The Designer's Secret
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Nina Crespo
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18.5K
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27
Chapter One
Layla Price downed vitamins with her coffee, trying to wake up. She’d only been at her desk a couple of hours, but her brain had already gone numb from staring at the multiple rows of numbers on the computer screen.
I hate spreadsheets.
As an accountant, that probably wasn’t the Monday-morning pep talk she should give herself. Of course she appreciated the detailed organization of the document in front of her. She just needed to concentrate.
Long minutes later, the restlessness she’d been battling for the past eight months crept farther in, trapping her in a sensation that she needed to escape.
Three more days...
That’s how long she had until she could recharge and get past whatever this was—sleep deprivation, a slight case of burnout, not enough sun. Lack of vitamin D affected motivation, didn’t it?
After inputting the wrong number for the third time, Layla released her dark curls from her ponytail and slumped back in the chair. She would agree that two plus two equaled five if it meant she could leave her office now for her two-week vacation.
Giving in to her wandering mind, the blue-white-and-gold abstract mural on the wall in front of her morphed into the perfect ocean view.
She closed her eyes, envisioning herself in her favorite orange bathing suit instead of her olive-colored dress.
The sun shining through the tinted glass windows in her third-floor office became warm unfiltered light beaming down from a cloudless sky. As she slipped off her red-soled black pumps and curled her toes into the light beige carpet, it was as if she could feel the sand caving around her toes. The cool air blowing from the vent above her desk changed into a gentle breeze.
No deadlines to meet, budgets to assess or bad client decisions to fix. Just bliss.
A muffled buzzing replaced the symphony of the imagined ocean waves, and the daydream dissipated.
Layla sat straight in the chair and followed the sound to her phone underneath a stack of papers in front of her.
A text from her younger sister, Tyler, lit up the screen.
Are you busy?
As Layla tapped in a response, sarcasm tinged a quiet laugh.
Yes.
The answer to that question should have been obvious. Tyler had emailed her a budget report late last night. And asked her to put a rush on reviewing it.
Tyler helped manage Sashay Chic as creative director, along with their stepmother, Patrice, who was the head of their family’s retail clothing company.
Some days it felt as if her sister thought she and Sashay Chic Apparel were her only accounting clients.
Dots floated in a message bubble and Tyler’s reply appeared.
I’m in the elevator. On my way up.
Seriously? Nooo. She loved Tyler, but she had a ton of things to do before temporarily handing over the reins of her business to Naomi, a semi-retired accountant who helped out whenever Layla was out of her office.
A knock sounded at the door and Tyler strode in.
Runway model perfect in a fitted burgundy pantsuit, the thumps of her blush-colored stilettos echoed as she executed a Top Model walk that would have earned her a Tyra Banks arched brow of approval.
Straight shoulder-length black hair and flawlessly applied makeup complemented her deep brown complexion. Her honey-brown eyes—a family trait Layla and Tyler had inherited from their mother’s side of the family—were framed by long lashes. A matte red lipstick highlighted her mouth. The color would have looked even more striking if she hadn’t been frowning.
Tyler dropped her purse in one of the twin teal chairs in front of the desk. “That shade of olive washes you out, and your lipstick is too pale. You need to wear a shade of plum that pops.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” Layla flashed an overly bright smile. “And thanks for dropping by to tell me I look like crap.”
“That’s not what I said.” Genuine caring and exasperation reflected on Tyler’s face. “All you need to do is pull your hair up into a messy bun, wrap a colorful scarf around your neck and freshen your makeup.”
“Sure thing. I’ll do that right after I finish reviewing the report you dropped into my inbox over the weekend. And if you’re here to bug me about it, you can walk your cute butt back out the door.”
“As much as I would like your stamp of approval on the budget, that’s not why I’m here. I have bigger problems.” Tyler paced near the desk. “Patrice postponed my fashion collection debut for Sashay Chic, indefinitely. And she says at next month’s quarterly meeting, the board won’t approve my proposal to revive our fashion shows or participate in the celebration of Atlanta Fashion Week.”
“That’s a lot. What happened?”
“I have no idea. I just know Grandma Ruby is behind it. She’s turned against me and persuaded everyone to go along with her.”
Layla sat back in the chair. “Grandma’s turned against you? That doesn’t sound right.”
“I know.” Tyler threw up her hands. “None of it makes sense. Before Grandma went to Nevada last week, she was excited about what I’d planned, especially the idea of paying homage to some of her past designs.”
“Did she give a reason why she changed her mind?”
