her. She was cute as could be, with brown eyes, reddish hair and an inquisitive expression.
“Hello. Who are you?”
“My name is Livvie. I’m seven.”
“I’m Rachel. Do you live in the Carthage?” The Carthage was the name of the building, supposedly chosen to evoke images of strength and engineering excellence.
The youngster vigorously bobbed her head. “We used to live in Seattle before Daddy went to work in New York, but I asked if we could come back because this is the place I like best. It’s...” She chewed on her lip. “It’s where I remember Mama best.”
Livvie seemed remarkably articulate and self-possessed for a child her age, though Rachel was hardly an expert on kids. “It was nice of your daddy to do that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ready for our walk, Livvie?” a young woman asked, coming up to them. She looked at Rachel. “Hello, I’m Gemma.”
“Gemma is my nanny, ’cept I’m too old for a nanny, so she just takes care of me,” Livvie volunteered.
“Hi, Gemma. I’m Rachel Clarion. I live on the second floor.” Rachel deliberately provided the information, figuring a nanny worth her salt would want to know exactly who had been talking with her charge.
“Daddy’s girlfriend was awful mad when we moved home,” Livvie said blithely, “but Gemma was happy because she grew up here and wants to go back to college.”
“Sweetie, you shouldn’t talk about your father that way to a stranger,” Gemma cautioned. She had a clear, melodic voice that probably appealed to a child.
“Why not?”
“Because it... It’s because some things are private.”
“Everybody knows. I heard Daddy say on the phone that Sandra whined to the newspaper people about us leaving.”
Rachel suspected that explaining privacy to a seven-year-old was like trying to bail water with a sieve. It would be even harder if Livvie’s father was well-known. As for his “whined to the newspaper” comment? The word evoked an image of a man who was impatient with women, maybe even scornful of them.
“Gemma, how long have you been a nanny?” she asked as a distraction.
“Since Livvie was a baby. When did you move to the Carthage?”
“A few weeks ago. I grew up in Washington, but lived in Los Angeles for a number of years. It’s nice to be back.”
“I know how you feel.”
Livvie tugged on Rachel’s arm. “Do you want to go with us? I’m putting my new boat in the water. It has a motor and everything!”
As Livvie held up the toy, there was a vibration under their feet. Someone across the lobby called, “Earthquake,” and Gemma let out a gasp.
“I’m sure we’re okay,” Rachel said quickly, “but let’s get over by that column.” She knew that the Carthage had been reinforced to withstand earthquakes and the central columns were part of the structural support.
“May-maybe we should go outside,” Gemma protested.
“The column,” Rachel repeated firmly, shepherding the other woman and Livvie close to the column. The possibility of flowerpots falling from the balconies above bothered her more than any chance the ceiling might come down in such a minor quake.
In less than ten seconds the shaking stopped. Her face ashen, Gemma had pulled Livvie close.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Rachel assured quietly. “We’re fine. That probably wasn’t even a 3.0.”
“I know. It’s just that when I was a kid I fell down a flight of stairs during the Nisqually quake and broke my leg.”
“That was a strong one.” Rachel remembered the Nisqually quake—it was hard not to remember being in such a powerful earthquake. “But this one mostly felt like a great big truck driving by, making the ground rumble a little. Right, Livvie?” she asked in an encouraging tone.
“Yup.” Livvie didn’t seem afraid, more excited. “Is there going to be a tidal wave?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then can we sail my boat now?”
Gemma laughed, visibly regaining her composure. She seemed nice, if unsure of herself. “I guess that puts things in perspective. Let’s go.”
When they reached the lake, Livvie focused on putting her small remote-controlled motorboat into the water.
“What is your college major?” Rachel asked as they kept a careful watch on the little girl.
“Childhood development. That’s why getting a job as a nanny seemed a good way to work my way through school.”
“There’s nothing like practical experience,” Rachel agreed.
“Right, but I didn’t want to leave my job when Simon...Mr. Kessler decided to go back East. When we got there he decided on homeschooling for Livvie and hired a teacher. Even so, it... Um, it didn’t seem practical to attend college in New York, but I’m starting classes again here in January,” she added awkwardly.
Rachel wondered how Gemma felt about her boss. The way she’d said his name had an odd tone and Rachel couldn’t decide whether it was affection or wariness. Well, good luck to her, and to anyone who had dreams of a romantic happily-ever-after.
SIMON KESSLER WAS frustrated by the unusually heavy Saturday traffic. He’d expected to stay at the office later, but even though Gemma had called and assured him that Livvie wasn’t upset by the small earthquake, he’d decided to come home and spend the afternoon with her.
At length he drove his Volvo into the building’s underground garage and got into the elevator. It was used by all the Carthage residents, but the top floor could only be accessed by a special key.
The elevator opened into an entrance foyer. He unlocked the front door and the first thing he heard was his daughter chattering happily away. Livvie was the most important part of his life, the best thing he and Olivia had ever done together. But now his complex, brilliant, wonderful wife was gone, and he was a widower and single father. He still missed Olivia so much that at times he thought he’d choke on the pain.
“Where’s my Livi-kin-kinnie?” he said, walking into the living room.
He stopped. A stranger was there, a woman who looked vaguely familiar but was still a stranger. She sat on the floor by the coffee table, while Livvie fussed over the tiny bone china tea set that had been one of her birthday presents when she turned seven. Quickly he glanced around and was relieved to see Gemma seated in the corner with a book. He would have been upset if he’d found Livvie alone with someone they didn’t know.
“Daddy,” Livvie exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Have tea with us. Pleeeeze? Gemma has to study and it’s a much better party with more people.”
He couldn’t resist her big brown eyes pleading with him.
“You talked me into it.” Simon chose the opposite side of the coffee table, preferring not to sit close to the woman. The spot was awkward since the huge redwood burl table was low and he had to arrange his legs around the bulky base.
“Who is your other guest?” he asked.
“This is Rachel C-Clarion. Rachel, this is my daddy.”
The woman smiled and nodded as Livvie continued talking.
“Rachel lives downstairs. We went to the lake with her this morning and I asked if she could come for tea.” Livvie trotted toward the kitchen and Gemma set her book aside to follow, no doubt to help with preparations.
Being a resident in the Carthage might be why Rachel seemed familiar, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted her around his daughter.
He’d talk about it with Gemma. She had good instincts, but might have been too shy to turn away their neighbor. Her lack of confidence at times had been his biggest concern about hiring her to care for his newborn daughter. But Olivia had liked her and the way she’d handled Livvie, so he’d agreed. Now, with his wife’s death two years ago, he couldn’t contemplate removing Gemma from Livvie’s life; his daughter had already lost too much. It would still happen at some point... Gemma was nearly twenty-six now and couldn’t stay forever.
Forcing his thoughts to the present moment, Simon nodded at Rachel and she nodded back. He regarded her dispassionately. Her eyes were almost turquoise, he thought idly, making him wonder if she wore colored contacts. She was stunningly beautiful with a cloud of long, dark hair. But he wasn’t a kid, ready to fall for a pretty face.
Friends sometimes claimed that he needed a wife and a mother for his daughter. But while he’d dated casually over the past year, he was always clear that he didn’t want anything permanent; he and Livvie were doing fine on their own. Unfortunately, the woman he’d seen most often in New York had begun hinting for more. Sandra, a well-known socialite, had been furious when she discovered he was moving away without offering a marriage proposal.
He carefully returned Rachel’s smile to show neither openness nor caution. “Hello, I’m Simon Kessler.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve seen you at the Java Train Shop next door.”
“They serve decent coffee,” he said.
“Yeah. I used to have one of those fancy machines that practically dances a cup over to the table. But I got rid of the contraption when I moved home. Since I was returning to one of the coffee capitals of the world, why bother making my own brew?”
“I see. What brought you back to the Northwest?” he asked, knowing he was doomed to a period of polite conversation. It was frustrating. He’d come home for quality time with Livvie and had to share it with a stranger.
“Business. My partners and I bought a talent agency.”
“I’ve never known anyone in the talent industry.”
Her lips curved again. They were full and sweetly shaped, with just a hint of gloss over a natural rosy color. “I’ve worked in the modeling field since I was fourteen, so except for childhood friends, I hardly know anyone outside it. What line are you in?”
“My business covers multiple areas, but these days I mostly focus on textiles for home furnishings.”
It was a dismissive description of his varied enterprises, but he didn’t see the need to go into detail. Through the years Simon had acquired and sold several companies, but he no longer did corporate takeovers; it required time and a callousness that didn’t match the man he wanted to be as Livvie’s father.
Livvie returned with a small tray, her upper lip caught between her teeth in concentration. Rachel reached up to help lower the tray to the table, and he wasn’t thrilled to see her seeming willingness to connect with his child; it reminded him of the way Sandra had started dropping by, hoping to become cozy with his daughter. Her motives had been transparent and if he hadn’t decided to leave New York, he would have bluntly told her that Livvie was off-limits. Even at his worst he’d never used a child to advance his personal or business goals and didn’t appreciate anyone who did.
“Livvie didn’t think you’d be home so early,” Rachel said, breaking into his thoughts.
Was she trying to suggest she’d come to the tea party without expecting to see him? For pity’s sake, he’d turned into both a cynic and an egotist. A woman could respond to a child’s invitation without having ulterior motives. And if Rachel had anything else in mind, he’d figure it out soon enough.
“I had a couple of meetings with people who weren’t available during the week. I expected to stay at the office longer to finish some work,” he told her, “but changed my mind after the earthquake.”
“Daddy works almost every day,” Livvie said sadly.
Guilt struck Simon. His hours hadn’t mattered as much when Olivia was there and they both could spend time with her outside their demanding careers. “I know about mommies and daddies who have to work a lot,” Rachel said as she accepted the miniature cup Livvie handed to her. “My parents run a catering business.”
Livvie looked puzzled. “What’s that?”
“They prepare food for parties and special dinners and other events.”
“Do they have to work awful hard like Daddy?”
“I don’t know if it’s the same as your daddy, but caterers work different hours than some parents, especially late afternoons and evenings. Us kids usually stayed with our grandmother when they were busy.”
“I don’t have a grandma.”
“But you have Gemma, which is great, right?”
Livvie grinned and nodded, handing one of the tiny cups to Simon.
It wasn’t entirely true that she didn’t have a grandmother. Legally, she did. Olivia’s family was gone and Simon’s mother had died when he was nine, but when he was eleven, Richard Kessler had forced his wife to adopt his former lover’s child. Karen had tried, in her awkward way, to treat Simon decently, but he’d been the living reminder her husband had never been faithful and that she hadn’t given him the son he craved. Neither Karen nor Simon’s father was a part of their lives now.
“Please have some cookies,” Livvie said, holding out a plate to her guest.
Rachel took one of the cookies and ate a bite. “Delicious. Did you make them yourself?”
Giggling, his daughter shook her head. “We got them at a bakery. I don’t know how to cook. Do you?”
“It’s one of my hobbies.”
“Did your mommy teach you how?”
Simon’s throat suddenly closed with suppressed emotion. He tried not to remind Livvie of how much she’d lost when Olivia died. Though, to be honest, cooking hadn’t been one of his wife’s skills. Instead she’d told their daughter about clothing designs and the way certain fabrics moved depending on how they were cut.
“My mother and father both taught me,” Rachel explained. “Dad is the baker. He makes breads and desserts, while Mom does most of the other stuff. I enjoy doing both.”
“My mommy can’t teach me,” Livvie answered with the curious frankness that seemed part of both her age and personality. “She went to heaven when I was five.”
“I’m sorry. If she was anything like you, she must have been very special.”
Livvie beamed, then turned and looked at him. “I hardly ever see you in the kitchen, Daddy. Can you cook?”
“’Fraid not, kiddo. I learned more about business stuff than cooking spaghetti when I was growing up.”
His daughter giggled.
Simon loved it when she laughed. He loved it when she seemed to be happy instead of scared and pulled into herself. At times he worried that he frightened her. In more sensible moments he was sure that was ridiculous. But he also knew he was very much the man his ruthless father had molded him to be.
RACHEL HADN’T BEEN sure about accepting Livvie Kessler’s invitation to a tea party, but the child seemed lonely and it had felt like the right thing to do. Still, it hurt when Rachel thought that if her marriage had succeeded, she might have a little girl or boy around Livvie’s age.
She pushed the thought away. If she’d known that Livvie’s father was Simon Kessler and that he would be coming home, she might have refused Livvie’s invitation.
On the weekend she preferred keeping things casual and comfortable, and the brief glimpses she’d caught of Simon had suggested he was brooding and intense, ready to explode into action at any moment. There was nothing wrong with that. She’d known plenty of people with the same coiled energy inside, but sitting at a child’s tea party with one of them unsettled her. Besides, the few times their gazes had connected in the past, he’d turned away as if he had no interest in other people...or even in common courtesies.
But she gave the guy credit for one thing—he was obviously a hardworking businessman, yet he was willing to sit on the floor and have a tea party with his motherless child. Whatever other faults he might have, she found that admirable.
Nonetheless, she quickly finished her tea and cookie as soon as Livvie was done with hers. She noticed that Simon did the same—perhaps hoping his daughter’s guest wouldn’t stay long.
“Thank you, this has been lovely,” Rachel told her small hostess. “I enjoyed it, but I’d better go.” She untangled her legs and stood.
“Do you have to?” Livvie asked plaintively.
“Afraid so. I have things to do before going out tonight.”
Nicole had invited everyone to her house for a barbecue and Rachel had offered to bring a couple of salads. Had Nicole and her fiancé, Jordan Masters, finally settled on their wedding plans? Of course, Adam was now engaged to Cassie Bryant so they might have a similar announcement. What’s more, the agency’s office manager, Chelsea Masters, who also happened to be Jordan’s sister, was seriously involved with a grade school teacher. The next year could be busy with all the weddings of people at Moonlight Ventures.
Rachel had wondered if Nicole and Adam both getting engaged would change the dynamics of their friendship, but it was working out all right. After the couples were married, the four business partners probably wouldn’t hang out as often in a group, but they had never spent every minute in each other’s pockets, anyhow. Besides, Jordan and Cassie were great.
Cassie was the legal guardian to two of the agency’s clients. She designed websites and had revamped Moonlight Ventures’ website. Jordan was a reporter, which was how he and Nicole met, or rather met again. They’d known each other growing up, but hadn’t been in contact until he was asked to do an article about her changing careers from modeling to being an agent.
“I’m really, really, really glad you came.” Livvie walked her guest to the door, a proper little hostess. “Can we do things together sometimes?”
Rachel smiled at the sweet, hopeful face, aware that Simon had followed with a closed expression. “Maybe, if it’s all right with your daddy.”
“We’re neighbors and neighbors should be friends,” Livvie said with her oddly adult air. It probably wasn’t unusual for an only child who’d been homeschooled, though earlier Gemma had explained Livvie was now enrolled in a private school with kids her own age. Maybe it would help her be less lonely.
“Thanks again for the tea,” Rachel repeated when Simon stayed silent.
She took the stairs down, aware of the heavy security door snapping shut behind her. Nobody except the Kesslers could access the top floor of the Carthage. A special key was needed for the elevator and cameras monitored the third-floor staircase.
The setup seemed slightly paranoid, but maybe Simon Kessler was a fanatic about his privacy. Rachel understood, and the penthouse was undoubtedly a nice home. She’d only seen a small part of it, but visible from the living room was an actual garden, with a deck, flower boxes, a tiny area of grass and trees in large planters. High, spotless heavy glass enclosed the space, ensuring Livvie could play with no chance of falling.
Rachel let herself into her condo and felt as if she was reentering the real world.
She would have loved having a house and garden like the one Nicole had purchased, but the muscles in her left leg weren’t as strong as they’d been before the accident, especially if she made unusual or twisting movements. So rather than hire someone to do the yard and other exterior work, she’d decided on a condo with a balcony large enough to host small groups. She couldn’t have found a better location under the circumstances. The neighborhood was in a historic town, tucked into the greater Seattle area. It enjoyed some preservation from further development along the lake by protected green space on either side. There was even a mom-and-pop type of grocery store up the block, complete with an old-style deli.
While she vacuumed the living room, Rachel thought about Simon Kessler. Livvie must take after her mother, except for her eyes, which were as dark as her father’s. But the little girl’s eyes were eager and hopeful, unlike Simon’s.
Rachel could understand. In pictures of her taken after the accident, her eyes had conveyed the same sense of bottled-up emotions she saw in Simon’s gaze. Only slowly had she lost the self-conscious pain she hadn’t wanted anyone else to see.
Simon’s wife had died a little over two years ago. Maybe that was why he seemed so intense, struggling to keep himself under tight control... He was a man who had lost the woman he loved and was trying to navigate this new world as a single dad. Having a girlfriend in New York didn’t mean he’d figured things out; it could just have been part of the process.
Rachel pushed the thoughts aside to prepare lettuce and other vegetables for a Thai noodle salad.
At five she drove out to Nicole’s house. Jordan opened the door and took the box of food she carried.
“Mmm.” Jordan sniffed. “I smell onions, peanuts, roasted sesame... Must be Thai.”
“Is that your favorite?”
“Whatever you cook is my favorite. I haven’t tasted anything you make that I haven’t loved.”
“That’s for sure,” Nicole agreed, overhearing them as they walked into the kitchen. “And I’ve been eating your cooking a lot longer than Jordan.”
“I’ve been wondering if you’d like me to fix a meal for after your wedding,” Rachel said. “Or the rehearsal dinner.”
Jordan put the box on the counter and exchanged a look with his fiancée.
Nicole sighed. “Actually, we’ve decided against a formal wedding. We considered giving it a try, but there are too many George and Masters family bombs threatening to go off. It would be the Hatfields and McCoys, Seattle-style.” She clutched her forehead in mock horror.
“Oh, dear.”
