Project: Runaway Heiress. Heidi Betts
Nigel’s schedule for the day, she was somewhat relieved to see that it didn’t seem to be a—quote, unquote—heavy day for him. It looked as though he would be in his office most of the time. He had a lunch appointment and a conference call in the afternoon, but nothing so far that would require her to go out with him—and hope not to be recognized or to do something she wasn’t ready or properly trained for.
She glanced at the schedule for the rest of the week, making a mental note to check again in a couple of hours. Just to be safe until it all became second nature to her for as long as she was here.
She took a few minutes to investigate some of the other programs and files on the system, but hoped she wouldn’t be expected to do too much with them too soon. Either that, or that the company provided tutorials for the seriously lost and computer illiterate.
What she did understand, though, was design. She knew the vocabulary, the process and what was needed to go from point A to point B. So she did recognize and know how to use some of the items already installed on the PA’s computer.
The question was: Could she use them to access the information she needed to track down the design thief?
Maybe yes, maybe no. It depended on whether or not Nigel knew about the thefts.
Was he involved? she wondered.
Had he sent a mole from Ashdown Abbey into her company? Or maybe on a less despicable level, had he recognized her designs within his company’s latest collection and ignored them? Looked the other way because it was easier and could advance Ashdown Abbey’s sales and brand recognition?
A part of her hoped not. She didn’t want to think that there were business executives out there who would stoop to such levels just to get ahead. Not when they had a bevy of talented designers on staff already and didn’t need to stoop to those levels. Or that someone so handsome, with that deep, toe-curling British accent, could be capable of something so heinous. Although more attractive people had been guilty of much worse, she was sure.
It happened every day, and she wasn’t naive enough to believe that just because a man was sinfully attractive and already a millionaire he wouldn’t steal from someone else to make another million or two.
Not that any of her designs had earned a million dollars yet, Lily thought wryly, but the potential was there. If she could keep other companies and designers from scooping her.
Tapping a few keys, she brought up what she could find on the California Collection—the Ashdown Abbey collection that included so many of her own works, only with minor detail alterations and in entirely different textiles. Just the thought sent her blood pressure climbing all over again.
A few clicks of the mouse and the entire portfolio was on the screen in front of her, scrolling in a slow left-to-right slideshow. The flowy, lightweight summer looks were lovely. Not as beautiful as Lily’s designs would have been, if she’d had the chance to release them, of course, but they were quite impressive.
She studied each one for as long as she could, taking in the cuts and lines. The collection mostly consisted of dresses, perfect for California’s year-round sunny and warm weather. Short one-pieces, a couple of maxi dresses, and even some two-piece garments consisting of a top and skirt or a top and linen slacks.
Not all of them were drawn directly from Lily’s proposed sketches. Small comfort. And it might actually work against her if she ever tried to prove larceny in a court of law.
A good defense attorney could argue that there might be similarities between the Ashdown Abbey and Zaccaro Fashions designs, but since the Ashdown Abbey line also included designs without similarities, it was obviously a mere case of creative serendipity.
Hmph.
Closing down the slideshow, Lily dug around in the other documents within the file folder. She found another graphics slideshow, this time the sketches for the final pieces that made up the California Collection.
They were full color and digital, done on one of the many art and design computer programs that were becoming more and more popular. Even Lily had one of them on her tablet, but she still preferred pencil and paper, charcoal and a sketch pad, and actual fabric swatches pinned to her hand-drawn designs over filling in small squares of space with predetermined colors or material samples on a digitized screen.
But what caught her attention with these designs wasn’t how they were done, it was the fact that they were signed. Ashdown Abbey apparently had design teams on the payroll rather than one designer in charge of his or her own collection.
Moving from the graphics files to the text files, she found a list of the California Collection’s entire design team, complete with job titles and past projects they’d worked on for Ashdown Abbey. A jolt of adrenaline zipped through her, and she hurried to send the list to the printer.
The zip-zip of the machine filled the quiet of the cavernous outer office. It rang all the louder in her ears for the fact that she didn’t want to get caught.
When a buzz interrupted the sound of the printer, Lily jumped. Then she looked around, searching for the source of the noise. Finally, she realized it was coming from the phone, one of the lights on the multiline panel blinking in time with the call of the intercom.
Chest tight, she took a deep breath and pressed the button for Nigel Statham’s direct line.
“Yes, sir?” she answered.
“Could I see you for a moment?”
The abrupt request was followed by total silence, and she realized he’d hung up without waiting for a reply.
Grabbing the list of designers from the printer tray, she folded it over and over into a small square and stuffed it into the front pocket of her skirt. Patting the spot to make sure it was well concealed, she strode to the door of Nigel’s office, unsure of what she would encounter on the other side. She didn’t even know if she should bring a pad and pencil with her to take notes.
What did personal assistants automatically pick up when summoned by the boss? Paper and pen? A more modern electronic tablet? She hadn’t even had a chance to poke around and find out what was provided for Nigel Statham’s executive secretary.
So she walked in empty-handed after giving one quick tap on the door to announce her arrival.
Nigel turned from typing something into his own computer to jot a note on the papers in front of him before lifting his attention to Lily. She stood just behind one of the guest chairs, awaiting his every request.
“What are you doing for dinner this evening?” he asked.
The question was so far from anything she might have expected him to say, her mind went blank. She was quite sure her face did, too.
“I’ll take that to mean you don’t have plans,” he remarked.
When she still didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m having dinner with a potential designer and thought you might like to join us. Having you there will help to keep things on a business track, as well as better familiarize you with your position.”
For lack of anything more inspired to say, she replied with a simple, “All right.”
Nigel gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I’ll be leaving from the office, but you’re welcome to go home and change, or take a bit of a rest, if you like. I’ll come round for you at eight. Be sure to leave your address before you finish for the day.”
He returned his attention to his work, giving Lily the impression that plans for the evening had been decided and she’d been dismissed.
“Yes, sir,” she said, because she thought it was respectful and some sort of acquiescence was needed. Then she tacked on a short “Thank you” for good measure before hurrying back out to the reception area.
Taking a seat behind her desk, she tried to decide how she felt about this latest turn of events.
On