Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(42)

“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.”

“I’m a fan of fashion, not people.”

“Well then this dress is not the fashion statement intended. The waist, bodice and color are off.”

“The color is set to the season of release, which is summer. The bodice and waist had to be adjusted to be workable.”

“I’ve made this dress myself. The bodice and waist were just fine, and I want the green I requested.”

She rolls her eyes. “Look, Myla. I know you think you’re in charge, but there is a reason Michael hired me.”

Michael. She called him Michael. I am stunned when I should not be, and in fact, I’d celebrate any affair between them if I wasn’t clear on her role now. She is how this label would exist without me. She makes me disposable, but I do not dare blink. “And Michael put me in charge,” I say, my well-honed survival skills kicking in. “Which is why I won’t waste his time involving him in this. Now, if we can’t come to terms on this dress, but most importantly, my role here versus yours, then I will make it clear to him that I’m interviewing new designers. Think about it overnight and we’ll chat tomorrow morning.” I don’t give her time to reply, crossing the room, leaving the gauntlet on the ground, the shattering of my admiration for one of my idols, with it.

Kyle is, of course, watching my approach without reaction, when I know he’s heard the exchange. His expression is unreadable, his stare hooded, the door opening beside him as Barbara appears. “The models are beginning to arrive,” she says eagerly. “Come. We’re in the room off the reception area.” She waves me forward and disappears again.

I glance at Kyle. “Models,” I say. “You should enjoy this part of the day.”

“The only woman I’m watching is you,” he assures me, a hint of something warm slipping into his tone.

I swallow hard, not sure why, but in that moment, I feel vulnerable with this man, exposed in ways I have never been with Michael Alvarez, and my defenses rise. “I guess that’s what you get paid the big bucks for,” I spout, and it’s not only out-of-character snideness, but I regret it the moment I say it.

He doesn’t like it either, the glint in his eyes a telltale sign that says he wants to reply, but it is gone an instant later, and so am I. Exiting into the hallway, heading toward the lobby. I’m almost there, when I stop and face him. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” he asks.

“About what I just said,” I explain, and realizing I’ve already brought too much attention to us, I enter the lobby. “Where am I going?” I ask Heather.

She smiles and motions me toward a door, but her face freezes as her attention shifts to Kyle. Poor thing. Michael is right on one thing. His normal crew would not work out here. Kyle might be intimidating big, quiet, and good looking, but those guys look like they will corner you alone at any moment. And they will, I think, my gut twisting with a memory I cannot allow to surface right now.

Stopping at the door, I turn to Kyle, lowering my voice for his ears only. “Heather can’t take you standing by her desk the entire time I’m in here. You have to come inside.”