In the Nick of Time (82 page)

She walked past him, gripping her portfolio as she stepped to the camel colored leather chair. His office décor was far more subdued than she’d imagined it to be, devoid of whimsical colors and odd furniture pairings. Rather, it reflected the trappings of a male millionaire who had a thing for strong lines, dark, rich colors, and minimalist design. He closed the door behind them, rounded his desk, and sat down.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” he offered as he pulled out a compartment from behind his desk, revealing a gray, slate tray with a few wine goblets and a glass carafe filled with something no doubt expensive and smooth to the taste.

“Uh no, Mr. Rousseau. No, thank you.”

Nodding in understanding, he poured himself a glass, placed the tray neatly behind his desk, and took a sip. The sounds of Stevie Wonder singing ‘Another Star’ played dully in the background.

They’ve got good music here…

Her chest warmed with pleasant, summertime memories…

“So.” He leaned back in his seat, his hand cuffing his ankle as he looked at her, offering a pleasant smile. “I had a chance to look at your designs again. They are rather crude, don’t you think?”

Taken somewhat aback, she made damn sure to not show it. “Well, I’m not a professional but—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand in dismissal as he placed his glass of wine down. “The drawings are childlike, lack craftsmanship, but their core is raw and real. They are unique, dare I say beautiful. I like them. You are accustomed to drawing the human form, bringing out its rawness, but designing clothing is much different, Ms. Jones. I can tell that you are an artist; my issue is that I can’t present your designs in their present form. However, I was able to look beyond the faults, although not everyone will be able to do so. Therefore, here is what I’d like to do.” He cleared his throat and leaned forward.

“I have clothing design students who do quite well at this sort of thing. I would like to pass your designs to a few of them, have them redraft them. After which, you can approve them and we can send them to Lori Greely of Victoria’s Secret. Now, when I criticize someone, I also point out what is good. Here is what I
like
about your designs, Taryn.” He paused, took another sip of his wine and continued.

“Your brassieres have stunning designs, and a nicely built in prosthetic for one or both breasts. The prosthetic is moldable, shapeable,”—he moved his hands around as if squeezing Play-Doh—“and claylike. I like the idea of using silk over the light-weight plastic. You’ve explained how this works very well in your email that I requested several days ago.”

She nodded and swallowed down her rising excitement. It was getting increasingly difficult to sit still.

“I saw that you’ve done your research regarding various materials, and the silicon is nice as well. For women with only one breast removed, a cast is made of that breast and sits in the bra perfectly. Like a do-it-yourself kit. For those ladies such as yourself who’ve had both breasts removed, they simply order the bra size and dimensions they want, and the bra cast is created for them. I like that you even have specially designed padded bras for those that do not want a prosthetic at all, but can achieve a look of fullness under their clothing… Very nice, Ms. Jones…very nice indeed.” He finished his wine, then poured himself another glass. “The designs are edgy, classic, and sophisticated… some are even fanciful. You’ve done an exceptional job here.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Rousseau.” She was certain she was blushing, turning a million shades of crimson. First, he knocked her down, but like a true gentleman, he reached for her hand, and helped her stand right back up.

“You’re welcome. Back to Victoria’s Secret for a moment. They do a breast cancer drive as well as ‘Pink Lingerie’ fashion shows for breast cancer awareness and fund raising. I know Katie would be particularly interested in seeing these. The fact that you are an accomplished model and have exhibited for them in some of their smaller, local shows in the past definitely bodes well for you. You may not have been a Victoria’s Secret Angel, but you were close enough to understand how they do things, and that can only assist you.”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Now.” He looked down at his watch, then back at her, his face serious. “Vicki can make money in her sleep. I trust her.” He tilted his head to the side then brandished a roguish grin, as if slipping into lurid fantasies. Taryn felt she was witnessing something private, something for their eyes only, but it showed out in his expression in a way he perhaps couldn’t hide. “She’s brought me two other deals that turned out to be quite lucrative. I’ve been branching out a bit more, finding talent.”

“Yes, I read something similar online.”

“Good, you did your research. I did mine on you as well. If I go to bat for you, and you fuck me over, you’ll be ruined, do you hear me?” His calm, matter-of-fact voice chilled her, while he still sat there with that ‘Daddy knows best’ smile on his face. That attitude pinched her nerves, twisted them, and yanked while she whirled in a state of shock.

Fucking Frenchman! Make a woman fall in love… then snatch her back into reality in one fell swoop…

“I get where you’re coming from.” She kept herself even and cool under the pressure, refusing to break into a sweat.

“Good, because I don’t give a shit who is smoking what, who is fucking who, and who is choking on their own cum. What I care about is who is making money, who is reliable, on time, and looks the part. You’re beautiful. You have a well-established reputation as well. Some of it is good, some of it not so much…” He shrugged. “You’re still fairly young; that will work in your favor. You’re also viewed as a wild card… difficult to deal with at times.” He fisted and unfisted his hands. “Lucky for me, I’m not trying to put you on a runway, though I’m not against the idea… We can talk more about that later. What I’m trying to do, Ms. Jones, is to help
you
, help
me
, help
three
… Vicki gets a cut.”

“Of course.”

“I understand you have a boyfriend?” he said with a sardonic lift of his brow. He snapped his fingers at her, impatiently asking for her portfolio while he dove head first in her private business.

“Uh, yes… but not sure what that has to do with this.” She handed it over while he laid it out on his desk and flipped through it.

