Chapter 3
3
Fiona
A Week Later
" W hat do you think about this?" Blue asks, holding up a hot-pink miniskirt.
I shake my head. "That'll be a negative."
Her face falls. "Really? I think it matches perfectly. And I love this material."
"We had a similar skirt two years ago. Last year, Condora opened their show with a nearly identical one."
Blue wrinkles her nose. "Of course they did. They're always copying my mom's line."
"Yep. Welcome to the fashion world," I chirp.
"It's so unfair!" Blue complains.
"What's unfair?" Skylar questions, stepping into the wardrobe room.
"Condora copying our pink skirt from two years ago," I explain.
Skylar glances at the material in Blue's hand and smiles. "They say it's better to be copied than to be the copier. "
Blue whines, "It's cheating. And now I can't do anything with this design I created."
Skylar reaches for it and stretches the waist, studying it. "I don't know about that."
"It looks like the Vixen we launched," I remind her.
"Right. Which is why you need to do your homework and study our releases from the last ten years," Skylar reprimands Blue.
Her face falls. "Sorry. I just had this in my head."
Skylar assesses the material for another moment and then hands it back to Blue. "If it's in your head, then finish it."
"It is finished," she protests.
"Not if you want it in the line this spring," Skylar challenges.
Blue grabs the skirts. "Fine. I'll see what I can do."
"That's my girl," Adrian booms in his Russian accent as he enters the room.
Skylar's face lights up. "What are you doing here?"
He tugs her into him, kisses her, then announces, "Hoping to take my wife to a long lunch." He wiggles his eyebrows.
Blue wrinkles her nose. "Ew. Get a room, you two."
I laugh.
Adrian surprises Skylar almost weekly, sometimes more than once, to take her to a "long lunch." I'm sure it's code for sex. Sometimes, Skylar doesn't even return to the office.
Skylar frets, "I can't. I have to meet with Ramone over at the Skyline."
"Can't Fiona do it?" Adrian asks .
Skylar pins a hopeful gaze on me. "What's your schedule like for the rest of the afternoon? You know how he likes to gossip for an hour before getting down to business."
I glance at my schedule on my phone, then relay, "Nothing I can't do tomorrow."
"I could do it," Blue offers.
Skylar's face turns stern. "Sorry, but you don't have the experience yet. And don't you have work to do on your skirt? We only have a month before we solidify the spring line."
Blue's expression falls. "Ugh. Fiona always gets to have all the fun."
"Fiona put in the time. You haven't, and you sound like a brat," Adrian scolds.
Skylar adds, "Plus, Ramone has a relationship with Fiona and not with you. It's another thing you haven't developed. This business won't accept you just because you're my daughter."
Blue sighs, then glances at me, offering, "Sorry. Didn't mean it to sound so bad."
"It's okay," I assure her, then point to where we keep pieces of metal in different sizes, shapes, and colors. "That skirt might look great if you mix gold or other metals into the design. No one has done anything with that color pink and metals in over ten years, and I think it would be super fashionable right now."
Her eyes light up. "Okay. I'll see what I can do."
"Great idea," Skylar praises.
"No problem. Where's the book for my meeting with Ramone?" I question.
"In my desk," Skylar answers and then exits the wardrobe room.
I follow her down the hall and into her office .
She pulls a six-inch binder out of her drawer and holds it out to me, declaring, "He's not seen any of these. It'll probably take your entire afternoon. Are you sure you're good to go in my place?"
"Absolutely," I insist, taking the book, happy to have Skylar's trust for such an important meeting.
Ramone owns some of Chicago's and New York's top boutiques. He places millions of dollars of business a year with us. It took years for Skylar to feel confident in my ability to meet with him alone, and I don't take the responsibility lightly.
"Thanks again. And I appreciate you taking Blue under your wing. I know she can get a little ahead of herself sometimes," Skylar says.
I smile. "All good. She reminds me of me when I started working with you."
"You didn't have the entitlement she does," she asserts.
I scoff. "Sure I did. You just thought it was cute because I'm not your daughter."
"Which is why she needs to prove herself more than anyone," Skylar adds.
"She will. Plus, she's way more talented than I was right out of fashion school," I insist.