Rachel knew that Nicole’s mother didn’t get along with Jordan’s mom, a long-time feud that the engaged couple had hoped would be put aside, at least for their wedding. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen.
Jordan shrugged. “The fight runs too deep, and neither side wants to give up being angry. Maybe someday. But if it doesn’t, at least we live two states away.”
“I hope the battle doesn’t extend to the two of you.”
“Nope. Mom has decided Nicole is perfectly wonderful—despite everything—and Nicole’s mother says she can’t figure how I turned out so well with parents like that.”
“Yikes.” Rachel could imagine the battle scenes if the two families got together.
“Right.” Jordan put the salads she’d brought into the refrigerator. “It’s our own version of the Cold War and we don’t want it to heat up.”
“Then what are you doing for the wedding?”
“We’re going to our fallback plan. December or January, city hall, no friends or family except witnesses,” Nicole said succinctly.
“We won’t let them drag us into their fight,” Jordan added.
It made sense to Rachel. “Then let me do a nonwedding party afterward. We can have it at my place... Unless you’re planning to leave for a honeymoon immediately?”
“We’re still making plans for our honeymoon.” Nicole exchanged glances with Jordan. He nodded and she grinned. “But that sounds fabulous.”
“Sure does,” Jordan agreed. “Thanks. We wouldn’t leave until the next day, anyhow, and it would make the wedding day more special.”
Rachel knew Nicole didn’t care if she had a fancy wedding. Being in love and starting her married life with Jordan was what mattered to her, and all Jordan cared about was being with Nicole.
It was probably natural that Nicole had recently questioned whether Rachel might consider marriage again—she was in love and wanted the whole world to be in love with her. But Rachel didn’t think it was likely. Her life was good, and getting involved with someone could jeopardize the peace she’d finally found.
CHAPTER TWO (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
RACHEL DROVE TO the office on Monday morning feeling as if a hidden thought was nibbling at her mind. She’d experienced the sensation before and it often turned out to be something important she needed to consider.
Hopefully it would emerge in time.
As she pulled into the lot, she saw Matt Tupper stepping down from a transport van. He didn’t have his guide dog and was using his cane. She walked his direction, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps.
“Hey, Rachel,” he called. “Good morning.”
“I didn’t know my walk was that distinctive.”
“It isn’t hard to deduce. Not many people arrive this early and Nicole usually wears heels. You wear flats most of the time and walk with a different pace.”
Rachel didn’t explain that heels made her left leg ache.
She was learning about the importance of listening from Matt. Even if she hadn’t seen the tension in Simon Kessler’s face, his voice would have told her a great deal about him.
“Is Pepper all right?” she asked, trying to dismiss Simon from her mind. “She’s usually with you.” Pepper was Matt’s guide dog and she was devoted to Matt.
“Pepper is fine, but she’s due for her annual vaccinations. My brother offered to take her to the vet so I could get to the studio for an early recording. He’ll bring her by later. I’d give her the day off, but she’s restless when she isn’t with me.”
“How has it been going since you expanded?” she asked.
“We’re still getting the equipment installed for the second live studio, but it’s already booked ahead for months. Tara is coming in this weekend to ensure they finish the work.”
“That’s Tara Henley, your assistant.”
“Right. With the schedule so full, it looks like I’ll still end up doing books for the blind on Saturdays. Maybe it’s just as well since my volunteer readers have more available time on weekends.”
Matt owned a recording studio and had been one of the renters Rachel and her friends had inherited when buying the building along with Moonlight Ventures. He recorded radio spots, music and audio books, often hiring his vocal talent through the agency. Instead of being off the atrium area, he was in a rear div of the building where they had few renters, so it hadn’t been a problem to lease him additional space for the second studio. Ironically, their agency also needed to expand, but the space next to them was occupied, with several years left on the lease.
“That’s terrific,” Rachel said. “You may have to add a third live studio.”
He chuckled. “Maybe. As my dad says, success is a two-edged sword. Have a great day.”
ONCE INSIDE HIS STUDIO, Matt didn’t really need his cane. His employees knew to leave everything in its place or to tell him if something had been moved. He walked around with assurance, occasionally putting out a hand if he sensed something wasn’t right.
Even before losing his eyesight, he’d been aware of sound and how pitch and modulation changed in relation to everything else. He navigated relatively well for that reason, usually able to sense larger objects nearby, though he still stubbed his toes often enough. Losing his sight hadn’t even changed his college plans—he’d always intended to major in electronic communications.
The phone rang and he hit the speaker button. “Tupper Recording.”
“It’s Conan, Matt.” Conan’s voice sounded gravelly, as if he’d just got out of bed.
“What’s up?”
Conan started to say something, then broke into a fit of coughing. Obviously it was more than a rough morning voice.
“Got a cold,” he finally choked out. “We can’t make it today, but we’ll still pay a full fee for the recording session.”
“The cancellation fee in the contract is fine,” Matt said firmly. It made him uncomfortable when people tried to pay more than their contracts required. Maybe he was being ultrasensitive, but it felt as if they were giving alms to the blind.
“When can we reschedule?” Conan asked. He was an account executive for a major bank...who also blew a mean saxophone. His jazz band played in local clubs periodically, and they’d decided to record a CD under their own start-up label.
“Let me check the schedule.” Matt pulled it up on the computer. He used both a braille and audio reader, but preferred having the electronic braille device translate from the screen when other people might be able to hear. “I don’t have an opening until three weeks from today, 4:00 p.m.”
“That’s—” Conan had another fit of coughing. “We’ll take it,” he said when he could talk again. “Sorry about this. My kid brought the bug home from preschool and must have spread it to the whole band when we practiced a few days ago. I’ve been getting emails from everyone that they’re sick.”
“Get well soon,” Matt returned, entering the booking in the system and setting an electronic reminder to send a revision to the contract for signature.
“Thanks.”
Matt disconnected and automatically reached to rub behind Pepper’s ears, only to remember she wasn’t there. He missed her. He’d resisted getting a guide dog for years, but Pepper had become a friend who sensed his moods better than any human had ever done.
Sitting back, Matt listened to the sounds coming from the street and the whisper of the HVAC system blowing air through the vents. This was his kingdom and it was exactly where he’d always wanted to be...even if his life hadn’t been changed by a driver jumping the curb and plowing into a group of high school seniors.
RACHEL’S DAY PASSED quickly between desk work and site checks, which included visiting two photo shoots where new clients were booked. Everything was going smoothly in both locations.
Late in the afternoon she and Adam enjoyed rejecting a business owner who was supposedly searching for a model to represent his used-car dealership. The guy had raised alarm bells when they’d talked, so she’d checked him out further. Apparently he used what he called “casting calls” to meet and then try to date female models. Adam had wanted to be the one who told him to get lost but in the end agreed they could do it together.
She drove home in a good mood, encountering Gemma and Livvie when she stopped in the lobby to check her mailbox.
“Hi, Rachel,” Livvie cried. “We’re going to the lake. Can you come with us?”
Gemma nodded and smiled, but Rachel hesitated. When she’d mentioned spending time with Livvie if her father agreed, he hadn’t responded one way or the other. But surely he would have told Gemma if he didn’t approve.
“I’d love to,” Rachel said. “Can you wait a minute for me to change into something else?”
“Okay.”
She rushed up the stairs and slipped into casual clothes. Livvie’s face bloomed with pleasure when she got back and they headed toward the water. Once there, the child concentrated on her boat, while Rachel chatted with Gemma.
“It’s beautiful here in Washington,” Gemma murmured after a while. “So green and fresh. I missed it in New York, though we were able to see things like the Statue of Liberty and museums. I especially enjoyed Greenwich Village.”
Once again her clear, musical voice impressed Rachel, and she suddenly recalled the elusive idea that had been buzzing in her brain. She should have thought of it when she’d run into Matt Tupper that morning.
“Gemma, would you be interested in doing side jobs?” she asked. “At the agency we get calls for people to do narration or voice-overs and other vocal work. I’m sure you’d be great at it.”
“Oh, I never thought of such a thing. I’m not... I mean, I don’t have any experience and can’t imagine anyone would be interested in hiring me.”
“They might. I’m not saying you’d make a fortune or anything. You could even ease your way into it by doing volunteer reading. One of the tenants in our building has a sound studio and he records books and magazines for the blind—regionally published stuff that the National Library Service is less likely to do. He’s always looking for readers willing to give time to the project.”
The nervous clutch of Gemma’s fingers relaxed. “I’d be happy to volunteer, only I doubt I’d be very good.”
“Think about it. There isn’t a deadline.”
They stayed quiet after that, watching Livvie direct her boat in the water. It was a beautiful late afternoon, and Rachel enjoyed just sitting and watching the rippling lake.
“Hey, kiddo!” called Simon Kessler out of the blue.
“Daddy,” Livvie cried, “come see how I make my boat move.”
Rachel’s pulse had jumped when Simon Kessler’s voice intruded into her musings. She watched as he went to the water’s edge, crouching to speak with his daughter—from what she’d read, getting down to eye level was the best way to talk with kids. At the moment, Livvie seemed to be pleading with him for something and Rachel restrained a grin. Livvie would be hard not to spoil with her funny adult manners and earnest eyes.
Gemma looked at her cell phone. “Oh, dear, we’ve been here longer than I thought. I need to go, I have a class tonight at the community center. I’m learning sign language.”
She went over to speak with her employer, then waved and hurried away. Rachel stood to leave as well, thinking she needed to develop more hobbies or take classes. She loved cooking and reading, but having other interests would be good.
“Rachel, wait,” Livvie screeched, dashing up the pathway. “Please come with us for dinner.”
Wishing she’d made her escape earlier, Rachel smiled. “That’s nice of you, Livvie, but I have leftovers in my fridge that need to be eaten. I hate to waste food.”
“Pleeeze? I want you to come. Daddy, please ask Rachel to come.”
“Livvie, honey, get your boat out of the water while I talk with Ms. Clarion.”
“Okay.”
Rachel looked at Simon, whose face wore the same closed expression she’d seen before. He was darkly handsome, with chiseled features that might photograph well. Strange, now that she was a talent agent, it seemed as if she was always assessing how someone might look in an ad or appear on television or in film. She’d have to work on that, because she didn’t want her view of the world becoming too narrow.
But maybe it wasn’t just from becoming an agent. In all honesty, she would have noticed Simon’s looks regardless.
He was a hard man to ignore.
SIMON HADN’T WANTED to agree to Livvie’s request about inviting Rachel to dinner, but the little mischief maker had asked for a treat and he’d impulsively said yes before learning which treat she wanted.
His daughter had taken a strong, instant liking to their downstairs neighbor. He just didn’t know why. While Rachel had an almost otherworldly beauty, it probably wasn’t something that would influence a child. He’d questioned Gemma to find out if Rachel had done something special to catch Livvie’s attention, but she’d said nothing unusual had happened aside from the minor earthquake. Rachel, it seemed, had been exceptionally calm during the event, which had really impressed Gemma.
“We would very much like having you as our guest for dinner,” he said formally.
“Thanks, but as I told Livvie, I have food in my refrigerator that will go to waste,” Rachel explained, her gaze seeming straightforward.
“I hope you’ll reconsider,” he urged. “She rarely asks for anything, so it’s hard when I can’t give her what she wants.”
“Well...there’s far more than I can eat, so maybe you could have dinner at my place.”
He went rigid, recalling a few meals to which he and Livvie had been invited since Olivia’s death where there’d been a clear ulterior motive.
“Really, Rachel? Can we eat with you?” Livvie asked from behind him.
Was it possible Rachel had seen his daughter coming and spoken when she did, counting on getting his child’s support? Or was he being unreasonably suspicious again? He desperately missed Olivia’s sensible way of keeping him grounded.
“It’s up to your father,” Rachel said.
“Thanks, that would be nice,” he agreed finally. After all, one dinner didn’t mean anything.
“Great. I’m going to head back to my place. I’m in 2B and can have everything ready in an hour. Does that sound okay?”
“It works for us.”
He kept himself from watching her graceful figure walk away, and concentrated on spending a while longer with Livvie, putting the little motorized boat back into the water and sending it around in circles. Then they went home to wash up for the meal. Livvie wanted to put on the dress she’d worn for a Christmas party, but he talked her out of the frilly outfit before changing his business suit for less formal clothing.
Shortly before seven, he rang the doorbell to 2B.
Rachel was still wearing jeans and a T-shirt and had a dish towel tied around her waist instead of an apron. A delicious, faintly exotic scent wafted through the air.
“Welcome,” she said, waving them inside.
Simon glanced around. It was the first time he’d seen one of the other condos in the building. This one seemed spacious and had a nice lakeside view. The living room was decorated with eclectic touches from around the world and an electronic picture frame shifted through scenes he recognized from his own travels.
Rachel had gone into the kitchen and returned with a tray holding serving bowls. She carried it toward the French doors opening onto the deck.
“I enjoy eating outside when the weather is nice,” she said. “Is that all right?”
“Sounds fine.”
“Sit wherever you’re comfortable.”
A minute later she reappeared with a large platter. “As I mentioned, this is all leftovers.”
“I like leftovers,” Livvie announced.
His daughter seemed determined to like everything connected to their neighbor, though Simon wasn’t sure Livvie knew what Rachel meant. Neither he nor Olivia had bothered with leftovers much.
“So do I,” Rachel said. “Since my parents were caterers, I grew up on food left from their catering jobs. Maybe I’m biased, but I think some dishes are better the second time around.”
Simon looked at the platter of meat and roasted vegetables, alongside bowls of salads.
“You made all of this?”
“Just the salads. My friends grilled the meat and veggies for a get-together on Saturday. Fewer guests came than expected, so they sent a container of the excess home with me. I meant to share it around the office today and forgot.”
“What’s that?” Livvie asked, pointing to a vegetable.
“Eggplant.”
Livvie giggled. “That’s silly. Eggs don’t grow on plants.”
“No, but some types of eggplant have an egg shape, or at least that must be what people thought.”
“Do I have to eat a whole serving if it’s yucky?”
Rachel’s lips twitched. “Simon, I don’t know your rules about food, so you should probably answer that.”
“I want Livvie to try things, but she doesn’t have to finish anything she truly dislikes.”
“There’s your answer, Livvie,” Rachel said. “If you want to try it, fine, but I won’t be upset if you don’t want to finish.”
“Okay,” Livvie said, looking relieved. While she seemed eager to please Rachel, she was decidedly picky about her food.
Simon served his daughter before filling his own plate and taking a bite of the eggplant. He’d eaten it in eggplant parmesan, but this was different and quite delicious.
Livvie chewed a small amount of the eggplant and made a face before swallowing. But she ate another bite, so perhaps she was merely concentrating.
“This is excellent,” he said, tasting a salad of noodles and various vegetables.
Rachel didn’t appear flattered by the compliment. She simply shrugged. “Thanks to my parents, cooking has always been part of my life.”
“But you didn’t decide to become a caterer?”
She grinned. “I’d rather cook when I want, not on demand.”
“To keep it a hobby, not a job.”
“Right.” Rachel cocked her head. “I was thinking about hobbies earlier. It’s interesting that you mentioned them.”
“How do you define a hobby?” he asked politely.
“I’m not sure. I used to think it was to create something lasting, but that isn’t true of activities like mountain climbing. And food only lasts until you eat it.”
“Perhaps it leaves lasting memories.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Or a little extra on the hips.”
Simon tried not to look at her figure; he’d already noted how attractive she was. Sandra’s determined efforts to get him in front of an altar had left him suspicious of women, yet he didn’t think Rachel was fishing for compliments.
He glanced at Livvie. She was exploring the food on her plate. Some dishes she obviously liked, but others she seemed less certain about. He decided it was best to let her continue experimenting without comment.
“Rachel, what other hobbies would you enjoy?”
“I’m still thinking about it. Gemma mentioned being in a sign language class, so I thought about taking classes, as well. I’ve always been fascinated by anthropology.”
Simon was so busy he couldn’t imagine needing a hobby. “I’ve never had to worry about it, but I suppose something like that would help fill your time.”
She sent him a look tinged with annoyance. “I don’t need to fill my time,” she said crisply, “but I’m essentially self-employed now. It would be easy to lose myself in work. Instead I want to expand my mind and explore new things. But I suppose some people don’t care about doing that.”
It was a not-so-subtle gibe and Simon belatedly realized he must have sounded condescending.
“New things like eggplant?” Livvie asked, innocently breaking the tense moment.
Rachel smiled at her. “New foods are one thing to explore, and I want to find others. There are so many choices, I’ll have to think about what to do.”
He half expected a suggestion his daughter could “help” her figure it out, but Rachel merely served herself more vegetables, then spent a moment gazing at the view from the balcony. The sun had sunk behind the building and the lights of the surrounding community were beginning to glow.
“I love this time of day,” she murmured. “It’s an in-between moment, where maybe you can...”
She stopped and Livvie looked intrigued. “Do what?”
Rachel waved her hand. “Just a fancy of mine. It’s silly. What’s your favorite part of the day?”
As his daughter chattered about mornings and her daily activities, Simon focused on her face, rather than the lake and sparkling lights. Twilight wasn’t his favorite time; it signaled the beginning of evening, a period that reminded him of his loss.
Olivia had worked hard, trying to build her clothing design business into something the world would notice. He’d worked equally hard, but they had set the evening aside for family. And once Livvie had gone to bed, they’d focused on each other.
Well, it had been that way a good deal of the time.
When Olivia had got an idea for a design, she’d wanted to capture it right away. Otherwise, she had explained, she risked losing the nuances. On those evenings, she had quietly disappeared into her work.
Their marriage hadn’t been perfect, but it had been good. Since her death, he’d wondered if she had guessed her life would be short and whether that explained how determined and driven she’d been.
RACHEL SAW A faraway look on Simon’s face and wondered what it might mean. Not that she needed to know. The Kesslers were merely neighbors, and based on her contacts with Simon, she’d rather not get closely acquainted. The only reason she’d offered the dinner invitation was for Livvie’s sake.
