Patricia Kay - Holiday by Design

Joanna grimaced. “I really don’t have a choice.”

“You’ll keep working for Chick?”

“I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to try to find another job, either. I mean, how many part-time jobs can there be that pay as well as mine?”

“I don’t want you to keep working for Chick, either,” Georgie said fiercely. “He’s a total jerk.”

“I realize that now. I seem to attract that kind of person. In lovers and in bosses.” Joanna was grateful Georgie was a good enough friend she never rubbed Joanna’s nose in the fact that she’d warned her against getting involved with both Chick and Ivan Klemenko—a designer she’d done some work for who’d stolen her ideas and passed them off as his own—from day one. And Joanna, as usual, had willfully gone her own way...and paid the price. She sighed heavily. What was done was done. And nothing was going to change the past now. “Look, that’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you for a change.”

For the next ten minutes, Georgie filled Joanna in on the doings in the Prince household. Finally, when Joanna was about to say she’d better get back to work, Georgie said, “I have something else to tell you. But you have to promise you won’t laugh.”

“Laugh? Why would I laugh? What have you done now?”

“Well, after all the years I’ve said I didn’t want children...” Georgie’s voice trailed off.

It took a few seconds for the import of Georgie’s statement to sink in. Then Joanna squealed. “Georgie! Are you pregnant? I don’t believe it!”

Georgie laughed, the sound filled with joy. “I know. I don’t believe it, either.”

“Oh, Georgie, that’s wonderful.” Joanna told herself she was not jealous. She did not begrudge this to her friend. “How...how far along are you?” Georgie and Zach had been married in April.

“A little over three months. I went to the doctor yesterday.”

“Wow.”

“Yes. Wow.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Joanna, I’m so happy I can’t believe it. We haven’t told anyone yet except my mom, not even the children.” Zach had three children from his previous marriage. The youngest, Emma, was just four. The oldest, Katie, was eleven. Remembering how unhappy Katie had been at first, before Georgie had won her over, Joanna said, “What do you think Katie will say?”

“I don’t know. I’m a little worried, to tell you the truth.”

“I’ll bet she’ll be fine. Most girls love having a little sister.”

“Except she already has a little sister.”

“I know, but think about yourself. You have three younger sisters, and you once told me you were thrilled about every one of them.”

They talked another ten minutes about the baby, which was due the middle of March, and about how the velvet gown could work even around a baby bump, then began to say their goodbyes. Before hanging up, Georgie said, “Hang in there, Jo.”

Joanna made a face. “I will. Actually, on Monday, I plan to visit Up and Coming, that gallery I told you about. Who knows? They might agree to let me show my collection there, and then maybe one of the banks will change its mind and lend me the money I need.” She made a face. “Yeah, and I’ll probably win the lottery, too.”

“See? I knew you’d come up with another idea,” Georgie said, completely ignoring Joanna’s attempt at dark humor. “And if the gallery and loan don’t work out for you, Zach and I will be happy to finance the rest of the collection.”

“I know. You’ve already told me that. But I can’t let you do that, Georgie. What if...” But Joanna couldn’t give voice to her greatest fear, not even to Georgie.

“Do not say it, Joanna! You will not fail. Your collection will be a huge hit. Huge. Listen, I know fashion. So do my sisters. And we all love your clothes.”

With that ringing endorsement still reverberating in her ears, Joanna said goodbye. But the moment the connection was broken, her spirits flagged again. Yes, Georgie and her sisters did love her clothes, but they were prejudiced.

So even if the owner of Up and Coming said yes to her on Monday, and even if one of the banks did change its mind and lend her the money to finish the collection, she could still fail.

As soon as the thought formed, she got mad at herself. What was wrong with her? Why was she even entertaining such a negative idea? She was not and never had been a negative person. She was a chance taker. She believed in herself and in her talent.

Georgie was right. She would succeed!

No matter what it took.

* * *

“Will you be home for dinner tonight, Marcus?”

Marcus Osborne Barlow III shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Mother. Walker and I have a dinner meeting scheduled.” Walker Creighton was the family’s longtime lawyer and also sat on the board of Barlow International. When his mother didn’t answer, Marcus looked up from the Seattle Times. Her grayish-blue eyes—whose color he’d inherited—seemed stricken. “What’s wrong?”

She looked down at her half-eaten English muffin. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”

It was never nothing with his mother. Ever since his father’s unexpected death of a heart attack fifteen years earlier just before Marcus’s twenty-first birthday in his third year of college, Laurette Bertrand Barlow had been incapable of handling much more than what to have for dinner. And sometimes she seemed incapable of doing even that. She hadn’t always been this way. When his father was alive, she’d been a different woman. Or had she? Maybe, like most young people, he’d simply been too wrapped up in his own life to notice.

Marcus finished the last of his coffee and put the paper down. He’d learned that coaxing his mother didn’t work, so he simply sat there quietly. After long seconds, she finally met his gaze. “It’s Vanessa.”

“What about her?” he said more sharply than he’d intended.

“She talked back to me last night. I will not be talked to that way, Marcus.”

Vanessa was Marcus’s twenty-year-old sister. Only five when their father died, she idolized Marcus. And he adored her, even as he sometimes despaired of making her into the kind of young lady who would do the Barlow family and company proud. The kind of young lady a man so seldom found nowadays.

“What did she say to you?” he asked.

His mother flushed. “She told me I was stupid.”

“Stupid!” Marcus was appalled. Sometimes he understood why Vanessa was impatient with their mother. After all, Laurette was often difficult to deal with. But showing disrespect, no matter the provocation, would not be tolerated. Especially since Creighton had been urging Marcus to assume more international business travel. How could he take charge abroad when his mother and sister still expected him to mediate their disagreements?

Suppressing a sigh, he said, “I’ll speak to her.” He put down his paper, rose and headed for the stairs.

Five minutes later, he knocked on Vanessa’s bedroom door. In the mood he was in, he almost went in without waiting for an answer, but if he was to lead by example, good manners dictated he wait.

“Is that you, Mother?” was followed by the door opening. Vanessa, blond hair still tousled from sleep, stood there in a very short blue bathrobe and bare feet. Her eyes, dark blue like their father’s had been, lost their defiant glare when she realized it was her brother at the door and not her mother.

“I thought you’d already gone to the office,” she said, smiling.

“I have a meeting in Kirkland today.” Wasn’t she cold?

“Oh.”

“Don’t you have a class this morning?” Vanessa was taking a couple of design classes at the Art Institute of Seattle.