“She started with socks.”
Cat scowled. Socks didn’t sound appealing. “Be that as it may, I’d want to partner with something unique, upscale, and not easy to copy. That way there’s less competition right out of the gate.”
Elise chuckled. “God love you, Cat. You always shoot for the moon.”
“You’ll never get there if you don’t even try.” Cat shrugged, as if Elise could see her. “Maybe something along the lines of lifestyle or travel products.”
“Really? It’s important that you don’t dilute your brand or take on something too risky. The worst thing you could do is affiliate with something that fails. If that happens, then your name and image lose credibility and value in the marketplace.”
“I’m nothing if not discerning.” Her agent’s lack of faith in her decision-making ability reinforced all her self-doubts. Not that she’d let it show. Just like her father’s dismissiveness had pushed her to succeed before, her agent’s lack of faith made Cat vow to reach the moon, at least metaphorically.
If she couldn’t make babies, she’d damn well find another way to leave a legacy. And proving everyone wrong would only make the win that much better.
“Let me do some digging,” Elise said. “I’ll see who’s looking for talent.”
“Okay, talk to you soon.” Cat set down the phone, determined to come up with some of her own ideas, too.
Feeling a bit optimistic about new possibilities, she flung the Elle magazine aside and continued sifting through her remaining mail.
She frowned upon discovering a handwritten, ivory-colored envelope with no return address. It looked similar to one she’d received here last month, except the postmark came from SoHo instead of Chelsea.
Biting her lip, she tore it open and scanned the notecard, which featured neatly handwritten block print.
Catalina,
Not a day goes by that I don’t dream of you. For now, I’ll settle for endless fantasies, but someday you’ll realize I’m the only one for you.
While not exactly threatening, the letter disturbed her nonetheless. Being propositioned via Twitter and Instagram, and occasionally accosted at restaurants, seemed relatively innocuous. But this nameless, faceless, eerily personal contact caused concern.
Her first instinct was to suspect Justin. Then again, the wording didn’t sound like him, and she doubted he’d settle for such a passive approach. If he were going to break the restraining order, he’d just show up to prove no one could control him.
But if not Justin, then who? She’d bought her condominium via a straw party for privacy. Maybe it was Justin. He had the money and contacts to find her.
She reread the note, searching for clues. The handwriting revealed nothing, but the expensive card stock indicated the person had money and taste . . . like Justin. She sniffed the page, but it held no discernible scent.
Prior experience with creepy fans proved the police wouldn’t do anything absent a real threat. No use bothering the cops. Love letters weren’t threats. And suspecting Justin was a far cry from offering proof.
Sighing, she placed the letter and envelope in a desk drawer on top of the one she’d received last month. For some reason, she’d decided to keep them as evidence. Evidence of what, she wasn’t quite sure.
Her phone rang, pulling her thoughts away from her unsettling admirer. She smiled when Vivi’s photo appeared on the screen.
“Welcome home, Vivi. How was your honeymoon?”
“Utterly amazing.” Vivi’s sigh spoke volumes.
“When did you get back?”
“Yesterday afternoon, but I’m so totally mixed up time wise.”
“I’m well acquainted with jet lag.” Not so much lately, but still. “So, tell me all about it. Wait—skip the intimate details. I don’t want to hear about my brother’s sex life.” Cat heard Vivi’s gentle laugh through the phone.
“Can you come over?” Vivi asked. “David ran to the office to get a jump on things before Monday, so I’m alone and bored.”
“Give me thirty minutes to shower and dress.”
“Perfect.”
When Cat finished drying off, she wrapped her plush towel around her body, trod to her closet, and scowled. Despite her best efforts, she still hadn’t managed to organize all of her clothing and accessories. She’d stacked boxes of out-of-season clothes and shoes in the spare room. Even so, pieces of her wardrobe practically fell on top of her whenever she opened any closet door.
She thumbed through her summer tops. Not knowing where her day might lead, she selected a turquoise, tie-dyed Donna Karan scarf top and paired it with white linen shorts. Vivi and David lived two blocks away on East 76th, so she opted for high-heeled, white sandals. If they decided to go elsewhere, they’d have to take a cab.