“The part I don’t like about mornings is when Daddy leaves,” Livvie finally said.
Simon brushed a crumb from his daughter’s cheek. “Sorry, Livi-kin-kinnie, but that’s what daddies do.”
Livvie let out a huge breath of air. “I know. When I grow up I’m going to work at Mama’s place.”
“Your mama’s place?” Rachel asked.
“She made dresses and things. Daddy, you ’splain it.” Looking sad, Livvie slipped off her chair and wandered to the end of the balcony to stare at the lake.
Rachel glanced at Simon and saw his expression had gone tighter than usual. “My wife, Olivia, designed a line of clothing. When she... Well, she left the business to Livvie and I’ve been trying to run it the best I can.”
“Was it based in New York?”
“No, in Seattle.”
Rachel straightened in her chair. “Good grief, are you talking about Liv’ing Creations?”
His eyebrow shot upward. “Yes. You sound familiar with the label.”
“I should hope so. I know my agency used to provide models for their shows and catalogs. I’ve also enjoyed their clothes and have several items in my closet. Older ones, that is, not...” She stopped, aware she might be treading on sensitive ground.
“You mean nothing from the more current lines, not since Olivia’s last designs were released,” he said in a low, flat tone, possibly to keep his daughter from hearing.
“Basically.” Rachel kept her volume equally low. “The line has radically changed direction over the past few seasons. It no longer has the vitality and style that originally caught my attention. In particular, the rich colors have become muted.”
From the little she could read in Simon’s expression, she didn’t think he’d enjoyed hearing her opinion, even if he knew—or suspected—something was wrong with his wife’s company.
“Maybe it appeals to other people, just not to me,” Rachel added awkwardly.
“I hired Janine Jenkins, a clothing designer from New York, to keep things going. Sales have been indifferent,” he said, “but the manager of Liv’ing Creations feels it’s because consumers know Olivia is gone and are avoiding the label for that reason. She and the designer are convinced another season or two should turn things around.”
“I see,” Rachel said carefully, not sure how else to respond.
She hadn’t been aware of Olivia Kessler’s death; she’d simply lost interest when the designs no longer showed the unique flair she had first appreciated. It seemed unlikely that the original buyers would return if the current designer stayed in her conservative mode, though interest might pick up in a new market. The designs weren’t awful, but they felt like something you’d find in any nice department store.
As Simon started to say something else, Rachel saw Livvie heading back to the table.
“Hey, Livvie, does your daddy allow you to have dessert?” she called in case he hadn’t heard the soft footsteps.
Livvie brightened. “If I eat a good dinner. I ate a good dinner, didn’t I, Daddy?”
“That’s right, honey.”
Rachel was relieved to be talking about something else. “In that case, I have strawberry sorbet, along with cookies that a friend made.”
“Yum!”
Rachel began clearing the table and Simon got up to help, despite her urging to stay put and relax.
“Should I put these in the dishwasher?” he asked, carrying the tray into the kitchen.
“Just leave everything on the counter and I’ll clean up in the morning. Would you like coffee? I got decaf at the Java Train Stop.”
“Sounds good.”
She filled two cups from the insulated carton and offered cream and sugar, but Simon declined.
“Is that homemade?” he asked as she served the sorbet.
“Yes. I made it for a gathering a couple weeks ago. As promised, tonight’s dinner is all about leftovers.”
“Everything was excellent.”
They carried the coffee and dessert to the balcony.
Livvie tasted the sorbet and grinned. “Double yum.”
“Rachel made it,” Simon told her.
The child’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t know you could make ice cream stuff at home.”
“You can make most things if you know how and have the right tools.”
While they ate, the pink glow in the sky faded entirely and the lights from homes and streetlamps shone in the blackness.
When the dessert and coffee were finished, Simon smiled politely. “Rachel, thanks for a pleasant evening, but we’d better get going.”
“I’m glad you could come.”
“I like eggplant,” Livvie said, her eyes shining. “And I looove strawberry ice cream.”
Rachel chuckled and walked them to the door, where Livvie hugged her.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed.
Unable to resist, Rachel bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’re very welcome.”
But when the door closed behind them, her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Unlike evenings with her friends, spending time with Simon Kessler was far from relaxing. The way he looked at her, as if weighing her words for a secret meaning, his measured responses, his guarded expression...she felt as if she’d run a marathon.
SIMON WALKED UPSTAIRS with his daughter. They spent an hour playing games before she put on her “princess” nightgown and he tucked her into bed.
“Daddy, I like Rachel.”
He brushed the hair away from her forehead. “Of course you do, honey. She’s a nice lady.”
“Can I go visit her?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Livvie yawned. “Okay. G’night.”
“Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
She giggled sleepily while he turned off the light and left the bedroom door ajar.
At his computer, Simon started looking through the files for Liv’ing Creations. Rachel’s comments about the current clothing line were bothering him.
It no longer has the vitality and style that originally caught my attention. In particular, the rich colors have become muted.
The colors in Janine Jenkins’s designs were undoubtedly more subdued, and he wondered if Rachel had put her finger on the issues that Liv’ing Creations was having. Though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, he was starting to think Janine Jenkins was part of the problem, not the solution.
What had Rachel said—that her talent agency had once provided models for the design house? A search through the financial reports gave him a name, Moonlight Ventures.
At the agency’s website, Simon found pictures and brief bios of the owners. His eyes widened as he recognized two of the partners, supermodels Nicole George and Adam Wilding. Logan Kensington was a world-renowned photographer, while Rachel had worked as both a model and a makeup artist.
Simon broadened his search on the internet and found something Rachel’s agency biography hadn’t mentioned—her modeling career had been cut short due to injuries in an accident at work. After recovering, she’d turned her talents to doing makeup on photo shoots and in the movie world.
He tapped his fingers on the keyboard. Liv’ing Creations’ sales were lackluster and in danger of slipping into the red. He’d sold most of his holdings and split the proceeds between Livvie’s trust fund and a donation to ovarian cancer research, seeing both as an investment in his daughter’s future. Still, he could probably subsidize the design house for a year or two. But that wasn’t what Olivia would have wanted. His wife had poured herself into the company. She’d often talked about wanting to leave a piece of herself behind for Livvie, and that had become especially important to her once she’d fallen ill. It wouldn’t be much of a legacy if the fashion house became a joke in the industry and died an inglorious death.
Restless, he turned off the computer and went into the garden. While sitting on Rachel’s balcony earlier in the evening, he’d realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed the fresh air or appreciated the night vista. In fact, he could almost hear Olivia chiding him. She would have asked him if he wanted their daughter to grow up with such a limited sense of things. After all, kids often modeled how their parents behaved.
Simon shuddered. His father had been as ruthless and narrowly focused as a man could be. He’d dragged Simon out of a good foster home, made his wife sign adoption papers and set out to mold his son in his own image. He’d succeeded. Simon had learned his lessons well, cold-bloodedly pursuing a hostile takeover of Richard Kessler’s business as an adult and then taking it apart and selling the pieces.
Justice or, more likely, retribution?
Because if his father had behaved decently, Simon’s biological mother might still be alive. Instead she’d died, overworked and unable to get needed medical care. However happy Simon’s foster home had been, it couldn’t erase the memory of losing her so senselessly.
When he and Olivia had got married they’d both been obsessed with work until Livvie was on the way. That was when they’d taken a step back to review their lives and realized they wanted more for themselves and their child. Now it was time to revisit those values.
A crisp breeze swirled around Simon, carrying a fragrance that reminded him of Rachel’s light perfume.
His senses went on alert.
Rachel’s balcony was located below the penthouse garden and he realized she might be sitting outside as well, watching the moon over Lake Washington. He hadn’t enjoyed hearing her opinion about the latest designs from Liv’ing Creations, yet that didn’t mean they weren’t valid. Perhaps he should call Moonlight Ventures in the morning and make an appointment with her. They could talk, and if her ideas seemed on target, he could try hiring her as a consultant—that would make it clear the contact was purely business.
CHAPTER THREE (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
ON TUESDAY, GEMMA woke early and contemplated how quickly the days were getting shorter. It was always that way in Washington—the long days of summer, shifting into the equally long nights of winter.
She turned over, thinking about being close to her family again...and wrinkled her nose.
Mr. Kessler—it was hard to think of him as Simon—had arranged for her to visit Washington every three months after they’d moved to New York, but after the first trip, she’d quickly found reasons not to go. She loved her parents, but it always felt as if they were looking past her to admire what her talented oldest brother was doing.
Drake looked like Adonis, had the social skills of a diplomat and was now a resident in cardiology at the University of Washington Medical Center. There seemed to be nothing he hadn’t accomplished and probably done better than anyone else. When she and her other brother were growing up and wanted to try something new, their parents would say, “Drake is so good at that, find your own special gift.” Once she’d been tempted to suggest fan dancing since she was reasonably certain it was one of the few things Drake hadn’t tried.
No wonder Mom and Dad were so proud of him. They claimed to be proud of her and Sully, too, but Gemma often wondered if they were being completely honest. Sully didn’t care. Dad’s moodiness while drinking hadn’t frightened him the way it had frightened her, though it was the reason they’d both been eager to get away from home.
Stop.
A deep sigh welled from Gemma’s chest. Her biggest problem was shyness and a lack of confidence. It was easy to be with kids. They didn’t judge, could throw themselves wholly into play and had wonderful imaginations. Studying childhood development and becoming a teacher had seemed an ideal fit, though the idea hadn’t impressed her family. Nor had her slow movement through college while they pointedly mentioned her brother’s breakneck academic successes.
So what about Rachel’s suggestion of doing voice work? She knew people were hired to do narration for things like cartoons, but it seemed improbable that she could be one of them.
A faint knock on the door caught Gemma’s attention, more a scratching than a knock.
“Come in, Livvie,” she called softly. Mr. Kessler slept poorly now that his wife was gone and she didn’t want to interrupt any rest he might be getting.
Livvie slipped inside and ran to the bed. “I had a bad dream. It made my tummy cold.”
“I’m sorry.” Gemma patted the pillow next to hers. “Maybe telling me about it will make you feel better.”
Hugging the pillow in her arms, Livvie began relating the nightmare. It was about an evil sorcerer who killed the queen and was trying to cast an evil spell on the king and send the princess into the forest to live with a witch who didn’t want her. There was a dragon who was actually a good dragon and a talking horse who could knock down walls, but the underlying theme was the same as in all of her dreams...the fear that her daddy would be taken away, just like her mother.
Yet a new element seemed to be emerging—Livvie was beginning to understand that she didn’t have anyone in the world except her father. However frustrating Gemma’s own childhood had been, she had an extended family—aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins—a great big safety net. But Livvie didn’t have anyone else except two grandparents who’d never made an effort to meet her.
“Maybe you should tell your daddy about your bad dreams,” Gemma suggested.
Livvie shook her head in a definitive no. “I don’t want to make Daddy sad. Promise you won’t tell.”
“I... Okay,” Gemma promised reluctantly.
She’d tried to suggest a grief counselor to Mr. Kessler, at least for Livvie, but maybe she hadn’t been forceful enough. Perhaps she should look for an opportunity to try again.
ON THURSDAY, RACHEL was startled when she found Simon Kessler’s name on her morning appointment calendar. The discussion she’d had with Gemma about doing voice work was a possible reason for it, though surely it wasn’t his business what an employee did on her off time. Or was there something personal going on between them?
At eleven, Chelsea brought Simon back to her office.
Rachel gestured to one of the chairs at the side of her desk. Even if her office had been larger, he would seem overpowering in it.
He sat and glanced around. “This is nice.”
“Thanks. Originally we envisioned a small agency with specialty clients, but we’ve expanded beyond that. We expect to hire more agents within the next two years.”
“I understand your blog is increasingly popular, both inside and outside the talent industry.”
Rachel’s senses went on higher alert. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t recall mentioning the name of the agency to Simon or Gemma. “I didn’t realize you knew anything about us.”
“I’ve been doing research on you.”
She narrowed her eyes. Often when somebody brought up research it meant they were digging into details of her past that she didn’t want disturbed. How had she felt lying under a piece of heavy equipment while rescuers figured out how to get it off without doing further damage? How had she felt when her husband walked out less than a year later? Was he obsessed with appearance, the way his ex-girlfriends claimed? Was he shallow? Did he leave because of her scars?
Rachel slowed her racing brain and focused.
“Why were you researching the agency?” she asked pleasantly, seeing no need to unload her emotional baggage on other people.
“Because of your comments the other evening about Liv’ing Creations. I mentioned the sales have slipped and you seem to have an insight into why.”
“Oh.” That hadn’t crossed Rachel’s mind as a possibility for Simon’s appointment. “I was simply speaking from the point of view of a customer.”
“But you have experience in the fashion industry. You’re a former model and your partners are connected to the business. Not to mention the fact that you’re still involved in supplying models for the fashion world.”
“Perhaps, but the agency is mostly regional. At the moment we don’t have any clients modeling in places like New York or Paris.” Rachel didn’t add that she’d once been Kevin’s most successful client and had modeled all over the world, for most of the major designers. Eventually Moonlight Ventures would have that kind of profile again; they’d already had some of their clients cast for Hollywood projects.
“Liv... Olivia...” Simon hesitated for a moment. “My wife didn’t want to be a clone of New York or Paris designers or of anyone else. She wanted to be unique and didn’t care if a famous actress arrived on the red carpet in one of her creations.”
“Yet you hired a designer from New York.”
“Only because I didn’t know where else to turn. Preserving the business for Livvie was desperately important to Olivia. It also connects Livvie to her mother. I have to keep Liv’ing Creations going for my daughter’s sake.”
It was a motivation that Rachel understood.
She didn’t know much about Simon, though one of the Carthage residents had mentioned he was a successful businessman. But wanting to save the design house for his daughter—when it would be easier to sell or close the operation down—must mean he also cared about intangibles.
“I admire your goal,” she said, “but I’m not sure what I can do to help. Are you trying to find models who might help turn things around?”
Simon sat forward in his chair. “Actually, I was hoping for your help in another way. I realize this isn’t what your agency generally deals with, but I thought you could help address the situation at Liv’ing Creations. As a consultant.”
Rachel didn’t know what to think, though it was flattering that Simon believed she could offer something useful.
“I’m not a designer,” she finally said. “I just shared a couple of comments. Why would you suddenly decide I might have answers your professional designer doesn’t?”
“Because I trust my instincts. I don’t know haute couture from a hole in the ground, but you might be able to recognize when a designer is creating styles that don’t jibe with what Olivia was doing. I asked Janine Jenkins to study her work and try to emulate it, but I’m not sure she’s done that.”
“There’s no guarantee I’d be successful,” Rachel said gently.
“Maybe, but I can’t tolerate the thought of Liv’ing Creations sliding into mediocrity.”
Rachel gazed out her window, organizing her thoughts. In a way, Simon’s idea was compatible with what Moonlight Ventures did—he wanted to hire talent. Besides, a number of young designers had come to the agency, hoping the partners’ experience in the fashion world would help get them jobs.
“Is that all you want, for me to assist you in identifying a designer with a more colorful, innovative flair?” she asked.
“I’d also appreciate your opinion on other aspects of the operation. Any ideas you could offer might help.”
Though Rachel sympathized, it seemed a big risk to offer advice on someone else’s company when she was almost completely new to business in the first place.
“Frankly, I’m not sure I want that kind of responsibility,” she said.
“The responsibility is mine. It will be my choice whether or not to agree with what you recommend.”
That made it slightly easier, but it was still a lot to consider.
“I’ve reviewed the agency’s blog and website,” he continued. “The goals of Moonlight Ventures seem clear—you want clients to perform at their best. Look at the design house in the same way.”
“I’ll need time to think about it,” she said. “But there’s something I want to say up front. You’re here because of the remarks I made the other night, yet you got uptight when I made them. Are you ready for serious input, or would it simply frustrate us both? I’m not talking about taking my every word as gospel, but genuine listening.”
A hot, dark emotion flickered in Simon’s eyes. “Of course I’ll listen. Can I take you to dinner tomorrow to discuss it further? We could also go by the design studio for you to look around.”
Being able to investigate behind the scenes sounded interesting. Rachel had seen designers at work before, but had always wondered if they kept certain aspects of their designs hidden until the finished product was unveiled.
“No promises about accepting you as a client,” she warned, “but I’d like to see the studio.”
“Shall I pick you up here, or would you rather go home to change?” he asked.
“Work clothes are fine. It isn’t a date.”
SIMON HADN’T EXPECTED Rachel’s calm, almost dismissive statement. He’d offered dinner without thinking, only to be immediately sorry in case she got the idea he had something in mind besides a professional arrangement. Truthfully, it had unsettled him to discover she’d picked up on his reaction to her observations of Liv’ing Creations. Either she was unusually perceptive, or he’d got sloppy about controlling his emotions.
“Is anything wrong?” Rachel asked. “You seem surprised about something.”
Simon searched through his mind for an appropriate response. “Since my wife died, a few women have been aggressive in assuming I must be interested in them. They would have tried to turn a business dinner into something else.”
Her lips twitched. “I thought that was a stereotype. You know, a widower being fair game.”
“I’m not saying all women, just enough to make me wary. I doubt I’ll ever get married again. It’s too big of a risk.” A risk in every possible way, he added silently. He’d been lucky to find Olivia and doubted that sort of good fortune could happen twice in a lifetime. Losing her had hurt more than he’d believed possible; if it hadn’t been for Livvie, he didn’t know what he would have done.
“You have my sympathy,” Rachel said. “Everyone except my closest friends seemed determined to match me up with a guy after my divorce, and I didn’t want to be matched. I’ve come to the very practical conclusion that friendship is better for me than romance, and it’s worked great that way ever since.”
If she was being genuine, then it was possible they could have a successful business relationship.
“All right, what time shall I be here tomorrow?” he asked.
