Unaccountably nervous, she had snarled at Stavros yesterday for making it all so complicated.
The evening after Mrs. Dupont had called, a seamstress had arrived at her workroom. Her mouth falling open in awe, she fingered the turquoise sheer silk of the cocktail dress, had said in broken English that she loved sewing, and would Mrs. Sporades please give her work.
Having neatly been maneuvered into it, Leah had nodded. Now, she was glad she had given in to Stavros’s tactics. Anna was not only talented but also enthusiastic. Having arranged the three dresses on a rack, Leah endlessly tidied the workroom, her stomach a tangle of nerves.
She had risked a lot to be able to make this ready for Mrs. DuPont, to arrive at this stage of making her dream come true.
And yet, it was Stavros’s challenging gaze that stayed at the forefront of her mind. The strength of her desire to show him that she was talented, hardworking, that she had what it took to succeed, only grew.
She was determined to make him see her as his equal, in this at least.
Leah would have had her meeting with the retail buyer this afternoon.
The small nugget jolted through Stavros’s subconscious like he had set up a reminder chip in his brain to go off every hour. All through his day, through numerous meetings, he found himself thinking of her, of how nervous she had been last night, of how he had seen her work long hours, only remembering to eat because Rosa threatened her.
In the last two weeks, he had found that he couldn’t fault her dedication or hard work. And the night before last, learning that she had once again skipped her dinner, he had gone into her workroom.
He had found himself on her doorstep, stunned into silence as Leah commanded Anna to turn around slowly. Being almost as tall as him, Anna was the perfect model to showcase a knee-length sheath dress in red silk.
Simple yet chic, it touched Anna with sophistication she hadn’t possessed before.
Suddenly, he was extremely glad that Giannis had pushed him and Dmitri to start their work at his textile factories on the sewing floor.
In two weeks, he had learned how dedicated and hardworking she was, and in that moment, Stavros had no doubt of her talent.
It was after six by the time the helicopter touched down at his estate. A curious eagerness buffeted him like the wind from the rotor blades.
He headed directly for her workroom, seeing the light on as he approached the house.
He found her at her drawing table, one hand around her nape, turning her head this way and then other. And then her face flopped down onto her table, her shoulders trembled, and a loud, rattling sigh escaped her.
The depth of frustration in that sound startled him.
She straightened up again, tore off sheets from her sketchpad, crumpled them and tossed them.
He must have made a sound, because she suddenly turned then. “I’m so sorry, Anna, but I won’t have any work for you in the near—”
In the few seconds before she realized that it was him, Stavros saw it. Distress and disappointment, which slowly cycled to wariness for him.
She slid off the high stool, holding herself stiff. “I thought it was Anna.”
“How did it go?” he said, his eagerness to know unprecedented.
Folding her arms defensively, she shrugged. He saw her swallow, look away, and turn toward him again.
When she met his gaze again, she looked ready to battle him. “You were right,” she said with bitterness coating it. “She didn’t like a single design. You’ll be happy to know—”
“You think I would be happy that all your backbreaking work came to nothing?”
She had the sense to look ashamed. Theos, she truly believed him to be a sadistic monster, didn’t she? Had he ever given her reason to believe otherwise?
“How so?” he asked, noting the lines of strain around her mouth.
Now, she looked stunned. “What do you mean?”
“Why did she reject them? Did she give a reason?” When she still stared at him blankly, irritation touched him. “I’m trying to have a conversation, not attack you,” he burst out.
“She thought they were far too high-end for her store, way too sophisticated and bohemian for the clientele that comes to her boutiques. Too geared toward the jet-setting club like your husband’s were her exact words.”
Whatever she had shown her, Mrs. Dupont had refused to budge from her stance. Disappointment settled on Leah’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. Had she risked everything for nothing?
“So what is your plan of action next?”
She pulled her attention back to Stavros, sharply aware of his potent presence in her small workroom. In every conversation they had ever had about her work, his interest had been genuine, and suddenly she felt like an ungrateful bitch. Grabbing the notebook, she showed him the notes she had scribbled earlier. “I did what you said I should do in the first place. Had a lengthy discussion about her expectations.” That he asked so politely made her failure even more real. “So it’s back to the drawing board for me.”
He took the book from her and flipped through the notes. “Didn’t you leave the fashion house because you wanted to give your own vision a try?”
It had been the foremost thought in her head since Mrs. DuPont had left. “Yes, it was. But it also means walking away from a sure customer, and continuing to trust my vision.”
Leaning by her side, he crossed his ankles. The long stretch of his legs in front of her, his tapering waist, the breadth of his shoulders…his masculinity was a striking contrast against her silks and dresses.
“Tell me… all the ideas you discussed today, do they excite you enough to want to risk everything like you did with me?”
Sucking in a deep breath at how effectively he shot to the heart of the matter, Leah shook her head. Talking strategy with him was the last thing she had expected.
He threw the book on the table and turned to her. “Then it is as simple as saying no, and forging ahead.”
“But—”
“I saw Anna wearing that red dress and I believe that you’re talented, Leah. Add to that, a rich husband who’s willing to feed you and supply you with endless fabric. Trust your gut and go for it.”
Stunned into a monosyllabic response, Leah stared after his retreating form hungrily, all of her crushing disappointment from the day leaving her in a whoosh. Every muscle in her body ached and yet she felt like there was a renewed fire in her.
And it was thanks to the man she had deceived and hated for years.
LEAH SMOOTHED DOWN the fabric of the beige, supremely boring satin silk she was wearing and suppressed another sigh. The dress, picked by the stylist and coming with a hefty designer tag, wasn’t ugly per se.
But the classic fitting bodice and the flaring skirt were not at all her style. With her hair pulled back from her face and the cashmere wrap, she felt thoroughly unlike herself. The heavy diamond choker lay against her throat like a dead, cold weight that could siphon off every bit of warmth from her skin.
Blinking, she