Proposal At The Winter Ball (Harlequin Romance) Page 11

  She didn’t do it for money or fame. The truth was it just made her happy.

  Just...

  ‘Right.’ Alex appeared back, the magazine in his hands and open at the fateful page. ‘It looks like this is the cause of all the fuss. I’ve just been asked by at least ten people if I can get them one of these scarves and they are all prepared to pay a great deal more than forty-five pounds.’ His brow wrinkled as he looked at the photo. ‘Who is this woman?’

  ‘You know who she is. That’s Lexy Chapman.’

  He looked blank. ‘Nope. What does she do?’

  That was a good question. What did she do apart from look cool and date famous people? ‘Right now she’s making my scarves sought after.’

  He took the scarf from her loose grasp and held it up to the light, turning it this way and that. ‘I didn’t know you sold them. I just thought it was a hobby.’

  ‘It is a hobby.’ She turned away from his scrutiny, jumping to her feet and retrieving her phone from the side. ‘I have a little online shop, to help fund my projects, that’s all.’

  ‘Is it?’ But he didn’t probe any further. ‘Okay, this is how we’re going to play it. You listen to your voicemails and make a note of all the names, messages and numbers and we’ll see who you need to call back and when. I’ll log onto your email and social-media accounts, put a holding message on them and see if there’s anything really urgent. What do you think?’

  Flora nodded. ‘Thanks, Alex.’ It was what she would have done but having some help would make it easier—and a lot faster. ‘I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Come on, what else are friends for?’ But he didn’t quite meet her eyes as he said it. Worry skittered along her skin, slow and sure as a cat on a fence. Had grabbing a few days’ pleasure meant the end of everything? Like a gambler staking everything on one last spin and losing. Was the thrill of watching the wheel turn and the ball hover on first red and then black worth it? That moment when anything was possible worth the inevitable knowledge that nothing was?

  He opened his laptop. ‘I hope you can remember your passwords. Right, where shall I start?’

  It didn’t take too long for Flora to open up each of her accounts for Alex, averting her eyes from the dozens of messages and multitudes of new followers. She retreated to the bed with a notebook, a pen and her phone ready to start listening to her messages. Alex was right; Minerva had been calling consistently all day. Flora steeled herself and began to listen.

  Minerva, a fashion buyer from Rafferty’s, one of London’s most exclusive department stores, a couple of magazines, Minerva, Minerva—Minerva again. By the time she got to her sister’s seventh message Flora knew she’d better call her back.

  ‘At last!’ Her sister didn’t bother with formalities like ‘Hello’ or ‘How’s Austria?’

  ‘Evening, Merva,’ Flora said pointedly. But the point, as always, was lost.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve decided to emerge from hibernation. I couldn’t get hold of you or Alex.’

  ‘We’ve been working.’ Minerva hadn’t been able to get hold of Alex either? It was most unlike him not to have one phone in one hand and the other in front of him—although now Flora thought about it she had only seen him check his work phone and emails a few times—and she hadn’t seen his personal phone at all. Not since the ski lodge. Maybe he was enjoying living off grid just as she was. She glanced over at him. He was tapping away, frowning with concentration. Her entire body ached at his nearness.

  Minerva’s tart tones recalled her to the matter at hand. ‘Working? Whatever. So who is handling this for you? I’ve asked around but no one has admitted it. Not surprisingly, I would never let you disappear at such a crucial time in a campaign. Unless that’s part of the plan, to drum up more interest? Too risky, I would have thought.’

  Handling, campaign? It didn’t take too long for a conversation with her sister to feel like a particularly nasty crossword where the clues were in one language and the answers another. ‘Minerva,’ she said patiently. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course it didn’t take too long for people to work out who you were, thanks to Dad’s aprons. Another serious misstep. You really need him in the latest designs in this crucial period while you’re establishing yourself, although I do think the whole apron thing is a bit saccharine myself. Still, it establishes you as part of that quirky routine he has going on. But you should be here, not drinking schnapps and frolicking on mountains.’