“How about four? I’d prefer seeing the design studio first. That way we’ll have more to discuss over a meal.”
“That should work, because they close early on Fridays. I’ll be here.”
Simon left the agency, feeling encouraged. His decision to seek Rachel’s advice about Liv’ing Creations had been pragmatic and logical, despite his attraction to her. Under other circumstances he would have avoided her as much as he could. But the design shop was too important.
There was somebody else he could consult, as well. While waiting for coffee one morning, he’d met Mark Revel, who had a first-floor condo at the Carthage. Mark had mentioned owning a clothing store that had once carried Olivia’s designs. It was a reminder of how close the connections between people could be. Some people talked of six degrees of separation, but he often found it to be even fewer.
The downside of speaking with Mark was that Simon didn’t want it known that Liv’ing Creations was struggling. If the news got around it could just make things worse.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON Simon arrived a few minutes before the agreed-upon time. The receptionist recognized him.
“Hello, Mr. Kessler. You can go directly back to Rachel’s office.”
“Thanks.”
As he walked down the wide hallway, a woman was coming from the opposite direction. He recognized Nicole George. She was almost as beautiful as Rachel, though in a different way. While Rachel was ethereally lovely, Nicole was taller and exuded vitality.
“You must be Simon Kessler,” she greeted him with a smile. “I’m Nicole George. Rachel told me about your interest in revitalizing Liv’ing Creations. I’m glad. Your wife was a wonderful designer.”
“Er, thanks.” Simon was faintly annoyed; the problems with Olivia’s studio were his business, not to be shared. But he hadn’t asked for confidentiality and it was natural Rachel would discuss the matter with a colleague. Besides, another opinion could be helpful.
Rachel’s door was ajar and she stepped out. “Hello, Simon. I see you’ve met one of my business partners. Nicole and I have been coming up with a list of new, young designers we know who might be worth exploring.”
“Excellent. Would you like to join us this evening?” he asked Nicole.
“Thanks, but I can’t. My fiancé and I are...uh, having a conference call with our parents about wedding plans.”
Little showed on her face, but Simon could tell it wasn’t something she expected to enjoy. He also noticed Rachel’s wince of sympathy, so figured there was a story behind the planned conversation. Or maybe not. He and Olivia had got married in Las Vegas, but he knew weddings could be stressful at the best of times.
Rachel locked her office and walked with him out to the parking lot. “I used alternate transportation this morning,” she explained. “I assumed you wouldn’t mind taking me back to the Carthage instead of returning here.”
“That’s sensible.”
He opened the door and she slid into the passenger seat.
“Your colleague seems nice,” he commented once he’d pulled out of the parking space.
“She is. I’ve been friends with Nicole, Logan and Adam for years.”
“So you decided to go into business together.”
Rachel shifted in her seat to look at him. “We were ready to make a change. For different reasons, I suppose, though we talked for a long time about starting a talent agency where we could pursue our individual interests.”
“And what are those?”
“While we all have clients, Adam edits the blog and is making plans for developing a literary division for the agency. Nicole’s specialty is teen talent, not only models, but actors and singers...that sort of thing. She recently placed a talented singer in a movie being shot up in Vancouver. Logan plans to work with both models and photographers.”
“How about you?” Simon glanced at her, admiring the way every movement Rachel made seemed graceful and alluring. With difficulty he banished the thought—this meeting was business and had nothing to do with male-female attraction.
“I’m especially interested in clients who don’t fit stereotypes of popular beauty, but have their own unique qualities.”
“Aren’t all advertisers looking for distinctiveness?” he asked, thinking it was ironic that a woman who looked like Rachel, and who was such a classic beauty, wanted to work with clients who were different in some way.
“Yes and no. There’s a tendency for one type to become popular and suddenly everyone wants a version of it. But in recent years there’s been an exploration of talent that’s broader in scope.” She laughed. “I should say a renewed exploration. It’s cyclic, like the antihero in film and television or literature. You go through a period where a certain type is popular, then people start wanting something new.”
It made sense. “Do the unique individuals get the big contracts?”
“Occasionally, though it’s less likely, especially in modeling. People can find it challenging to recognize nontraditional beauty or good looks. But it’s happening.”
“Surely representing that sort of client isn’t the most profitable choice for a talent agency.”
Rachel cocked her head. “Perhaps, but we want to develop talent, whether it fits a certain mold or not. I never had the impression Liv’ing Creations was trying to compete with the huge designers, either. You said yourself that your wife wasn’t interested in becoming a clone of other fashion houses. The same goes for Moonlight Ventures—we don’t want to be a clone of other agencies.”
Simon thought about his father’s scorn at Olivia’s lack of mega-aspirations. She’d laughed about it, unconcerned that her father-in-law had disapproved of her goals. “Liv used to say she wanted to fill a niche in the market, but didn’t care about being the market.”
“I would have liked your wife. It... Well, it must still be hard without her.”
He managed a nod. Most of the time he could think about Olivia without being overwhelmed with pain, but it wasn’t easy. “At least the pain no longer hits like an 18-wheeler the way it did at first.”
Rachel straightened and stared through the windshield; her face seemed sad. “I’m sorry you lost what you had together. You were fortunate to have found someone like that.”
“Thank you.”
Strangely, for all the urging to “buck up,” the platitudes and the sentimentality that had been poured over him, Rachel’s quiet comment meant the most. Perhaps it came at the right moment, reminding him he had been fortunate. His life with Olivia hadn’t been perfect, but perfection was overrated. They’d been in love and had enjoyed nine good years together, which was more than many people got.
He glanced at Rachel, whose face still wore a sad, distant expression. Her divorce must have been difficult since she claimed to no longer be interested in marriage or romance.
Simon recalled seeing something about the end of her marriage in various internet articles, though he’d skipped over the gory details. She’d overcome pain in a number of different ways; he admired that.
He fixed his gaze forward, frustrated that he kept thinking about Rachel in such personal terms. Even if he was willing to consider another long-term relationship, he simply wasn’t ready.
Olivia was a ghost, haunting his heart and mind.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
RACHEL TOOK NOTE of several things as they walked into the reception area for Liv’ing Creations. The most interesting aspect was that it must have been redecorated during the past year.
“When did you redecorate?” she asked.
“How do you know we changed anything?”
“Because this place is as different from your wife’s style as I can imagine. She had verve and originality. Now it’s opulent and generic. Sorry, but those are the only words that come to mind.”
Simon’s mouth flattened into a straight line, but he finally shrugged. “You’re right. I approved redecorating because the designer felt it was needed to keep up with the changing world of fashion. Except now I suppose it’s generic decoration to fit a generic product.”
“Some people may like that product. You mentioned sales have dropped, but surely they haven’t entirely vanished.”
“We’re still in the black. It’s just that my gut tells me things aren’t going the way my wife would have wanted.”
Simon seemed to have a good business acumen, but this wasn’t about making money; it was about saving something special for his daughter.
“Hello, Mr. Kessler.” A woman had come out of the back room. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I’m showing an acquaintance around who’s interested in fashion houses. I thought everyone would be gone since the shop closes early on Fridays.”
“There were a few things I wanted to clear up.”
Simon turned to Rachel. “Rachel, this is Miriam Timmons. She’s the manager of Liv’ing Creations. Miriam, Rachel Clarion.”
“Hello. Simon, I’d be happy to give Ms. Clarion a tour. You don’t need to stay.”
“That isn’t necessary. Have a good evening. And weekend, of course.”
Miriam seemed reluctant to leave. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Clarion. Is there any chance you used to be a model?”
It wasn’t unusual for Rachel to be recognized by people, whether or not they were connected to the fashion industry, though she preferred anonymity.
“A long time ago. Now I’m a partner in the Moonlight Ventures talent agency.”
“Really.”
The look on Miriam Timmons’s face wasn’t especially friendly. Was she interested in Simon on a personal basis, or did she suspect the purpose behind the tour was his concern over how the shop was operating? Whatever the reason, she clearly wasn’t thrilled when Simon firmly sent her out the door and locked it behind her.
Rachel gazed at a memorial photo on the wall with a tribute from the staff written beneath. While not traditionally beautiful, Olivia had been an auburn-haired, blue-eyed stunner, whose picture seemed to exude the same suppressed energy as her husband. They must have been exhausting to know as a couple.
“She looks so dynamic,” Rachel said to Simon, who was also gazing at the large portrait. “I get the impression of tight springs, as if she was bursting to keep moving and even sitting still for a picture was hard for her.”
He chuckled, though there was sadness in his face. “Liv had to do everything as fast as possible. Before we met, I thought I was the only one who was that driven. It was a struggle to make time for marriage and family, but we managed.”
A wistful envy went through Rachel. Mutually demanding careers had also been tough on her and Hayden. In a way she kept wanting to blame the accident for her divorce, but she knew it had just precipitated the inevitable end. Their problems had begun practically from the day of their wedding.
It wasn’t that she still loved him. The idea of love and partnership was appealing, despite her choice to stay single and focus on friendship. She was a modern woman, yet deep down she longed for the fairy-tale love she’d grown up hearing her grandmother talk about.
“Is something wrong?” Simon asked.
“No, of course not.”
He hiked an eyebrow and she shrugged.
“I was thinking about the problem with fairy tales. ‘And they lived happily ever after’ is really just the beginning of the story. Falling in love is easy, but staying in love and making things work is hard. You and your wife succeeded where a lot of people fail.” Rachel squared her shoulders. “Enough of that. How about showing me where the designer does her thing?”
“Sure.”
As they moved past the public area, Rachel studied what she could see of the operation. Sketches, fabric swatches, half-made garments. This was the heart of the process, where the creative production began.
When she tried to open a large wardrobe, she discovered it was locked.
“Are there valuables in here?” she asked.
“That’s where Liv used to store her designs ready for production. I believe it’s still used for the same purpose.”
He took a key ring from his pocket. “Liv gave me this as a way of showing she trusted me. We got married rather quickly and it was kind of a wedding present.”
Rachel grinned. “Does your designer know you have it?”
“Probably not. I’ve got the impression she’s slightly paranoid about her designs being copied, but I wouldn’t give it to her, regardless.”
Of course not. The key symbolized a relationship and it was endearing that Simon carried it with him more than two years after his wife’s death. Hopefully it remained a working key.
He fitted it into the lock and it turned. “Let’s see what secrets are hidden here,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Maybe it’s a dragon’s lair.”
Rachel hadn’t expected the hint of whimsy. Perhaps, deep down, there was a little boy inside the stern man she’d seen so far. The doors opened to show a rack of clothes. She began pulling a garment out, then stopped. “Should we make sure they go back in the same order?”
“Frankly, I don’t care. Under Janine’s contract, her designs belong to the company.”
One by one Rachel took the garments from the cabinet. The fabric was conventional and not unattractive, but far from distinctive. If possible, the clothes were even more blah than the last time she’d taken a look at a Liv’ing Creations collection. She didn’t actually think another designer could capture Olivia Kessler’s style, but surely someone could be found who’d use more color and innovation.
“What do you think?” Simon asked.
“It’s more of the same,” she admitted, deciding to be frank. If he didn’t like what she had to say, he didn’t have to hire her as a consultant. “A clothing designer may do something startling to be unique, which can work great for some people. But Liv’ing Creations made stylish and unusual clothing that everyone could enjoy. That probably doesn’t make sense to you.”
“I think I get what you’re saying. What is your take on this collection?”
“Some of the designs are decent, even classic, but they’re largely in the clone category. They should appeal to women who shop at department stores, wanting to look like other properly dressed midlevel business women, which often means not standing out or grabbing attention.”
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Callie Endicott
He hired her…now he can’t imagine life without herWidower Simon Kessler is doing just fine on his own. Or at least he thought so, until he met Rachel Clarion. Rachel instantly connects with his daughter, and her instincts are spot on when it comes to his wife’s struggling clothing line– a legacy he’s determined to preserve.Can Rachel save the business and, just maybe, his cynical heart?
He hired her
...now he can’t imagine life without her
Widower Simon Kessler is doing just fine on his own. Or at least he thought so, until he met Rachel Clarion. Rachel instantly connects with his daughter, and her instincts are spot-on when it comes to his wife’s struggling clothing line—a legacy he’s determined to preserve. Can Rachel save the business and, just maybe, his cynical heart?
As a kid, Callie Endicott had her nose stuck in a book so often it frequently got her in trouble. The trouble hasn’t stopped—she keeps having to buy new bookshelves. Luckily ebooks don’t take up much space. Writing has been another help, since she’s usually on the computer creating stories instead of buying them. Callie loves bringing characters to life and never knows what will prompt an idea. So she still travels, hikes, explores and pursues her other passions, knowing a novel may be just around the corner.
Also by Callie Endicott
Emerald City Stories
A Father for the Twins
Moonlight Over Seattle
Montana Skies
The Rancher’s Prospect
At Wild Rose Cottage
Kayla’s Cowboy
That Summer at the Shore
Until She Met Daniel
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Family by Design
Callie Endicott
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 9781474094740
FAMILY BY DESIGN
© 2018 by Callie Endicott
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Rachel was intrigued.
“Preserving the business for Livvie was desperately important to my wife. It also connects Livvie to her mother. I have to keep Liv’ing Creations going for my daughter’s sake.”
It was a motivation that Rachel understood.
She didn’t know much about Simon, though one of the Carthage residents had mentioned he was a successful businessman. But wanting to save the design house for his daughter—when it would be easier to sell or close the operation down—must mean he had a good heart.
“I admire your goal,” she said, “but I’m not sure what I could do to help. Are you trying to find models who might turn things around?”
Simon leaned forward in his chair. “Actually, I realize this isn’t what your agency generally deals with, but I have a special proposal for you...”
Dear Reader (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e),
I’m sometimes asked how I come up with characters or book plots. When it comes to the Emerald City Stories, it began with Nicole George, the sister of Emily, who was the heroine of At Wild Rose Cottage. I wondered what Nicole’s life might be like. What if she wanted to stop being a supermodel and try something new? At that point, her friends Adam, Rachel and Logan seemed to stand up and introduce themselves.
Nicole’s story was told in Moonlight Over Seattle. And I was pleased to continue the series with Adam Wilding in A Father for the Twins. Now it’s Rachel Clarion’s turn. She’s a woman whose beauty seems almost otherworldly to widower Simon Kessler. But underneath it all, he discovers a strong woman who might be the key to not only saving the design business his wife left to their young daughter, but to redesigning a new happy family.
I always love hearing from readers and can be contacted on my Facebook page at Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author (http://Facebook.com/callie.endicott.author).
Best wishes,
Callie
To Mom
Contents
Cover (#uf3270dc7-db67-5f85-83f2-be4255e08908)
Back Cover Text (#u29e70208-915e-52fa-93a6-de8d577aeebf)
About the Author (#u7bb5b4a5-3379-59f1-a03a-615f91c4ed23)
Booklist (#uff849c74-221d-5415-94f8-1870bade22de)
Title Page (#ua7ee5a2a-93cf-59e4-ab5f-83bcc9796083)
Copyright (#uf22a9e36-fc4b-52df-b799-b84d15126804)
Introduction (#u1b65bf20-aac0-5815-af98-c1262f88698c)
Dear Reader (#u35f9838c-ecf5-54c1-a32a-78edf3391d80)
Dedication (#u8840b5b1-2f37-5eda-a8aa-0ad50404c685)
PROLOGUE (#u36c417b1-b0d1-53e7-bbfe-1026aa140278)
CHAPTER ONE (#u3f61c639-990c-588c-80c3-eb9fc77ed08b)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua639a0c0-adec-5cfe-ab3d-b5ad4785bafe)
CHAPTER THREE (#u1c194040-a9ce-51a6-acf8-3f3c744e89a4)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7365541f-1161-5545-a719-8e1091d43c2b)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT FROM THE RANCHER’S HOMECOMING BY ANNA J. STEWART (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
RACHEL CLARION STARED at the check she held... It was intended to compensate for the loss of a successful modeling career, but all she wanted to do was tear it into a thousand pieces.
Weeks ago, her agent, Kevin McClaskey, had made inquiries to see if anyone was interested in hiring her. The answer was no. He’d been given excuses about her being out of the public eye for too long, and that regardless, people might think more about the accident than the product being sold.
Rachel thought there was more to it.
She glanced at the check she held, then touched the faint marks on her jaw; she’d come to terms with what had happened, but the insurance company had boiled it down to dollars and cents. The money was supposed to pay for negligence, pain and lost earnings. But what could compensate for a year and a half of surgeries, self-doubt and the endless gossip and speculation of the paparazzi and mainstream press?
The slip of paper drifted to the floor.
All right, she was still trying to come to terms with what had happened. It shouldn’t be this difficult—her modeling career hadn’t been a childhood dream. She’d become a model by chance when she was fourteen. Her parents were down-to-earth people who ran a popular catering company. One day she’d been helping them cater a spring clothing photo shoot in Seattle, Washington, and the next day she was in front of the camera because one of the models had come down with the flu.
The doorbell rang and Rachel hurried to answer it, finding her close friend Nicole George had arrived early for the evening gathering.
“Hey, Nicole.”
Nicole looked at her closely. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, really.” Rachel closed the door and retrieved the check from the floor. Managed right, the settlement would ensure she’d stay financially independent. “I got the money today. It’s making me think about stuff.”
She put the check away and settled on the couch with Nicole at the other end. Soon they’d be joined by Logan Kensington and Adam Wilding. Adam and Nicole were two of the hottest supermodels in the business, and Logan was a photographer whose services were always in demand. Rachel couldn’t help wondering if it would make a difference to their friendship now that she was no longer modeling herself.
She chided herself for even thinking the question. Her friends weren’t shallow, even if her ex-husband might be. Rachel wasn’t sure about Hayden any longer. It felt as if he’d left because of her scars, yet he’d stuck around for several months after the accident. Ultimately the endless round of doctors and surgeries and meetings with lawyers had chipped away at their marriage until they’d both questioned what was left.