Amusement fills Skylar's expression. She shakes her head. "I don't know. I think younger Fiona and Blue would give each other a run for their money."
I beam. "Maybe."
"Ready?" Adrian asks, poking his head past the door.
"I'll see you later," I say, brushing past him to head to my office. I put on my coat and the scarf Kirill gave me .
Leather, rosewater, saffron, jasmine, and the other notes I still can't identify waft around me.
Why am I still wearing this?
It's cold.
So? I have hundreds of scarves.
I inhale deeper, wrap the soft cashmere around my neck, and text my driver. Then, I slide the binder into a huge briefcase. I leave the building, and a gust of wind hits my face.
Cillian waits next to the SUV. He questions, "Where to?" and opens the back door.
"Skyline," I state, sliding across the leather.
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, then closes the door and goes to the driver's side. He gets in and veers into traffic.
I sit back, staring at the buildings and the pedestrians on the sidewalk, inhaling Kirill's scent.
What is wrong with me? I need to stop wearing this.
Why does he have my dad's skull on him?
Like every time I've asked that question this past week, I have no answers. It nags at me until Cillian pulls up to the restaurant.
He gets out and opens my door.
Another harsh burst of wind slams against me as soon as I step outside. I push the scarf over my nose, rush into the building, then take the elevator to the top floor where Skyline is.
"Fiona!" Ramone sings, jumping off the bench as soon as I exit the elevator.
"Hi!" I reply, embracing him and kissing him on the cheek as he gives me one .
"Is Skylar not coming?" he questions, glancing behind me, the crinkles around his eyes popping out.
"She wasn't feeling well. I hope it's okay I came in her place?" I ask.
"Sure, sure, darling," he says, removing his top hat, and moves me toward the hostess stand. He lowers his voice, leans into my ear, and adds, "You can fill me in on what Skylar's been up to. You know, everything she won't tell me about herself." He winks.
I laugh, knowing full well I won't be disclosing any of Skylar's private affairs.
He opens the door, and the sound of guests chatting and moody music floods the atmosphere.
"Ramone! It's great to see you. Your table is ready," the hostess gushes.
"Great." He runs his hand through his dark hair, then slides his arm around my waist. He ushers me through the dimly lit restaurant. There are gold and black booths against the wall and tables with chairs next to the window. We get to our table. It's against the glass and showcases downtown Chicago with the lake behind it. Ramone circles his finger in the air.
I spin.
He helps me out of my coat, then pulls out my chair and motions with a "Sit, darling."
I obey.
He sits across from me and states, "Thanks, Fawn."
"Sure," the hostess says and then disappears.
"Good afternoon. I'm Kyle. I'll be serving you today," a twenty-something guy announces.
"Great. A bottle of Cristal, a dozen Oyster Rockefellers, and the caviar trio, please," Ramone orders .
"Yes, sir," Kyle replies, then disappears.
Ramone's eyes light up, and he leans forward, reaching for my scarf. "You look fabulous, darling. And where did you get this scarf? Such a bold statement to make, but, girl, the masculinity is working for you."
I softly laugh, not realizing I forgot to take the scarf off.
He points at me. "And your dress! It's from the line three years ago, right? What did you call it? The...the Mankiller!" He snaps his fingers.
I laugh harder, asserting, "You have a great memory."
"That little black dress sold out in minutes!" he gushes.
"I remember."
"Well, it still looks amazing on you! But that scarf with it...wow! Just wow!" he praises.
I don't have the heart to tell him I only had it on with my coat. But I also don't want to think about Kirill, so I change the subject. "And what have you been up to lately? Seeing anyone new?" I bat my eyelashes, grinning.
He smirks. "You know me well, dear."
"So, who is he?" I question.
"Well..." Ramone glances behind us and then leans closer. He murmurs, "He's a little younger than what I typically go for."
"Really?" I ask, biting my smile. Ramone's in his fifties and always dates guys in their late twenties to mid-thirties.
"Darling, he's barely legal to drink," Ramone states.
"Cristal," Kyle interjects, and a loud pop fills the air. He pours the bubbly liquid into a flute, hands me one, then fills a glass for Ramone.
"Thank you," I offer.
"You're welcome. I'll be back soon with your caviar trio," he relays .
