He nodded understandingly. “That sucks.”
That was putting it mildly. She poured more beer for herself. Usually a wine person, she found that the hoppy flavor of the microbrew was growing on her. And honestly, she could use a good buzz but never would’ve considered drinking alone. “How long have you been chief?”
“This is my sixth year. Before that I was a cop in San Francisco for a while.”
“Why’d you leave?” It seemed like a great gig to her. San Francisco was one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the West.
“I’m not a city guy and frankly, I missed home.... Couldn’t wait to come back. I hated Los Angeles when I went to UCLA.” He stopped. “No offense.”
“None taken. I’m from the Midwest so LA feels pretty exotic to me, but I realize it’s not for everyone.” Her parents couldn’t stand it. But her whole life she’d wanted to live in a big, exciting city. Show that she’d made it.
“It must be the epicenter of the fashion world, huh?”
“London, Paris, Milan, New York, and to some extent LA. It’s always been part of my brand ... Hollywood, glitz, and glamour.”
He listened to her as she yammered on about the industry and design. It occurred to her that he was actually paying attention to a topic that no doubt bored him. It also struck her that he was even better looking than she’d originally given him credit for. In the nine months she’d lived in Glory Junction, she hadn’t paid too much attention to Colt’s physical attributes, only to his crabby personality. No wonder the women all went gaga for him. Dark hair, thick brows, sharp cheekbones, and dreamy, deep brown eyes.
“What happened to the man who punched you yesterday?” She didn’t want to monopolize the conversation by talking only about fashion design.
“Arrested and will presumably be charged with assaulting a peace officer.”
“And the woman?”
“Unfortunately, there’s no law against projectile vomiting on a peace officer.”
She laughed, even though the incident had been beyond disgusting. Poor Colt. She supposed it was part of the job, though. Clearly, he had a lot of integrity to brush it off the way he did. If someone had intentionally thrown up on her, she didn’t know if she could be so forgiving.
“And even though she was belligerent, her husband decked her.” He shook his head. “She’s a victim.”
He finished his drink and got up from the island. “Thanks for the beer and conversation. It’s getting late and I should get going.”
“Hey, it was your beer. Thanks for bringing it over.”
“We good on the parking?”
Of course that had been his main objective for coming over. Their visit had been so pleasant that she’d nearly forgotten that he had an agenda. She felt a pang of disappointment, but what had she expected? It wasn’t like they were going to become bosom buddies. “I’ll stick to the top of my driveway when I’m not charging my car,” she said reluctantly.
“I appreciate that, Delaney. And like I said, I’d be happy to foot the bill for an outlet in your garage or wherever.”
“Don’t press your luck, Colt.”
His lips curved up into a full-fledged smile and it took her breath away. Chief Hottie from Hell could melt ice with that smile. It would be wise for her to remember that.
She saw him out, cleaned up in the kitchen, and went up to her studio. After an hour or two of drawing she realized she’d come up with exactly the same outfit she was wearing. “Argh! How long is this dry spell gonna last?” she asked herself aloud, fearful that she’d never get her mojo back.
* * *
The next day it was more of the same. Around noon her attorney finally called.
“Sorry, I was in court,” she told Delaney. “Robert’s interpretation of the ruling is not mine at all. While it’s true that your future bag and shoe designs cannot have the Delaney Scott label, the idea that the ruling was retroactive . . . I don’t think so. I could ask the judge for a clarification, but why make it easy on Robert? Let him pay his attorneys to do it. If he calls again, tell him to go through his lawyers and hang up.”
That worked for Delaney. She wanted to have as little to do with her ex as humanly possible. After the phone call, she made herself lunch and got on the Internet to take a look at the trades. Being away from Los Angeles, away from the industry, had left her out of the loop. As she scannedThe Business of Fashion’s top stories of the day, she spotted a headline that made her stomach drop: OLIVIALOWELL TOTAKETOPDESIGNERPOSITIONATDELANEYSCOTT. She jumped over to her Twitter feed, and sure enough, the news was everywhere, including another story inWomen’s Wear Daily.
Olivia was young, innovative, and seen as a rising star in the industry. She was also gorgeous, and according to rumors, had more in common with Robert than fashion. The staff must be buzzing and Delaney was tempted to call Karen, who made the trains run at Delaney Scott. But it wouldn’t be appropriate. For all intents and purposes they were competitors now. Oh, but to be a fly on the wall.
She turned off the computer, more depressed than ever. Olivia Lowell had extraordinary talent and, harnessed right, could take the company to the next level. Not so long ago Delaney had been Olivia Lowell. But look at her now. If she didn’t get her act together soon, her career in fashion would be over.
Her cell rang and she hesitated until she saw the caller’s ID.
