“I know,” Leon agreed, reading over the note, which read: Mr. Kacey Parker, Leeman’s. “Don’t worry. Leave all the business problems to me,” Leon advised. “You and Mom go have fun in Africa.”
“We plan to,” his father replied. “But don’t you have too much fun while we’re gone, okay?”
Leon rolled his eyes in exaggeration. How much fun could I possibly have if I’m busy turning triangles of exotic fabric into swimsuits for curvy females? he wondered with a smile.
Chapter 4
The two-lane highway leading to Rockport, Texas, was bordered by flat coastal plains on one side and the surging Gulf of Mexico on the other. The black ribbon of asphalt stretching out before Kacey pulled her along, bringing her ever closer to her destination. Few cars passed hers on the highway, and most of the buildings she encountered were either low-slung ranch houses surrounded by acres of green pasture or weather-worn beach cottages raised high on stilts. Kacey had to admit that the sudden sense of isolation that hit her was eerily disturbing, yet peaceful.
Continuing northward, she shifted her gaze from the road to the sky, where not a single white cloud marred the huge expanse of blue that seemed to go on forever. This kind of openness, emptiness and lack of population was a definite contrast to what Kacey was used to. An Easterner born and bred, she considered herself a typical urban working woman who thrived on deadlines, pressure and competition in a fast-paced environment that included long hours at the office, lots of take-out dinners and hitting the live entertainment circuit with her friends to relax. Leaving all that behind to hole up in this small town was going to require a great deal of patience, flexibility and trust.
When Kacey’s cell phone rang, she checked the screen and saw that Linette was calling her back. Kacey answered, intending to keep it brief.
“Hey. Where are you?” she asked, knowing Linette was never in the same place for very long.
“At the airport. LAX,” Linette sputtered, sounding out of breath. “Just got here, and wouldn’t you guess…one of my bags is missing. This sucks. I’m shooting stills for Roberto Rogales’s new outerwear campaign tomorrow and I need my equipment!”
“Right,” Kacey replied, recalling the assignment Linette had accepted with the former Ralph Lauren protégé. “Glad that job worked out for you. But don’t worry. Your bag will show. Happens all the time.”
“It had better,” Linette tossed back. “The schedule Roberto sent looks pretty scary and I’ve got a lot to do. Anyway, I got your message. What’s up with you?”
“Well, right now I’m driving down a two-lane highway along the Texas Gulf Coast, on my way to the factory that is going to manufacture SunKissed by Kacey.” She paused to let Linette absorb her good news. “Can you believe it?”
“Get outta here! For real? Hadley accepted your swimsuit line for Leeman’s?”
“He did,” Kacey confirmed with a smile, eagerly filling Linette in on the details of her meeting with her boss and her upcoming stay in Rockport.
“That’s sooo exciting,” Linette said, clearly happy for Kacey. “Your swimsuits are the bomb! They’re gonna be a huge hit. I’ve never seen any like them.”
“Your photos played a big part in winning Hadley over. And once the manufacturer’s samples are finished, I want you to shoot those, too. My plan is to convince Hadley to send our models to Rockport for the fittings and the promotional photos. Think you can squeeze in a trip to Texas when I get to that point?”
“Of course. Count on it,” Linette assured Kacey. “I should wrap up this job by the end of the week. Just give me a call and I’ll be there.”
“Great. By the time the samples are ready to be photographed, I’ll be more than ready for some company. This temporary exile to Texas is not what I expected to be doing right now.”
“Hey, I hear you. Just focus on your work and time will fly by,” Linette advised in a rushed voice. “Hey, gotta go. My bag is here! We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Right,” Kacey agreed, ending the call and already missing her friend.
While Linette was rubbing shoulders with Hollywood types in Los Angeles, Kacey would be stuck with an old man in a factory in Texas. But it’ll be worth it, she reminded herself, refocusing on the road, surprised to see that a herd of black and white cows had gathered along the barbed-wire fence running parallel to the highway, their large brown eyes trained on her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned up the volume on the CD player and let Whitney’s new album fill the car.
Half an hour after leaving the Corpus Christi airport, Kacey finally came to a billboard splashed with large red and blue letters that announced, Welcome to Rockport. Home of Archer Industries. Slowing down, she leaned over and scrutinized the huge sign, which showcased a two-story industrial building constructed of dark red brick, flanked by groves of leafy palm trees. A mature man was posed in front of the structure, chin raised high, a big smile on his face, his deep brown skin burnished like polished wood. In his dark business suit with his arms crossed at his chest he exuded the aura of a successful businessman.
“Old man Archer,” Kacey decided, thinking the older man looked pleasant enough. Maybe working with him wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Driving on, Kacey arrived at the center of town where a gas station, a convenience store, a beauty shop and a hardware outlet anchored the four corners of the old-fashioned square. Beyond the hub of the town, Kacey caught glimpses of lacey Victorian homes on broad green lawns, as well as modest bungalow-type homes facing each other across grassy esplanades. The quaint scene that greeted her was picturesque, charming and serene. Pretty to look at but not a place where she wanted to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary.
“I’d be bored out of my skull if I had to live here,” Kacey murmured as she inched along the town’s main street, where a scattering of people were busy running errands or chatting in clusters on the wide cement sidewalks.
At the far end of the main street, she saw Seaside Suites, the economy motel where she’d booked a room for the duration. The exterior of the nondescript building was in desperate need of a paint job and there were only three other cars in the parking lot, which adjoined a rundown apartment complex surrounded by a chain-link fence.
I’ll check in after I meet with Mr. Archer, Kacey decided, glad she’d worn her Donna Karan navy suit and comfortable heels on the plane, so she could go straight to her meeting. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, pressed her shapely burgundy-tinted lips together and fluffed her honey-brown curls with one hand. Satisfied that all was fine, she nodded at her image. After all, she was representing Leeman’s, one of the most exclusive retailers in the country. A good first impression was essential, and she planned to let Mr. Archer know from the get-go that she was not some underling who was there to take orders from him, but a designer whose swimsuit line was going to become the hottest fashion label in swimwear.
Slowly passing the motel, Kacey eyed the drab appearance of her future home and sighed. The thought of living there made her heart sink, but she refused to let it get her down.
“Oh, well, at least it’s not raining,” Kacey remarked, resigned to toughing it out for as long as it took to finish the job she’d come to do.
The woman who met Kacey in the lobby of the Archer Industries building greeted her with a vise grip of a handshake and a hearty hello.
“Welcome to Archer Industries. I’m Nona James. Operations manager,” she said in a flat Texas accent that seemed to solidify her connection to the small-town plant.
“Hello, Nona. Kacey Parker. Good to meet you,” Kacey said, eyeing the woman closely. She was at least a head taller than Kacey—big-boned, buxom and very statuesque. The makeup on her buff-hued face was flawless, but a bit heavy-handed, as were the intricate chandelier earrings dangling from her