Nobody's Fool (12 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“Melina, your schedule is impossible,” Jolie informed her new boss for what felt like the tenth time. “And you are never going to get buyers to attend a preview of your line in Atlanta in July! You can’t expect them to cancel one of their weekends in the Hamptons for this. LA maybe. Atlanta? No way.”

Melina frowned, her beautifully maintained brows drawing together over aquamarine eyes, her sensuous lips turned down.

“I am boss. You not argue with me.”

“Then fire me,” Jolie shot back, almost wishing Melina would. “Your expectations are unrealistic.”

“Maybe Court wrong about you.”

“Maybe he was.”

She’d been in Atlanta for exactly one week and from the moment she’d arrived she’d regretted her decision. Jolie had been in such a rush to prove something to Court, or perhaps to herself, she’d barely scanned the revised contract before she’d signed it and overnighted it back. She’d imagined Court’s surprise when he learned of her acceptance. Take that! She wasn’t afraid of him or anyone else, nor was she afraid of their opinion about the collection she’d design for Melina’s brand.

But that was then and this was now. She hadn’t realized Melina expected Jolie to
live
with her, but when she reviewed the contract she realized that’s exactly what she’d signed on for. Melina wanted complete access and with her training schedule, upcoming matches, travel and social life, Jolie could see that was the only way Melina would have time to oversee development of the line.

Melina’s compound included a guest cottage just beyond the tennis court and swimming pool and it was there that Jolie had been installed. Melina had rearranged her formal dining room to serve as a work space. Melina’s cousin, Sophina, who spoke little English but could sew anything Jolie designed and could understand Jolie’s improvised sign language, was available around the clock.

All the arrangements Melina had made were ideal, except for her timeline. A fact Jolie had been trying to explain to her for the past three days.

In one of her lightning-fast changes of mood, Melina’s annoyance disappeared. “Let’s look at schedule.”

They were in Melina’s gigantic kitchen, facing each other across a center island covered in polished black granite. From her perch on one of the stools, Melina opened a drawer and withdrew a calendar. Reluctantly, Jolie circled the island to join her. They’d been over this already and Jolie had a sinking feeling she knew what would come next. Melina would wheedle and cajole and explain to Jolie how exactly they would make it all happen.

Jolie stared at the calendar over Melina’s shoulder. She figured she had at best three months to put together an entire collection, most of which had not yet been given Melina’s final approval. Jolie still needed to acquire the materials and do cost estimates for each look. Melina had people already working on deals with factories for mass production.

But they’d need a catalog for buyers, which meant each look had to be complete. A photo shoot had to be scheduled, models had to be interviewed… The list went on and on. In Melina’s mind, however, launching a brand new fashion line was a breeze and she couldn’t even imagine what all the fuss was about.

“You’re leaving for the French Open the middle of May. You have Wimbledon at the end of June.”

“Correct.”

“And you’ve set the soft launch for the end of July.”

“Yes. I will be on roll then,” Melina informed her. “No better time to build momentum before the U.S. Open.”

“Which is at the end of August.”

“Yes. I already in New York. I will be hot news after I win. We head right into Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. No better time to build buzz, no?”

The thought of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week made Jolie almost physically sick with trepidation. That internal voice that told her she wasn’t good enough, didn’t have what it took to make it as a top fashion designer echoed through her head. Not for the first time Jolie wished she possessed just a drop of Melina’s confidence. How did she do it? She was only a few years younger than Jolie yet she seemed to believe anything was possible. She had the world by the tail and she was the one in charge.

As if Melina had read her thoughts, she said, “Jolie. You design. I hire Danny Carpenter. He take care of everything else. You tell me what you need. Together we make it happen.”

“If you say so. Just one question. Who’s Danny Carpenter?”

Jolie stared at the business card she’d just been given. She was knee deep in bolts of wool crepe and he was the third interruption this morning.

New Millennium Events
, the card read.
Leave the details to us. Daniel Carpenter, Event Specialist.

“Melina told you to expect me, I hope?” Daniel said with a cocksure smile.

Jolie couldn’t quite contain her sigh of annoyance. No matter how well she planned each day, the universe conspired to keep her from accomplishing anything. Today would be no exception.

She assessed Daniel Carpenter. Her first thought was he didn’t know the first thing about how to put together a fashion show. No matter what Melina thought about this man’s capabilities, Jolie was certain she could add event planner to her own list of duties.

“She mentioned you,” Jolie answered noncommittally. If Melina had set up an appointment with him, this was the first Jolie was hearing about it.

