Simone couldn’t help but smile at that, but she didn’t comment.
“Ryan!” The call bordered on petulant, but didn’t quite make it. “What do you think of this?”
This was the dark gray silk corset meant to be paired with the robe, and Jade clearly expected an opinion, right now, while Ryan stood beside her.
“Ryan,” he said to Simone as he stood. “Not sir. Ryan.”
“Of course, sir,” she said. She knew her place. It was here, in her own shop, keeping her eye on the goal of making Agent Provocateur, Myla, and Tallulah surrender a significant portion of their market share.
He huffed out a laugh as he brushed past her into the showroom. Even now, almost a year into the lease, she felt a rush of pride. The space, in a prime location in the Fashion District, was mixed use, the top floor of what used to be a manufacturing space and was now a showroom, a workroom, and a tiny apartment at the back. The original hardwood floors, polished to a fresh gleam, ran the length of the space. She’d painted the showroom walls a metallic silver to play up the light, and the workroom walls white to keep the light pure. The interior of the shop was warm from the sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Mannequins modeled ready-to-wear ensembles. Columns of wooden cubes rose behind tables displaying folded items; strategically placed trunks held lightweight throws. The four-post bed, elaborate enough for Marie Antoinette, displayed robes and nightdresses draped over pulled back bedding, hinting at the point of lingerie like this.
Ryan had heeded Jade’s call and was now standing by a rack of silk nightdresses. Their heads were bent together, and as Simone crossed the floor to the door leading to her workroom, she couldn’t help but notice that almost every other woman in the shop covertly glanced at the pair of them. Which one drew their eyes? Even without makeup, Jade was stunningly beautiful in a way that women had been conditioned to not only accept, but to try to emulate. She was tall, rail thin, and putting on a very good show of being comfortable in her body, even though Simone had spent enough time around runway models to know better.
But Ryan, while not classically handsome, was more compelling. He was shorter than Jade, even when she wasn’t wearing the four-inch heels, but when they were standing side-by-side Simone wouldn’t have guessed that. He radiated a Wall Street wolf’s power, a confidence that came from wild success. Not much could drag a man like that away from the markets, but sex usually did the trick. But as she watched Ryan with Jade, she got the sense that he was on edge, a certain tightness around his eyes and jaw.
Simone opened the door leading to her workroom, and waited while Jade selected several additional items to try on. Ryan trailed in her wake as she stalked, head held high, through the door. He gave Simone a little wink when he crossed the threshold. Simone waited until she caught Lorrie’s eye, then tipped her head in the direction of the wrecked silver dressing room. Lorrie blinked resignedly, but she nodded.
Jade, who’d undoubtedly been in dozens of designers’ work spaces, headed straight for the three-way mirror but Ryan looked around the workroom with interest. Rows of sewing machines designed to handle any fabric from the sheerest of lace to leather were lined up near the window, taking advantage of as much natural light as they could get in Manhattan’s canyons. The fabrics she’d chosen for her current collection were stacked in huge bolts along one wall with notions and trim collected in drawers and on rolls next to the fabrics. The close proximity to wholesale fabrics and other accoutrements was the primary reason why she had located in the fashion district. “You make everything on-site?”
“Yes,” Simone said. By doing so, she retained complete control over the production process, and over quality. If her growth predictions proved accurate and with a bit of luck—the right magazine spread, social media buzz—she would need additional space in a year or so.
Without any direction Jade took up position in front of the three-way mirror. Comfortable chairs gathered around it, with low tables and outlets in the floor for laptops and other peripherals. Simone slipped the pincushion her grand-mère had entrusted to her when she was five years old onto her wrist, and began securing the shoulders, waist, and hip of the robe. Then she tucked her tailored black skirt under her bottom and went to her heels to pin the hem.
“Would you like me to hem the robe with or without the shoes?” Surely the woman didn’t plan to wear them all the time, but if Simone hemmed the robe with the shoes, then when she was barefoot, the silk hem would trail along the ground. When an answer didn’t come quickly, she looked up the considerable length of Jade’s body, only to find her looking in the mirror at Ryan.