It was also possible that since Hayden was regarded as one of the best-looking men in the business, he couldn’t handle being married to a woman who was now pitied and facing the end of her career. Still, they’d had a myriad of problems, so her appearance could only be part of why he’d left.
“Earth to Rachel,” Nicole intoned.
“Sorry.”
Nicole’s eyes were sympathetic. “I can only imagine what that check represents to you. Some people would be dancing in triumph, but life isn’t just about money.”
“Yeah. It’s like a final judgment saying my career is over, my marriage is finished and money is the only thing left.” Rachel made a face. “Sorry, I hate it when I whine.”
“Whine all you like. You deserve it.”
“But feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t help.”
“True,” Nicole acknowledged, “it just keeps you stuck in the same place.”
“And that isn’t good enough, so I’ll have to build a new life and look forward to the process.”
“You can do it. You’re one of the smartest and bravest people I’ve ever known.”
Rachel grinned. “You’re just saying that because I’m feeding you dinner.”
“You got me. I’m a sucker for your chicken lo mein.”
The doorbell rang again and Rachel let Adam and Logan into the apartment.
“Hi, guys,” Nicole greeted them. They fetched bottles of mineral water from the fridge and relaxed in the comfortable chairs across from the couch.
Furniture was another thing Rachel and Hayden had disagreed about; he’d wanted everything modern and fashionable, while she’d preferred comfort. Compromise wasn’t in his lexicon. She’d let him have every piece of furniture in the divorce, and then purchased what she’d wanted in the first place.
“Before I finish making dinner, I have to decide what to do with my life,” Rachel said. “Any ideas?”
“Wow, a new life plan in the next twenty minutes,” Adam marveled. “Is this the latest Olympic event?”
Rachel laughed, feeling more normal. The four of them had known each other for years and no one could have been more faithful visiting her at the hospital and then at home, phoning and using Skype when they were out of town on jobs. Maybe friendship was better than romance. It certainly seemed more reliable.
“I thought you had two operations to go before making a decision,” Logan said.
“The benefits would be marginal at best, so I told the surgeon that enough is enough. Besides, Kevin made inquiries and nobody wants to hire me. They say it’s been too long and there was too much press about the accident—that my injuries are all consumers will think about. If they even remember me.”
Adam scowled. “Advertisers are remarkably shortsighted. But I’m glad you’ve decided not to have more surgery. We’ve hated seeing how much it drags you down.”
Rachel squared her shoulders. “Well, now I can rebuild myself and move on.”
“What about buying into your parents’ business in the Seattle area? You’re a great cook.”
She shook her head. “That isn’t the answer. For one, my little sister hopes to eventually take over Clarion Catering, and my being there would be a complication. Not to mention it would be like going back to childhood.”
Nicole shuddered. “What an awful thought.”
Both Logan and Adam groaned in a chorus of agreement.
Ironically, of the four of them, Rachel had experienced the most normal life growing up, but she still didn’t want to go backward. Anyhow, each time her parents visited, they wanted to coddle and protect her...and deny the reality of what a huge, ancient lighting boom could do to the human body if it wasn’t properly secured. She loved them, but she needed to reclaim her life. It was what her trauma counselor kept saying, but that didn’t make it less true.
Logan leaned forward. “Is there anything you’re especially interested in doing?”
“Not really. I’ve enjoyed the travel connected to modeling, but I can’t see becoming a flight attendant.”
“How about doing makeup for photo shoots?” he suggested. “You’ve helped out several times when the professional artist couldn’t get the look I wanted. And there was that one shoot where the entire makeup staff got food poisoning from sushi and you did it for everybody.”
Makeup artist was an interesting idea. She had the insurance payout, so she didn’t have to worry if the work wasn’t regular. And she’d be in the same field as her friends.
“Would it be hard to work in a setting similar to where the accident happened?” Nicole asked, looking concerned.
“Maybe, but I’m getting counseling for post-traumatic stress and I doubt that running away is the answer.”
Rachel almost felt guilty for talking about PTSD. After all, she’d been posing for a picture when something heavy fell on her, not saving lives like the two firefighters she’d met in the hospital. They ran into burning buildings when everyone else was running out of them. But when she’d tried dismissing her own experience, they’d said to stop, that trauma was trauma, no matter what had caused it.
Rachel struggled to smile. Right now she needed to concentrate on getting through each day, one step at a time.
“What do you know?” she announced in a determinedly cheerful voice. “You’ve managed to help me plan a new life in less than ten minutes. I’m impressed.”
CHAPTER ONE (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
Eight years later
RACHEL ATE BREAKFAST on the balcony of her new condo overlooking Lake Washington, relishing the crisp, cool air of early fall. The view was partly why she’d bought this place. At night, the sparkle of electric lights ringed the dark lake, and in the daytime the vista was ever changing, depending on the weather and which boats were out.
It was funny... She’d grown up in a small town near Seattle and had resisted returning after the accident, yet here she was, less than thirty miles from where her parents lived. Maybe Washington would always be home, or maybe she was just happy that the goal she and her friends had set three years earlier—buying a talent agency—had finally been reached.
Actually, they’d owned Moonlight Ventures for a year, but Nicole had run it alone at first, and then Adam had joined her. Now Rachel was here, and Logan would be joining them soon, as well. Becoming a talent agent was a challenge, the same as when Rachel had built her reputation as a model, and then as a makeup artist.
She decided to go for a walk and automatically checked her appearance in a mirror by the front door. It was Saturday and she didn’t have any appointments, but makeup was a habit that made her more confident. She kept it as light as possible, using the barest amount necessary to cover the lingering scars from her old injuries.
Rather than taking the elevator, she ran down the stairs. Since her accident and being bandaged like a mummy so often after surgeries, she’d become slightly claustrophobic.
“Hi,” said a childish voice as Rachel walked through the building lobby. A little girl gazed up at her. She was cute as could be, with brown eyes, reddish hair and an inquisitive expression.
“Hello. Who are you?”
“My name is Livvie. I’m seven.”
“I’m Rachel. Do you live in the Carthage?” The Carthage was the name of the building, supposedly chosen to evoke images of strength and engineering excellence.
The youngster vigorously bobbed her head. “We used to live in Seattle before Daddy went to work in New York, but I asked if we could come back because this is the place I like best. It’s...” She chewed on her lip. “It’s where I remember Mama best.”
Livvie seemed remarkably articulate and self-possessed for a child her age, though Rachel was hardly an expert on kids. “It was nice of your daddy to do that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ready for our walk, Livvie?” a young woman asked, coming up to them. She looked at Rachel. “Hello, I’m Gemma.”
“Gemma is my nanny, ’cept I’m too old for a nanny, so she just takes care of me,” Livvie volunteered.
“Hi, Gemma. I’m Rachel Clarion. I live on the second floor.” Rachel deliberately provided the information, figuring a nanny worth her salt would want to know exactly who had been talking with her charge.
“Daddy’s girlfriend was awful mad when we moved home,” Livvie said blithely, “but Gemma was happy because she grew up here and wants to go back to college.”
“Sweetie, you shouldn’t talk about your father that way to a stranger,” Gemma cautioned. She had a clear, melodic voice that probably appealed to a child.
“Why not?”
“Because it... It’s because some things are private.”
“Everybody knows. I heard Daddy say on the phone that Sandra whined to the newspaper people about us leaving.”
Rachel suspected that explaining privacy to a seven-year-old was like trying to bail water with a sieve. It would be even harder if Livvie’s father was well-known. As for his “whined to the newspaper” comment? The word evoked an image of a man who was impatient with women, maybe even scornful of them.
“Gemma, how long have you been a nanny?” she asked as a distraction.
“Since Livvie was a baby. When did you move to the Carthage?”
“A few weeks ago. I grew up in Washington, but lived in Los Angeles for a number of years. It’s nice to be back.”
“I know how you feel.”
Livvie tugged on Rachel’s arm. “Do you want to go with us? I’m putting my new boat in the water. It has a motor and everything!”
As Livvie held up the toy, there was a vibration under their feet. Someone across the lobby called, “Earthquake,” and Gemma let out a gasp.
“I’m sure we’re okay,” Rachel said quickly, “but let’s get over by that column.” She knew that the Carthage had been reinforced to withstand earthquakes and the central columns were part of the structural support.
“May-maybe we should go outside,” Gemma protested.
“The column,” Rachel repeated firmly, shepherding the other woman and Livvie close to the column. The possibility of flowerpots falling from the balconies above bothered her more than any chance the ceiling might come down in such a minor quake.
In less than ten seconds the shaking stopped. Her face ashen, Gemma had pulled Livvie close.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Rachel assured quietly. “We’re fine. That probably wasn’t even a 3.0.”
“I know. It’s just that when I was a kid I fell down a flight of stairs during the Nisqually quake and broke my leg.”
“That was a strong one.” Rachel remembered the Nisqually quake—it was hard not to remember being in such a powerful earthquake. “But this one mostly felt like a great big truck driving by, making the ground rumble a little. Right, Livvie?” she asked in an encouraging tone.
“Yup.” Livvie didn’t seem afraid, more excited. “Is there going to be a tidal wave?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then can we sail my boat now?”
Gemma laughed, visibly regaining her composure. She seemed nice, if unsure of herself. “I guess that puts things in perspective. Let’s go.”
When they reached the lake, Livvie focused on putting her small remote-controlled motorboat into the water.
“What is your college major?” Rachel asked as they kept a careful watch on the little girl.
“Childhood development. That’s why getting a job as a nanny seemed a good way to work my way through school.”
“There’s nothing like practical experience,” Rachel agreed.
“Right, but I didn’t want to leave my job when Simon...Mr. Kessler decided to go back East. When we got there he decided on homeschooling for Livvie and hired a teacher. Even so, it... Um, it didn’t seem practical to attend college in New York, but I’m starting classes again here in January,” she added awkwardly.
Rachel wondered how Gemma felt about her boss. The way she’d said his name had an odd tone and Rachel couldn’t decide whether it was affection or wariness. Well, good luck to her, and to anyone who had dreams of a romantic happily-ever-after.
SIMON KESSLER WAS frustrated by the unusually heavy Saturday traffic. He’d expected to stay at the office later, but even though Gemma had called and assured him that Livvie wasn’t upset by the small earthquake, he’d decided to come home and spend the afternoon with her.
At length he drove his Volvo into the building’s underground garage and got into the elevator. It was used by all the Carthage residents, but the top floor could only be accessed by a special key.
The elevator opened into an entrance foyer. He unlocked the front door and the first thing he heard was his daughter chattering happily away. Livvie was the most important part of his life, the best thing he and Olivia had ever done together. But now his complex, brilliant, wonderful wife was gone, and he was a widower and single father. He still missed Olivia so much that at times he thought he’d choke on the pain.
“Where’s my Livi-kin-kinnie?” he said, walking into the living room.
He stopped. A stranger was there, a woman who looked vaguely familiar but was still a stranger. She sat on the floor by the coffee table, while Livvie fussed over the tiny bone china tea set that had been one of her birthday presents when she turned seven. Quickly he glanced around and was relieved to see Gemma seated in the corner with a book. He would have been upset if he’d found Livvie alone with someone they didn’t know.
“Daddy,” Livvie exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “Have tea with us. Pleeeeze? Gemma has to study and it’s a much better party with more people.”
He couldn’t resist her big brown eyes pleading with him.
“You talked me into it.” Simon chose the opposite side of the coffee table, preferring not to sit close to the woman. The spot was awkward since the huge redwood burl table was low and he had to arrange his legs around the bulky base.
“Who is your other guest?” he asked.
“This is Rachel C-Clarion. Rachel, this is my daddy.”
The woman smiled and nodded as Livvie continued talking.
“Rachel lives downstairs. We went to the lake with her this morning and I asked if she could come for tea.” Livvie trotted toward the kitchen and Gemma set her book aside to follow, no doubt to help with preparations.
Being a resident in the Carthage might be why Rachel seemed familiar, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted her around his daughter.
He’d talk about it with Gemma. She had good instincts, but might have been too shy to turn away their neighbor. Her lack of confidence at times had been his biggest concern about hiring her to care for his newborn daughter. But Olivia had liked her and the way she’d handled Livvie, so he’d agreed. Now, with his wife’s death two years ago, he couldn’t contemplate removing Gemma from Livvie’s life; his daughter had already lost too much. It would still happen at some point... Gemma was nearly twenty-six now and couldn’t stay forever.
Forcing his thoughts to the present moment, Simon nodded at Rachel and she nodded back. He regarded her dispassionately. Her eyes were almost turquoise, he thought idly, making him wonder if she wore colored contacts. She was stunningly beautiful with a cloud of long, dark hair. But he wasn’t a kid, ready to fall for a pretty face.
Friends sometimes claimed that he needed a wife and a mother for his daughter. But while he’d dated casually over the past year, he was always clear that he didn’t want anything permanent; he and Livvie were doing fine on their own. Unfortunately, the woman he’d seen most often in New York had begun hinting for more. Sandra, a well-known socialite, had been furious when she discovered he was moving away without offering a marriage proposal.
He carefully returned Rachel’s smile to show neither openness nor caution. “Hello, I’m Simon Kessler.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve seen you at the Java Train Shop next door.”
“They serve decent coffee,” he said.
“Yeah. I used to have one of those fancy machines that practically dances a cup over to the table. But I got rid of the contraption when I moved home. Since I was returning to one of the coffee capitals of the world, why bother making my own brew?”
“I see. What brought you back to the Northwest?” he asked, knowing he was doomed to a period of polite conversation. It was frustrating. He’d come home for quality time with Livvie and had to share it with a stranger.
“Business. My partners and I bought a talent agency.”
“I’ve never known anyone in the talent industry.”
Her lips curved again. They were full and sweetly shaped, with just a hint of gloss over a natural rosy color. “I’ve worked in the modeling field since I was fourteen, so except for childhood friends, I hardly know anyone outside it. What line are you in?”
“My business covers multiple areas, but these days I mostly focus on textiles for home furnishings.”
It was a dismissive description of his varied enterprises, but he didn’t see the need to go into detail. Through the years Simon had acquired and sold several companies, but he no longer did corporate takeovers; it required time and a callousness that didn’t match the man he wanted to be as Livvie’s father.
Livvie returned with a small tray, her upper lip caught between her teeth in concentration. Rachel reached up to help lower the tray to the table, and he wasn’t thrilled to see her seeming willingness to connect with his child; it reminded him of the way Sandra had started dropping by, hoping to become cozy with his daughter. Her motives had been transparent and if he hadn’t decided to leave New York, he would have bluntly told her that Livvie was off-limits. Even at his worst he’d never used a child to advance his personal or business goals and didn’t appreciate anyone who did.
“Livvie didn’t think you’d be home so early,” Rachel said, breaking into his thoughts.
Was she trying to suggest she’d come to the tea party without expecting to see him? For pity’s sake, he’d turned into both a cynic and an egotist. A woman could respond to a child’s invitation without having ulterior motives. And if Rachel had anything else in mind, he’d figure it out soon enough.
“I had a couple of meetings with people who weren’t available during the week. I expected to stay at the office longer to finish some work,” he told her, “but changed my mind after the earthquake.”
“Daddy works almost every day,” Livvie said sadly.
Guilt struck Simon. His hours hadn’t mattered as much when Olivia was there and they both could spend time with her outside their demanding careers. “I know about mommies and daddies who have to work a lot,” Rachel said as she accepted the miniature cup Livvie handed to her. “My parents run a catering business.”
Livvie looked puzzled. “What’s that?”
“They prepare food for parties and special dinners and other events.”
“Do they have to work awful hard like Daddy?”
“I don’t know if it’s the same as your daddy, but caterers work different hours than some parents, especially late afternoons and evenings. Us kids usually stayed with our grandmother when they were busy.”
“I don’t have a grandma.”
“But you have Gemma, which is great, right?”
Livvie grinned and nodded, handing one of the tiny cups to Simon.
It wasn’t entirely true that she didn’t have a grandmother. Legally, she did. Olivia’s family was gone and Simon’s mother had died when he was nine, but when he was eleven, Richard Kessler had forced his wife to adopt his former lover’s child. Karen had tried, in her awkward way, to treat Simon decently, but he’d been the living reminder her husband had never been faithful and that she hadn’t given him the son he craved. Neither Karen nor Simon’s father was a part of their lives now.
“Please have some cookies,” Livvie said, holding out a plate to her guest.
Rachel took one of the cookies and ate a bite. “Delicious. Did you make them yourself?”
Giggling, his daughter shook her head. “We got them at a bakery. I don’t know how to cook. Do you?”
“It’s one of my hobbies.”
“Did your mommy teach you how?”
Simon’s throat suddenly closed with suppressed emotion. He tried not to remind Livvie of how much she’d lost when Olivia died. Though, to be honest, cooking hadn’t been one of his wife’s skills. Instead she’d told their daughter about clothing designs and the way certain fabrics moved depending on how they were cut.
“My mother and father both taught me,” Rachel explained. “Dad is the baker. He makes breads and desserts, while Mom does most of the other stuff. I enjoy doing both.”
“My mommy can’t teach me,” Livvie answered with the curious frankness that seemed part of both her age and personality. “She went to heaven when I was five.”
“I’m sorry. If she was anything like you, she must have been very special.”
Livvie beamed, then turned and looked at him. “I hardly ever see you in the kitchen, Daddy. Can you cook?”
“’Fraid not, kiddo. I learned more about business stuff than cooking spaghetti when I was growing up.”
His daughter giggled.
Simon loved it when she laughed. He loved it when she seemed to be happy instead of scared and pulled into herself. At times he worried that he frightened her. In more sensible moments he was sure that was ridiculous. But he also knew he was very much the man his ruthless father had molded him to be.
