Done With Love (14 page)

“But I can kiss you other places, right?” he whispered, and my breath left my lungs in a
whoosh
.

“Leo,” I reprimanded, but I almost jumped into his arms to wrap my legs around his waist.
You can’t. You need to be strong!
Pressing my hand against his chest, I pushed him away while he grinned at me, and I had a feeling he knew exactly how hard I struggled to keep my panties on. “This is not appropriate…in the hallway.” My gaze skittered sideways at the stairway, where anyone could appear. I adjusted my shirt, pulling it low over my waistband in case he decided to take another trip south.

“I agree. We should go inside.” He gave me a serious nod, and I grinned back at him.

I pressed my finger against his chest. “This, you and I, it’s nothing but sex.”

“So, are we done pretending it’s not something?” His grin was nothing short of devilish. “Even though we’re home?”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean, it’s just sex.” I sounded like an idiot.

“Right.”

On my tiptoes, I leaned into his chest, my mouth just a hair’s width from his. “One more sleepover. But that’s it.”

He crushed his mouth to mine, and his hands cupped under my butt to lift me. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he pushed the door open behind us. So much for keeping my distance.

Mitzy was so happy to see me when I picked her up from Gen’s, she barked all the way across town to the boutique. I’d never been away so long before, and she didn’t hold back in letting me know how annoyed she was. When Mitzy and I strolled through the boutique door, Michelle, my assistant, jumped to her feet.

“You’re back, yay! How was the Caribbean?” She knelt to pet Mitzy, who pranced around her feet.

“It was great.” I couldn’t suppress the grin. Maybe it was the morning sex with Leo, or the fact the island really had cleared my mind, but I was full of energy. The best way to get past the evil fog of my past was to leap full charged at my future. “While I was there I thought up some new ideas I think will make for stronger sales.”

Michelle grabbed a handful of hair lying against her shoulder, her fingers running through the auburn locks. If I didn’t know her so well, I would think nothing of it, but she’d been my assistant long enough for me to know she was nervous. That, and her attention was concentrated so hard on the wall, as if she could see through it and preferred to be on the other side.

“Michelle, what’s wrong?”

She chewed on her lower lip, and her eyes twitched as if she were considering her words. Finally, she said, “I don’t want you to worry or anything, but we’ve had some cancellations.”

I held my breath for a short moment before letting it out.
Stay calm.
“How many?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she walked to the calendar book beside the cash register. I followed and stepped up to the counter, across from her. She slid the book toward me. “A few.”

A few turned out to be a lot.

When I was Jeremy’s fiancé, I’d had plenty of wealthy clients. I met them at fundraisers, at the country club, at dinner parties; the kinds of clients who could afford the labels in my boutique. The kind who rubbed elbows with the Buchanans and kissed Deborah’s snotty butt. Marrying into the Buchanan family had its perks—embarrassing them had its consequences.

I flipped to the next week. Every appointment had canceled. I flipped to the next month. Only two appointments still on the books. I flipped forward two months, and my heart skipped a beat. Only three appointments. My hands shook as I closed the calendar, and I forced a smile to my lips.

“It’s fine. Things will calm down. And we still have walk-ins.” But she and I both knew the walk-ins alone didn’t generate enough income to pay the boutique’s expenses. I ticked over the numbers in my head, my savings balance, and swallowed hard. “How were the sales while I was gone?”

“We sold three bridesmaids’ gowns for a small wedding.”

Relief washed over me. “That’s great! See, we’ll be fine.”

People needed time to forget, that’s all. It wasn’t like the Buchanans were royalty—they were snobs with a lot of money. Maybe being Jeremy’s fiancé had gotten me rich clients, but it was my inventory and my taste in bridal fashion that made the sales. There was nothing like my store in this city.
I have no reason to worry.

“Yes, of course,” she said, matching my optimism.

“All you need to worry about is smiling and selling to anyone who walks through the door.” I covered her hand with mine and gave it a light squeeze. “Let me worry about the rest. Now,” I said, lifting my closed fists to my chin with a grin, “Are you ready for my grand idea?”

“Ooh, sounds exciting.” She clapped her hands together. “What is it?”

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for awhile.” I left her at the counter and hurried in my beige platform heels to the office. The emailed delivery confirmation said the box had come yesterday morning, and I’d left Michelle instructions not to open it until I returned. It was too heavy for me to carry, so I wedged the dolly under the box and wheeled it out of the office.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Special occasion dresses.” I yanked the dolly from under the box and wheeled the dolly beside the counter. “I want to offer more than just bridal fashion. Why not prom gowns and formals? I hand picked each design so our selection is unique. Teenagers will be rushing our doors for one of these dresses.”

“It’s a really great idea,” she said as I pulled open a drawer behind the counter and rooted around inside for the box cutter. “But where will we put them? The racks are full.”

What she’d left unsaid was if we didn’t get appointments back on our books, we’d be in trouble. I couldn’t worry about it now, though. I had a boutique to run and a business to concentrate on. This was my livelihood—
my dream
. I wouldn’t let them take my optimism. No way in hell would I give Deborah the satisfaction.

“We’ll do some rearranging.” There wasn’t much room for storage. The empty space above the boutique was too dusty from years of being empty to store any gowns. “We’ll just have to really push to get some of the fall inventory out the door before I order anything for spring. And with high school winter formals just around the corner, I have no doubt we’ll sell every dress in this box. We better. I have more boxes coming this week.”

Her eyes bulged as she looked around our small space. “I’ll get started right away. There are some longer sheath dresses from the summer we can put away until spring.”

“And the bridal expo is coming up in a few months. Last year, sales were off the charts after the spring expo.” Though last year, my reputation as a bridal fashion consultant hadn’t been tarnished by Deborah the Evil Bitch Buchanan. I knelt to the ground beside the box to cut it open. “This year will be better.”