Ramone holds his champagne in the air. "To our fabulous selves."
I clink his glass. "Salute."
"Salute," he echoes.
I take a sip, and the refreshing bubbles slide down my throat. "So what's the name of your new boo?"
A blush crawls over his cheeks. He answers, "Lazarus."
"Lazarus?"
"Yes." Ramone's eyes light up.
"That's a unique name."
"It is. And he's a unique man," Ramone adds, then takes a large mouthful of Cristal.
"Where did you meet?" I inquire, knowing the trick with Ramone is to keep him talking about himself so he doesn't push for private info on me or Skylar.
His eyes darken. "If I tell you, it has to stay between us."
I pretend to zip my lips and throw away the key.
He glances behind him again, then whispers, "He's a dancer at the Cat's Meow."
I catch myself from gaping and nod, offering, "Guess he's got a killer body if he's dancing there."
"Oh my God, he does!" he raves.
"So, how long have you been seeing each other?"
Nerves fill his expression. He admits, "About six months."
Surprise fills me. Ramone never keeps anyone around longer than a month, so I ask, "Is this serious? "
He stares at me a moment, then nods. "I asked him to move in with me."
"Aw. That's awesome. I'm happy for you," I declare and mean it. Ramone has always been so sweet to me. Over the years, I've heard one horror story after another about why he's ended things with others, so if he's happy, so am I.
"Thanks. Enough about me, though. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?" he inquires.
I shake my head. "No. Not right now."
He scrunches his forehead. "What happened to the last one? What was his name?"
"No one memorable," I state.
Kyle appears with a tray. He sets down a trio of different caviars. Then he puts a platter full of crackers, thin breads, unsalted pitas, and sliced gouda and cheddar cheese. He picks up the bottle of Cristal and tops off our flutes.
"Looks divine," Ramone gushes.
"Agreed," I affirm.
Before excusing himself, Kyle adds, "The Oyster Rockefellers will be out shortly."
Ramone puts caviar on a buttery cracker and hands it to me.
I pop it in my mouth. "Mmm," I moan as it melts against my tongue.
Ramone eats one and nods. "Never a disappointment." He washes it down with champagne and then continues, "So, no one has caught your interest lately?"
Kirill's face appears, but I push it away. "No," I lie.
Ramone studies me .
I nervously ask, "What?"
"Fiona O'Malley, did you just fib to me?"
I put caviar on a piece of gouda and push it past my lips, shaking my head.
"Are you sure?"
I nod, chewing my food.
"Well, I don't understand how a woman like you is so fabulous and single," he states.
I laugh. "Thanks for the compliment."
Relief fills me when he asks, "So, how's the new line coming along?"
"You're going to love it! We're still working on a few pieces. And Blue might get her first design in the show, but let me show you what we have so far," I declare, pulling the binder out of the briefcase.
Excitement flares on his expression. He opens the book and points at the back of the restaurant.
I refrain from rolling my eyes.
Ramone is the only buyer we trust to look at our line before it's live. With everyone else, we guard our book with our life. However, he was one of Skylar's first major buyers and has an eccentric way of assessing a line. We excuse ourselves to the bathroom, where he studies our book, and then we return and discuss.
I rise, put my napkin on my seat, and say, "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the ladies' room."
"Sure, darling. Take all the time you need," he replies, as if he thinks I need to use it, and it's not his rules I'm abiding by.
I pat him on the shoulder and brush past him, strolling toward the back of the restaurant. I'm almost to the bathroom when I glance at a couple in a booth, and freeze. My heart pounds so hard that I get dizzy, so I grab the back of the booth to steady myself.
What's he doing here?
Who is she?
She's beautiful.
His hand is over hers.
I'm going to kill him.
What am I saying? He's not mine.
Who is she to him?
Kirill sits beside a woman with long, curled dark hair and gorgeous hazel eyes. She has flawless skin, and I'd bet all my money she's Italian. Her lips are the perfect shade of red. She looks powerful but distraught. From what I can tell, she's taller than me based on her long torso and crossed legs, complete with killer stiletto knee-high boots.
Who is she?
Kirill has a compassionate expression on his face and squeezes her hand. He declares, "It'll be soon. You have to remain patient."