RACHEL HADN’T BEEN sure about accepting Livvie Kessler’s invitation to a tea party, but the child seemed lonely and it had felt like the right thing to do. Still, it hurt when Rachel thought that if her marriage had succeeded, she might have a little girl or boy around Livvie’s age.
She pushed the thought away. If she’d known that Livvie’s father was Simon Kessler and that he would be coming home, she might have refused Livvie’s invitation.
On the weekend she preferred keeping things casual and comfortable, and the brief glimpses she’d caught of Simon had suggested he was brooding and intense, ready to explode into action at any moment. There was nothing wrong with that. She’d known plenty of people with the same coiled energy inside, but sitting at a child’s tea party with one of them unsettled her. Besides, the few times their gazes had connected in the past, he’d turned away as if he had no interest in other people...or even in common courtesies.
But she gave the guy credit for one thing—he was obviously a hardworking businessman, yet he was willing to sit on the floor and have a tea party with his motherless child. Whatever other faults he might have, she found that admirable.
Nonetheless, she quickly finished her tea and cookie as soon as Livvie was done with hers. She noticed that Simon did the same—perhaps hoping his daughter’s guest wouldn’t stay long.
“Thank you, this has been lovely,” Rachel told her small hostess. “I enjoyed it, but I’d better go.” She untangled her legs and stood.
“Do you have to?” Livvie asked plaintively.
“Afraid so. I have things to do before going out tonight.”
Nicole had invited everyone to her house for a barbecue and Rachel had offered to bring a couple of salads. Had Nicole and her fiancé, Jordan Masters, finally settled on their wedding plans? Of course, Adam was now engaged to Cassie Bryant so they might have a similar announcement. What’s more, the agency’s office manager, Chelsea Masters, who also happened to be Jordan’s sister, was seriously involved with a grade school teacher. The next year could be busy with all the weddings of people at Moonlight Ventures.
Rachel had wondered if Nicole and Adam both getting engaged would change the dynamics of their friendship, but it was working out all right. After the couples were married, the four business partners probably wouldn’t hang out as often in a group, but they had never spent every minute in each other’s pockets, anyhow. Besides, Jordan and Cassie were great.
Cassie was the legal guardian to two of the agency’s clients. She designed websites and had revamped Moonlight Ventures’ website. Jordan was a reporter, which was how he and Nicole met, or rather met again. They’d known each other growing up, but hadn’t been in contact until he was asked to do an article about her changing careers from modeling to being an agent.
“I’m really, really, really glad you came.” Livvie walked her guest to the door, a proper little hostess. “Can we do things together sometimes?”
Rachel smiled at the sweet, hopeful face, aware that Simon had followed with a closed expression. “Maybe, if it’s all right with your daddy.”
“We’re neighbors and neighbors should be friends,” Livvie said with her oddly adult air. It probably wasn’t unusual for an only child who’d been homeschooled, though earlier Gemma had explained Livvie was now enrolled in a private school with kids her own age. Maybe it would help her be less lonely.
“Thanks again for the tea,” Rachel repeated when Simon stayed silent.
She took the stairs down, aware of the heavy security door snapping shut behind her. Nobody except the Kesslers could access the top floor of the Carthage. A special key was needed for the elevator and cameras monitored the third-floor staircase.
The setup seemed slightly paranoid, but maybe Simon Kessler was a fanatic about his privacy. Rachel understood, and the penthouse was undoubtedly a nice home. She’d only seen a small part of it, but visible from the living room was an actual garden, with a deck, flower boxes, a tiny area of grass and trees in large planters. High, spotless heavy glass enclosed the space, ensuring Livvie could play with no chance of falling.
Rachel let herself into her condo and felt as if she was reentering the real world.
She would have loved having a house and garden like the one Nicole had purchased, but the muscles in her left leg weren’t as strong as they’d been before the accident, especially if she made unusual or twisting movements. So rather than hire someone to do the yard and other exterior work, she’d decided on a condo with a balcony large enough to host small groups. She couldn’t have found a better location under the circumstances. The neighborhood was in a historic town, tucked into the greater Seattle area. It enjoyed some preservation from further development along the lake by protected green space on either side. There was even a mom-and-pop type of grocery store up the block, complete with an old-style deli.
While she vacuumed the living room, Rachel thought about Simon Kessler. Livvie must take after her mother, except for her eyes, which were as dark as her father’s. But the little girl’s eyes were eager and hopeful, unlike Simon’s.
Rachel could understand. In pictures of her taken after the accident, her eyes had conveyed the same sense of bottled-up emotions she saw in Simon’s gaze. Only slowly had she lost the self-conscious pain she hadn’t wanted anyone else to see.
Simon’s wife had died a little over two years ago. Maybe that was why he seemed so intense, struggling to keep himself under tight control... He was a man who had lost the woman he loved and was trying to navigate this new world as a single dad. Having a girlfriend in New York didn’t mean he’d figured things out; it could just have been part of the process.
Rachel pushed the thoughts aside to prepare lettuce and other vegetables for a Thai noodle salad.
At five she drove out to Nicole’s house. Jordan opened the door and took the box of food she carried.
“Mmm.” Jordan sniffed. “I smell onions, peanuts, roasted sesame... Must be Thai.”
“Is that your favorite?”
“Whatever you cook is my favorite. I haven’t tasted anything you make that I haven’t loved.”
“That’s for sure,” Nicole agreed, overhearing them as they walked into the kitchen. “And I’ve been eating your cooking a lot longer than Jordan.”
“I’ve been wondering if you’d like me to fix a meal for after your wedding,” Rachel said. “Or the rehearsal dinner.”
Jordan put the box on the counter and exchanged a look with his fiancée.
Nicole sighed. “Actually, we’ve decided against a formal wedding. We considered giving it a try, but there are too many George and Masters family bombs threatening to go off. It would be the Hatfields and McCoys, Seattle-style.” She clutched her forehead in mock horror.
“Oh, dear.”
Rachel knew that Nicole’s mother didn’t get along with Jordan’s mom, a long-time feud that the engaged couple had hoped would be put aside, at least for their wedding. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen.
Jordan shrugged. “The fight runs too deep, and neither side wants to give up being angry. Maybe someday. But if it doesn’t, at least we live two states away.”
“I hope the battle doesn’t extend to the two of you.”
“Nope. Mom has decided Nicole is perfectly wonderful—despite everything—and Nicole’s mother says she can’t figure how I turned out so well with parents like that.”
“Yikes.” Rachel could imagine the battle scenes if the two families got together.
“Right.” Jordan put the salads she’d brought into the refrigerator. “It’s our own version of the Cold War and we don’t want it to heat up.”
“Then what are you doing for the wedding?”
“We’re going to our fallback plan. December or January, city hall, no friends or family except witnesses,” Nicole said succinctly.
“We won’t let them drag us into their fight,” Jordan added.
It made sense to Rachel. “Then let me do a nonwedding party afterward. We can have it at my place... Unless you’re planning to leave for a honeymoon immediately?”
“We’re still making plans for our honeymoon.” Nicole exchanged glances with Jordan. He nodded and she grinned. “But that sounds fabulous.”
“Sure does,” Jordan agreed. “Thanks. We wouldn’t leave until the next day, anyhow, and it would make the wedding day more special.”
Rachel knew Nicole didn’t care if she had a fancy wedding. Being in love and starting her married life with Jordan was what mattered to her, and all Jordan cared about was being with Nicole.
It was probably natural that Nicole had recently questioned whether Rachel might consider marriage again—she was in love and wanted the whole world to be in love with her. But Rachel didn’t think it was likely. Her life was good, and getting involved with someone could jeopardize the peace she’d finally found.
CHAPTER TWO (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
RACHEL DROVE TO the office on Monday morning feeling as if a hidden thought was nibbling at her mind. She’d experienced the sensation before and it often turned out to be something important she needed to consider.
Hopefully it would emerge in time.
As she pulled into the lot, she saw Matt Tupper stepping down from a transport van. He didn’t have his guide dog and was using his cane. She walked his direction, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps.
“Hey, Rachel,” he called. “Good morning.”
“I didn’t know my walk was that distinctive.”
“It isn’t hard to deduce. Not many people arrive this early and Nicole usually wears heels. You wear flats most of the time and walk with a different pace.”
Rachel didn’t explain that heels made her left leg ache.
She was learning about the importance of listening from Matt. Even if she hadn’t seen the tension in Simon Kessler’s face, his voice would have told her a great deal about him.
“Is Pepper all right?” she asked, trying to dismiss Simon from her mind. “She’s usually with you.” Pepper was Matt’s guide dog and she was devoted to Matt.
“Pepper is fine, but she’s due for her annual vaccinations. My brother offered to take her to the vet so I could get to the studio for an early recording. He’ll bring her by later. I’d give her the day off, but she’s restless when she isn’t with me.”
“How has it been going since you expanded?” she asked.
“We’re still getting the equipment installed for the second live studio, but it’s already booked ahead for months. Tara is coming in this weekend to ensure they finish the work.”
“That’s Tara Henley, your assistant.”
“Right. With the schedule so full, it looks like I’ll still end up doing books for the blind on Saturdays. Maybe it’s just as well since my volunteer readers have more available time on weekends.”
Matt owned a recording studio and had been one of the renters Rachel and her friends had inherited when buying the building along with Moonlight Ventures. He recorded radio spots, music and audio books, often hiring his vocal talent through the agency. Instead of being off the atrium area, he was in a rear div of the building where they had few renters, so it hadn’t been a problem to lease him additional space for the second studio. Ironically, their agency also needed to expand, but the space next to them was occupied, with several years left on the lease.
“That’s terrific,” Rachel said. “You may have to add a third live studio.”
He chuckled. “Maybe. As my dad says, success is a two-edged sword. Have a great day.”
ONCE INSIDE HIS STUDIO, Matt didn’t really need his cane. His employees knew to leave everything in its place or to tell him if something had been moved. He walked around with assurance, occasionally putting out a hand if he sensed something wasn’t right.
Even before losing his eyesight, he’d been aware of sound and how pitch and modulation changed in relation to everything else. He navigated relatively well for that reason, usually able to sense larger objects nearby, though he still stubbed his toes often enough. Losing his sight hadn’t even changed his college plans—he’d always intended to major in electronic communications.
The phone rang and he hit the speaker button. “Tupper Recording.”
“It’s Conan, Matt.” Conan’s voice sounded gravelly, as if he’d just got out of bed.
“What’s up?”
Conan started to say something, then broke into a fit of coughing. Obviously it was more than a rough morning voice.
“Got a cold,” he finally choked out. “We can’t make it today, but we’ll still pay a full fee for the recording session.”
“The cancellation fee in the contract is fine,” Matt said firmly. It made him uncomfortable when people tried to pay more than their contracts required. Maybe he was being ultrasensitive, but it felt as if they were giving alms to the blind.
“When can we reschedule?” Conan asked. He was an account executive for a major bank...who also blew a mean saxophone. His jazz band played in local clubs periodically, and they’d decided to record a CD under their own start-up label.
“Let me check the schedule.” Matt pulled it up on the computer. He used both a braille and audio reader, but preferred having the electronic braille device translate from the screen when other people might be able to hear. “I don’t have an opening until three weeks from today, 4:00 p.m.”
“That’s—” Conan had another fit of coughing. “We’ll take it,” he said when he could talk again. “Sorry about this. My kid brought the bug home from preschool and must have spread it to the whole band when we practiced a few days ago. I’ve been getting emails from everyone that they’re sick.”
“Get well soon,” Matt returned, entering the booking in the system and setting an electronic reminder to send a revision to the contract for signature.
“Thanks.”
Matt disconnected and automatically reached to rub behind Pepper’s ears, only to remember she wasn’t there. He missed her. He’d resisted getting a guide dog for years, but Pepper had become a friend who sensed his moods better than any human had ever done.
Sitting back, Matt listened to the sounds coming from the street and the whisper of the HVAC system blowing air through the vents. This was his kingdom and it was exactly where he’d always wanted to be...even if his life hadn’t been changed by a driver jumping the curb and plowing into a group of high school seniors.
RACHEL’S DAY PASSED quickly between desk work and site checks, which included visiting two photo shoots where new clients were booked. Everything was going smoothly in both locations.
Late in the afternoon she and Adam enjoyed rejecting a business owner who was supposedly searching for a model to represent his used-car dealership. The guy had raised alarm bells when they’d talked, so she’d checked him out further. Apparently he used what he called “casting calls” to meet and then try to date female models. Adam had wanted to be the one who told him to get lost but in the end agreed they could do it together.
She drove home in a good mood, encountering Gemma and Livvie when she stopped in the lobby to check her mailbox.
“Hi, Rachel,” Livvie cried. “We’re going to the lake. Can you come with us?”
Gemma nodded and smiled, but Rachel hesitated. When she’d mentioned spending time with Livvie if her father agreed, he hadn’t responded one way or the other. But surely he would have told Gemma if he didn’t approve.
“I’d love to,” Rachel said. “Can you wait a minute for me to change into something else?”
“Okay.”
She rushed up the stairs and slipped into casual clothes. Livvie’s face bloomed with pleasure when she got back and they headed toward the water. Once there, the child concentrated on her boat, while Rachel chatted with Gemma.
“It’s beautiful here in Washington,” Gemma murmured after a while. “So green and fresh. I missed it in New York, though we were able to see things like the Statue of Liberty and museums. I especially enjoyed Greenwich Village.”
Once again her clear, musical voice impressed Rachel, and she suddenly recalled the elusive idea that had been buzzing in her brain. She should have thought of it when she’d run into Matt Tupper that morning.
“Gemma, would you be interested in doing side jobs?” she asked. “At the agency we get calls for people to do narration or voice-overs and other vocal work. I’m sure you’d be great at it.”
“Oh, I never thought of such a thing. I’m not... I mean, I don’t have any experience and can’t imagine anyone would be interested in hiring me.”
“They might. I’m not saying you’d make a fortune or anything. You could even ease your way into it by doing volunteer reading. One of the tenants in our building has a sound studio and he records books and magazines for the blind—regionally published stuff that the National Library Service is less likely to do. He’s always looking for readers willing to give time to the project.”
The nervous clutch of Gemma’s fingers relaxed. “I’d be happy to volunteer, only I doubt I’d be very good.”
“Think about it. There isn’t a deadline.”
They stayed quiet after that, watching Livvie direct her boat in the water. It was a beautiful late afternoon, and Rachel enjoyed just sitting and watching the rippling lake.
“Hey, kiddo!” called Simon Kessler out of the blue.
“Daddy,” Livvie cried, “come see how I make my boat move.”
Rachel’s pulse had jumped when Simon Kessler’s voice intruded into her musings. She watched as he went to the water’s edge, crouching to speak with his daughter—from what she’d read, getting down to eye level was the best way to talk with kids. At the moment, Livvie seemed to be pleading with him for something and Rachel restrained a grin. Livvie would be hard not to spoil with her funny adult manners and earnest eyes.
Gemma looked at her cell phone. “Oh, dear, we’ve been here longer than I thought. I need to go, I have a class tonight at the community center. I’m learning sign language.”
She went over to speak with her employer, then waved and hurried away. Rachel stood to leave as well, thinking she needed to develop more hobbies or take classes. She loved cooking and reading, but having other interests would be good.
“Rachel, wait,” Livvie screeched, dashing up the pathway. “Please come with us for dinner.”
Wishing she’d made her escape earlier, Rachel smiled. “That’s nice of you, Livvie, but I have leftovers in my fridge that need to be eaten. I hate to waste food.”
“Pleeeze? I want you to come. Daddy, please ask Rachel to come.”
“Livvie, honey, get your boat out of the water while I talk with Ms. Clarion.”
“Okay.”
Rachel looked at Simon, whose face wore the same closed expression she’d seen before. He was darkly handsome, with chiseled features that might photograph well. Strange, now that she was a talent agent, it seemed as if she was always assessing how someone might look in an ad or appear on television or in film. She’d have to work on that, because she didn’t want her view of the world becoming too narrow.
But maybe it wasn’t just from becoming an agent. In all honesty, she would have noticed Simon’s looks regardless.
He was a hard man to ignore.
SIMON HADN’T WANTED to agree to Livvie’s request about inviting Rachel to dinner, but the little mischief maker had asked for a treat and he’d impulsively said yes before learning which treat she wanted.
His daughter had taken a strong, instant liking to their downstairs neighbor. He just didn’t know why. While Rachel had an almost otherworldly beauty, it probably wasn’t something that would influence a child. He’d questioned Gemma to find out if Rachel had done something special to catch Livvie’s attention, but she’d said nothing unusual had happened aside from the minor earthquake. Rachel, it seemed, had been exceptionally calm during the event, which had really impressed Gemma.
“We would very much like having you as our guest for dinner,” he said formally.
“Thanks, but as I told Livvie, I have food in my refrigerator that will go to waste,” Rachel explained, her gaze seeming straightforward.
“I hope you’ll reconsider,” he urged. “She rarely asks for anything, so it’s hard when I can’t give her what she wants.”
“Well...there’s far more than I can eat, so maybe you could have dinner at my place.”
He went rigid, recalling a few meals to which he and Livvie had been invited since Olivia’s death where there’d been a clear ulterior motive.
“Really, Rachel? Can we eat with you?” Livvie asked from behind him.
Was it possible Rachel had seen his daughter coming and spoken when she did, counting on getting his child’s support? Or was he being unreasonably suspicious again? He desperately missed Olivia’s sensible way of keeping him grounded.
“It’s up to your father,” Rachel said.
“Thanks, that would be nice,” he agreed finally. After all, one dinner didn’t mean anything.
“Great. I’m going to head back to my place. I’m in 2B and can have everything ready in an hour. Does that sound okay?”
“It works for us.”
He kept himself from watching her graceful figure walk away, and concentrated on spending a while longer with Livvie, putting the little motorized boat back into the water and sending it around in circles. Then they went home to wash up for the meal. Livvie wanted to put on the dress she’d worn for a Christmas party, but he talked her out of the frilly outfit before changing his business suit for less formal clothing.