“It means that if I propositioned you for a non-business related dinner, you’d be more inclined to decline.” He kept his eyes on the portfolio.

She smirked. “I walked right into that.”

“Yes.” He grinned, flipping quickly through her sketches, but with a keen eye. “You did.”

“You asked Vicki if I had a boyfriend?” she questioned as she slumped into her seat.

“No. I asked her if you were bisexual or at least bi-curious after looking at some of your more recent runway work.”

At this, Taryn burst out laughing, almost in shock at the man’s unbelievable nerve.

“She said she wasn’t certain, but that you had a man at home that was taking care of you quite nicely and she would never proposition you for such a thing. She refused to ask on my behalf, so I decided to do it myself. I can tell from your posture and facial expressions that you’re not interested. Now that that is off the table, we can get back to this right here.” He didn’t appear the least bit irritated nor disturbed by her lack of interest. “I want you in my office first thing next week, on Tuesday at ten a.m. I will have the re-designs finished and we will then proceed with the meeting with Victoria’s Secret. I have no doubt that they will give your designs a test run and, should they do well, we will then speak with the American Cancer Society, National Breast Cancer Awareness, and put in a call to Angelina Jolie to see if she has any interest in assisting with advertising…”

The man continued to speak, talking matter-of-factly, on and on as if the shit was already a done deal. She sat there hearing him, but her body grew numb in fucking amazement.

…Oh my God. This is really happening. I am really sitting in Jules Rousseau’s office, one of the best fashion designers in the entire damn world! The man is talking about all these heavy hitters and putting his money and team behind it… Oh… my…God!

“…And then of course it will need to be economical for the everyday buyer so we will get a hold of some of the other distributors—but it can’t be cheaply made; the fabric must be quality and craftsmanship fairly decent… I’ll give a heads up to Macy’s once the details are worked out,” he continued on, looking down at his watch a time or two more, and then, he concluded.

“So, it’s settled.” He rose to his feet, straightened out his jacket, and extended his hand for a shake. She gave a hearty one, the kind her father taught her how to do from a very young age. “I will see you next week.”

“Yes, see you next week and thank you so much, Mr. Rousseau.”

“You can call me Jules after we complete this deal.” He smiled coyly.

“Okay. I’ll do just that.” She smiled back and turned to walk away, almost floating off the damn ground.

“…Nice shoes,” his deep voice rumbled.

She paused, looked down at the things. She’d had a rare moment in time—didn’t know what to wear, so she’d consulted Nick. She’d lamented over her outfit for the meeting for quite some time, and finally threw in the towel. So, reaching in the recesses of their shared bedroom closet, he’d pulled out a navy blue pair with four inch silver heels. She’d created her outfit around them—a navy blue sheer blouse and slacks in the same color, along with silver accessories…

Thanks Nick!
She laughed inside.

“Thank you, Mr. Rousseau… my man at home, as you referred to him, chose them for me.”

“Well, he has good taste… in more ways than one…”

The sharp corner
of the vibrant green, apple-flavored jolly rancher scraped against the roof of his mouth. He wrestled with the thing, debating on spitting it out, but he enjoyed the flavor, all the same.

“Nick,” Officer Kennedy said, approaching him. “I need some papers put away for me… Can you help?”

He looked the fucker in the face and wanted to strangle him. He had no beef with Kennedy, but the way he said the words, as if he was now the town flunky, made him swallow the slice of candy left in his mouth to cover up the words he wanted to blurt.

“Yeah…” He sighed, got to his feet and followed Kennedy over to his desk. The guy moved about, wearing his uniform just right, creating deep wells of envy in Nick’s heart as they made the jaunt.

“Hey, you want some coffee first?” Kennedy hitched his thumb towards the break room. “I thought I’d get me a cup.”

Nick shrugged.

“If you want, makes me no difference.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around the place, recognizing it, but suddenly feeling as if he was trying to jam his oval shaped ass into a square shaped slot.

“Well, come on with me. I want to ask you a few things… get your advice.” At this, Nick perked up.

Maybe it’s about the case… Kennedy is on that. He might want to pick my brain…

His face cracked with a slight grin at the possibility, but he kept his feet on the doubtful, just in case he was let down once again.

Kennedy opened the break room door, and the place was filled with bastards hooping and hollering while Captain O’Sullivan stood amongst them, a big grin on his rosy-cheeked face. On the table sat a big, fancy white cake with ‘Welcome Back Nick’ scrolled across it, some shiny, red plastic cups, and blue and white balloons…

Looks like rehab graduation…

He smirked.

“Congrats, Nick! You’re back in! You get your beat back, bastard!” His boss screamed, causing others to blow party horns and throw skinny pieces of colorful paper around the room.

“Awwww, man! Are you for real?!” He grinned real wide as he stepped to the man, taking him in an earnest embrace.

“Yes, I’m definitely serious. You’ve certainly earned it. You’ve done well, no complaints or griping, and you’ve helped, done what you were supposed to do. The board agreed to let you have your beat back. You start first thing tomorrow.”

He released the man, looked him up and down, then bear hugged the hell out of him, causing an outburst of laughter.

“Oh, he been complain’, Captain! His mouth wasn’t moving, but best believe Vitale was complaining!” someone shouted, causing more laughter to dance about the room.

“Thank you everybody!” Nick shouted as he grabbed a plate and fork. “You won’t regret it!”

“Yeah, yeah… we’ll see. Cut your cake, Nick! Some of us have work to do!”