Wayward Dreams (6 page)

Turning her water glass, Julia waited, but when Bianca began to toy with the cheese shaker, her patience came to an end. “You want to tell me how this happened?”

“No.” Bianca seemed fascinated by the cheese shaker.

“Fine.”

Bianca set the cheese aside and sighed. “Okay,” she finally said. “Yesterday, my business was trashed, the man I was living with dumped me and everything he thought belonged to me on the street. He cut off all the bank accounts we shared, so I have no money. I spent last night in some no-name motel out by the airport.”

“I knew there was a man in the mix…” Julia stopped when Bianca's lips tightened. “What's his name?”

“Kelvin.” Bianca's voice thickened. “Kelvin Michael Payne, also known as KPayne.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Didn't seem to matter when he was throwing me out…”

“Oh, right.” Julia would have said more, but the look in her sister's eyes and the arrival of food stopped her. Bending her attention to her plate, Julia stole fleeting glances at the woman her sister had become. Beautiful in all the ways that usually counted, there was something different, something chastened about her.
Has she gone through something like this before?

Across the table, Bianca gathered the final bits of pasta. When she looked up, Julia was watching her. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I was just thinking that it was time for us to do business.”

“Julia, I've just told you my predicament.” Bianca lowered the napkin. “I don't think I have the energy to go through any more angst and recriminations over our relationship.”

“Nobody's asking you to. I just want…to make it right between us. Maybe I didn't exactly make it easy before, but now I can at least help. Will you let me?”

“Right now, I'm between a rock and a hard place.”

“I know, but let me show you what I think might work.” Julia flipped open the narrow presentation folder she'd brought from the office and pushed it across the table. “I did some checking while I was waiting for you.”

Bianca opened the folder and gazed at the pictures inside. They represented an eighth floor, one-bedroom condominium, facing the city's east side—hardwood floors, high ceilings, a terrace. She looked up and stared at her sister. “This is really nice, but I could never pay for it. I was hoping you would have something a little more…affordable.”

“There you go, assuming things. You didn't give me a chance to tell you what it goes for.
Koketsu ni irazunba koji o ezu
, my sister.”

“What?”

“Japanese for ‘If you do not enter the tiger's cave, you will not catch its cub.' ”

Bianca closed the folder. “That sounds a lot like ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained.' ”

“Exactly.”

“Did you forget who I am? I know high-end when I see it. I know what a place like this goes for, and I know I can't afford it—and it doesn't matter whether you say it in Japanese or in English.” Bianca pushed the folder across the table.

Julia pushed the folder back to her. “You're right, this is a really nice place. I own it, and under ordinary circumstances, I would never consider renting it. But for you, I'm more than willing to make the offer. The rental cost may be more than you'll ever want to pay, but at least ask me what the cost is.” She lowered her voice. “At least ask me.”

Bianca fingered the folder, then looked inside again. “Okay, what's the cost?”

“Be my sister again.”

“You're joking. That's it?”

“That's it, no joke,” Julia assured her, nodding in the face of her sister's disbelief. “That's what I'll charge you for rent. Just be my sister, my real sister, again.”

“I—I think I'd like that.” Bianca's smile suddenly slipped. “We don't have to do each other's hair or have sleepovers in matching pajamas or anything, do we?”

“Well, that's just stupid,” Julia sputtered. “I didn't say let's go crazy. I said let's be sisters again.”

“Are you still going to be pushy? Oh, God, and nosy, too?”

“No more than usual. I just think that if we can be sisters again, maybe we could even become friends—with time and practice, of course. That would be enough for me.”

“Sisters again…” Bianca toyed with her fork, buying time as she made up her mind. “Right now, there is nothing in the world that I would like more.”

“I'm glad, and don't forget, because I plan to collect.”

“How are you going to write
that
up in a lease?”

“Am I going to have to?

“I promise, you'll have my rent on time.” Bianca smiled. “Because as much as you need to collect it, I think I need to pay it.”