Shortly before seven, he rang the doorbell to 2B.
Rachel was still wearing jeans and a T-shirt and had a dish towel tied around her waist instead of an apron. A delicious, faintly exotic scent wafted through the air.
“Welcome,” she said, waving them inside.
Simon glanced around. It was the first time he’d seen one of the other condos in the building. This one seemed spacious and had a nice lakeside view. The living room was decorated with eclectic touches from around the world and an electronic picture frame shifted through scenes he recognized from his own travels.
Rachel had gone into the kitchen and returned with a tray holding serving bowls. She carried it toward the French doors opening onto the deck.
“I enjoy eating outside when the weather is nice,” she said. “Is that all right?”
“Sounds fine.”
“Sit wherever you’re comfortable.”
A minute later she reappeared with a large platter. “As I mentioned, this is all leftovers.”
“I like leftovers,” Livvie announced.
His daughter seemed determined to like everything connected to their neighbor, though Simon wasn’t sure Livvie knew what Rachel meant. Neither he nor Olivia had bothered with leftovers much.
“So do I,” Rachel said. “Since my parents were caterers, I grew up on food left from their catering jobs. Maybe I’m biased, but I think some dishes are better the second time around.”
Simon looked at the platter of meat and roasted vegetables, alongside bowls of salads.
“You made all of this?”
“Just the salads. My friends grilled the meat and veggies for a get-together on Saturday. Fewer guests came than expected, so they sent a container of the excess home with me. I meant to share it around the office today and forgot.”
“What’s that?” Livvie asked, pointing to a vegetable.
“Eggplant.”
Livvie giggled. “That’s silly. Eggs don’t grow on plants.”
“No, but some types of eggplant have an egg shape, or at least that must be what people thought.”
“Do I have to eat a whole serving if it’s yucky?”
Rachel’s lips twitched. “Simon, I don’t know your rules about food, so you should probably answer that.”
“I want Livvie to try things, but she doesn’t have to finish anything she truly dislikes.”
“There’s your answer, Livvie,” Rachel said. “If you want to try it, fine, but I won’t be upset if you don’t want to finish.”
“Okay,” Livvie said, looking relieved. While she seemed eager to please Rachel, she was decidedly picky about her food.
Simon served his daughter before filling his own plate and taking a bite of the eggplant. He’d eaten it in eggplant parmesan, but this was different and quite delicious.
Livvie chewed a small amount of the eggplant and made a face before swallowing. But she ate another bite, so perhaps she was merely concentrating.
“This is excellent,” he said, tasting a salad of noodles and various vegetables.
Rachel didn’t appear flattered by the compliment. She simply shrugged. “Thanks to my parents, cooking has always been part of my life.”
“But you didn’t decide to become a caterer?”
She grinned. “I’d rather cook when I want, not on demand.”
“To keep it a hobby, not a job.”
“Right.” Rachel cocked her head. “I was thinking about hobbies earlier. It’s interesting that you mentioned them.”
“How do you define a hobby?” he asked politely.
“I’m not sure. I used to think it was to create something lasting, but that isn’t true of activities like mountain climbing. And food only lasts until you eat it.”
“Perhaps it leaves lasting memories.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Or a little extra on the hips.”
Simon tried not to look at her figure; he’d already noted how attractive she was. Sandra’s determined efforts to get him in front of an altar had left him suspicious of women, yet he didn’t think Rachel was fishing for compliments.
He glanced at Livvie. She was exploring the food on her plate. Some dishes she obviously liked, but others she seemed less certain about. He decided it was best to let her continue experimenting without comment.
“Rachel, what other hobbies would you enjoy?”
“I’m still thinking about it. Gemma mentioned being in a sign language class, so I thought about taking classes, as well. I’ve always been fascinated by anthropology.”
Simon was so busy he couldn’t imagine needing a hobby. “I’ve never had to worry about it, but I suppose something like that would help fill your time.”
She sent him a look tinged with annoyance. “I don’t need to fill my time,” she said crisply, “but I’m essentially self-employed now. It would be easy to lose myself in work. Instead I want to expand my mind and explore new things. But I suppose some people don’t care about doing that.”
It was a not-so-subtle gibe and Simon belatedly realized he must have sounded condescending.
“New things like eggplant?” Livvie asked, innocently breaking the tense moment.
Rachel smiled at her. “New foods are one thing to explore, and I want to find others. There are so many choices, I’ll have to think about what to do.”
He half expected a suggestion his daughter could “help” her figure it out, but Rachel merely served herself more vegetables, then spent a moment gazing at the view from the balcony. The sun had sunk behind the building and the lights of the surrounding community were beginning to glow.
“I love this time of day,” she murmured. “It’s an in-between moment, where maybe you can...”
She stopped and Livvie looked intrigued. “Do what?”
Rachel waved her hand. “Just a fancy of mine. It’s silly. What’s your favorite part of the day?”
As his daughter chattered about mornings and her daily activities, Simon focused on her face, rather than the lake and sparkling lights. Twilight wasn’t his favorite time; it signaled the beginning of evening, a period that reminded him of his loss.
Olivia had worked hard, trying to build her clothing design business into something the world would notice. He’d worked equally hard, but they had set the evening aside for family. And once Livvie had gone to bed, they’d focused on each other.
Well, it had been that way a good deal of the time.
When Olivia had got an idea for a design, she’d wanted to capture it right away. Otherwise, she had explained, she risked losing the nuances. On those evenings, she had quietly disappeared into her work.
Their marriage hadn’t been perfect, but it had been good. Since her death, he’d wondered if she had guessed her life would be short and whether that explained how determined and driven she’d been.
RACHEL SAW A faraway look on Simon’s face and wondered what it might mean. Not that she needed to know. The Kesslers were merely neighbors, and based on her contacts with Simon, she’d rather not get closely acquainted. The only reason she’d offered the dinner invitation was for Livvie’s sake.
“The part I don’t like about mornings is when Daddy leaves,” Livvie finally said.
Simon brushed a crumb from his daughter’s cheek. “Sorry, Livi-kin-kinnie, but that’s what daddies do.”
Livvie let out a huge breath of air. “I know. When I grow up I’m going to work at Mama’s place.”
“Your mama’s place?” Rachel asked.
“She made dresses and things. Daddy, you ’splain it.” Looking sad, Livvie slipped off her chair and wandered to the end of the balcony to stare at the lake.
Rachel glanced at Simon and saw his expression had gone tighter than usual. “My wife, Olivia, designed a line of clothing. When she... Well, she left the business to Livvie and I’ve been trying to run it the best I can.”
“Was it based in New York?”
“No, in Seattle.”
Rachel straightened in her chair. “Good grief, are you talking about Liv’ing Creations?”
His eyebrow shot upward. “Yes. You sound familiar with the label.”
“I should hope so. I know my agency used to provide models for their shows and catalogs. I’ve also enjoyed their clothes and have several items in my closet. Older ones, that is, not...” She stopped, aware she might be treading on sensitive ground.
“You mean nothing from the more current lines, not since Olivia’s last designs were released,” he said in a low, flat tone, possibly to keep his daughter from hearing.
“Basically.” Rachel kept her volume equally low. “The line has radically changed direction over the past few seasons. It no longer has the vitality and style that originally caught my attention. In particular, the rich colors have become muted.”
From the little she could read in Simon’s expression, she didn’t think he’d enjoyed hearing her opinion, even if he knew—or suspected—something was wrong with his wife’s company.
“Maybe it appeals to other people, just not to me,” Rachel added awkwardly.
“I hired Janine Jenkins, a clothing designer from New York, to keep things going. Sales have been indifferent,” he said, “but the manager of Liv’ing Creations feels it’s because consumers know Olivia is gone and are avoiding the label for that reason. She and the designer are convinced another season or two should turn things around.”
“I see,” Rachel said carefully, not sure how else to respond.
She hadn’t been aware of Olivia Kessler’s death; she’d simply lost interest when the designs no longer showed the unique flair she had first appreciated. It seemed unlikely that the original buyers would return if the current designer stayed in her conservative mode, though interest might pick up in a new market. The designs weren’t awful, but they felt like something you’d find in any nice department store.
As Simon started to say something else, Rachel saw Livvie heading back to the table.
“Hey, Livvie, does your daddy allow you to have dessert?” she called in case he hadn’t heard the soft footsteps.
Livvie brightened. “If I eat a good dinner. I ate a good dinner, didn’t I, Daddy?”
“That’s right, honey.”
Rachel was relieved to be talking about something else. “In that case, I have strawberry sorbet, along with cookies that a friend made.”
“Yum!”
Rachel began clearing the table and Simon got up to help, despite her urging to stay put and relax.
“Should I put these in the dishwasher?” he asked, carrying the tray into the kitchen.
“Just leave everything on the counter and I’ll clean up in the morning. Would you like coffee? I got decaf at the Java Train Stop.”
“Sounds good.”
She filled two cups from the insulated carton and offered cream and sugar, but Simon declined.
“Is that homemade?” he asked as she served the sorbet.
“Yes. I made it for a gathering a couple weeks ago. As promised, tonight’s dinner is all about leftovers.”
“Everything was excellent.”
They carried the coffee and dessert to the balcony.
Livvie tasted the sorbet and grinned. “Double yum.”
“Rachel made it,” Simon told her.
The child’s eyes opened wide. “I didn’t know you could make ice cream stuff at home.”
“You can make most things if you know how and have the right tools.”
While they ate, the pink glow in the sky faded entirely and the lights from homes and streetlamps shone in the blackness.
When the dessert and coffee were finished, Simon smiled politely. “Rachel, thanks for a pleasant evening, but we’d better get going.”
“I’m glad you could come.”
“I like eggplant,” Livvie said, her eyes shining. “And I looove strawberry ice cream.”
Rachel chuckled and walked them to the door, where Livvie hugged her.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed.
Unable to resist, Rachel bent and kissed the top of her head. “You’re very welcome.”
But when the door closed behind them, her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Unlike evenings with her friends, spending time with Simon Kessler was far from relaxing. The way he looked at her, as if weighing her words for a secret meaning, his measured responses, his guarded expression...she felt as if she’d run a marathon.
SIMON WALKED UPSTAIRS with his daughter. They spent an hour playing games before she put on her “princess” nightgown and he tucked her into bed.
“Daddy, I like Rachel.”
He brushed the hair away from her forehead. “Of course you do, honey. She’s a nice lady.”
“Can I go visit her?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Livvie yawned. “Okay. G’night.”
“Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
She giggled sleepily while he turned off the light and left the bedroom door ajar.
At his computer, Simon started looking through the files for Liv’ing Creations. Rachel’s comments about the current clothing line were bothering him.
It no longer has the vitality and style that originally caught my attention. In particular, the rich colors have become muted.
The colors in Janine Jenkins’s designs were undoubtedly more subdued, and he wondered if Rachel had put her finger on the issues that Liv’ing Creations was having. Though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, he was starting to think Janine Jenkins was part of the problem, not the solution.
What had Rachel said—that her talent agency had once provided models for the design house? A search through the financial reports gave him a name, Moonlight Ventures.
At the agency’s website, Simon found pictures and brief bios of the owners. His eyes widened as he recognized two of the partners, supermodels Nicole George and Adam Wilding. Logan Kensington was a world-renowned photographer, while Rachel had worked as both a model and a makeup artist.
Simon broadened his search on the internet and found something Rachel’s agency biography hadn’t mentioned—her modeling career had been cut short due to injuries in an accident at work. After recovering, she’d turned her talents to doing makeup on photo shoots and in the movie world.
He tapped his fingers on the keyboard. Liv’ing Creations’ sales were lackluster and in danger of slipping into the red. He’d sold most of his holdings and split the proceeds between Livvie’s trust fund and a donation to ovarian cancer research, seeing both as an investment in his daughter’s future. Still, he could probably subsidize the design house for a year or two. But that wasn’t what Olivia would have wanted. His wife had poured herself into the company. She’d often talked about wanting to leave a piece of herself behind for Livvie, and that had become especially important to her once she’d fallen ill. It wouldn’t be much of a legacy if the fashion house became a joke in the industry and died an inglorious death.
Restless, he turned off the computer and went into the garden. While sitting on Rachel’s balcony earlier in the evening, he’d realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed the fresh air or appreciated the night vista. In fact, he could almost hear Olivia chiding him. She would have asked him if he wanted their daughter to grow up with such a limited sense of things. After all, kids often modeled how their parents behaved.
Simon shuddered. His father had been as ruthless and narrowly focused as a man could be. He’d dragged Simon out of a good foster home, made his wife sign adoption papers and set out to mold his son in his own image. He’d succeeded. Simon had learned his lessons well, cold-bloodedly pursuing a hostile takeover of Richard Kessler’s business as an adult and then taking it apart and selling the pieces.
Justice or, more likely, retribution?
Because if his father had behaved decently, Simon’s biological mother might still be alive. Instead she’d died, overworked and unable to get needed medical care. However happy Simon’s foster home had been, it couldn’t erase the memory of losing her so senselessly.
When he and Olivia had got married they’d both been obsessed with work until Livvie was on the way. That was when they’d taken a step back to review their lives and realized they wanted more for themselves and their child. Now it was time to revisit those values.
A crisp breeze swirled around Simon, carrying a fragrance that reminded him of Rachel’s light perfume.
His senses went on alert.
Rachel’s balcony was located below the penthouse garden and he realized she might be sitting outside as well, watching the moon over Lake Washington. He hadn’t enjoyed hearing her opinion about the latest designs from Liv’ing Creations, yet that didn’t mean they weren’t valid. Perhaps he should call Moonlight Ventures in the morning and make an appointment with her. They could talk, and if her ideas seemed on target, he could try hiring her as a consultant—that would make it clear the contact was purely business.
CHAPTER THREE (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
ON TUESDAY, GEMMA woke early and contemplated how quickly the days were getting shorter. It was always that way in Washington—the long days of summer, shifting into the equally long nights of winter.
She turned over, thinking about being close to her family again...and wrinkled her nose.
Mr. Kessler—it was hard to think of him as Simon—had arranged for her to visit Washington every three months after they’d moved to New York, but after the first trip, she’d quickly found reasons not to go. She loved her parents, but it always felt as if they were looking past her to admire what her talented oldest brother was doing.
Drake looked like Adonis, had the social skills of a diplomat and was now a resident in cardiology at the University of Washington Medical Center. There seemed to be nothing he hadn’t accomplished and probably done better than anyone else. When she and her other brother were growing up and wanted to try something new, their parents would say, “Drake is so good at that, find your own special gift.” Once she’d been tempted to suggest fan dancing since she was reasonably certain it was one of the few things Drake hadn’t tried.
No wonder Mom and Dad were so proud of him. They claimed to be proud of her and Sully, too, but Gemma often wondered if they were being completely honest. Sully didn’t care. Dad’s moodiness while drinking hadn’t frightened him the way it had frightened her, though it was the reason they’d both been eager to get away from home.
Stop.
A deep sigh welled from Gemma’s chest. Her biggest problem was shyness and a lack of confidence. It was easy to be with kids. They didn’t judge, could throw themselves wholly into play and had wonderful imaginations. Studying childhood development and becoming a teacher had seemed an ideal fit, though the idea hadn’t impressed her family. Nor had her slow movement through college while they pointedly mentioned her brother’s breakneck academic successes.
So what about Rachel’s suggestion of doing voice work? She knew people were hired to do narration for things like cartoons, but it seemed improbable that she could be one of them.
A faint knock on the door caught Gemma’s attention, more a scratching than a knock.
“Come in, Livvie,” she called softly. Mr. Kessler slept poorly now that his wife was gone and she didn’t want to interrupt any rest he might be getting.
Livvie slipped inside and ran to the bed. “I had a bad dream. It made my tummy cold.”
“I’m sorry.” Gemma patted the pillow next to hers. “Maybe telling me about it will make you feel better.”
Hugging the pillow in her arms, Livvie began relating the nightmare. It was about an evil sorcerer who killed the queen and was trying to cast an evil spell on the king and send the princess into the forest to live with a witch who didn’t want her. There was a dragon who was actually a good dragon and a talking horse who could knock down walls, but the underlying theme was the same as in all of her dreams...the fear that her daddy would be taken away, just like her mother.
Yet a new element seemed to be emerging—Livvie was beginning to understand that she didn’t have anyone in the world except her father. However frustrating Gemma’s own childhood had been, she had an extended family—aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins—a great big safety net. But Livvie didn’t have anyone else except two grandparents who’d never made an effort to meet her.
“Maybe you should tell your daddy about your bad dreams,” Gemma suggested.
Livvie shook her head in a definitive no. “I don’t want to make Daddy sad. Promise you won’t tell.”
“I... Okay,” Gemma promised reluctantly.
She’d tried to suggest a grief counselor to Mr. Kessler, at least for Livvie, but maybe she hadn’t been forceful enough. Perhaps she should look for an opportunity to try again.
ON THURSDAY, RACHEL was startled when she found Simon Kessler’s name on her morning appointment calendar. The discussion she’d had with Gemma about doing voice work was a possible reason for it, though surely it wasn’t his business what an employee did on her off time. Or was there something personal going on between them?
At eleven, Chelsea brought Simon back to her office.
Rachel gestured to one of the chairs at the side of her desk. Even if her office had been larger, he would seem overpowering in it.
He sat and glanced around. “This is nice.”
“Thanks. Originally we envisioned a small agency with specialty clients, but we’ve expanded beyond that. We expect to hire more agents within the next two years.”
“I understand your blog is increasingly popular, both inside and outside the talent industry.”
Rachel’s senses went on higher alert. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t recall mentioning the name of the agency to Simon or Gemma. “I didn’t realize you knew anything about us.”
“I’ve been doing research on you.”