  Flora froze. How did her sister know? ‘I haven’t been frolicking,’ she said, hating how unconvincing she sounded. Alex looked up at her words and his mouth curved wickedly.

  ‘I beg to differ,’ he said, too quietly for Minerva to hear, and Flora’s whole body began to simmer in response.

  ‘Look,’ she said hurriedly, wanting to get Minerva off the phone, everything else replied to and Alex back here, on the bed, while she was still allowed to want that. ‘You are going to have to speak in words of one syllable. What are you talking about?’

  Her sister huffed. ‘Who is handling your PR for the Lexy Chapman campaign? I hope you know how humiliating it is for me that you didn’t even ask me to pitch.’

  Her what? ‘Merva, there isn’t a campaign.’

  Disbelieving silence. ‘You expect me to believe that the most stylish woman in Britain was photographed in your scarf by a complete coincidence?’

  ‘I know you too well to expect anything, but yes. That’s what happened. Goodness, Merva, as if I would ever not ask you in the highly unlikely event I was going to run a campaign. My inbox is full, my social media is insane, I have voicemails from scary influential people I don’t dare call back and I’m terrified even thinking about logging onto my shop because I don’t have enough stock to fulfil half a dozen orders.’ She could hear her voice rising and took a deep breath. ‘Come on, even I know enough not to launch a campaign like that.’

  Minerva was silent for a moment and Flora could picture her as if they were in the same room, the gleam of excitement in her eyes, the satisfaction on her cat-like face. Her sister loved a challenge—and she always won. ‘I need you,’ she added.

  ‘I know you do,’ but Minerva’s voice wasn’t smug. She sounded businesslike. ‘Leave everything to me. I’ll take care of it all. Right. I need to know who has left you a message and why, all your social-media account details and you need to forward me every email. Oh, and let me know your current stock list. You won’t be able to supply everyone so let’s make sure you only focus on the people who matter. When are you back?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’ Too soon.

  ‘Christmas Eve? The timing is really off. We’ll lose all momentum over the holidays.’

  ‘Yes, well, next time I inadvertently sell a scarf to a style icon I’ll make sure she only wears it at a more convenient time.’

  ‘Luckily...’ it was as if she hadn’t spoken ‘...I am a genius and I can fix this. Right, I want all that information in the next half-hour. Do not speak to a single journalist without my say-so, do not promise as much as a scrap of fabric to anyone—and, Flora? Keep your phone on.’ Minerva rang off.

  ‘Goodbye, Flora. It was nice speaking to you. The kids send their love,’ Flora muttered as she put the phone down, her head spinning. ‘Alex, it’s okay. Minerva is going to save the world armed with a few Tweets and her contact list.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’ He pushed the chair back. ‘There are some hysterical women out there—and some even more hysterical men who think they will never have sex again if they don’t produce one of your scarves on Christmas morning. No pressure.’

  She flopped back onto the bed, her phone clutched in her hand. ‘I just need to get all this information to Minerva and then we can head into Innsbruck—if you still want to go, that is?’

  ‘We could.’ His voice was
silky; that particular tone was the one that always made her blood heat up, her body ache. ‘Or we could use our time far more productively.’

  Flora propped herself up on one arm and looked at him from under her lashes. ‘Productive sounds good. What do you have in mind?’

  He picked up the scarf and twisted it into a slim rope, pulling it taut between his hands before looking back at her, a gleam in his eye. ‘Such a versatile material. I’m sure we’ll think of something.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘HERE YOU ARE. I was beginning to think you’d got yourself stranded in a ski lodge again.’ Alex allowed the hotel door to swing closed behind him and leaned against the wall, watching her appreciatively. ‘Room in there for a little one?’