She says something I can't understand, but I pick out the phrase, "It's already been years," and know enough from living with my stepdad Dante to realize it's Italian. Her eyes well with tears and she blinks hard.
Kirill frowns. He softens his tone further, insisting, "Valentina, you're so close."
My insides quiver harder.
Is she with him?
My lips tremble, and my knees wobble .
Valentina opens her mouth and then slowly pins her gaze on mine. Her eyes widen. "Oh merda ."
Why is she saying oh shit?
Kirill follows her stare, freezing momentarily when he catches sight of me, his glassy blue gaze burning through me until I'm trembling. When he recovers, he says, "Fiona. What are you doing here?"
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I grip the back of the booth tighter until my knuckles hurt.
His scar twitches over his jaw. "Fiona?"
I glance at Valentina. "Sorry." I rush past them, willing my legs not to fail me, and find the bathroom door. I jiggle the knob, finally open it, and step inside.
My pulse pounds between my ears, drowning out other sounds. I press my hands on the counter, staring at my reflection, trying to catch my breath.
Who is he?
Why did he buy me coffee if he's with someone?
Why am I putting any stock in whatever I thought was happening before I found out about the skull design?
I turn, lean against the counter, and put my hand on my gut, feeling sick.
The door flies open, and Kirill steps inside.
I leap off the counter. My voice cracks when I scold, "This is the women's room."
His lips twitch. He reaches for the lock and turns it, stating, "Sue me." He stares at me, and I must be losing it. It appears heated, but I have to be wrong .
I point at the door and blurt out, "Your girlfriend is right outside this door!"
Surprise fills his expression, but he doesn't move.
"You're going to have a lot of explaining to do to her when you leave this bathroom after intruding like this!"
His mouth curves, and he teases, "What should I tell her about what happened between us here?"
My core catches fire, and I hate myself for it.
I don't engage in cheating.
I don't engage in cheating.
I don't engage in cheating.
He lunges closer, puts his hands on both sides of my hips, and cages me between his body and the counter.
I inhale sharply, staring at the skin on his chest peeking out of his dress shirt. His scent flares around me, stronger than what's left on the cashmere scarf.
He tilts my chin up, pinning his gaze on me, asserting, "She's not my girlfriend."
My voice shakes as hard as my insides when I say, "Sorry. Your wife." It stings my heart as it comes out.
He slowly shakes his head. "Not that either."
"Mistress?" I offer, still unable to take a lungful of air.
He chuckles. "Nope. None of the above. And I don't pay for sex either, so don't ask if she's a prostitute."
I bite on my smile, trying to stop it from exploding into existence.
"Why are you here?" he asks .
"Why are you here?" I retort.
His eyes light hotter. "I asked first."
"I asked second," I push back.
"Ah, you've already forgotten it, Fiona," he murmurs.
I squeeze my legs together, wishing my body didn't throb every time he said my name, and wonder how he could have this effect on me. I barely get out, "What's that?"
His expression turns serious. "A queen obeys her king. You don't seem to be very good at following orders."
My heart races faster, and butterflies attack my stomach with full force. I grip the counter, taking shallow breaths.
He slides his thumb over my jaw, then slips his hand under the scarf, stroking my neck over my pulse.
Tingles race down my back. I shiver and gasp, closing my eyes, drowning in his ability to overload my senses. It's to the point I'm burning with something I've never felt before.
He moves his mouth to my ear. His hot breath creates more chaos within me, and he warns, "You're going to have to learn how to obey your king, little bird."
I swallow, not understanding what this king and queen talk is all about, and just stop myself from turning my head to touch my lips to his.
He circles his fingers around my throat, barely applying pressure, and a whimper flies out of me. He groans, then holds my head so I can't avoid his gaze.
The world stops moving. Time freezes, as do I, unable to tear my stare away from his.
In a firm tone, he claims, "I'm having lunch with a friend. And you?"
"Work lunch," I mutter .
His gaze drifts to my lips, then back to my eyes. He adds, "It was nice seeing you, Fiona. Have a good lunch." He studies me another moment, then releases me and steps back.
I gape as I watch him disappear through the door. When I exit the bathroom, neither he nor Valentina are anywhere to be seen.