Julia grinned and lifted her glass of iced tea. She laughed when Bianca touched her glass with her own. “Here's to sisters,” they said together.

CHAPTER 4

Bianca sat in the middle of the double bed, scribbling her way across another page of her notebook, knowing that her time in the dingy motel room was nearly at an end. Flipping sheets of paper back and forth, she studied the tasks she'd outlined, and it didn't take long to settle her priorities.
I need to eat and pay bills. Business wins.

She flipped open her cell phone, and, for a minute, was almost afraid that KPayne had somehow managed to cut her phone off, too. But he didn't pay this bill; she did. KPayne didn't run everything.

Starting with her staff and suppliers, she made calls filled with promises and deals. Explaining Vive la Reine's present circumstances and its future, she kept her tone upbeat and optimistic. Some people seemed sympathetic; others were simply willing to trust her, and forgiveness crept along the edge of her thoughts. Thanks to KPayne's money, she had a good reputation, and it looked like that reputation was going to keep Vive la Reine afloat.

Sudden gratitude pushed through her thoughts. He wasn't
all
bad. Their time together hadn't all been bad; in fact, they'd shared some good times, and he had helped her out with the loan she couldn't get anywhere else. Maybe they could at least remain friends.

Whoa! What the hell am I thinking?

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Erica Lane's voice, scolding and intense:
You just like getting kicked in the head, don't you? How do you expect to be friends with someone who doesn't care about you? That boy doesn't want to be your friend. And he threw you out. Do you need to be reminded that he doesn't care where or how you landed?

Linking her fingers behind her head, Bianca stretched and paid attention to her thoughts.
He's out there living his life, and I'm sitting here. My best bet is to take care of myself. Build a life and a future for Bianca Coltrane and let Kelvin Michael Payne keep his life and his money to himself.

Determined to do just that, she moved on to the next names on her list, a pair of talented women who did the handwork on her designs. The call to the Winston sisters, Amaya and Gaia, turned out better than she'd hoped when they agreed to deliver the blouses they were working on without immediate payment.

“You've been fair with us, Miss Bianca,” Gaia, the younger one, told her. “It's only right that we return the favor.”

Grateful for the sister's willingness to bill her, Bianca disconnected the call and had a single regret as she stood to stretch. Why did Gaia feel the need to constantly call her ‘Miss Bianca,' like she was a sixty-year-old dowager?

“I'm barely mid-thirties and she addresses me like I'm ready for a rocking chair.” Moving close to the wall mirror, she twisted to see herself. The view wasn't bad, but how long did ‘mid-thirties' last, anyway? And with no man, no children, no prospects…

The cellphone rang in her hand. “Hello?”

“B? Claire here, hon.”

The Neiman's buyer's sunny drawl was a bit of bright sweetness in her ear. Bianca hoped that it didn't presage disappointment. She pressed her back against the wall, took a deep breath, and crossed her fingers.

“Hey, Claire. Please tell me you have good news.”
Please.

“I heard about the robbery on the news.” Claire's tongue clicked softly. “When they mentioned the address, I thought, ‘I know that address.' I didn't put it with you until the next day. So sad,” she sighed. “What can I do to help?”

“You can tell me that you've gotten approval for the blouses I showed you…and how many you want to order.” Bianca didn't care that her voice was ribboned with prayer. A big enough order from this woman meant light would return to her little corner of the world. “That is why you called, isn't it?”

“It is.”

Bianca wasn't sure, but she thought Claire's voice amped up a notch.
And…

“And, hon, we're going to do a trial order.”

And that means…
Bianca was half an inch from outright begging.

“That means we'll take six dozen.”

Only six dozen? That's all? Seventy-two lousy shirts?
Bianca flopped back against the wall and slid down to the floor.

“You're so quiet,” Claire said stiffly. “I thought you'd be pleased.”

