Violet: Bride of North Dakota (American Mail-Order Bride 39) (22 page)

Melissa was one of the few designers not in the general work area. She’d served her time not only in this design house, but in three others; two of them in Europe.

She walked over to the huge glass windows. Twenty floors up, she had a wonderful view that overlooked some of L.A.’s best real estate. Yes, she was at the top of her game and she planned to stay.

She picked up the phone. "Stacy? Please hold my calls. You know the ones I mean."

“Of course; I’ll tell your family you’re still busy when they call again.”

Melissa heard the disapproval in the secretary’s voice and, refusing to feel guilty, simply placed the phone back in the cradle.

She inserted a new thumb drive into the computer. She had hours of work ahead of her and needed to come up with several ideas for an important client. She wouldn’t go home until it was finished. Having a strong work ethic got you ahead in this game. She wasn’t going to be displaced by anyone. Especially not by Kari.

Moments later there was a knock on the door. Annoyed, Melissa considered not answering, then sighed. “Come in.”

Bernie Sparks poked his head around the corner, bright orange hair sticking out in all directions. “Is it safe? Or are you going to make me cry too?”

Melissa smiled, genuinely glad to see Bernie. “I think you’re safe; nothing could make you cry.”

As he stepped into the room, he placed a cowboy hat on his head and she got a good look at what he was wearing: a tasteless western outfit and his traditional huge grin. He walked across the room and twirled his lean frame around on one boot heel. “So, what do you think?”

Melissa groaned in genuine distress. “No, stop.” She raised a hand into the air as if to ward him off. “Don’t go there.”

Laughing, Bernie turned again, this time walking slowly in a circle so she could get the full effect. He wore a tailored cashmere shirt with banded collar and pearl buttons, a broche silk vest, and a string tie with an alamar knot. The black hat sat jauntily on his head, a belt with a huge silver buckle circled his waist, and faux snake-skin boots made her shudder. From head to toe he was hideous.

“You know you love it; check out the boots.” He lifted one foot so she could see the pattern of the snake skin.

She sighed. “I hate western but if you tell anyone I said so, I’ll deny it.” In the apparel design business there wasn’t a choice; yes, they set fashion, but they also followed the newest trends or found themselves out in the cold.

She herself had recently come up with a few western designs but only because a couple of clients had specifically requested it. “What I don’t understand is why it’s making a comeback.”

Amused, Bernie lifted both hands in the air. “Don’t sound so self-righteous. You made an outfit for,” he snapped his fingers, “that country music star. What’s his name?”

She didn’t name him. Sharing her client list with Bernie would be extremely stupid. “Against my will and against my better judgement, I assure you.”

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Thanks again.

You’re amazing.

Heather Horrocks

www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com