Page 47 of One Night Stand After Another
Okay, this was a little strange. He hoped this wouldn’t end up being a disappointment. He still felt bad about that whole massage fiasco.
He opened the door, and light poured into the vestibule.
Clara gasped. “I can’t even.”
She looked stunned as she gazed, wide-eyed, around the luxurious showroom. “This place is gorgeous.”
Everything in the room looked handmade. The woven rugs on the floor, the cushions on the chairs and couches, the tapestries on the wall, even the window treatments. Mannequins modeled gowns with stitches so fine, they were barely visible. There were shelves full of sweaters and cubbies full of neatly rolled socks. A rack of dresses claimed an entire wall. One glass-covered display featured a crocheted wedding dress next to a tuxedo that had some sort of fancy embroidery all over it.
Zane couldn’t name or categorize everything in the room, but he could read price tags, and his remaining doubts that he might be making a mistake vanished. Clara could make money with her art. The things he’d seen on her blog were as beautiful as the crocheted—he could recognize that stitch now—items on display in this room. Wasting her talent doing taxes was a crime.
“I’ve never been in a more inspiring place in my life,” she said softly.
“Thank you,” a deep voice said.
Zane turned to see a silver-haired man in a perfectly tailored suit standing at the back of the store. Smile lines bracketed his mouth. His faded blue eyes twinkled, but they were sharp. Something told Zane not to underestimate this man. He’d been in the business a long time and was clearly at the top of the game.
“I try to have a little something that might appeal to everyone.” The man crossed the room and held his hand out to Zane. “I’m Jimmy Banan.”
Zane shook it. “Zane Brampton.”
He nudged Clara forward. “And this is Clara Duke. She’s the one who wanted to visit. I’m just along for the ride.” Clara’s designs would look amazing in this shop. Maybe if she wouldn’t listen to him, Jimmy Banan could make her see her gift. He slid his phone out of his pocket.
Jimmy turned his old-shark smile on Clara. “What are you shopping for today?”
…
As if I could afford anything in this place.
Her head was spinning at all of the detail, the labor, the love, and the artistry displayed throughout the gorgeous space. She could barely form words.
“I’m not shopping. I have an interview at Fiber Kingdom tomorrow, and I missed my flight from New York, so we’ve been traveling across the country, looking at yarn.”
She was babbling, spewing a torrent of verbal vomit she already regretted, but she was talking to Jimmy Banan, the most widely respected man in the fiber community, aside from the Fiber King, himself. A man whose name was synonymous with a perfect eye for craftsmanship, someone who could tell at a glance how something was made, could probably see every missed stitch and design flaw in her sweater, and could probably offer a dozen ideas for improving its structure.
Jimmy Freaking Banan.
Wow.
She took a breath to thank him for helping her get through school, but Zane stepped forward, phone in hand, boxing her out with his broad shoulders. “Clara is too modest. She has a blog you might be interested in seeing. Her designs are incredible.”
Horror seized her heart. “He doesn’t need to see my blog.” Wait—how did Zane know she had a blog? She’d never told him.
She ducked around Zane, intending to grab his phone, but Jimmy already had Zane’s phone in his hand and was tugging old-fashioned, wire-rimmed spectacles from the top of his balding head. She couldn’t exactly snatch the phone from him…could she?
For a second, she was tempted.
You are so dead, she mouthed at Zane over Mr. Banan’s bent head. His proud grin told her he had no idea that he’d just crossed a line with her from which there was no retreat. Her blog was a safe space for her to put her dreams, ideas, and projects. It wasn’t for the eyes of a consummate professional like Mr. Banan. The followers who found their way to her were one thing, but she didn’t need anyone in the industry telling her that her designs weren’t ready for market. She knew that. That’s why she was going to work at Fiber Kingdom. To learn.
“I can definitely see the appeal,” Jimmy said. “Unique but approachable designs. You have a great eye for color.” He turned his gaze on her, and when she saw he was looking at the gray sweater with the red strip, heat blasted from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She’d added a picture of the finished cardigan to the post just before she’d fallen asleep on their plane to Los Angeles. With a saucy suggestion for how to wear it—just like she’d worn it last night.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what are your sales numbers? Ballpark, of course,” Mr. Banan added, looking from the phone to the actual sweater on her body.
“I don’t sell them,” she stammered. “It’s just a hobby.”
Mr. Banan’s gaze met hers, enlarged behind his glasses, then turned back to the phone. His thumb scrolled. And scrolled. And scrolled. “You have hundreds of posts. Are you telling me fiber isn’t a profession for you?”
“She’s an accountant,” Zane said, giving her an I-told-you-so look that burned her fuse right to the base.
