Genius. Heidi couldn’t help the tingle in her belly at the word. He thought her design was genius! Of course… he had no idea that it was hers. He believed Andrea Paxton, daughter of the late Reynold Paxton, whose silent connections in the fashion world extended far beyond Valentino or Versace, had designed that dress. And why wouldn’t he believe it, given her position, her money?
But Heidi knew better. The girl had never had any real talent, even when they were in school together. Everything about Andrea was fake, from her hair color to her nails to her bought-and-paid-for c-cup breasts. And now, she was faking someone else’s designs as her own. Stealing them.
Heidi knew instantly how it had happened—and realized she should have suspected, given how much time Andrea had spent in their apartment. Was she ever going to stop being so naïve? Mentally, she kicked herself as she sorted Kaiser’s paper mess into organized piles, remembering her roommate, Sara, introducing her to Andrea Paxton—yes, that Andrea Paxton. Heidi’s hackles had gone up immediately, and now she knew why.
I never trust my instincts, but they’re always right. She sighed audibly and bit her lip in apology when Kaiser frowned and gave her a sharp look. The two men were conferring over something, but Heidi had lost the conversation, too involved for who knew how long in her own thoughts.
“Well, let’s see what your aficionado has to say.” Carvel held up two designs. Neither of them were hers, thank goodness, and both were quite good—so they couldn’t be Andrea Paxton’s, Heidi thought grimly. “Which one?”
Heidi’s eyes flickered to Kaiser. He was frowning, but he was also clearly going to humor the old man. He gave her a slight nod and she moved forward to take the two pieces of paper. They were full color illustrations—hours of work, Heidi knew from her own time spent at a drawing pad.
“Lovely,” Heidi sighed happily as she looked from one to the other. It really was a tough choice, although both were significantly different dresses. The first was a cream-colored silk, the bodice and back dangerously low. The other was a bold pomegranate concoction bursting with seed-pearls. Just looking at it made Heidi’s imagination take flight and she found herself mentally improving on it.
“So much for that.” Kaiser laughed, looking at his secretary’s dreamy expression.
“This one.” Heidi said firmly, handing the red dress to Carvel, not looking at Kaiser. “The one here pretends to take risks—it thinks itself daring and dangerous.” She scoffed, tossing the cream-colored backless dress on the desk in dismissal. “But this dress…this dress is actually everything the other one claims to be. It’s bold… courageous.” Heidi’s gaze followed the line of the dress in Carvel’s hand. “It’s unapologetic.”
“Intrepid.” Kaiser’s voice brought her attention again and Heidi flushed, meeting his gaze. Was he talking about the dress? She wondered. His dark eyes were burning and she knew she was in trouble—big trouble—for everything that had happened that day. The thought sent a shiver of both fear and excitement up her spine. He looked like he wanted to take her across his knee right there, and she wondered if he would have if the phone hadn’t rung.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, edging around the desk, giving it a wide berth, and going out into the vestibule to answer the phone.
By the time Heidi had cleared up the order for white silk scarves—three hundred, not three thousand, and oh her bottom tingled just at the thought of what the mistake of an extra zero might have cost her—Roberto Carvel was shaking Kaiser’s hand at the elevator and they were talking about dinner plans.
“Bring Eve,” Kaiser insisted, smiling. “If she’s managed to forgive you your trespasses.”
“I’m out of hot water for the moment.” Carvel chuckled, looking sheepish. “I named a line of sunglasses after her. And I’m letting her run her own pet fashion line.”
“Now that’s what I call contrition!” Kaiser laughed. “I’m sure you’ll make a mint.”
Heidi, who had stood, Pavlovian, as soon as Kaiser’s office door had swung open, waited for the elevator doors to close, her heart hammering in her chest.
“Poor woman. He’s been fucking around on her for years,” Kaiser remarked as he turned and pinned her with his gaze. When he looked at her like that, she found her breath simply gone. “Infidelity is a clear sign of weakness.”
It made her wonder about his life—not that she hadn’t spent her time since meeting him pouring over the society pages trying to find out. He wasn’t married, everyone knew that, never had been. But he was clearly not gay, as so many in the field were, especially the designers. So where was the woman in his life, if he didn’t believe in playing the field? And where did his…secretary…fit into that picture?