“No, no, Pascal.” Holding his cell to his ear and shaking his head, Zack stood on the balcony overlooking the interior of Building Three, keeping an eye on production. “The show is next week. We’re working around the clock. I absolutely can go nowhere until it is done.”
The smaller loom chattered and clanged and inch by inch produced the marvelous jacquard in a goldenrod motif to complement the apple green brocade. The colors suited his demand for historical accuracy while meeting Amy’s demand for marketability.
There were way too many variables in this venture. It required promotion and salesmanship he’d never needed for his former limited ventures. He’d never designed textiles for mass production before.
Pascal was offering a terrific special project, in Paris.
“Yes. In November.” Zack didn’t think he could accept the job even then. He was taking each day as it came, praying that all would work out. “Yes, it is an honor, but I am committed here.”
He grinned at how easily the word flowed off his tongue after years of denying it existed. It was liberating to drop the continual struggle against his natural inclinations.
But the conflicts he and Amy faced were still valid. He had to do this right this time, not just for his and Amy’s sake, but because children were involved.
Ringing off with Pascal, he sought calm by watching Amy chat with their temporary sewing machine operators, examining the display pieces they’d created out of little or nothing, practically overnight. It would have taken weeks to order anything similar from China. These women could produce miracles in less time than he could place an order.
The mill and the show presented one headache after another, but those were material things, the things his life had been made of these last years. He did not fear them. It was Amy who had him pacing the balcony.
She belonged here. Even he, in all his selfishness, could see that. She knew the people, she knew the product, she knew the market. This was her world.
Europe was his.
His cell rang again. This was his personal phone, and everyone in Europe was at home at this hour with nothing better to do than check on him. It didn’t matter that he was still in the middle of his workday.
He clicked on the phone just to shut it up.
“Jacques, I just talked to Pascal, he says you won’t be home for Christmas!”
Zack contemplated accidentally dropping the phone to the floor below the loft.
If he did, he’d probably hit someone on the head, and they’d pick up the phone and have to deal with his mother. Not a bad idea, except he really didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.
“Mother,” he said politely.
“You sound just like your father when you do that enigmatic distant thing,” she replied crossly. “And he doesn’t mean it any more than you do. Shout, if that’s what you want to do.”
“I’m at work. Shouting would cause a certain degree of agitation.” Zack headed for the stairwell in hopes that the inevitable disagreement that would result from this conversation wouldn’t travel quite as far as in the warehouse.
“Agitation would be better than your usual ennui,” his mother said. “Did Pascal lie about your being involved with a woman? Is it Brigitte? She’s not your style, really, Jacques. Whoever it is, bring her home with you. You know I can’t do Christmas without you.”
“I’ll be home for Christmas, Mother. Pascal simply wants me home sooner.” Pascal wanted the prestige of working with Versailles, but Zack refrained from passing on that tidbit.
“He’s your friend. He’s concerned. Tell me you’re not falling for some mountain girl. She won’t fit in here. You know that. It’s just a passing fancy because you’re far from home.”
Zack almost grinned. It was hard to take his mother seriously. She never thought before she spoke or she’d have bitten her tongue by now. “You’re from the mountains, Mother. I don’t see you having any difficulty fitting into London. When is your next gallery showing?”
“The first of December. You will be here, won’t you? Your father won’t come unless you call him, so you have to come. Is she pretty? Does she at least speak proper English?”
“Mother, I have three lines blinking and a secretary waiting,” he prevaricated. It was far easier to lie than to argue. “I’ll send you my flight schedule when I have it. And you can call Father without my help. He always goes to your showings.”
“No, I will not call the scoundrel! Do you know what he called my Faberge design?”
“Sorry, Mother, I’ll send you an e-mail. Have to go now.” He clicked off the cell and stuffed it into his pocket just as he hit the exit door.
He stepped outside into the sunny mountain air and inhaled the scent of crisp autumn leaves.
“Bad news?” Coming from the main-floor exit, Amy followed him out and fell into step with him.
“Parental nagging. Is there some point at which we outgrow our parents?” He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders, but they were doing their best to behave properly during business hours.
But Amy’s mere presence reminded him of nonbusiness hours, when he could occasionally have her to himself. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be in her bed all night, every night. He wanted to wake up with her tousled hair upon his shoulder. Stolen minutes and a hotel room weren’t good enough for his Amy.
As one of Jo’s songs said: “Lonely is a bad place to be.” He hated spending his nights alone, thinking of Amy doing the same.
“If we’re lucky, we might make friends of our parents, but even friends nag,” Amy admitted. “My mother just finished telling me that we’re wasting our money making expensive fabric, and we should be producing cheap towels that Wal-Mart can buy.”
