Brief Encounters. Suzanne Forster

about Lynne’s sea voyage with another man, but it was widely believed that Gvon’s interest in women was solely limited to the clothes he designed for them, so perhaps Art’s masculinity wasn’t threatened.

      Art dragged a large folder of papers from the side of his desk to the center. Even though there was no one else in his office, he lowered his voice. “We just need you to sign Lynne’s name on a couple of these documents. As long as we have her permission, there’s no problem. Basically, this stuff gets filed away and no one ever looks at it again.”

      Swan shifted uneasily. She wished she could be as casual about this little bit of forgery as Art and Lynne. Still, there weren’t any other options. They needed the money now. The fate of their tour was on the line—and if the tour was on the line, so was their business.

      “Okay,” she said. “It isn’t as if I haven’t done this plenty of times—Lynne and I are always signing each other’s names to forms, but never loan documents.”

      Art pulled a Cross pen from his pocket and handed it to her. “It’ll be fine, Swan. There and there.” He pointed to the appropriate places.

      Unlike Swan’s carefully controlled signature, Lynne’s was a flamboyant scrawl that was completely illegible. It fit her carefree personality perfectly. Art slid the document that named the house as collateral over to her. Swan made a practiced twirl with her right hand and then laid pen to paper and signed her partner’s name.

      “I hope there aren’t any problems with this,” she said. “Lynne would be devastated if she lost that house. It’s been in her family for ages, you know.”

      Art just grinned and swept the papers into a neat pile. “You two are unstoppable, trust me. You have a great future ahead of you.”

      “If only you were an underwear buyer.” Swan watched as Art bundled the documents into a fan folder. From his top desk drawer he took out a check and a leather-bound book. “How’s a hundred grand sound?” he said, handing her the check.

      Swan’s hand trembled as she took the money from him. Her breath faded as she looked at it. One hundred thousand dollars.

      “I had this organizer made up especially for your whirlwind tour,” Art said, holding up the leather book. “It has your company name embossed on the pages and there’s a digital order book in the back to keep track of your skyrocketing orders.”

      Swan had a mental image of the old organizer in her bag, which was falling apart from wear. The book he handed her was beautifully crafted. The organizer section was made of high-quality paper with their company name inscribed in beautiful lettering. The other section contained several useful compartments, including the one that held a tiny computerized order book. Swan was sure the package must have cost several hundred dollars.

      “Thank you!” she exclaimed softy. “It’s beautiful. Lynne will be as thrilled as I am.”

      “Listen, when she gets back, we’ll all get together and have dinner. My treat.”

      Swan shook her head in protest. “Our treat, and we’ll wrestle you for the check. You’ve been much too good to us.”

      Despite the banker specs, Art had a dashing smile and he flashed it now. “What red-blooded guy would turn down a chance to wrestle two beautiful women?”

      Once Swan had gathered up her belongings, Art escorted her as far as the door of his office when a ringing phone stopped him. Swan quickly thanked him again and left. As she walked through the lobby, heading toward double glass doors leading to the bright sunshine outside, she had a thought that almost frightened her.

      No turning back now.

      MOMENTS BEFORE THE PARTY was about to start that evening, Swan stepped out onto the patio and allowed herself a moment to take in the magical world that lay before her in the estate’s gardens. She clutched her new leather organizer, where she’d jotted her commentary for the show, and took a breath. Gerard had outdone himself. She couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to put together such an elegant display on a party budget that bordered on embarrassing. Buffet tables sat on the left and right of a rented champagne fountain. Japanese lanterns hung in colorful patterns, augmenting the starlight from a crystal-clear sky above. At the far end of the garden Gerard had set up a runway, accented by delicate white lights. The entire space had become a place of wonder and delight.

      “Are you pleased?” Gerard asked as he hurried up the flagstone steps and joined her. He took a moment to check out Swan’s outfit and gave her a surprised blink of approval. It was a daring black silk halter top with a bias-cut skirt that she’d put together a couple of summers back, wondering if there would ever be an occasion to wear it. To gear yourself up for a bold move, this was the dress to wear, she thought. And tonight was the night.

      “If you’re not thrilled with all of this,” he said, “I’m going to hang myself. Just like that nanny did in The Omen.”

      The way he stood with his hands on his hips and his face all expectant made Swan laugh. Gerard was no taller than five feet six and on the plump side these days but his heart was large, and that was what mattered. Plus, whatever he lacked in stature, he definitely made up for in Sturm and Drang.

      “Gerard, I love it! How on earth did you ever manage this?”

      He flipped his hand casually. “Oh, it was nothing. A little of this, a little of that, and a lot of discount shopping.”

      “I’ll never be able to repay you. Not just for this, for everything you’ve done these past few days. I couldn’t have made it without your help.”

      “My pleasure, Duckling.” He loved to call her Duckling instead of Swan, but at least he didn’t put the U-word in front of it. “Lest you forget,” he said, “I’m your biggest cheerleader. It isn’t every day that a couple of feisty independents decide to strike out on their own, especially in this business—and you know how I love an underdog.”

      He headed off, beckoning her to come with him. “The guests will be arriving any minute, and you’re the receiving line. Once you greet everybody and get them eating, drinking and mingling, I’ll do the honors and introduce you.”

      Swan had been on the run for days, but suddenly her nervousness caught up with her. And it wasn’t just the stress of the tour, as if that wasn’t enough. She’d been having vivid dreams at night and flashbacks during the day, all of them erotic and all of them starring long-legged men with bulging tool kits. She never knew when the lurid images would pop into her head, and it was playing hell with her composure.

      “I wish you were coming with me on the road trip,” she said, trailing after Gerard. “If you were there, I wouldn’t feel so…so…”

      “Helpless? Vulnerable? Terrified?” Gerard offered.

      Swan nodded. “Any one of those would fill the blank.”

      Gerard grabbed her hand and led her back into the house and down to the foyer. Her black-beaded heels clicked on the marble steps and her skirt swished against her legs. The knowledge that at least she’d dressed for the part boosted her confidence. She left her organizer on an occasional table as he went to open the door and usher in the first of the guests. Here we go, she thought, taking a deep breath.

      The guest list had been a calculated move with calculated risks. The L.A. Times and the Long Beach Press Telegram were both sending their assistant fashion editors tonight. Photographers from In Style magazine and Details were scheduled to show up, as well. The risk was that they would pan the line. Veteran designers could weather bad reviews, but hopefuls could be wiped out by just one, especially if it was the premier show.

      Besides the press, the small staff of people who had actually worked with Lynne and Swan to get the new line from idea to reality had been invited, along with the managers of the Los Angeles La Bomba boutique. Swan’s mother had been invited, too, of course, but Pat McKenna was too concerned about the risks her daughter was taking to show up and witness them in person.

      May she be