Page 129 of When Hearts Surrender

Belle

Love you.

He’s a busy man running a billion-dollar company. Don’t be one of those clingy wives, Belle.

I clutch the locket around my neck for reassurance. He put the necklace on me after we took the sexy shower in Austria together—who knew what orgasms could do for menstrual cramps?

Sighing, I turn my attention to more important matters, like the meeting I’m about to have with McKenzie’s new fashion director, Fiona Kim, to see what she thinks of the designs I sent her before leaving Austria.

I bank a left at the hallway and nod to a few junior designers before pausing at Fiona’s door.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

I step into the stylish office decorated in lavender, fresh flowers, and feminine touches—she obviously redecorated after Gordon left—and Fiona stands from behind her desk and beckons me to the couch.

“Hi Fiona, you want to talk about my designs?” I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants.

She smiles and adjusts her black cat-eyed frames on her face. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Is that a good thing? I think? I hope so. Being what someone expects is boring, don’t you think—”

She laughs. “No need to be nervous. I know we didn’t work together before because I was in high couture and you were in casual wear, but I promise I won’t bite.”

I sit still and pinch my wrist to keep from rambling.

“I was expecting a talentless designer who climbed the ranks because of her family.” She looks at me and grimaces. “No offense.”

I shake my head, thinking here we go again, my fingers twitching on my lap.

“But I’m glad to be wrong.”

Fiona takes out a few sketches—final designs of my hemp and bamboo shawl sweater lined with fleece, a matching asymmetrical skirt, a draped coat using the same technique—all without official sleeves but can be rendered to have “sleeves.”

“Now, I’m not sorry Gordon was fired. The guy was always an asshole.” She smiles and I relax marginally. “But I have to say, I like to throw out impossible requirements for my designers as well. It’s a good way of getting them to think outside the box.”

She leans forward. “If people want average designs they can get anywhere else, why would they come to us? What would make McKenzie Atelier stand out from the other brands?”

I nod. I had the same thought after my breakthrough at the mansion.

Fiona holds up the sketches. “I like these three designs a lot. I’ve never seen anything like them before. Can you tell me how you got the inspiration?”

Excitement chases out my earlier dread and I sit up taller. “Actually, these designs were inspired by books I have at home.”

The next few hours fly by as Fiona asks me questions about the composition and color choices. She tells me she wants these three items at the fashion show next month because they are unique and versatile and the environmentally friendly materials are a fit for what consumers are looking for right now.

I can hardly contain my joy as I step out of the building later that night after spending the rest of the day revising the drawings to her specifications and reserving time with the design construction team to help with the sewing once the custom fabrics arrive.

The brisk winds lash at my face. The dreary daylight has faded into gloomy dusk. The streets are unusually quiet for eight p.m.

I take out my phone to check my messages, my chest falling when I don’t see any text messages from Maxwell.

It’s nothing, Belle. He’s probably stuck in meetings all day. You know how he hates these group gatherings—it’s draining for him.

I begin to type another message when I sense the piercing stare of another person close by. The hairs rise on the back of my neck.

“Belle.”

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