Zack laughed, letting the tension roll out of him. “So, mothers are not always right.”
“Limited points of view,” she agreed. “But they’re usually looking out for us. It’s not bad having someone always on our side.”
“Even if they don’t agree with us? But enough of that. How are the samples coming?”
“The ladies are getting more creative by the day,” she replied. “It’s all I can do to hold them back and keep it simple. They’ve found an old love seat they want to upholster. I’m thinking we can set up tableaux of two rooms, with the cotton print as a tablecloth and the brocade as place mats for the dining room. We could serve cider and muffins and attract attention.”
“Champagne,” he said firmly. “These are elegant fabrics. We want a wealthy setting. Add silk tassels to the tablecloths and bouillon fringe to the draperies.”
“Petit fours,” she said excitedly. “We can decorate them and place them in gold boxes like Godiva chocolates. I’ll find my wedding crystal. We can set the table with it, and use disposable cups for serving.”
To heck with professional. Zack hugged Amy’s shoulders and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You are always a genius! People flock to food. Tell me what else they do at this show that we can do better.”
As they entered her office, Zack crooked his finger at Emily, his secretary, and had her take notes while Amy rattled off the sales techniques she’d garnered over the years of Evan’s attendance at the market.
“How did the mill fail with you to display the fabrics?” he asked, shaking his head in amazement as he made notes of his own.
“Me? I poked around and took care of the kids while Evan talked to the bigwigs.” Using an electric kettle she’d brought from home, she poured boiling water over tea leaves. “I didn’t have anything to do with the booths.”
Amy waited for Zack’s eyes to glaze over with disappointment.
Instead, he muttered something about Evan being one bolt shy of a pallet, his lips compressed into a tight line of disapproval.
“Unlike me, you’re not cute when you get mad,” she quipped. His always outraged reaction to Dr. Evil’s idiocy was incredibly good for her ego, and she unashamedly enjoyed the sensation. She settled into the big leather office chair she’d brought from home, sipped her tea, and watched him pace.
Zack rubbed his hand over his face as if to erase his expression, then managed a crooked grin. “What am I, then?”
“Pretty much cross-eyed,” she said decisively.
Behind her, Emily coughed on a laugh.
Zack’s grin grew wider. Crossing his eyes, he looked down his nose. “Fine then. Emily, take note. Should Ms. Warren ever deprecate her abilities again, I want her marched to the computer room, where she is not to be allowed out until she produces the entire payroll report without reducing a single machine to rubble.”
“Yes, sir. Permission to prepare requisition for new computers in advance, sir?”
Zack pointed to the door. “Out, Emily. And close the door behind you.”
A shiver of anticipation tingled Amy’s spine as the door closed. Whenever they were alone, Zack never failed to touch or hold her, as if he couldn’t get enough….
Now, there was an ego booster. Had she actually begun to believe a wealthy jetsetter saw her as more than a brief affair? “In case you haven’t noticed, I really don’t have any experience at this business thing,” she babbled, rattled by her realization. “But I think my ideas will help until I learn.” Setting her cup down on the table beside her, she tried to keep her hand from shaking.
Firmly gripping both arms of her chair, Zack met her nose to nose. With his face directly in hers, Amy thought she’d stop breathing at his suddenly fierce expression.
“Your ideas are what got this mill running,” he asserted. “Your ideas will keep the mill operating. What in hell do you think any other management does that you aren’t already doing?”
She didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she could think with his face in hers like that. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nipped his neck.
“Ow. Vampire.” Zack lifted her from the seat and stopped her cannibalization with a hard kiss.
She threw herself fiercely into the bracing strength of Zack’s arms and kiss and adoration.
She wanted Zack. And her children. And muffins with pig snoses. And her cottage. She’d do what she had to do to keep them. But she really wanted Zack’s respect and support as well.
As his mouth so expertly plied hers, Amy realized with mounting alarm that she really, really wanted Zack.
She just didn’t know if he wanted to be kept.
In panic, she shoved herself from his arms, brushed her hair back to catch her breath, and picked up her notebook. She ignored the questions in his eyes as she headed for the door. “Um, I’ve found a photographer. We need to set up a shoot immediately if we want the brochures by next week.”
She felt horrible walking away like that. That wasn’t who she was.
She hadn’t spent the last thirty-two years in total oblivion. No matter how Zack praised her, she knew precisely what she was. She was a caretaker, a nurturer, a creative who liked to dabble with ideas.
She wouldn’t become what she was not, just to keep a man who might or might not come to town once or twice a year. Not anymore. She was willing to give her all — but she expected the same in return.