8. James
8
JAMES
I ’d skipped dinner again.
I glanced at the clock on my laptop. How was it already close to ten? I’d promised myself that I was going to head out on time—or as close to “on time” as was possible for me—and then stop by to see Christopher on my way home. But doing two jobs meant triple the work.
Not that I minded. Getting lost in my work was safe. I could control those little columns in the spreadsheets. And god knows I liked staying in control.
My stomach grumbled, but I still had a little more to do, and I wasn’t one to leave a task half-finished. Given our prime location, there were a dozen five-star restaurants just blocks from the front door, or I could have something delivered, but I didn’t have the inclination to invest the time to do either. Maybe a snack from the cafeteria would hold me over? One of those tiny bags of trail mix or salted almonds that Lorraine insisted everyone enjoyed?
I strode towards the elevator, relishing in the fact that the space was empty. I liked the peace. The times I had to venture down to creative left me feeling jangly. How did those people work in such an upside-down environment?
Those people. The elevator doors slid shut and, like always, I was reminded of the shirtless spitfire I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about—and not just because of her incredible ideas. The truth was, the woman had also been invading my dreams lately, sometimes brandishing a mop at me. In the most recent one she was swaying seductively in just a skirt and bra, her eyes locked on mine. When she reached behind her back to unclasp the bra, I’d woken up with a start, only to find myself dealing with a rock-hard cock, like I was a horny teenager again.
Even just thinking of her now as the elevator sped down was enough to feel the telltale pull between my legs. I hoped I’d been discreet the time I’d caught her without her shirt, because all I’d wanted to do was stare at her perfect tits. I’d noticed that she didn’t exactly cower in the corner during our elevator ride, which suggested to me that she didn’t completely mind the fact that I’d caught her topless. And there was that one moment when she straightened her back and seemed to invite me to stare.
I glanced down. Fuck. I hoped my hardness would calm by the time the doors opened.
Enough .
Thankfully, there was no one to witness me adjusting my pants when the elevator doors opened. I forced myself to think about projections as I rounded the corner to the kitchen, but screeched to a stop when I realized that I wasn’t alone.
I absolutely could not escape the woman. What the hell was Natalie still doing here?
She had her back to the entryway and was bent over something on the table, wearing gigantic headphones that blocked out the world, so I could tell she had no clue I was behind her. As usual, Natalie was wearing an outfit that defied explanation but was also somehow totally her. Tonight she was in a cropped jean jacket covered in miliary-inspired patches with a very short sheer black shirtdress under it, and combat boots. The woman transformed every day, sometimes looking like she’d stepped out of CBGBs in the ’80s, and others like she worked in a hippie food co-op. I walked over, half-expecting her to turn around to face me like she could feel my presence, but she was so immersed in whatever she was doing in her sketchbook that I managed to walk right up to her without her sensing that I was there.
I peered over her shoulder and discovered her sketching swimwear, one of the few categories Branson didn’t carry. There were three versions of the same print on the page, from a tiny bikini, to a more modest tankini, to a full coverage swim dress. All were rendered on size-appropriate bodies, which I appreciated. One of my biggest pet peeves was how some design houses showed their plus-sized garments on non-plus-sized bodies. It not only did a disservice to an important part of the client base by making them feel invisible, it also didn’t realistically depict how the garment would look on a woman in the size category.
The music in Natalie’s headphones must’ve shifted, because she started swinging her ass like a stripper. I took a half-step backwards, but it was too late, she’d gone into a full tilt grind and my crotch was the accidental beneficiary. The moment we touched, we jumped apart for totally different reasons.
Natalie screamed and whipped around to face me.
“WHAT THE HELL ?” she yelled as she ripped her headphones off. “Stalker!”
“Sorry.” I held my hands up to placate her. “I apologize, that was my fault.”
“You’re damn right it was your fault!” she panted, clearly riled up by the shock. “Why are you sneaking around again?”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” I replied calmly, even though I didn’t like her tone. “And remember whose name is on the sign out front. I can go wherever I want.”
“Oh, so that includes hovering over your employees while they work?”
