Nothing to Hide. Isabel Sharpe

that’s terrible.” She knew how much he loved the place.

      “It is. But back to the clothes. There are at least four trunks. You’ll get first rights to everything.”

      “I’ll— Everything?” Allie stood there, blinking at Julie’s curious stare. Erik’s grandmother and great-grandmother would mean clothes from the 1920s and ’40s. This could be an amazing collection. It could be fashion nirvana. “Wow. That sounds incredible. But, Erik...it’ll just be you and me up there?”

      Julie waggled her finger urgently, no, no, no.

      “Allie, Allie, Allie. You still don’t trust me?”

      “Nuh-uh,” she said pleasantly, her heart still pounding at the thought of all those clothes. Would she sell her body for this chance?

      Umm...not quite.

      “I’m not going to try anything. I swear.” He was trying very hard to sound sincere. Or maybe he was sincere. It was frustratingly hard to tell with Erik. “I figured you’d want first shot at the clothes. Plus, you being in a tough spot and all, I thought the break would be nice, too.”

      “I don’t know...”

      Julie drew her finger across her neck. Cut!

      “Yeah, so, anyway.” Erik cleared his throat. “It won’t be just me there.”

      Allie narrowed her eyes. “Now you’re telling me this?”

      “Yeah. Yeah.”

      She waited. Nothing. “So...who else will be there?”

      Julie frowned skeptically.

      “My brother, Jonas. And his girlfriend.”

      Hmm. Allie narrowed her eyes, ignoring the jump in her pulse at the mention of his brother, the hottest man in the Northeast if not the universe. “Are you making this up?”

      “No, I’m not making this up. What makes you think I’m making this up?”

      “The way you never hesitate to make things up.”

      “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll have Jonas email you saying he’s going. That okay?”

      “I’m not even sure I’m going.”

      “How could you not go? A whole attic full of clothes, Allie, yours for the taking. Gowns and hats and shoes and I don’t know, they probably even kept underwear. How can you pass this up?”

      She didn’t think she could. Not only would the break do her good, but somewhere in this treasure trove of history, there might be the seeds of a new business or career. All her life she’d been obsessed with clothes of the past, watched old movies obsessively, worshipped Edith Head, who’d costumed the greatest stars from the golden age of cinema—the 1920s to the 1960s. When Allie was a little girl, she’d designed outfits for her dolls on her mom’s old sewing machine, and started designing her own clothes in high school.

      Reality hit her when she graduated from college. She needed a stable, well-paying career, because unlike Erik, she couldn’t count on her family for support or inheritance. Three of her five brothers had gone to community colleges to learn trades, but Allie had wanted more from the minute she was old enough to understand the difference between the haves and have-nots. Which, not coincidentally, was when her father had met La Richesse Bitchesse and left them to live on the Upper East Side. He’d moved into a fabulous full-floor condo with his new wife and her two snotty kids, while his real family had moved to Kensington in Brooklyn. All seven of them had crammed into a three-bedroom apartment located in a borderline neighborhood at best. Mom had started drinking in earnest then.

      A few times a year they visited their father in his luxury digs, and were sneered at by his new children and ignored by his wife, Betsy. Allie had vowed that someday she’d live well enough to get back at him for what he’d done to them. And that she’d never make the same mistake her mother had, and depend on a man for her livelihood. Nor would she make the same mistake her father had, and go crawling after money she hadn’t earned.

      “I’ll pick you up on Friday after work.”

      “Erik...”

      “Jonas will be emailing you as soon as I can get in touch with him.”

      “Erik.”

      Julie threw up her hands.

      “We’ll have fun. More than fun. We’ll have a blast. And you’ll come back with a truckload of the most fabulous clothes you’ve ever seen.”

      “I haven’t decided yet.” Except she sort of had.

      “C’mon, say you’ll go.” Mr. Account Executive, trying to close the sale.

      “Give me an hour to think about it.”

      “Allie, Allie, you want to go, you know you want to go. You can keep up with job openings online, you have your cell in case anyone calls, you’re mere hours away if you need to get back. You won’t miss anything. Unless you stay here.”

      He was right. Her panic stemmed from feeling as if she could control her life better from here, where the solutions lay. But really, she could stay on top of the job hunt up in paradise, too. If any of the résumés she’d sent out caught someone’s eye, Allie could rush home in a blink.

      In the meantime, there were those clothes. And that lake. And the elegant house. Julie’s life. Her father’s life. Maybe hers someday. Lives that fascinated as much as they repelled her. Just for a week. Or two. Then back to reality and more important things.

      “You absolutely promise your brother will be there with his girlfriend, and that this is not some elaborate seduction ploy?”

      “I absolutely promise.” He spoke firmly, without hesitation.

      Allie turned away from Julie’s warning look. “Okay, Erik. I’ll go.”

      * * *

      JONAS SAT IN the conference room at Boston Consulting, tapping his capped pen on his thigh. Same old meeting, same old client, same old problems. Same old management consulting team suggesting the same old solutions. Give the employees a suggestion box. Combine a few positions into one. Develop more efficient means of bringing the product to market by reorganizing the physical space and eliminating redundant steps.

      Yeah. That would help slow down, possibly reverse, the slide the company was in right now. For today, tomorrow, next year, the year after that. It would be good enough, stop the worst of the bleeding. But to become one of the future leaders of the industry, they’d have to do more. Make harder choices, shake up corporate culture to a degree that would panic everyone, at least for a while. When the changes took hold, when employees could walk into the building not just with an absence of bitterness and dread, but with a real sense of team spirit and enthusiasm, then BC would have really done its job.

      But Boston Consulting execs didn’t think that way. Jonas knew that, because once he rose through the ranks of consultants to a level where he had the power to make recommendations, he’d made several, all of which he’d been excited about, all of which would have meant real progress for the companies they served, real progress for them. But he’d been shot down every time.

      Too expensive. Jonas, the client is looking for us to save money, not spend more.

      Too radical. It will never fly.

      Jonas was thinking more and more that he didn’t belong there.

      Yeah, okay, he’d been thinking that for the past year, and he still hadn’t done anything about it. The first six months, he’d been a basket case after breaking up with Missy. The next six months...he had no excuse but his own passivity.

      The meeting droned on. Jonas’s pen tapped harder. He maintained his expression of interest, automatically turning toward whoever was speaking, but took in only enough that if his opinion were asked, he’d be able to contribute coherently. Automatic