Three Little Words (Fool's Gold #12)

“What do you mean?”


“You’re not your usual upbeat self. Did something happen?”

Isabel wasn’t pleased to be told she was pouting enough for people to notice. “Sorry. Personal stuff.”

Taryn stepped off the podium and walked toward her. “Like what? How can I help?”

“You can’t, but I appreciate the offer.”

Taryn raised perfectly groomed eyebrows, as if she were planning to wait Isabel out.

“I had a business partner in New York. When I left here, I was going to open a store with her. Trendy, upscale. She was the designer. I brought in the plan and retail experience. She found someone else and dumped me.”

“I hate breakups,” Taryn told her sympathetically. “I’m sorry. But at the risk of sounding sanctimonious, you’re better off without her. If she’d do that now, she’d do it later. And then you’d be in a huge financial mess. Trust me. Partners have unintended consequences.”

“Like ending up in Fool’s Gold?”

Taryn shrugged. “Exactly like that.” She tugged on the hem of the jacket. “There are other designers out there. Look at this one. I doubt your friend was a whole lot more talented.”

Isabel hadn’t thought of it that way. “You’re right,” she said slowly. “Actually, it’s two designers. Sisters.”

“Better and better. Plus, there’s the one you met through Dellina. So screw the other bitch and start over with a stable of fantastically talented designers. I know it’s a cliché, but success is the best revenge.” She paused. “Or is it sex? I can never remember.”

Isabel laughed. “It’s success.”

“Oh, well, I suppose they’re both enjoyable.” She shrugged out of her jacket, apparently comfortable in her body. “What about staying here? You have this store already. It gives you a built-in cash flow.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Isabel admitted, taking the jacket while Taryn slipped out of the skirt. “Fool’s Gold will never be anyone’s idea of a fashion capital, but the start-up costs would be less. I’m still not sure. I worry that not going back to New York is too much like giving up. Death of a dream and all that.”

“Death of a dream?” Taryn asked, taking the ball gown and stepping into it. “Dramatic much?”

Isabel laughed. “Point taken. I’ve been wallowing. I guess it’s time to decide.”

“There are positive aspects to this wretched little town,” Taryn told her. “Even I can admit that. The boys love it, and you have a growing population. There’s plenty of industry coming in. You could talk to the Lucky Lady people and see if they would let you put a display window in the resort area. That would drive traffic to your store.”

Something Isabel had never thought of. Whatever she was going to say next was erased from her mind when Taryn whipped off her bra and handed it to Isabel, then pulled up the dress and slipped her arms into the capped sleeves.

It wasn’t that seeing another woman’s br**sts shocked her; it was that Taryn was so comfortable with her body. Isabel didn’t mind being naked around Ford, mostly because he obviously enjoyed what he was looking at. But in a dressing room? Isabel would be the one changing behind closed doors.

Which was a statement about her, she realized. Her fears and how she judged herself. Her friends wouldn’t care.

Taryn presented her back. “I can’t reach the zipper,” she said.

Isabel pulled it up the last few inches, then adjusted the deep V in the back. She hung the suit over the back of a chair and faced her friend.

The dress was amazing. Layers and layers of champagne-colored lace with unexpected edges in black leather. The cap sleeves were young and sweet, yet the front dipped nearly to Taryn’s waist and exposed the inner sides of her br**sts. At the same time, there was too much fabric around the hips.

“I know someone who does tailoring,” Isabel said, going into gown-selling mode. She studied Taryn critically, then reached for the ever-present dish of pins.

“If we took it in here and here,” she said, pinning as she talked, tightening the dress through Taryn’s rib cage, waist and rear. She eyed the bodice. “Is the front going to work?”

Taryn glanced down. “It’s more wide than low. I feel like I’m one quick turn away from a wardrobe malfunction.” She turned back and forth, and sure enough, one of her br**sts popped out.

“That would make you popular at any event,” Isabel murmured.

Taryn tucked her breast back in place. “Tape?”

“No. It’s a design flaw. I’ll call Misaki and talk to her about putting a band across the front somewhere. The dress has to be anchored. You’re wearing it in the real world, not simply walking down a runway. Movement is required.”

Taryn nodded. “I think a stripe of black leather right between my br**sts would be perfect. Have I mentioned I love this dress?”