Lex wondered how Vive slept at night. She spoke a mile a minute. Being jacked up on carbonated sugar and a diet pill or three could cause jitteriness. “Massimo is not gay. And he’s not nice,” Lex sobbed. She thought she’d used up every tear at dinner, but a second self pitying chock constricted her throat. She let it rip.
“Sweets, what’s wrong? There, there, now. You’ll be home soon. Why are you crying?”
She explained everything from not having the fabric for the upcoming season, closing her company, and Girasoli’s new branded line launching to compete with hers.
Vive admitted, “Taddy’s gonna shit twenty four karat gold bricks on your cute face when she finds out.” Vive clacked a tsk,tsk,tsk sound, sending chills through Lex’s entire body. “She invested her life savings into Easton to get you and Birdie started.”
Lex untied her sneakers, feeling a desire to soak in the tub, facedown. Maybe she’d drown and wouldn’t have to tell Taddy after all. “I know—I’ll break the bad news to Taddy when I get home. I don’t know what else to do. The Easton brand is still worth something. Maybe Brill, Inc. can license off the name.”
“Do swimwear,” Vive suggested.
“Don’t care much for bikinis. I hate the sun.” She couldn’t imagine how, but remained confident Taddy would come up with a Plan B. She always did.
“You underestimate me and overrate Taddy. Jesus. You do realize what I do for a living?”
Get drunk and write stories about billionaires? “Sorry, Vive.” Their call, five minutes and counting, circulated to her favorite subject—Viveca Farnworth. It always did. Lex gave her props for holding out this long.
“Sweets—I am the founding editor for the in-the-know magazine showcasing fashion, beauty and all things luxurious. Now, don’t you send the Girasoli fabrics to some Shanghai chemical facility for a special treatment before they are made into Easton garments?”
She’d forgotten, “Yes, Shino Fab increases their durability. You went with me to tour their factory when we started.”
“And why, Lex love, do you treat the fabric?” She released a sarcastic fake yawn over the phone. So annoying. So Vive.
“Girasoli’s fabric breaks down in the wash after three years when worn as compression materials. Everyone’s does with our patterns.” Sooo…
“Uh huh, don’t you see where I’m going with this?” Vive asked. She muffled the phone over her hand. Regardless, Lex overheard her yell at Mr. Kim Lee not to paint her nails in this season’s trendy metallic blue gray. Vive made a gagging sound claiming the shade resembled a morgue toe tag.
“No, I don’t see where you’re going with this.” Lex was quick but Vive was sonic.
“Does the prince treat his fabrics in Asia?” Without covering the phone, she screamed, “Mr. Kim Lee, I hate red, you know I can’t wear pink, give me bronze—I want glitter.”
While Vive shouted on, it occurred to Lex, Easton’s equity, fabric aside, may be high. An entire year spent securing a “seal of approval” from Good Housekeeping Research Institute confirmed her value. “You’re brilliant. Girasoli’s new line will flop!”
Massimo and Jemma would be lost.
“Lex love, Mr. Kim Lee says hello.” She sipped again and said, “Now—if princey poo hasn’t a Shanghai clue, keep your frigid mouth shut. Call his competitor and recreate the materials. Knock ’em off while he knocks you off. By the way—this whole fashion dynasty rivalry conversation is turning me on.” She huffed in an erotic snarl which often seemed comical. Tonight, not so much.
Lex listened and slammed her legs over the bed’s pillows, ready to kick Easton’s comeback up a notch. “Girasoli’s competitor is Donatella. They were my second choice when we started. Their fabrics aren’t as good as Girasoli’s.”
“Who the fudge ball cares? Call ’em and secure a meeting ASAP.”
“Vive, I’m sorry I underestimated you. You know I love you. Please don’t tell Taddy about this. Let me see if I can turn it around, okay?”
“Mum’s the word, Lex love. Now if you find out Massimo fancies muscular blonde tops in Manhattan, let’s set ’im up with Blake.”
She sat up on the bed hoping Vive could keep her collagen injected mouth shut. “Good night.” Excited, frustrated and overwhelmed, Lex hung up.
Roberto’s comment about subpar being better than nothing ran through her head. She did as Vive suggested and put a call into Milan’s second largest textile designer, Donatella, and left a message requesting a meeting. A backup plan brewed. Stirring the pot, she’d up the fashion game with Massimo’s largest competitor.
And as for the prince, he’d have his new designs with Jemma. But Easton’s trade secret applied to formfitting garments. Girasoli may be unaware. Lex couldn’t imagine Massimo’s ego conceding to garment testing.
She took a bergamot steam bath. Face up with hope in the suite’s Jacuzzi, she was feeling confident he’d never get his collection off the ground. Even if Massimo did, he’d be faced with a major product recall in the very near future. I love ya, Vive Farnworth.
* * * * *
Hours later, Massimo entered the main house. As he retreated to his wing, he passed Roberto in the mirrored hall. “What are you doing?”
“Signorina Easton went for a run. I’m resetting the alarms.”
“So—how is she?” The prince pretended not to be as concerned as his insides were stressed. The whole time he’d been walking the beach, he couldn’t quit thinking about Lex.
Roberto’s face closed, keeping a secret.
“Coosa, what is it?” Massimo asked.
“When I found her, she wept. Signorina cried. She told sad Eddie Easton stories, Your Majesty. She shook, I held her.”
In the two decades he’d worked with Roberto, Massimo never knew Roberto to hug or hold anyone. This American tugged at everyone’s heartstrings.
He crossed his arms. “I still cannot fathom her showing up here.”
Roberto made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Isn’t there something you could do?”
His sympathy grew. “Grazie for your concern.” He started to move on but turned back. “Roberto, in the morning, could you phone the airport to get the jet ready?”