I pointed towards her sketchbook. “We both know that’s not work. Branson doesn’t have a swim line.”
Natalie frowned at me, shamed into silence.
“It’s after hours, so it’s fine,” she finally said.
“What’s it for?” I asked. “Not a competitor, I hope.”
She plopped onto the chair at the table. “School,” she admitted. “I was sketching the couture stuff, but it triggered an idea, so I just switched gears. I guess I got caught up in it and lost track of time.”
“Do you mind if I look?”
Natalie shrugged and pushed her sketchbook towards me.
“You can flip through,” she said.
I turned a page and saw that the next one had six swimsuit designs, all featuring patterns that were unlike anything you’d normally see at the beach.
“Explain the assignment to me,” I said, leaning in closer to study them.
“We’re supposed to unite two aspects of design that don’t normally go together, so I picked fine china and swimwear.”
“What?” I chuckled at the unique concept. “Seriously?”
“Look closer at the prints,” she said.
I studied them. “The blue is a…”
“Traditional Wedg wood pattern. And the brown ones above it are Woodland Spode. See the little rabbit on the bodice?”
Her voice was soft, like she was a little shy about her drawings. I remembered how proprietary she’d been about the sketchbook when she realized that I’d found it. Now, it almost felt like she was sharing her journal with me. I was touched that she was letting me see something that she normally kept private.
“Absolutely amazing,” I said, hoping she could hear my sincerity. I wanted her to know how talented I thought she was. “Really unique.”
“You sound surprised.”
I frowned at her. “Not at all. That’s pure appreciation. And a little awe at your ingenuity. I already knew you had the spark, that’s why I hired you. The creative meeting just proved me right. And now this…” I gestured to her sketchpad. “You keep surprising me. How did you get your start?”
She looked almost girlish as she grinned at me, so different from the strong, combative woman I usually saw. “Designing was my escape when I was little. Let’s just say my childhood was tough, so I disappeared into my sketches. I redesigned every Disney princess’s wardrobe!” She laughed. “Then when I got a little older, I started doing these funky drawings on white T-shirts with a Sharpie. My classmates actually bought them. It was my first taste of turning my art into commerce, and I was hooked. And now look at me. Living the dream.”
I appreciated her enthusiasm. It hit me that I was the reason she was living her dream…that crazy night in the stockroom had led to her new beginning.
“You deserve it. You’re really talented, Natalie. This swim collection is something else.”
“I’m glad to hear you approve. I need to ace this class, and my professor is hard to impress. Have you heard of MG?”
I shook my head. “The name sounds familiar, but I don’t know the details. He’s a designer, right? Does lots of private label stuff for discount chains? What’s he all about?”
She leaned forward onto her elbows on the table, and I had to work hard to keep my eyes from darting down the front of her dress.
“He’s an egomaniac, that’s for sure. And he can be a little too hands-on for my liking.”
“How so? Does he make changes to your designs, right on the page?” I asked. “Because I imagine that’s quite an invasion.”
“I wish.” Her face screwed up like she wasn’t comfortable talking about it. “He’s more literally hands on. He finds excuses to touch me, and I hate it. When he looks at my book, he gets way too close, and he always tries to massage my shoulders.” She shuddered as if she could still feel his hands on her.
I felt an inexplicable protectiveness swell inside of me. “Do you need someone to?—”
“I’m fine.” She cut me off a little too quickly. “I can take care of myself.”
I realized that I’d overstepped and shifted my focus back to her sketchbook. I turned past some rough concepts that were undoubtedly for the couture project and ended up on a doodle page.
“You’ve got a solid grasp on fine art figure drawing as well,” I said, noting the various people she’d sketched.
I looked closer at the drawing of a shirtless man on the top corner of the page. Unlike the other people she’d drawn, Natalie had spent time on the details, adding shadows and depth to it. The more I studied it, the more familiar the person seemed, until I figured out that the man in the sketch looked a lot like me . I debated calling her on it.
“Have you ever heard of automatic writing?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to what she’d just shown me.
I shook my head.