She narrowed her eyes. Often when somebody brought up research it meant they were digging into details of her past that she didn’t want disturbed. How had she felt lying under a piece of heavy equipment while rescuers figured out how to get it off without doing further damage? How had she felt when her husband walked out less than a year later? Was he obsessed with appearance, the way his ex-girlfriends claimed? Was he shallow? Did he leave because of her scars?
Rachel slowed her racing brain and focused.
“Why were you researching the agency?” she asked pleasantly, seeing no need to unload her emotional baggage on other people.
“Because of your comments the other evening about Liv’ing Creations. I mentioned the sales have slipped and you seem to have an insight into why.”
“Oh.” That hadn’t crossed Rachel’s mind as a possibility for Simon’s appointment. “I was simply speaking from the point of view of a customer.”
“But you have experience in the fashion industry. You’re a former model and your partners are connected to the business. Not to mention the fact that you’re still involved in supplying models for the fashion world.”
“Perhaps, but the agency is mostly regional. At the moment we don’t have any clients modeling in places like New York or Paris.” Rachel didn’t add that she’d once been Kevin’s most successful client and had modeled all over the world, for most of the major designers. Eventually Moonlight Ventures would have that kind of profile again; they’d already had some of their clients cast for Hollywood projects.
“Liv... Olivia...” Simon hesitated for a moment. “My wife didn’t want to be a clone of New York or Paris designers or of anyone else. She wanted to be unique and didn’t care if a famous actress arrived on the red carpet in one of her creations.”
“Yet you hired a designer from New York.”
“Only because I didn’t know where else to turn. Preserving the business for Livvie was desperately important to Olivia. It also connects Livvie to her mother. I have to keep Liv’ing Creations going for my daughter’s sake.”
It was a motivation that Rachel understood.
She didn’t know much about Simon, though one of the Carthage residents had mentioned he was a successful businessman. But wanting to save the design house for his daughter—when it would be easier to sell or close the operation down—must mean he also cared about intangibles.
“I admire your goal,” she said, “but I’m not sure what I can do to help. Are you trying to find models who might help turn things around?”
Simon sat forward in his chair. “Actually, I was hoping for your help in another way. I realize this isn’t what your agency generally deals with, but I thought you could help address the situation at Liv’ing Creations. As a consultant.”
Rachel didn’t know what to think, though it was flattering that Simon believed she could offer something useful.
“I’m not a designer,” she finally said. “I just shared a couple of comments. Why would you suddenly decide I might have answers your professional designer doesn’t?”
“Because I trust my instincts. I don’t know haute couture from a hole in the ground, but you might be able to recognize when a designer is creating styles that don’t jibe with what Olivia was doing. I asked Janine Jenkins to study her work and try to emulate it, but I’m not sure she’s done that.”
“There’s no guarantee I’d be successful,” Rachel said gently.
“Maybe, but I can’t tolerate the thought of Liv’ing Creations sliding into mediocrity.”
Rachel gazed out her window, organizing her thoughts. In a way, Simon’s idea was compatible with what Moonlight Ventures did—he wanted to hire talent. Besides, a number of young designers had come to the agency, hoping the partners’ experience in the fashion world would help get them jobs.
“Is that all you want, for me to assist you in identifying a designer with a more colorful, innovative flair?” she asked.
“I’d also appreciate your opinion on other aspects of the operation. Any ideas you could offer might help.”
Though Rachel sympathized, it seemed a big risk to offer advice on someone else’s company when she was almost completely new to business in the first place.
“Frankly, I’m not sure I want that kind of responsibility,” she said.
“The responsibility is mine. It will be my choice whether or not to agree with what you recommend.”
That made it slightly easier, but it was still a lot to consider.
“I’ve reviewed the agency’s blog and website,” he continued. “The goals of Moonlight Ventures seem clear—you want clients to perform at their best. Look at the design house in the same way.”
“I’ll need time to think about it,” she said. “But there’s something I want to say up front. You’re here because of the remarks I made the other night, yet you got uptight when I made them. Are you ready for serious input, or would it simply frustrate us both? I’m not talking about taking my every word as gospel, but genuine listening.”
A hot, dark emotion flickered in Simon’s eyes. “Of course I’ll listen. Can I take you to dinner tomorrow to discuss it further? We could also go by the design studio for you to look around.”
Being able to investigate behind the scenes sounded interesting. Rachel had seen designers at work before, but had always wondered if they kept certain aspects of their designs hidden until the finished product was unveiled.
“No promises about accepting you as a client,” she warned, “but I’d like to see the studio.”
“Shall I pick you up here, or would you rather go home to change?” he asked.
“Work clothes are fine. It isn’t a date.”
SIMON HADN’T EXPECTED Rachel’s calm, almost dismissive statement. He’d offered dinner without thinking, only to be immediately sorry in case she got the idea he had something in mind besides a professional arrangement. Truthfully, it had unsettled him to discover she’d picked up on his reaction to her observations of Liv’ing Creations. Either she was unusually perceptive, or he’d got sloppy about controlling his emotions.
“Is anything wrong?” Rachel asked. “You seem surprised about something.”
Simon searched through his mind for an appropriate response. “Since my wife died, a few women have been aggressive in assuming I must be interested in them. They would have tried to turn a business dinner into something else.”
Her lips twitched. “I thought that was a stereotype. You know, a widower being fair game.”
“I’m not saying all women, just enough to make me wary. I doubt I’ll ever get married again. It’s too big of a risk.” A risk in every possible way, he added silently. He’d been lucky to find Olivia and doubted that sort of good fortune could happen twice in a lifetime. Losing her had hurt more than he’d believed possible; if it hadn’t been for Livvie, he didn’t know what he would have done.
“You have my sympathy,” Rachel said. “Everyone except my closest friends seemed determined to match me up with a guy after my divorce, and I didn’t want to be matched. I’ve come to the very practical conclusion that friendship is better for me than romance, and it’s worked great that way ever since.”
If she was being genuine, then it was possible they could have a successful business relationship.
“All right, what time shall I be here tomorrow?” he asked.
“How about four? I’d prefer seeing the design studio first. That way we’ll have more to discuss over a meal.”
“That should work, because they close early on Fridays. I’ll be here.”
Simon left the agency, feeling encouraged. His decision to seek Rachel’s advice about Liv’ing Creations had been pragmatic and logical, despite his attraction to her. Under other circumstances he would have avoided her as much as he could. But the design shop was too important.
There was somebody else he could consult, as well. While waiting for coffee one morning, he’d met Mark Revel, who had a first-floor condo at the Carthage. Mark had mentioned owning a clothing store that had once carried Olivia’s designs. It was a reminder of how close the connections between people could be. Some people talked of six degrees of separation, but he often found it to be even fewer.
The downside of speaking with Mark was that Simon didn’t want it known that Liv’ing Creations was struggling. If the news got around it could just make things worse.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON Simon arrived a few minutes before the agreed-upon time. The receptionist recognized him.
“Hello, Mr. Kessler. You can go directly back to Rachel’s office.”
“Thanks.”
As he walked down the wide hallway, a woman was coming from the opposite direction. He recognized Nicole George. She was almost as beautiful as Rachel, though in a different way. While Rachel was ethereally lovely, Nicole was taller and exuded vitality.
“You must be Simon Kessler,” she greeted him with a smile. “I’m Nicole George. Rachel told me about your interest in revitalizing Liv’ing Creations. I’m glad. Your wife was a wonderful designer.”
“Er, thanks.” Simon was faintly annoyed; the problems with Olivia’s studio were his business, not to be shared. But he hadn’t asked for confidentiality and it was natural Rachel would discuss the matter with a colleague. Besides, another opinion could be helpful.
Rachel’s door was ajar and she stepped out. “Hello, Simon. I see you’ve met one of my business partners. Nicole and I have been coming up with a list of new, young designers we know who might be worth exploring.”
“Excellent. Would you like to join us this evening?” he asked Nicole.
“Thanks, but I can’t. My fiancé and I are...uh, having a conference call with our parents about wedding plans.”
Little showed on her face, but Simon could tell it wasn’t something she expected to enjoy. He also noticed Rachel’s wince of sympathy, so figured there was a story behind the planned conversation. Or maybe not. He and Olivia had got married in Las Vegas, but he knew weddings could be stressful at the best of times.
Rachel locked her office and walked with him out to the parking lot. “I used alternate transportation this morning,” she explained. “I assumed you wouldn’t mind taking me back to the Carthage instead of returning here.”
“That’s sensible.”
He opened the door and she slid into the passenger seat.
“Your colleague seems nice,” he commented once he’d pulled out of the parking space.
“She is. I’ve been friends with Nicole, Logan and Adam for years.”
“So you decided to go into business together.”
Rachel shifted in her seat to look at him. “We were ready to make a change. For different reasons, I suppose, though we talked for a long time about starting a talent agency where we could pursue our individual interests.”
“And what are those?”
“While we all have clients, Adam edits the blog and is making plans for developing a literary division for the agency. Nicole’s specialty is teen talent, not only models, but actors and singers...that sort of thing. She recently placed a talented singer in a movie being shot up in Vancouver. Logan plans to work with both models and photographers.”
“How about you?” Simon glanced at her, admiring the way every movement Rachel made seemed graceful and alluring. With difficulty he banished the thought—this meeting was business and had nothing to do with male-female attraction.
“I’m especially interested in clients who don’t fit stereotypes of popular beauty, but have their own unique qualities.”
“Aren’t all advertisers looking for distinctiveness?” he asked, thinking it was ironic that a woman who looked like Rachel, and who was such a classic beauty, wanted to work with clients who were different in some way.
“Yes and no. There’s a tendency for one type to become popular and suddenly everyone wants a version of it. But in recent years there’s been an exploration of talent that’s broader in scope.” She laughed. “I should say a renewed exploration. It’s cyclic, like the antihero in film and television or literature. You go through a period where a certain type is popular, then people start wanting something new.”
It made sense. “Do the unique individuals get the big contracts?”
“Occasionally, though it’s less likely, especially in modeling. People can find it challenging to recognize nontraditional beauty or good looks. But it’s happening.”
“Surely representing that sort of client isn’t the most profitable choice for a talent agency.”
Rachel cocked her head. “Perhaps, but we want to develop talent, whether it fits a certain mold or not. I never had the impression Liv’ing Creations was trying to compete with the huge designers, either. You said yourself that your wife wasn’t interested in becoming a clone of other fashion houses. The same goes for Moonlight Ventures—we don’t want to be a clone of other agencies.”
Simon thought about his father’s scorn at Olivia’s lack of mega-aspirations. She’d laughed about it, unconcerned that her father-in-law had disapproved of her goals. “Liv used to say she wanted to fill a niche in the market, but didn’t care about being the market.”
“I would have liked your wife. It... Well, it must still be hard without her.”
He managed a nod. Most of the time he could think about Olivia without being overwhelmed with pain, but it wasn’t easy. “At least the pain no longer hits like an 18-wheeler the way it did at first.”
Rachel straightened and stared through the windshield; her face seemed sad. “I’m sorry you lost what you had together. You were fortunate to have found someone like that.”
“Thank you.”
Strangely, for all the urging to “buck up,” the platitudes and the sentimentality that had been poured over him, Rachel’s quiet comment meant the most. Perhaps it came at the right moment, reminding him he had been fortunate. His life with Olivia hadn’t been perfect, but perfection was overrated. They’d been in love and had enjoyed nine good years together, which was more than many people got.
He glanced at Rachel, whose face still wore a sad, distant expression. Her divorce must have been difficult since she claimed to no longer be interested in marriage or romance.
Simon recalled seeing something about the end of her marriage in various internet articles, though he’d skipped over the gory details. She’d overcome pain in a number of different ways; he admired that.
He fixed his gaze forward, frustrated that he kept thinking about Rachel in such personal terms. Even if he was willing to consider another long-term relationship, he simply wasn’t ready.
Olivia was a ghost, haunting his heart and mind.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uc66128d9-cdea-5cf0-b7b4-e2b7eac7f63e)
RACHEL TOOK NOTE of several things as they walked into the reception area for Liv’ing Creations. The most interesting aspect was that it must have been redecorated during the past year.
“When did you redecorate?” she asked.
“How do you know we changed anything?”
“Because this place is as different from your wife’s style as I can imagine. She had verve and originality. Now it’s opulent and generic. Sorry, but those are the only words that come to mind.”
Simon’s mouth flattened into a straight line, but he finally shrugged. “You’re right. I approved redecorating because the designer felt it was needed to keep up with the changing world of fashion. Except now I suppose it’s generic decoration to fit a generic product.”
“Some people may like that product. You mentioned sales have dropped, but surely they haven’t entirely vanished.”
“We’re still in the black. It’s just that my gut tells me things aren’t going the way my wife would have wanted.”
Simon seemed to have a good business acumen, but this wasn’t about making money; it was about saving something special for his daughter.
“Hello, Mr. Kessler.” A woman had come out of the back room. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I’m showing an acquaintance around who’s interested in fashion houses. I thought everyone would be gone since the shop closes early on Fridays.”
“There were a few things I wanted to clear up.”
Simon turned to Rachel. “Rachel, this is Miriam Timmons. She’s the manager of Liv’ing Creations. Miriam, Rachel Clarion.”
“Hello. Simon, I’d be happy to give Ms. Clarion a tour. You don’t need to stay.”
“That isn’t necessary. Have a good evening. And weekend, of course.”
Miriam seemed reluctant to leave. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Clarion. Is there any chance you used to be a model?”
It wasn’t unusual for Rachel to be recognized by people, whether or not they were connected to the fashion industry, though she preferred anonymity.
“A long time ago. Now I’m a partner in the Moonlight Ventures talent agency.”
“Really.”
The look on Miriam Timmons’s face wasn’t especially friendly. Was she interested in Simon on a personal basis, or did she suspect the purpose behind the tour was his concern over how the shop was operating? Whatever the reason, she clearly wasn’t thrilled when Simon firmly sent her out the door and locked it behind her.
Rachel gazed at a memorial photo on the wall with a tribute from the staff written beneath. While not traditionally beautiful, Olivia had been an auburn-haired, blue-eyed stunner, whose picture seemed to exude the same suppressed energy as her husband. They must have been exhausting to know as a couple.
“She looks so dynamic,” Rachel said to Simon, who was also gazing at the large portrait. “I get the impression of tight springs, as if she was bursting to keep moving and even sitting still for a picture was hard for her.”
He chuckled, though there was sadness in his face. “Liv had to do everything as fast as possible. Before we met, I thought I was the only one who was that driven. It was a struggle to make time for marriage and family, but we managed.”
A wistful envy went through Rachel. Mutually demanding careers had also been tough on her and Hayden. In a way she kept wanting to blame the accident for her divorce, but she knew it had just precipitated the inevitable end. Their problems had begun practically from the day of their wedding.
It wasn’t that she still loved him. The idea of love and partnership was appealing, despite her choice to stay single and focus on friendship. She was a modern woman, yet deep down she longed for the fairy-tale love she’d grown up hearing her grandmother talk about.
“Is something wrong?” Simon asked.
“No, of course not.”
He hiked an eyebrow and she shrugged.
“I was thinking about the problem with fairy tales. ‘And they lived happily ever after’ is really just the beginning of the story. Falling in love is easy, but staying in love and making things work is hard. You and your wife succeeded where a lot of people fail.” Rachel squared her shoulders. “Enough of that. How about showing me where the designer does her thing?”
“Sure.”
As they moved past the public area, Rachel studied what she could see of the operation. Sketches, fabric swatches, half-made garments. This was the heart of the process, where the creative production began.
When she tried to open a large wardrobe, she discovered it was locked.
“Are there valuables in here?” she asked.
“That’s where Liv used to store her designs ready for production. I believe it’s still used for the same purpose.”
He took a key ring from his pocket. “Liv gave me this as a way of showing she trusted me. We got married rather quickly and it was kind of a wedding present.”
Rachel grinned. “Does your designer know you have it?”
“Probably not. I’ve got the impression she’s slightly paranoid about her designs being copied, but I wouldn’t give it to her, regardless.”
Of course not. The key symbolized a relationship and it was endearing that Simon carried it with him more than two years after his wife’s death. Hopefully it remained a working key.
He fitted it into the lock and it turned. “Let’s see what secrets are hidden here,” he whispered conspiratorially. “Maybe it’s a dragon’s lair.”
Rachel hadn’t expected the hint of whimsy. Perhaps, deep down, there was a little boy inside the stern man she’d seen so far. The doors opened to show a rack of clothes. She began pulling a garment out, then stopped. “Should we make sure they go back in the same order?”
“Frankly, I don’t care. Under Janine’s contract, her designs belong to the company.”
One by one Rachel took the garments from the cabinet. The fabric was conventional and not unattractive, but far from distinctive. If possible, the clothes were even more blah than the last time she’d taken a look at a Liv’ing Creations collection. She didn’t actually think another designer could capture Olivia Kessler’s style, but surely someone could be found who’d use more color and innovation.
“What do you think?” Simon asked.
“It’s more of the same,” she admitted, deciding to be frank. If he didn’t like what she had to say, he didn’t have to hire her as a consultant. “A clothing designer may do something startling to be unique, which can work great for some people. But Liv’ing Creations made stylish and unusual clothing that everyone could enjoy. That probably doesn’t make sense to you.”
“I think I get what you’re saying. What is your take on this collection?”
“Some of the designs are decent, even classic, but they’re largely in the clone category. They should appeal to women who shop at department stores, wanting to look like other properly dressed midlevel business women, which often means not standing out or grabbing attention.”
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Callie Endicott
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: He hired her…now he can’t imagine life without herWidower Simon Kessler is doing just fine on his own. Or at least he thought so, until he met Rachel Clarion. Rachel instantly connects with his daughter, and her instincts are spot on when it comes to his wife’s struggling clothing line– a legacy he’s determined to preserve.Can Rachel save the business and, just maybe, his cynical heart?