Page 33 of At Your Service
So far so good. He gave her a tentative smile.
“Thanks. At Brand Integrated, all of that would be expanded. We have plans for more personalized technological development such as fabric generators, accessory hubs, data extrapolators and more. The idea is to get into a company and create a skeleton that will support the entire body of its work.”
“Yes! I can see that. There’s certainly a demand for that type of technological support, especially in the fashion industry. This way it lets designers focus on just the clothes. Are you targeting smaller houses? Because I feel like they’re the ones who could really benefit from programs like this. It would position them to be competitors.”
“Exactly,” he admitted. How was it that she got him so completely and so quickly?
A light drizzle of rain started to fall and Major led them toward the garage.
“So, anyway, the past couple days have been filled with little problems. I feel like it’s some type of conspiracy designed to make me think of turning back.”
“You getting cold feet, Major?” She chuckled. “I wouldn’t have expected that of you.”
Her tone was light but the fact that she had any type of expectations of him on a level outside of their fake engagement was a little surprising. And a lot intriguing.
They approached the garage. There was an automated keypad on the wall beside the door and he pressed the code. When the locks disengaged, he pulled the door open and held it so that she could walk past, giving off a hint of her perfume as she did—warm, floral, charming.
“So wait—you said accessory hubs. You have plans for programs that will accessorize? Sort of like my app?”
Major had just pulled the door closed behind him and was about to reach for the light switch when she asked that question.
“Ah, yeah, that’s in the portfolio. I mean, we wouldn’t contract with any vendors, we’re solely technology focused. But a simulator that takes the designer from sketch to prototype to runway, complete with suggested accessories, is on the menu.”
He found the switch for the lights and the fluorescent bulbs across the large, open ceiling came on, bringing thirty vintage cars and motorcycles into view.
“Oh,” she said and looked around. “Well, I guess a little healthy competition is good.”
Of course he’d known about this similarity since the day she’d pitched At Your Service; what he hadn’t wanted to consider was whether or not it would mean anything at the end of these six weeks.
Logically, she could go her own way with her company and continue doing business. He could do the same and they’d just be two people working in the industry, same as RGF’s competition with any other fashion house. But this was different—the deal he’d made with her, having Sunday dinner with her at his parents’ house, a seventy-five-thousand-dollar ring in his pocket, talking and walking with her on a quiet summer’s night... He couldn’t help but admit things were totally different now.
She walked farther into the space. “These are amazing. Whose are they?”
The place was set up almost like a runway with vehicles parked along the two sides of the structure, leaving a wide walkway in the center to be used for perusal.
“My Dad and RJ have always been into vintage cars. Another thing they have in common.”
“But you don’t like them?”
“I didn’t say that. They’re nice, but just not my thing. I’m more impressed by the room of control boards and digital infrastructure at my place.”
“I’m sure that’s impressive, but since I haven’t been invited to your place yet, I’ll just have to enjoy these cars.” She walked toward a sage-green Jaguar, running her hand over the shining hood. “My dad would get such a kick out of this. He loves cars.”
“I do, too. They get you from place to place.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Ha.”
He chuckled.
It was so easy being with her, much easier than he’d ever thought it would be with another woman. Stacia was the only other woman he’d ever brought to his parents’ home and the whole time she’d been there that night, all she’d wanted to do was talk about the fashion house. Major’s technology ideas or anything about their future together had seemed to be off-limits.
“This one reminds me ofGrease.You know, the movie with Danny Zuko and the T-Birds? Every time I see an old Thunderbird, I think about it.”
He was grateful for her question, disliking the turn his thoughts had taken. “No, I don’t know the movie, but I do know this car. It’s probably from the fifties or sixties as my Dad is fixated with that time frame. This one used to be my grandfather’s, I believe.”
They’d stopped by the red convertible and she walked down to the driver’s side, leaning over to look at the steering wheel and the white-leather interior.
“Ever made out in one of these?”