“It’s writing without conscious intention. You put your pen down and let instinct take over. I do that sometimes when I’m sketching. I don’t focus on anything, I just let my hand guide the drawing instead of my brain. It helps me if I’m stuck. That’s what I did on this page.”
I nodded slowly and glanced back at the book. So Natalie’s subconscious was filled with thoughts of me…shirtless? I guess we were even, since her topless doppelganger kept invading my dreams.
I cleared my throat and tried to remember what our Q4 numbers were looking like. Anything to keep from dwelling on the fact that Natalie and I were nearly shoulder to shoulder, and I kept catching hints of her gardenia perfume whenever she moved.
I needed to shift our focus back to business. There was no way either one of us could afford to get tangled up in something sticky, despite how much I wanted her.
“How’s the couture project coming along?” I asked, taking a half-step away.
“Phenomenal, actually,” she said, beaming at me. “I’m having so much fun with it. I can’t wait to present it.” She paused. “By the way, you need to know that everyone is really happy now that Clint’s gone. Thank you for…well, for listening to me. I’m not used to that.”
My heart cracked open at the softness in her voice. I got the feeling that Natalie didn’t let people in easily, and I was honored that she felt like she could be real with me.
“I hope you feel you can come to me any time,” I said.
She giggled. “Honestly? I wasn’t sure about it at first. The ‘hysterical’ comment hit a nerve. I almost walked out.”
I closed my eyes and winced. “Yeah, that was a mistake. I blame Bernie—my grandmother. She used the word a ton before we understood how un-PC it is. It’s still trapped in my lexicon, but I’m trying to stop saying it.”
“The women of Branson appreciate it.” She laughed. “Hey, speaking of the old guard, Rhea and I got to talking about the way things used to be, pre-Clint.”
I felt my back teeth start to clench. I thought the world of Rhea, but she was an unrepentant gossip. “Oh?”
Natalie nodded. “She talked about how wonderful your brother was, and how much the creative team loved him. Chris?”
“Christopher,” I corrected quickly with a nod. “Yeah, he was quite a visionary. Is a visionary,” I corrected myself.
“Right, which is why I was thinking that he might be a great resource for the Pantone project,” she said in an excited rush. “Would he be open to chatting about which designs he thinks would be best for it? A quick conference call with the team? Or even just me. Whatever works for him.”
Natalie was circling close to a part of my life that I kept walled off. She didn’t belong there.
Suddenly, the spell between us was broken. The overhead lights felt too bright, and I swore I could hear them buzzing, which aggravated the headache I only then realized I had.
“That’s not an option,” I said smoothly, taking a few steps backwards towards the door.
She furrowed at me. “But he’d be such a big help. We could keep the call super short, like ten minutes?—”
“I said no .”
It came out sharp, and Natalie’s eyes went wide at my tone. I felt a twinge of remorse, but I soon stifled it. She needed to know that getting Christopher mixed up in Branson business wasn’t an option. My brother was still recovering; he didn’t need the daily drama of the company’s battle to gain back its relevance in the fashion world.
“Fine,” she said, her face crumpling. “Sorry I asked.”
“He’s busy,” I said stiffly. “He doesn’t have the bandwidth to get sucked back into Branson.”
“Okay,” Natalie managed.
“I’m going to head back to my office.” I turned to go, but then I caught sight of the way her head was bowed like I’d reprimanded her.
“Don’t forget to call security if you need an escort out to your car,” I added, my voice a little softer. “It’s late.”
“Yup, got it.” She flipped her book open and went back to sketching without another word.
I wrestled with myself as I walked back to my office. On the one hand, I was admittedly disappointed that I’d gone ahead and ruined what had been a fine conversation. We were actually getting along for a change, like we were literally on the same page.
But maybe the shock back to reality was exactly what I’d needed. It was a reminder that we weren’t partners, weren’t friends. I was her boss, and she was my employee. There was nothing more to it than that. Between looking after my family and working to keep the company afloat—while doing two jobs and trying to squeeze more hours out of every day—I didn’t have time for anything more, no matter how much I wanted it.
And oh, how I wanted it…