I refrain from telling her the growth might not quite be by her preferred method, but maybe she knows. I mean, why is she working for Michael Alvarez? The reality here is that as much as I adore Barbara, I have to face the facts. She has to know what Michael is, and what her exposure could become by working for him. This could be her final hurrah with a big payday, and that makes her loyal to him. Whatever the case, our tour continues and ends in the conference room, which is painted with a mural of New York City, and has a glass conference table, with six people around it, waiting on us.
For the next hour, I listen to the status of production and plans for roll out, and at some point, Kyle appears and silently invites himself to the event by simply claiming a seat at the table. Another hour, and we’re still going, and everyone is responsive, excited and full of ideas, a combination that could make my dream perfection, if I could ever see this as my dream. But the bottom line is that a threat against my life, my sister’s life, and anyone I dare getting close to, is the manifestation of every nightmare I’ve imagined since meeting Michael Alvarez.
Come lunchtime, we order in sandwiches, and dive into our marketing campaigns, and no one but me seems to question why Kyle is present, nor does he ask questions or contribute. The staff is just so into the launch, all animated, excited, and eager to please me, as if I am indeed their boss, and I have a fleeting moment in which I decide that once we launch, my death would be difficult to explain, but it’s a ridiculous comfort. Michael Alvarez doesn’t care about difficult, and he’d just kill my sister and keep me alive anyway. And her safety is what keeps me going, as does the bigger plan I’ve hatched that gives me a purpose so much larger than fancy clothes, which now seem rather petty and unimportant.
It’s in that moment that Kyle’s gaze catches mine, and in its depths I see genuine concern, but there is also a promise of protection, and this kind of cool calmness somehow reaches across the table and soothes my frazzled nerves. Suddenly, I am not alone, and while thinking I am not might be dangerous, I can’t seem to care. He is here. He makes at least this one afternoon bearable.
It’s three o’clock when Barbara finally leads me down a hallway to the design studio, but just as we’re about to enter, she’s called to the lobby, and I pause at the door to wait on her, which leaves me alone with Kyle. “What’s was going on with you in the conference room?” he asks softly, more of that genuine concern in his voice I’d seen in his eyes earlier.
“Nothing that isn’t always going on,” I assure him, hating this biting emotion in my chest. “I should go on inside.” Afraid if I say more, I might lose my necessary composure, and knowing he isn’t likely to grab me and delay my departure, I turn away, but he firmly orders, “Stop.”
Inhaling, I face him. “Kyle, please I-”
“That nothing was something. I need to know what it is to protect you.”
“It’s nothing you can protect me from.”
“I can and will protect you, but I need details.”
“It’s not about danger,” I say. “Not really. Michael called. He hit some nerves and I can’t seem to shake them.”
“What nerves, sweetheart?” he murmurs softly. “Did he threaten you?”
“It’s nothing new,” I repeat. “He’s coming back in a week.”
“When was he supposed to come back?”
“Two weeks. But you never know with him. Please let this go right now so I can try to let it go.”
He gives me one of those intense, green eyes stares, and then nods. “Okay. But-”
“I know. You’re here and I actually really appreciate that.” I don’t wait for his reaction, instead entering the design room, which is lined with sewing machines, and filled with tables and a good dozen mannequins in random locations. In the center of it all, at the only round table, surrounded by six helpers, is a stunning redhead I know to be fashion designer LeeAnn Orlando. So intent is she and those around her on whatever she is saying, that no one seems to notice my entry. A good minute passes and I’m still standing here. Feeling awkward, I decide to walk around the mannequins, a little thrill with each of my designs, I pass and approve. That is, until I stop in front of what is supposed to be my all-time favorite gown, one that my mother started to design first, only to find it has gone horribly wrong. First of all, it’s a pale pink, not the emerald of my mother’s eyes, and the waist and bodice are just plain all wrong. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This is all fake. It’s not me. It’s not a real clothing line, but I find myself turning around, and irritated to find that that I’m still being ignored.
“Excuse me,” I call out, at the same moment Kyle enters the room, assuming guard just inside the door, while LeeAnn continues to keep on with the snub. “Excuse me,” I call out a little louder, and this time she glances up, irritation etched on her pretty face, arrogance in her demeanor that says that I am beneath her.
“Yes?” she asks.
“Can I please discuss this design with you?” I ask, indicating the dress.
Reluctance radiates from what has to be every particle of her being, but she crosses the room to stand in front of the mannequin with me. “What can I do for you?”
“I should introduce myself,” I say. “I’m-”
“Of course I know who you are.”
There is a slap to those words. “Obviously you’re no fan.”