Michelle needed to hear the words. I sliced through the tape and pushed the flaps aside. She helped me untwine the waterproof plastic bag, and I pulled out the shimmering turquoise, v-necked dress and held it up so the beading could catch the light.

“Wow!” Michelle held a black lace dress with beige satin peeking from beneath.

“I never gave much thought to adding special occasion gowns, but having them in our boutique will only draw in more foot traffic.” I set the gown in my lap and checked the time on my wristwatch. “Richard will be here soon to show me around the new website. Have you seen it yet?”

“It looks amazing. You’re going to love it.”

“See? There’s nothing to worry about.” I stood and draped two of the dresses over my arm. “Deborah can say what she wants about me, but in a week, two weeks, it won’t matter. Brides will still need dresses, whether Deborah Buchanan approves of me or not.” Saying the words out loud gave me strength and a certainty that everything would be okay. “I’ll go find some hangers.”

I glanced around the boutique. I’d spent so much time remodeling this space, from the recessed shelves, and lighting to display costume jewelry and high heels, to the walls painted in shades of purple. The small space was trendy yet elegant, and every bit the upscale boutique I’d always dreamed of opening. I’d worked too hard to open
Once Upon A Dream’s
doors to roll over and give up.

The door banged open, and I looked over to see Richard breeze inside. His tall, lanky frame wore khaki pants and a sky blue short sleeved polo with “Bradshaw Insurance” logo on the right breast. His brown hair was cut close to his head, and his baby face sported a thin, short beard. He was adorable in a boy-band kind of way, and veered to the geeky side. He was socially awkward due too long hours with online gaming and electronics and very few face to face relationships with people. Except for his IT tech friends at the insurance agency, who mostly dealt out bad dating advice which resulted in Richard being dumped. A lot.

“La-
dees
, lookin’ good.” He pushed his black rimmed glasses up on his nose and winked at Michelle. “New haircut?”

Michelle blushed and touched a hand to her hair. “Just a few inches.”

“I dig it.” He brushed an invisible spec off his shoulder, then gazed at me. “Are you ready for me to rock your cyber world?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I said with a laugh. Michelle giggled, and I sucked in a smile. Maybe he wasn’t so awkward with women anymore. It appeared he’d been working on his charm factor, and Michelle approved. I patted the dresses on my arm. “I need to hang these up quick, and I’ll be right back.”

Richard saluted me, then leaned against the register counter. “You ever heard of Zombie Attack 5?” he asked Michelle, who looked way more interested in videogames than she’d ever been before.

My cell phone dinged with a message, and I picked it up from the counter before turning to the back room. My insides did a flutter-flop as I read Leo’s message:
Morning, Princess. You sure about no more sleepovers?

Was I sure?
Not really.
But I had a boutique to run, and it was important for me to stay focused on what was important.
What happens in the Caribbean...

Ugh
, I really didn’t like that rule.
But it’s necessary.

I typed my reply:
Yes.

His answer kept the smile on my lips:
We’ll see if I can change your mind.

January…

“Give me those.” Roxanna reached for the box of cupcakes in my hands.

I held on as if my life depended on it. And it did. Cupcakes were the only comfort I had left. It had been a gradual friendship—cupcakes and I—especially since I’d spent the last year of my life diligently counting carbs. Sculpting my body into unnecessary perfection for a wedding that never happened.

Cupcakes didn’t let me down. Our relationship was simple—I ate as many as I wanted, whenever I wanted, whatever flavor I wanted, and that was that. They didn’t break my heart. They didn’t betray me. They didn’t humiliate me on the evening news.

I did a lot of stress eating lately. Maybe I went a little bit overboard with the bagels and frosting, but whatever. I didn’t give a damn in my current mental state.
Not. One. Damn.

No way in hell would I give up these cupcakes.

Everything was upside down and inside out, and I had no clue what to do about it. The thin string holding me together since my almost-wedding had slowly unraveled, leaving me a sorry, exposed mess of chaos. The girl who’d once eaten carbs in moderation was nothing more than a carb-glutton with frosting evidence on her chin.

I hadn’t sold one bridal gown since my almost-wedding. Not one. If it weren’t for the few bridesmaids’ dresses I’d sold to walk-ins, and the dresses sold for winter formals, I wouldn’t have been able to pay the lease the last few months. The income hadn’t been enough to cover the utilities, so already I’d had to dip into my savings. What would I do next month, and the month after? I’d been crossing my fingers through the New Year, and praying every night things would turn around. They hadn’t.

And how will I pay for the spring inventory?

I had lost all of my wealthy clients, most of whom had some kind of connection with Deborah. The clients who could afford my labels avoided me like the plague. Those women would never risk the wrath of Deborah, and after the lengths she’d gone to ruin me, I didn’t blame them. It was too soon after the wedding scandal for them to risk being seen in my boutique—I wouldn’t put it past Deborah to have me under surveillance, ready to take down names and plan revenge on anyone who dared to step foot in my shop. She definitely blamed me for Gerard losing the election.

Or maybe my lack of business had nothing to do with fear of Deborah. Maybe mothers were only worried about the kind of influence the real life runaway bride might have on their young, impressionable daughters. Would I inspire them to pull something equally dramatic and embarrassing? As ridiculous as it sounded, the clients stayed away. As far as being a bridal fashion consultant, I was damaged goods, my boutique nothing more than a stain on the city.
Just another failed dream.

Once Upon A Dream
was trendy, inspired, and full of dresses no one wanted to buy. A few weeks ago it hit me full force—I might be out of business soon. I wasn’t sure if the nausea was from my sorry financial state, or if it was because of all the sugar I’d consumed.