Pennies add up…
Seventy-two shirts would generate some money, and beggars couldn't be choosers.
And I'm pretty much a beggar right now.
“I'm sorry, Claire. Six dozen is great. And in the Neiman market, well…thank you, is all I can say.”

“Six dozen garments going into twenty key stores may not sound like a lot, initially, but…”

Twenty stores?
Bianca sat up straight. “Six dozen shirts per store?”

“Is that going to be a problem, hon?” Claire's voice went stiff again.

“No problem at all.” Struggling to keep from dancing, Bianca gripped the phone in both hands.

“You can look for the contract within the week. Review it yourself, have it looked at by somebody you trust, get it back to me, and we'll be in business.”

“You can count on it,” Bianca promised.

“Bianca?” Claire let her voice cool. “I am sorry about your shop, but once you sign the contract, Neiman's is going to hold you to it, and so am I.” The deliberate words hung between the two women.

“Of course,” Bianca finally said.

“Have a good day, hon.”

Dread whispered across Bianca's skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
What if I sign the contract and can't deliver?

Not gonna happen.
Clutching the thought, she pushed away from the wall and walked over to the window. Morning sun slanted through the glass, brightening the room and promising perfect weather.
I'm going to sign that contract,
she promised herself,
and the Winston sisters are going to help me complete the order. They have my designs, and the fabric is already in their studio. KPayne already paid for…

His money again.

Wanting to talk to the Winston sisters again, she pushed thoughts of KPayne out of her head and punched in their number. The phone rang twice before the sisters picked up on two different extensions, giggling when they answered at the same time. Enthused, Bianca told them about the call from the Neiman's buyer, enjoying their excitement when they began listing what they would need to complete production.

“I just want to make sure you have enough supplies on hand. I don't want to run out of anything.”
Because I certainly don't have the money for extras.

“No ma'am, Miss Bianca,” Gaia said. “We have so much fabric on hand that you'll even have enough to carry your shirt in your own store when you get it back up and running.”

“And maybe make it a premium offering over the Internet,” Amaya suggested.

Bless your little entrepreneurial hearts,
Bianca thought.
The Internet hadn't even crossed my mind—yet.

The conversation over, and feeling better than she had in days, Bianca didn't even mind the thin white towels stacked in her bathroom. Finding something to wear in the snarl of things stuffed into her Vuitton bag was no problem. Dressed in jeans and tennis shoes, she had a little skip in her step as she left the motel room and headed for Vive la Reine.

She decided against taking the highway and made a few turns, taking Peachtree Street through the middle of town. Humming along with the music from the car's stereo, she told herself,
Everything's going to work out. I'm going to be okay.

She was feeling so okay under the bright Georgia sun that she was a little sorry that the Jag was not a convertible. But at least it was a car, and a nice one, to boot. Making a final turn into the lot behind Vive la Reine, she was still humming as she reached the boarded-up wreckage of her shop.

The song she was humming died in her throat the second she saw Martin Butcher. The building's owner stood with one hand on the door of Vive la Reine, and the other on his hip, watching her. Tanned, urbane, and defiantly annoyed, he stood as a witness to the destruction beyond the door.

“Miss Bianca. Have you been in there?” he demanded. “This place is about ready to be condemned.”

“I know that it was bad the other day, but I thought I should check to see what could be salvaged.” Bianca squinted behind her sunglasses. Her stomach was already telegraphing dread. “Has it gotten any worse?”

“Would it help if it had?” Butcher rolled his eyes and huffed as he slid a hand into the pocket of his carefully tailored jeans. “This is for you,” he said, slapping folded papers against his leg, then shoving them forward. “This is your lease. You're going to have to leave.”

When her mouth opened to protest, Butcher aimed the folded copies like a weapon. “Uh-uh. Read it, read it. The terminated utilities void your lease. You have to leave.”

“Martin…” Bianca wanted to fall to the asphalt and bawl like a baby, but she didn't. She pulled her large purse higher on her shoulder and tried not to tremble, because right then, humility almost hurt. “Please, can we talk this over? Try to work something out?”

