Page 57 of Parker
Darkness falls before I hear his key in the lock. I’ve been sitting on the sofa, not watching TV, all afternoon. I run through everything I want to say and the questions to ask him in my mind. He appears in the living area, his hair messed up from anxious fingers. He looks exhausted.
“What happened today?” I ask quietly. “I don’t understand.”
“Nicky, you need to be honest with me. We’ve been married for six years, and after what I’ve learned today, I’m not sure I know my wife. In a family like ours, we need to know we can trust you.”
My tears fall again. No words could be more hurtful from his lips.
“You’re going to need to tell me what I’ve done,” I beg. Standing abruptly, I run toward him, but he holds me at arm’s length. His emerald eyes search my face. He looks stricken, as if he’s seen a ghost. “I don’t know what she said. How can I explain something I don’t understand?”
“Let me take a shower,” he says with a sigh. “Then we can talk about everything. But Nicky, you’re suspended from your position at Parker Fashion with immediate effect. The board has removed you from the company. You can’t be trusted.”
Before a syllable passes my lips, he walks away from me without looking back.
You can’t be trustedechoes louder than his retreating footsteps.
Chapter twenty-five
Sophie's Apartment, Glasgow
Nicky
“A cup of tea will make everything better,” Sophie says as she drops the bag into the teapot. It is blue with white daisies printed all over it—there are ten on the handle alone. As she waits for the magic medicine to brew, she pulls two mugs from the cupboard and places them on the worktop. “You’re not a woman who folds easily, Nicky. I’m guessing whatever happened was nuclear.”
“Sophie, they’re accusing me of stealing every design I made that was worthwhile.”
“But that makes little sense. Why would Ebony wait until now to throw you under the bus? Why would she let it slide for so long?”
“She hasn’t. The designs are mine. The documents are false. She’s been plotting to take me down since that bloody award ceremony last year.” The reality of the situation is sinking in. My career is over, and most likely my marriage. “Ebony hasbeen creating evidence this whole time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and take me out.”
Sophie watches me, stunned into silence. The cogs in her brain are turning, processing all the information I’ve given her. The fraudulent emails are still on the coffee table next to the gigantic box of chocolates I brought with me. My case sits at the door, unmoved since I arrived three hours ago, distraught.
After Joel showered, he redressed in his jeans and a t-shirt before returning to the living room. Normally after work, he’d change into a loose pair of jogging bottoms and wander around the house bare-chested. My evenings were dedicated to admiring my husband’s abs. Tonight, his stony look from the office this afternoon was still firmly in place.
I sat on the sofa, wringing my hands together. This was bad, but my hours of filing through reasons for being fired had drawn a blank. My work was up to date, and all my clients were happy. Ebony and I had no direct conflict.
Scanning all the outfits I’d created over my six years at the fashion house had come up with nothing, too. They were completely different from other designers with unique signatures—my creations were nothing like anyone else’s. How could I be accused of theft?
Joel walked over to the sofa, holding out the envelope I’d seen earlier. Inside, I found emails and design drawings. Each one referenced a piece to be created, but none were marked as completed. Every design was mine, almost. There were tiny differences in each, a simple button placement or hemline, but nothing that changed the overall look of the outfit.
“What are these?” I asked, confused.
“You tell me,” he said. “Ebony brought this evidence to my attention today.”
“These are my designs.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “You know these, Joel, they’re mine. Let me go and get my project book. We can go through them.”
“I already have, Nicky. Every design you’re holding has been cross-checked with your diary since you started. And yes, your designs are similar, if not the same as the ones in your hands.” His voice was level, monotone?not a hint of emotion.
“Okay, so where did these come from?” I waved the paperwork in my hand.
“Those,” he gestured at the bundle of drawings and emails, “are from our archives. Those were created between five and ten years ago.”
“What? That’s impossible. They’re my designs. It must be a mistake.”
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
“There’s no mistake. This was all pulled from our systems today. Everything’s dated, you can see that.” He swallowed before speaking again. “Nicky…” His fingers tightened around the edges of the paperwork. “I didn’t want to believe it. I fought them on this. I told them there had to be another explanation.”
His voice was tired, low. “But then I looked through it all myself. The dates. The emails. The overlaps. And I…” Our eyes met. “I don’t know how else to explain it. The only thing that makes sense is that you’ve been stealing the other designer’s ideas since you started.”
