Page 24 of Love Redesigned
Paige shifted and I sat up, pulling a blanket off the couch and wrapping it around my legs. “What do you remember about the last time hedidtalk to you about LeFranc? Before he left.”
“I don’t remember specifics. He had suspicions about Sasha, which made me defensive because I’d just started working for her and I loved my job. She was letting me design, you know? And he seemed so determined to bring her down. I guess I didn’t feel like he had a lot of convincing evidence.”
“But if he had, you would have believed him, right?” Paige said. “If he’d had actual proof that she was doing something shady, you would have taken his side.”
I thought back through the conversations Alex and I had had those last few days before he left. We hadn’t spent a ton of time talking about work. I loved LeFranc, and Alex had only seemed to tolerate it. He’d loved that I wanted to be a designer, but he’d always had complaints about the way Alicio did business, and he was particularly hard on Sasha. He’d never liked her—even less so when she and Alicio had become engaged.
And I’d always defended her.
“What if I didn’t listen to him?” I asked Paige, fear creeping into my voice.
Paige grimaced. “You did have Sasha-shaped stars in your eyes those first few months. But, Dani, this is Alex we’re talking about. You cared about him. You would have listened.”
I shook my head, forcing out the sympathy that had slowly been creeping into my brain. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter if I would or wouldn’t have listened. He could have done a thousand different things to let me know he was leaving. Evenifhe thought my loyalties were to LeFranc, I didn’t deserve to be cut off.”
I thought of all the texts and emails I’d sent him in those first weeks after he’d left. Ranging from curious, to a little more desperate, to downright distraught and worried. A surge of embarrassment coursed through my veins.
“He doesn’t get a pass on this,” I said, with an air of finality. “I’m glad he apologized. Maybe it’ll help him get some closure, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“Fine,” Paige said, with a defiant fist pound onto the back of the sofa.
“Fine,” I echoed.
She grinned. “Do you feel better?”
I wasn’t quite ready to smile back, but I did breathe out an audible sigh. “Maybe a little.”
“Good. Can we sort of change the subject?” Paige asked. “Also, are you hungry? I’m hungry.”
“I’m starving. I was too nervous to really eat my dinner.”
Paige stood and started rummaging through the kitchen—rather, the tiny counter behind our tiny living room where we kept our food. She returned to the couch with a loaf of French bread, a block of Wensleydale cranberry cheese, a bowl of strawberries, and a knife wedged between her teeth.
“Bless you, woman,” I said, reaching for a strawberry. She unloaded the impromptu meal onto the coffee table, but before sitting down, returned to the kitchen, this time retrieving a pint of Talenti gelato from the freezer, and a couple of spoons from the drawer. The girl had a killer metabolism, which I probably should have found annoying, what with my own petite and curvy frame. I loved it though. She wasn’t quite tall enough to actuallybea runway model, but she was still lean and lanky and was perfect for when I wanted to make something for a normal-sized human, as opposed to the miniaturized clothes I made for my own not-quite-five-foot-three self.
“What are we changing the subject to?” I asked, reaching for an offered spoon.
“Right, yes,” Paige said, settling back down on the couch. “Why on earth did Isaac need to hire a business manager?”
“I know!” I said. “Weird, right?”
“And someone like Alex. He’s so business-y. And Isaac is so...Isaac.”
“Seriously. They’re so different. It seems like such a weird combination. Alex made it seem like Isaac was ready to diversify and do something more profound with his money. So that’s why he brought him on.”
“How much money are we talking, here?” Paige asked. “Is he really that successful?”
“I have no idea. I mean, he bought a house, so that’s something, I guess.”
“What kind of house?”
“I don’t know, but...” I reached for my phone. “He sent Mom the address the other day in a group text. I guess I can google the address.”
Paige looked over my shoulder. “Uh, he bought a house on Church Street?” she asked, as soon as I pulled up the text. “I bet it’s historical.”
I copied the address into Google. A listing on one of those “value your home” websites pulled up. I quickly scanned the information.
Isaac hadn’t just bought a house. He’d bought an early 19thcentury Single House in the heart of the Charleston peninsula.