“She told Patrice now isn’t the time for the company to go through a drastic transformation. But the pieces I’ve designed don’t come close to drastic. And before Grandma retired from running the company, she had seasonal fashion shows for Sashay Chic featuring new signature designs.”
“I think the collection you’ve created is perfect.”
Versatile pieces that could go from day to night were what a lot of people would love to have in their closets. There had to be something else in the mix.
“What’s Dad and Patrice’s take on it?”
Tyler breathed out a chuckle. “You know how Dad is. He’s always deep in corporate-attorney mode. He said negotiate with Grandma. Patrice recommended I don’t. She said Grandma and I are equally passionate about our positions on this, and that if I tried to talk to her, our conversation wouldn’t go anywhere because we’re too much alike.”
Alike? Tyler was an exact younger copy of Grandma Ruby, from her face to her talent, all the way down to her stubborn streak. And Patrice was right—if the two women tried to talk about it, their conversation wouldn’t go anywhere but sideways. Once Tyler or their grandmother believed in something, it was difficult to convince them to see things differently.
Layla saved the document on the screen. “You could pull the proposal from the board’s agenda before it’s voted on and introduce it next quarter. That way, Grandma will have time to settle down, and you’ll have time to find out what her concerns are and address them. Once you do, I’m sure she’ll be good with everything.”
“But we don’t have the luxury of time.” Tyler partially sat on the side of the desk. “You’ve seen the financials. Sales are declining because we’re losing our competitive edge. We need a strong signature line of original designs that will recapture the attention of our customers and attract new ones. This collection—it’s the best I’ve created. It would be a huge success in our physical stores and online. I can feel it. But because of Grandma, my work might not see the light of day. And I can’t do anything about it.”
“I wish I had the magic answer, but I don’t.” Layla got up and sat next to Tyler. She wrapped an arm around her. “I’m sorry this is happening to you.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” Hurt and frustration pooled in Tyler’s eyes. “I should have asked more questions eight months ago before I left New York and accepted this job. But I was so excited the opportunity finally happened. Becoming an executive at Sashay Chic and debuting my own collection at our stores has been my biggest dream. I know that’s probably hard for you to understand since you’re not a creative anymore, and you don’t work in fashion.”
Not a creative? The words hit Layla like a light slap. She wasn’t totally oblivious to understanding the excitement that came from bringing inspiration to life.
She’d experienced it setting up her office, choosing furnishings to complement the custom mural she’d helped design.
And she was dropped into the deep end of creativity during her annual trips to California to see Kinsley, her best friend and roommate from college.
Kinsley opened a pop-up store every March selling prom dresses and evening gowns where she lived in San Jose.
For the past three years, she’d taken a week off in September to help Kinsley sew her creations in exchange for wine, decadent meals cooked by Kinsley’s foodie husband and tons of much needed girls’ chat.
And Kinsley’s silence.
What happened in San Jose stayed in San Jose. Grandma Ruby, Tyler and Patrice might not understand that she wasn’t shunning the family business by helping Kinsley.
Playing designer and seamstress for a week wasn’t the same as actually being one like Grandma Ruby. Or like her and Tyler’s mother, Aisha, had been.
A vision of their mom in the past flashed into Layla’s mind and a ping of sadness hit.
She’d been eight and Tyler had been only three when their mom had died from an allergic reaction to medication.
Grandma Ruby had stepped in to take care of them. She’d also developed their understanding of all things fashion related in anticipation of them taking over Sashay Chic one day.
But Tyler’s creative abilities had captured everyone’s attention, and Grandma Ruby had taken her firmly under her wing.
Layla’s choice to become an accountant and not join the company had disappointed Grandma Ruby. But Tyler’s phenomenal talent had filled the void.
Just recently, Grandma Ruby had praised Tyler’s natural instincts for running the business. Why wasn’t she supporting her now?
Tyler released a long exhale and laid her head on Layla’s shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t have assumed my experience with a large fashion house would be appreciated. Now that I’m here, I can’t just sit around and watch our company fade from existence.”
“I know it’s hard, but until we know more, there’s nothing we can do but wait it out.”
“Even though we know she’s making a mistake? No. Someone has to talk sense into her.”
As Tyler looked at her, Layla glimpsed the baby sister who would come to her with skinned knees to bandage, broken toys to put back together, and who’d cried on her shoulder as a teen after experiencing her first heartbreak.
Those things were easy to take care of, but this... “I can’t.”
“You have to. I know you can fix this.” As Tyler gripped Layla’s hand, conviction and desperation showed on her face. “When it comes to business decisions, Grandma always values your opinion. She’ll listen to you.”