  ‘It’s not that sort of bath,’ Flora told him, slipping a little further into the bubbles so that all he could see was her hair piled into a messy knot on the top of her head. Little tendrils had escaped and were curling in the heat; his hands itched with the need to touch them.

  ‘What other sort is there?’ It was hard to make conversation knowing that she was naked and wet. Totally exposed and yet completely veiled. Whose idea was it to put a bath in the middle of the bedroom? Probably Lola’s. If he weren’t so angry with his ex-designer’s lack of professionalism he would track her down and offer her a bonus. It was genius. That was it; every building he designed from now on would have a bath in the middle of a room. Even if it was supposed to be an office. Or a shopping centre.

  Flora moved and the water lapped against the side of the bath, the sound another tantalising reminder of her undressed state. ‘This is a ball-preparation bath. It involves all kinds of depilation, exfoliating, filing and moisturising.’

  ‘Sounds serious.’ He took a step closer to her, then another. Each step unveiled a little bit more, the tilt of her face, rosy from the hot water, her long neck a delicate blush pink. Then bubbles, clothing the rest of her, although if he craned his neck and looked really hard there were a few intriguing gaps in the white suds revealing hints of interesting things.

  ‘It is. Deadly serious. Did you find everything you wanted at the Christmas markets?’

  ‘Yep. Eventually. I had a long hard morning on the slopes first. Gustav was desolated that you missed your last day’s lessons. He had a particularly challenging slope ready for you. So what have you been doing while I was skiing and shopping?’

  ‘Ugh.’ The sigh was long and heartfelt. ‘I have spent most of the day sat at my laptop video-calling Minerva. Although you’ll never guess what she was wearing...’

  Alex’s mouth curved into a slow smile. He knew Minerva. ‘Last Christmas’s skirt.’

  ‘And a scarf I gave her a couple of years ago in her hair. Nice to know my presents suddenly have value. Not that I should complain. She has sorted everything. Although she’s set up a couple of interviews for next week.’ She sounded apprehensive. ‘Face to face and photos, which is not good news after all the Kaffee and Kuchen I’ve had—especially the Kuchen.’

  ‘Don’t forget your dad’s five-course Christmas dinner,’ Alex reminded her helpfully and laughed as she groaned.

  ‘Don’t—you know how upset he gets if we skip anything—and he thinks that seconds is the only real way of gauging a dish’s success. But I am really grateful. She’s taken over the social media and created waiting lists, replied to all the emails and soothed every fashion editor’s ruffled feathers. Her poor staff, two days before Christmas, and she pulled a three-line whip. I almost feel guilty that I’m luxuriating in this bath—and then I remember that this too is work.’ She sank a little further into the steaming water with a small purr of pleasure.

  ‘How much is she charging you?’

  ‘That’s the best bit. It’s my Christmas present. She’s keeping the exorbitantly expensive scented candles she had bought me, which are far more her bag anyway, and is giving me her staff’s toil instead, nicely wrapped with a big bow on top.’

  Alex bit back a smile. ‘How very generous of her, although a cynical person would point out that it’s not doing her any harm. You’re the one in demand. She’s handling the buzz, not creating it.’

  ‘It’s two days before Christmas and I’m about to go to a ball. No cynicism allowed.’

  Alex perched on the edge of the bathtub and looked down at her. ‘How are you feeling about your designs being out there?’

  Her eyelashes fell. ‘Half excited, half terrified. Naked—and not just because I am.’

  ‘That’s how it should be,’ he told her. ‘Even when you’re working to a brief there should be a little something of you in there. You should be exposed, otherwise you haven’t gone as far as you could have.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Always? Even when I had to rebrand the Village Inns wine bar chain and they wanted pinks and lime greens and bits of fruit everywhere?’

  ‘Especially then. Otherwise what’s the point? That’s why I struck out on my own so early. I wanted to be able to pick and choose my own work—that doesn’t mean I don’t listen to my clients though. There has to be a balance. I wonder...’ He paused, not wanting to push too much when she was still adjusting.

