Holiday by Design. Patricia Kay

between them would be interesting.”

      “Oh, c’mon, Marcus. You don’t know anything about fashion. Her clothes cry out for high-end jewels, the kinds of things made by Neil Lane or Harry Winston.” She rolled her eyes to show what she thought of them.

      “Most young women would kill to be able to wear high-end jewels,” he said mildly.

      “I’m not like everyone else.”

      Where had this rebellious streak come from? Until recently, Vanessa had been one of the most agreeable sisters imaginable. In fact, she would have done just about anything to please him. But lately she seemed to delight in opposing him. “I only want you to meet the woman.”

      “But what’s the point?”

      “The point is, I’ve asked it as a favor to me.”

      If looks could kill, hers was lethal. “Oh, whatever. Fine. I’ll meet her.”

      “Good.”

      “When?”

      “We’ll go to lunch with her one day early next week.”

      “I have a really busy week coming up.”

      “One lunch won’t take up that much of your time.”

      Marcus put his head in his hands after Vanessa, with another elaborate sigh and still grumbling under her breath, left the room. Why couldn’t people just be reasonable? It was a good thing this day was nearly over. Between the problems he’d had this morning with a new supplier in Copenhagen, Brenda’s almost insubordination after the meeting with Joanna Spinelli, and Vanessa’s pouts and sighs, he was ready for something different.

      Unfortunately, he still had dinner with his mother to look forward to. And with the way his luck was running, she’d have a list of problems she expected him to solve.

      Sometimes Marcus just wanted to throw in the towel. Pack a bag and take off for parts unknown.

      But he wouldn’t do that, would he?

      No, because unlike the women in his life, Marcus didn’t shirk his responsibilities. He’d accepted his path long ago, and he’d follow it to the bitter end. There were no deal breakers for him.

      * * *

      Although Joanna could hardly wait to give her notice, there was no way she was giving up her day off, so it was Friday morning before she could tell Chick the news.

      “Hey, babe,” he said when he sauntered in at ten. Chick was not an early riser.

      “I’m not your babe, Chick.” She tossed the empty container from her breakfast of blackberry yogurt into the trash can.

      “Ah, come on.” He smiled down at her. “No hard feelings. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

      Joanna gave him a look. Friends. What was it with some guys? Did they think they could do anything and you’d still slobber over them? She’d be willing to bet he still believed she’d forget how he’d treated her and jump into the sack with him if he acted the way he wanted her to. “I don’t think we were ever friends,” she muttered.

      He acted as if he hadn’t heard her and was already heading into his office.

      “There’s an important letter sitting on your desk,” she called after him.

      Less than two minutes later, he came stomping out, brandishing the letter, an expression of stunned astonishment on his face. “You’re quitting?”

      She smiled sweetly, tamping down the urge to say, Can’t you read English? “Yes, I am.”

      “You can’t be serious.”

      “I’m deadly serious.”

      “Oh, come on, Joanna. I thought we were past all that.”

      Joanna sighed. “Chick, this is not about you and me. It’s about me finally getting the chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “I’m going to be a full-time fashion designer from now on.”

      “And you think you can support yourself doing that?”

      Joanna had always known he didn’t take her aspirations seriously, and his attitude this morning proved it. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.” Earlier this morning she wasn’t sure if she would tell him about her upcoming show or not. Now she decided he didn’t deserve to know. Let him be shocked when he read about it in the paper or saw it covered on the local news. “Do you want me to call the employment agency or do you want to do it?”

      He stared at her. “You’re really quitting.”

      She nodded. “Afraid so.”

      “Fine,” he sputtered, “but you can forget about this two-weeks bull. You can’t leave until we can find someone else and you can get her trained, no matter how long it takes.”

      “I’m sorry, Chick, but that’s not the way it works. Two weeks’ notice is all I’m required to give you.” She almost felt sorry for him. But not sorry enough to give him any more of her precious time than she absolutely had to. After all, it wasn’t as if she needed a reference. She had no intention of ever working at anything but designing clothes again. Besides, knowing him, he would drag his feet forever without a reason not to.

      “But that may not be enough time.” Now he sounded panicky. “What if I can’t find someone right away?”

      “In that case, I guess you’ll just have to use a temp.”

      “A temp? Are you crazy?”

      Now it was her turn to stare at him.

      Finally he said, “Okay. Okay. Call the agency. And be sure to tell them it’s urgent. Christ, this is the worst possible time of year for you to do this to me.”

      Ignoring his grumbling, she said, “What shall I tell the agency about salary?”

      He named a figure a good ten percent higher than he was currently paying her. She figured he did it just to piss her off. But she decided not to give him the satisfaction. “I’ll call them right now.”

      Half an hour later, she was in the midst of relaying to Chick what the agency had had to say when her cell phone rang. Seeing Barlow International on the caller ID, she said, “Excuse me, Chick. I have to take this call.”

      “Miss Spinelli?” the caller said. “This is Judith Holmes. I’m Mr. Barlow’s assistant. He asked me to tell you he has your contract ready and wondered if you could meet him at the gallery sometime this afternoon.”

      “The only time I could come would be after work. But I quit at four on Fridays, so I could be there by five o’clock.” The gallery stayed open until six on weeknights.