He stepped carefully around the room, eyeing the bolts of fabric which were stacked everywhere along the perimeter, the mannequins with partially completed garments draped over them, the huge dining table Jolie used as a workspace which was littered with drawings and tape measures, ribbon, buttons, more fabric and an empty venti-sized Starbucks cup.

His self-guided tour of the room gave her an opportunity to study him further. She’d noted dark blue eyes behind his Harry Potter glasses and waves of dark hair. With his casual demeanor, he made Jolie think of a preppie kid who studied hard but knew how to have fun.

“You can call me Danny. And you’re the Jolie Kramer Melina’s told me about.”

“Danny, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m working on a dozen things right now and they’re all behind schedule. Do you have any idea how to coordinate a runway show? Where to hire models, how to put together a catalog?”

“Yes.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Melina thought you’d be skeptical, and you’re right. I can’t do it all. My skill is knowing where to find those who do. All I need from you is a timeline. I’ve already booked the venue. I’ve discussed a theme with Melina and my staff is working on that. I’ve got a modeling agency’s book, which I’ll leave with you. I’m reviewing six bids for photographers for the catalog and four bids from printers.”

“What about invitations?”

“Preliminary designs will be ready next week. We’re preparing a guest list for you and Melina to look at by Friday.”

“After party?”

“Private room reserved at Le Rivage per Melina’s request. The chef’s working on a menu.”

“I’m impressed,” Jolie admitted.

“
Atlanta Life
also wants to do a feature for the summer issue. I told them I’d get back to them.”

Jolie smiled. This was reassuring. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

Danny smiled back. “Like the card says, leave the details to us. If you have questions, concerns, or think of anything I haven’t, give me a call, okay? Otherwise, I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Jolie, we need to talk.”

Jolie sighed in resignation hoping Melina didn’t notice. Every time Melina popped into the workroom and wanted to talk it was always about one of the designs. Melina was a never-ending source of suggestions, ideas and outright demands for minor changes on pieces Jolie considered finished.

The fact that Melina was right every time was small comfort considering the extra work she created for Jolie, Sophina and Sophina’s assistant, yet another cousin named Danica.

Jolie pasted on a smile. “Certainly, Melina. What is it?”
This time.

“Is about the guest house.”

“Yes?”

“My mother and my aunt Zora insist on coming over. They do not want to wait until week of show.”

Jolie waited. She’d been ensconced in Melina’s guest house since her arrival. It was the perfect space with its own small kitchen, sitting area, bedroom and bath. Plus it was close to the workspace here, convenient if inspiration struck in the middle of the night, or if Jolie needed a short break during the day.

“They will be staying there.”

“But there’s only one bedroom,” Jolie pointed out.

“Yes. They do not mind sharing.”

The idea of being ousted to the small sofa in the living room made Jolie more than a little upset. How dare she evict her! Jolie narrowed her eyes at Melina.

“I have made arrangement for you. Comfortable place. Very close.”

“Where?”

“Court’s house. It is on street right behind tennis court, there is gate—”

“Wait a minute. You want me to move in with Court? Absolutely not!”

“He has guest room, private bath. Very convenient. He say you are welcome to use. It is perfect.”

“If it’s so perfect why don’t you have your mother and aunt stay there?”

Melina looked affronted. “They are family.”

“I’ll stay in a hotel.”

“No. Hotel is too far away. You agree to living quarters I arrange. Is in contract.”

Was it? Living with Melina was one thing, but this? What was she playing at? What was Court playing at? What if he and Melina had cooked up this clause as a way to get Jolie into Court’s house? So he could…what? Wear her down? Get her to forgive him?

That was not going to happen and by God if that’s what the two of them were playing at she’d show them both. First she’d take a look at the contract and call her attorney. If she’d agreed to such a relocation, she’d stand by her agreement. But she’d make Court suffer for it. She would add this to the long list of things she’d never forgive him for.

“Will you excuse me?” she asked Melina. Without waiting for a response she walked out of the workroom.

In the guest house, she located her copy of the contract while she was on hold for her attorney. She scanned the fine print until she found the appropriate clause.

She had indeed agreed to Melina defining where she would reside until the collection was complete to Melina’s satisfaction. That meant she would be stuck in Court’s house for several weeks.

She sank to the edge of the bed. The very idea of being forced into living in Court’s house for weeks gave her an unsettled feeling of dismay. Could she really feign indifference that long? As it was, she’d caught only a glimpse of Court now and then since she’d been here. Those meetings had been thankfully brief, passing moments where she’d had to do no more than utter a civil greeting and excuse herself.

