he even picked it up, he recognized the trademark black striped underside that marked every Frederick K design. Then the scribbled autograph of the designer, sewn into the leather base. An F, a squiggle, then a K. The man could have been a doctor, given the disaster he made out of his own signature.
Before he could think about what he was doing, Caleb had tucked the shoe into his jacket, called a cab and headed to his meeting. Someone was undoubtedly missing this shoe—
But Caleb sure as hell wasn’t missing this opportunity to one-up the shark threatening to send LL Designs to the bottom of the crowded, competitive fashion ocean. People were counting on him to keep this ship afloat, and by God, he’d do that.
Yeah, but how? the little voice in the back of his head asked. He couldn’t let his employees down. But most of all, couldn’t let his mother down. She might not be aware of what was happening with the company, but he held on to the thought that maybe someday she would be back, and if she returned, she’d want to see that he had been a good steward of her legacy.
“So … now that you have the elusive Frederick K shoe,” Martha said, “what are you going to do with it?” She clutched it to her chest, as if she couldn’t part with the right-foot treasure.
Caleb leaned forward and pried the stiletto out of Martha’s hand, then put it back on his shelf. “Keep it. And then rush an even hotter design into production. We’ve been talking about launching a line of shoes for years, and we got all geared up to do just that before the bottom dropped out of the industry. I think now’s the time. This just fell into my lap—literally—and it’d be insane not to take advantage of it.”
“You’re finally going to take that leap?” Martha’s smile widened in approval. “It’s about damned time.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. It probably is.”
“And for what it’s worth, your mother would be proud.”
The words sent a sharp pang through Caleb. Proud. Would she be?
Caleb’s gaze landed on the painting of his mother that hung on the far wall. The oil likeness had captured a younger Lenora, not the woman he knew now. A constant smile curved across her face, and her platinum-blond hair was piled on top of her head in a loose chignon, the same one she’d worn nearly every day, half the time with a pencil stuck in the knot. She seemed to be looking down on him and patiently waiting for him to pull off a miracle.
To do the right thing.
He closed his eyes, unable to look at her image another second. The right thing. Did he even know what that was?
“Proud?” Caleb said, looking away from his mother’s image. “Of what I’ve done to her company? Of how I’ve nearly ruined a lifetime of work in a little over a year?”
Martha leaned in toward him, her expression stern. “You got on the back of a wild elephant when you took the reins of this company. I know it’s been difficult, but you’re doing a better job than you think. And now …” She pressed a hand to her chest and the smile returned. “… you’re taking a risk. Jumping off into the great unknown. That’s the kind of thing Lenora did.”
He hadn’t thought about launching a shoe line as repeating his mother’s brazen business antics. If that was so, then maybe this was the ticket to relaunching the company into a successful orbit.
“What are you going to use for designs?” Martha asked.
He toyed with the heel of the shoe. It was truly a work of art, all sleek lines, with a deep V at the toe and a T-strap edged in gold metallic. “I was thinking of letting Kenny try his hand at a couple—”
“Don’t. He doesn’t get shoes. I should know, I’m a girl.” Martha smiled. “An old girl, but one who still loves her shoes.”
Martha had a point. The problem was, talented designers weren’t exactly in great supply at LL Designs. Just before his mother stepped down, the company had lost two of the best on staff, then another two as the economy had dragged the once-profitable company down. And the inspiration for the company, the one with all the ideas, was too ill for consultation. Maybe forever.
Somehow, Caleb had to do this on his own, and do it better than he had been doing for the past year. “Maybe I’ll have to hire some outside help,” he said, though he still didn’t know how he could afford that. Caleb rose, scooping up the shoe and his BlackBerry. “Either way, I’ll figure it out.” The weight of every decision he made hung heavy on his shoulders. Was this shoe—and the company’s entry into footwear—the miracle he needed? Maybe. Though a whisper of doubt told him if he didn’t fix the problems he was having with the collection as a whole, footwear wasn’t going to resurrect LL Designs, either. “I’m going to pop over to Smart Fashion and see if I can get any buzz on the Frederick K collection.”
And maybe see if he could find out why this shoe had been on the ground. There were very few people in the industry who would have access to this accessory. The magazine, which had been a favorite of Frederick K’s for years, was at the top of his mental list. Someone there had to know something about this shoe, and maybe even what the designer had in store for the rest of his shoe line.
“You’re going yourself?” Martha asked.
Caleb nodded.
“But you hate the media. Especially that magazine.”
The headlines flashed in his head again. The question marks, the massive black letters, all of them trying to capitalize on his mother’s sudden retirement, and then return like vultures to pick at every misstep the company had made since then. Not just the company, but his own life, too. He’d become the punching bag of the gossip column at Behind the Scenes, the tabloid arm of Smart Fashion. Every move he made was chronicled in living color. Yes, he hated the media, and hated Behind the Scenes the most. The tabloid was nothing but trash with advertising.
The problem—it and its sister publication were the highest-circulation trash with advertising in his industry.
Either way, he didn’t trust the media. He’d learned early on that those in the media wanted only one thing—the headline, no matter the personal carnage along the way.
“You haven’t exactly been Mr. Friendly with the reporters in the past.” Martha made a face. “They’re still talking about that incident in Milan.”
And still making him pay for it, too, with one gossip-riddled story after another. The reporters had focused their laser eyes on his love life—or what they surmised about his love life—rather than the company. It had netted him nothing but bad press. Press he could hardly afford, given the shaky state of LL Designs lately.
If he was smart, he’d stay home every night. Staying home meant allowing the quiet to get to him, letting his thoughts travel down the very paths he was using the lights and noises of nightclubs to help him avoid.
At least the tabloids hadn’t uncovered the one truth that would put the final nail in the coffin of his reputation. So far, the reporters had been content to focus on his nightlife rather than where he spent every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday afternoon. He’d taken great pains to assure his mother’s privacy was maintained. An out-of-state rehab facility. A well-paid, compassionate nursing team. And a constant request for discretion from all who knew Lenora.
“Maybe
