there.”
“Great. By the time the samples are ready to be photographed, I’ll be more than ready for some company. This temporary exile to Texas is not what I expected to be doing right now.”
“Hey, I hear you. Just focus on your work and time will fly by,” Linette advised in a rushed voice. “Hey, gotta go. My bag is here! We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Right,” Kacey agreed, ending the call and already missing her friend.
While Linette was rubbing shoulders with Hollywood types in Los Angeles, Kacey would be stuck with an old man in a factory in Texas. But it’ll be worth it, she reminded herself, refocusing on the road, surprised to see that a herd of black and white cows had gathered along the barbed-wire fence running parallel to the highway, their large brown eyes trained on her. Shaking her head in disbelief, she turned up the volume on the CD player and let Whitney’s new album fill the car.
Half an hour after leaving the Corpus Christi airport, Kacey finally came to a billboard splashed with large red and blue letters that announced, Welcome to Rockport. Home of Archer Industries. Slowing down, she leaned over and scrutinized the huge sign, which showcased a two-story industrial building constructed of dark red brick, flanked by groves of leafy palm trees. A mature man was posed in front of the structure, chin raised high, a big smile on his face, his deep brown skin burnished like polished wood. In his dark business suit with his arms crossed at his chest he exuded the aura of a successful businessman.
“Old man Archer,” Kacey decided, thinking the older man looked pleasant enough. Maybe working with him wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Driving on, Kacey arrived at the center of town where a gas station, a convenience store, a beauty shop and a hardware outlet anchored the four corners of the old-fashioned square. Beyond the hub of the town, Kacey caught glimpses of lacey Victorian homes on broad green lawns, as well as modest bungalow-type homes facing each other across grassy esplanades. The quaint scene that greeted her was picturesque, charming and serene. Pretty to look at but not a place where she wanted to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary.
“I’d be bored out of my skull if I had to live here,” Kacey murmured as she inched along the town’s main street, where a scattering of people were busy running errands or chatting in clusters on the wide cement sidewalks.
At the far end of the main street, she saw Seaside Suites, the economy motel where she’d booked a room for the duration. The exterior of the nondescript building was in desperate need of a paint job and there were only three other cars in the parking lot, which adjoined a rundown apartment complex surrounded by a chain-link fence.
I’ll check in after I meet with Mr. Archer, Kacey decided, glad she’d worn her Donna Karan navy suit and comfortable heels on the plane, so she could go straight to her meeting. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, pressed her shapely burgundy-tinted lips together and fluffed her honey-brown curls with one hand. Satisfied that all was fine, she nodded at her image. After all, she was representing Leeman’s, one of the most exclusive retailers in the country. A good first impression was essential, and she planned to let Mr. Archer know from the get-go that she was not some underling who was there to take orders from him, but a designer whose swimsuit line was going to become the hottest fashion label in swimwear.
Slowly passing the motel, Kacey eyed the drab appearance of her future home and sighed. The thought of living there made her heart sink, but she refused to let it get her down.
“Oh, well, at least it’s not raining,” Kacey remarked, resigned to toughing it out for as long as it took to finish the job she’d come to do.
The woman who met Kacey in the lobby of the Archer Industries building greeted her with a vise grip of a handshake and a hearty hello.
“Welcome to Archer Industries. I’m Nona James. Operations manager,” she said in a flat Texas accent that seemed to solidify her connection to the small-town plant.
“Hello, Nona. Kacey Parker. Good to meet you,” Kacey said, eyeing the woman closely. She was at least a head taller than Kacey—big-boned, buxom and very statuesque. The makeup on her buff-hued face was flawless, but a bit heavy-handed, as were the intricate chandelier earrings dangling from her ears. An African-print headband held an explosion of natural hair off her face, creating a dark halo of frizz that translated into an inspired resemblance of a young Diana Ross.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Nona said, her red lips widening into a full-blown grin. “Did you check into the motel? I assume you’re staying at the Seaside. It’s the best we have around here.”
“I drove past on my way through town. It looks fine. I’ll check in after I finish here,” Kacey replied, taking care not to imply that the accommodations might not be up to snuff.
“Okay. If you need anything, let me know. The manager of the Seaside is my cousin, so I’ll be on his case if you have any complaints.”
“Sounds great. I’m anxious to get settled and started on production,” Kacey replied, glancing around the sun-splashed lobby where large Lucite boxes showcased some of the clothes produced by Archer Industries. On display were activewear, all-weather jackets, chlorine-resistant swimsuits and water aerobic wear, which included pool shoes, sun hats and beach towels.
“Mr. Archer isn’t here at the moment, but he’s on his way in,” Nona said. “He’s eager to meet you. Come on back. You can wait in his office,” Nona said, leading Kacey down a carpeted hallway toward a cluster of offices at the back of the building. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked after escorting Kacey into a very spacious room where an oval conference table took up a good portion of the space. The table was crowded with papers, fabric samples, pattern books and cutting tools. Clearly, this was more of a workroom than an executive suite.
“Some cold water would be great,” Kacey replied, before settling into a gray suede chair.
“No problem. Be right back,” Nona said as she left the room.
Left alone, Kacey looked around, curious to learn what she could about Mr. Archer before he showed up. Groupings of framed certificates, awards and permits hung on the wall behind his desk. One family photo caught her attention. It was of a much younger Mr. Archer, seated on a sofa with an attractive woman whom Kacey guessed was his wife. On her lap sat a young boy holding a puppy, grinning into the camera.
He’s a family man, Kacey mused, beginning to feel more comfortable about working with the man who had promised Steve Hadley that he could turn her dreams into reality.
“One bottle of cold water, right?”
The deep tenor voice forced Kacey’s eyes from the photo. She turned toward the door and quickly saw that the person at the entryway was definitely not Nona James, but a drop-dead gorgeous man who was grinning at her as if pleasantly surprised to find her sitting in Mr. Archer’s office. The man slanted his slender body against the doorframe and proceeded to trace a less than businesslike gaze over Kacey, emitting bold signals of more than a casual interest in her.
Since he seemed in no hurry to speak, Kacey countered by taking her time inspecting the guy. He had jet-black hair with a hint of waviness, cut close with a razor part. The angular planes of his face accented his vibrant pecan-brown skin and made his intriguing gray eyes impossible to ignore. His light blue oxford shirt was open at the collar. His crisply creased tan khaki pants were held in place by a beautiful leather belt that Kacey immediately recognized as one of Cole Haan’s most popular designs, and the soft Italian leather shoes on his feet