Jolie glanced at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Every day she made an effort to look her best. Hair. Make-up. Outfit. All on the off chance that she might cross paths with Court. At night, when she retreated to the privacy of the guest house she did as she pleased, donning sweats or shorts and T-shirts, cleaning her face and not worrying how she looked because no one saw her.

She wouldn’t be able to do any of that in Court’s house. She’d always have to be on. Unless she stayed in her room the whole time. The thought of putting on an act for Court’s benefit every night was daunting. Pretending she didn’t care, acting like there was nothing between them, that she’d gotten over what he’d done to her.

She’d spent too much of her life pretending. She didn’t want to live in that house. But the alternative, letting Court see how much she still hurt over what he’d done, that she still cared and wished they could make things right between them, was unthinkable.

Somehow she’d have to tough it out. Get through it until Melina’s collection launched and she could escape.

Three days later Krystian and Sophina helped move Jolie’s things into Court’s guest room. Court was out of town, which Jolie considered a small blessing. He had left a binder on the kitchen counter with instructions for everything from the remote controls for the televisions and sound system to the alarms and garage door opener code. His cleaning lady came every Thursday. Contact information for service people was at the back.

Once Jolie had unpacked—taking time to appreciate the well-appointed bathroom and the generous closet space—she explored Court’s house.

It was significantly smaller than Melina’s, of course. Court didn’t have a tennis court, a guest house or a four-car garage. But he had four bedrooms with a separate master suite, a home office and a beautiful kitchen that looked out over the swimming pool and deck.

He’d forgone a formal living room and created a space primarily for entertaining. An entire wall was taken up with a large multimedia setup and comfortable leather sofas and chairs were grouped around it.

Jolie wandered into the master suite, curious about Court’s private space. There was a massive king bed heaped with pillows covered in shams that matched the comforter. The décor was made of sturdy pieces of furniture and geometric patterns. Strong, solid and definitely male.

His walk-in closet featured drawers and shelves and a full-length mirror. His clothes were organized from formal to informal. Jolie ran a hand along the sleeve of a business suit and caught a whiff of Court’s cologne. She leaned closer and breathed in, memories of their time together in Oak Ridge assaulting her senses. She stepped back before sadness could overwhelm her.

His bathroom reflected even more of him. A walk-in shower with multiple body jets and a rain shower overhead. Tile and granite with towels in navy blue and shades of wheat. A Jacuzzi bathtub.

She opened one of the mirrored medicine chests and picked up his razor, inspected his dental floss and hair care products.

Jolie had no idea why she felt compelled to snoop. She knew Court. Or at least she had once. But what she knew of Court hadn’t allowed for his vindictive behavior. So maybe she didn’t really know him at all.

She sat on the edge of the bed and opened a nightstand drawer. There were recent copies of magazines in there—
Forbes
,
Inc.
,
Sports Illustrated
. A small box of tissues. A pack of throat lozenges. An envelope addressed to Court. Knowing she shouldn’t, Jolie picked up the envelope. It had an Oak Ridge postmark and was dated last fall. The return address was Justin Wright’s.

Inside were pictures from the reunion. Jolie had been vaguely aware of Justin hovering nearby at every event, taking candid shots of all the participants. Justin had been the kid in their class who’d always had a camera in his hand. He’d been responsible for many of the yearbook filler photos.

Jolie leafed through the photos, which was like a montage of the reunion from start to finish. There was one of her and Court in the corner of the Cedar View Supper Club, holding drinks, each focused on the other. That must have been after Court had dragged her away from Chip and Sarah. Another of them struggling along at the three-legged race, several of their opponents in the background downed. One of them collapsed on the ground at the finish line. Jolie stared at that one for a long time and the happy expression on her face. Another of him swinging her around after their team won the Life Savers competition. A final shot of them side by side at the picnic table, their heads close together.

A lump swelled in Jolie’s throat.
How can we look so right together when everything went so wrong?

She pushed the photos back into the envelope and closed the drawer. She went to her own room, where she vowed to spend as much time as possible for the duration of her stay. She huddled under the covers trying to pretend it didn’t matter, that she didn’t care, but it was no good. Happiness had slipped through her fingers, and in the end the tears won out.

Two nights later Jolie pushed through Melina’s back gate. She stepped out onto the paved walkway that ran between Melina’s and Court’s properties. Blackthorne Hills had been designed as a multi-level development with maximum green space. Every neighborhood included walkways and bike trails, dog runs, playgrounds and sections of land left to nature. The less expensive properties were at the front of the development. Melina, being Melina, had purchased a double lot to accommodate her enormous home, tennis facility, guest house and swimming pool. Court’s was one tier below hers, just having a small pool.