“There is nothing to work out, honey. You have to go,” Butcher snapped, pushing his dark sunglasses over his eyes.

“Martin, please. We've been friends for how long? You know that when I decided to open Vive la Reine, I never considered doing business with anyone but you. Can't we work something out? How about this? If I get the utilities on in seven days, can I stay?”

“That mess? In seven days?” Butcher flapped the lease against his leg and looked back at the door. “I don't know…Seven days would take a miracle…an absolute miracle…I suppose I can put you out in seven days just as easily as I can today.” He flapped the lease again when she lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Killing me with kindness is not going to save you, Miss Missy,” he sputtered, freeing himself and looking Bianca up and down. “You don't look like yourself.” His eyes went from her tennis shoes to her face. “Those shoes
really
don't look like you.” He flapped the lease at her. “Do you really think you can get this together in seven days?” Bianca nodded. “You can have the rest of the month, Miss Scarlett, but if you open your mouth and give me one of those, ‘…as God is my witness…' speeches, you'll be gone with the wind.
Capiche
?”

“Got it.” Relief weakened her knees as Bianca watched Martin Butcher climb into his jeep and drive away. He had barely cleared the parking lot when the enormity of her promise hit her.
Seven days might just as well be seven years. Lord, where is the money going to come from?
Turning the door knob, she pushed hard and stepped into Vive la Reine.

Behind the boarded windows, a heady musk of dust and fast-growing mildew assaulted her, and she could have sworn she heard something skitter across the floor. Spiders had taken up residence, as evidenced by the cobwebs festooning the doorway leading into what had been her showroom, and she knew there was little left to salvage.

“Ms. Coltrane?”

The man's voice made her gasp and look for a weapon. Unfortunately, all she had was her oversized purse when she stumbled backward, nearly falling over a pile of still-soggy clothing. The man's hand caught her elbow.

“Who
are
you?” she screeched.

“Aldrich Christian.”

Putting the name with the face, she immediately remembered him. He was the tall, slender attorney with the peanut butter-colored skin and graying goatee, the one who wrote the contracts for Vive la Reine. Righting herself, Bianca snatched her arm back and glared at the man. Realizing that he couldn't see her glaring, she pulled off her shades and moved toward the open door. He deserved the full effect. Standing in the slash of sunlight, she propped her hands on her hips and glared again.

“How can I help you, Mr. Christian?”

Following her to the door, he pulled an envelope from his breast pocket. “I'm here to deliver this.”

Now what?
Bianca shot him another glare, just in case, as she took the envelope and tore it open. The letter she unfolded referenced the loan documents she'd signed and said that KPayne was exercising his right to take everything, including any surviving stock and all fixtures, if she didn't pay off the loan immediately and in full.

Surviving stock?
“Is he serious?”

“I believe so,” Christian said, failing to realize that the question was rhetorical. When Bianca's hazel eyes speared him like a small fish, he said nothing more, not even when she twisted the letter into a knot and dropped it to the moldering floor. Unmoving, the attorney stood in front of her like a place holder, trying to do his job—enforce Kelvin Michael Payne's will.

The space around her felt preternaturally still, and the only sound Bianca heard was her own breathing. “You tell him,” she finally said, “tell him I don't have the money he's asking for. I don't have it any more now than I did when he called me. You tell him he will have to abide by the original agreement and wait like all of my other creditors, or he can take nothing at all. I don't care about the immediate-demand clause. You tell him I have nothing; he already saw to that.” Stepping back, she jerked the door wider. “And you tell him he can't just ride through my life like this, trying to scare me. That won't work, because this is just business.”

“There are limits, Ms. Coltrane.”

“Eviction is one of my limits. Throwing me out without notice and his threatening call already crossed most of the others.”

Christian started to say something, then thought better of it. He'd never been punched by a woman, and this woman looked ready to throw one. His retainer didn't cover that. “I'll tell him,” he said, stepping through the door and heading for his car.