  ‘Wonder what?’

  Oh, well, in for a penny... ‘At your degree show it was obvious your passion—and a huge amount of your talent—lay in textile design. It shows every Christmas, with every gift you make. But you’ve never tried to make it your career. You set your sights on interior design and took the first job you were offered even though you hated their whole brand.’

  ‘Hate’s a bit strong...’ she protested. ‘Wholeheartedly disliked maybe. That’s why it would never have worked with Finn. Even if he hadn’t been a golf-obsessed workaholic, he really loved the branding.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have worked with Finn because he was an idiot.’ Alex’s teeth began to grind just at the thought of Flora’s ex. How a girl with such good taste had such bad taste in men he would never know.

  Not that he was any improvement. Actually that was untrue. A warthog was an improvement on Finn.

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘So why haven’t you tried to sell your designs before? Into shops or to fashion designers? It seems like the perfect path for you.’

  ‘I guess because I don’t design fabric to make money. I do it because I love it.’

  ‘Exactly. Why shouldn’t you do what you love? I do. Your whole family does. Don’t you deserve to as well?’

  She slithered further down into the water, as if she were hiding from the question. ‘It’s different for you. You know what you want. You don’t let anything stand in your way. That thing you said, about having a piece of you in everything you do? I see that in your work. In this hotel, in your designs for Bali. And it’s wonderful. But it’s so exposing.’

  ‘And that frightens you?’

  ‘If people hate the neon limes, and they mostly will, then that’s fine. It’s not my creatives they hate. I’m just following the brief. But if they hate my scarves or my quilts or my bags, things I’ve poured love and attention into? That feels like I’ve failed—again. Like I’ve been rejected again. I don’t want the things I love tainted.’

  Alex reached out and twisted one of the piled-up tendrils of dark silky hair around his finger. ‘Everything worthwhile comes with a price, Flora.’

  She sighed. ‘Sometimes the price is too high. I don’t want to feel that exposed. I’ve spent my whole life being judged. Noticed because of my height, leered at because I was a teenager with big boobs, every teacher pointing out how unlike my siblings I was. My parents dragging me onto TV. I just want to be anonymous.’

  His voice softened as he pulled at the curl. ‘But you’re out there now. You need to harden up, think about the next step.’

  ‘It’s not that easy though, is it? I need money to expand—to buy fabric, a better machine
, a studio, somewhere to keep stock. Even if I stay small and exclusive I don’t think keeping my stock in boxes under my bed is going to cut it—or make me enough to live on!’

  ‘That’s where I have good news. Camilla caught me on the way in. She very much wants you to work on the next three hotels and is prepared to pay for the privilege. Do you trust me to negotiate you a good deal?’

  Flora sat up, the water sloshing as she did so. It was so deep she was still respectably covered, just her shoulders rising from the white foam like Aphrodite. As enticing and tempting as Aphrodite. ‘A good deal? Does she know that my previous experience pretty much consisted of that awful pink fruit décor and the teapot theme for those cosy retro cafés? And let’s not forget the chintzy bedding range. This is a massive step up. I should be paying her!’

  He grinned. ‘All she’s heard for the last twenty-four hours are her guests desperate to get hold of your work. If she can announce right now, while the buzz is still big, that you’re the designer for her next three hotels then that’s quite a coup for Lusso Hotels. I told you she likes to work with people who have a marketable story and right now that’s you. It’s a great way to get publicity for both here and for her future plans.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I suppose. And she was already considering me so nothing much has changed.’

  ‘Nothing much but the price tag. If you subcontract to me then I can pay you monthly—which will give you some stability while you step up your own designs as well. Like all projects there will be weeks when you don’t need to do much for Lusso Hotels and other weeks when it will be frantic. But the subcontract could include studio space at my office for the length of the contract and if you use it for your other work then that’s fine. It’ll be yours.’

  ‘That would be great. At least that’s the space issue sorted.’