Jolie let herself in through the laundry room’s side door, which led into the kitchen. The television from the living room hummed in the background. The under-cabinet lights cast a warm glow over the granite countertops. The aroma of something divine hung in the air though nothing was cooking. Her stomach rumbled. She heard Court’s voice coming from his office. She stood still for a moment to listen. He was on the phone discussing details of a contract.

She tiptoed down the hall to her room and closed the door as quietly as possible. She kicked off her shoes and found her favorite pullover and yoga pants. Her plan was to grab some food from the kitchen while he was still on the phone and bring it back to her room. Eat. Shower. Fall into bed. All without running into Court.

She reached for the doorknob when a tap from the other side made her jump. “Jolie?”

Court, of course. Who else? She stepped away from the door and offered a nonchalant, “Yes?”

The aroma from earlier seemed to have followed her into her room. Her stomach rumbled again. The cup of fruit she’d had at lunchtime hadn’t stuck with her, and she hadn’t taken the time to break for an afternoon snack.

“I got Chinese,” Court said. “Kung pao chicken, shrimp in garlic sauce, fried rice, soup—”

Jolie whipped the door open, all thoughts of avoiding Court evaporated. She’d just remembered there was virtually nothing of hers in the refrigerator except a couple of yogurts and a Lean Cuisine. “Good, let’s eat.”

Court stepped back, cradling the take-out bag to his chest so she could lead the way to the kitchen.

Jolie got plates and utensils out while Court unpacked the food. He’d bought more than one person could possibly eat. Obviously he’d planned to have her join him for dinner. She didn’t see the harm. At the moment, all she cared about was food.

“Want a beer?” he asked.

She slid into one of the chairs and started opening the containers. “Sure.”

He set an opened bottle of Kieran Light on the table and took the chair across from her.

Jolie piled food on her plate and started eating, ignoring the manners her mother had instilled in her.

Court did the same, except she was aware of him looking her way more than once. She didn’t attempt conversation and he seemed to know better than to try.

Jolie ate like she was preparing to hibernate, finished her beer and pushed her chair back. She rinsed her plate and put it in the dishwasher along with her utensils. Her beer bottle went into the recycling bin.

“Thanks,” she said. She walked past the table without looking at Court. “I’ll buy next time.”

Any sense of triumph she felt at having ignored Court faded the moment she closed her bedroom door. She wasn’t just behaving as if she were indifferent. She was being downright rude. Her mother would be appalled at her.

Jolie stripped out of her clothes and got into the shower. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to encourage Court or let him think that she’d forgiven him. If she was pleasant to him, he might take it as a softening of her attitude.

“Oh, what’s wrong with me?” she asked as she shampooed her hair. She didn’t recognize herself any more. She thought longingly of those therapy seminars she’d attended. What would Caroline say? She pictured herself on the stage with her.

How does that make you feel?

I feel awful.

Why do you think you behaved that way?

I behaved that way because Court hurt me and I’m angry with him for what he did.
What would you like to change about your behavior?

I’d like to change the fact that I’m having trouble acting like I don’t care.

Jolie could hear Caroline’s calm measured voice say triumphantly,
You are the only one who has control over what you do and what you say. You have a choice about how you treat other people
.

Her repetitive self-analyzing thoughts tumbled over themselves while she dried her hair and brushed her teeth. She crawled into bed, confident she could find a happy medium in her future interactions with Court. Polite but distant. Professional. That’s what she’d strive for after she apologized for her earlier behavior.

Court brooded in front of the television after he’d stowed the leftovers in the fridge. He didn’t know what he’d expected from Jolie, but he hadn’t expected to be ignored. She’d barely said two words the whole time. She refused to even look at him. She’d turned into an ice princess, and he wondered once again at the wisdom of allowing Melina to talk him into this arrangement.

Initially he’d thought it was a good idea to have Jolie in his house where she couldn’t avoid him. But he wasn’t going to corner her and try to clear the air. Not unless he wanted to have his eyes scratched out. She wasn’t ready to forgive him. Hell, she wasn’t ready to even speak to him. The situation was far worse than he’d imagined.

He gave up and went to bed where he tossed and turned trying to come up with a better plan to bring Jolie around. Plan D should probably be to stop making plans altogether. At least where Jolie was concerned. The only thing he kept coming back to was something his mother said often when he was growing up: Time heals all wounds.