Holiday by Design. Patricia Kay

Spinelli. From her designs, and from Cornelia Hunt’s glowing recommendation, he figured he knew what to expect. He pictured a slim, elegant young woman, someone refined, with delicate features and classic beauty. She would be the kind of woman who could wear the lovely clothing she designed and do justice to it. He imagined someone modest and old-fashioned—the kind of woman he continually hoped to meet but never seemed to. Someone the exact opposite of Amanda Warren, his most recent relationship, which had ended badly.

      So when Joanna Spinelli walked into the gallery just before eleven-thirty, he thought she was a salesperson...or a customer. Yes, a customer. Salespeople generally dressed more conservatively than the young woman approaching the counter.

      “Hello, Miss Garfield,” the woman was saying. “I’m here for my eleven-thirty appointment with Mr. Barlow.”

      Marcus, who stood just out of sight behind a latticework screen, stared, finding it hard to believe that this woman, who was the polar opposite of the kind of woman he’d pictured, was the designer of those beautiful clothes.

      Brenda looked in his direction. “Marcus,” she said.

      Still in disbelief, Marcus walked out from behind the screen. “Good morning. I’m Marcus Barlow.”

      “Good morning. Joanna Spinelli.” Her dark eyes met his.

      In them, he saw intelligence and intensity. They shook hands. Her handshake was firm and strong. His initial disappointment at the way she looked faded, to be replaced by a mixture of curiosity and something else, something very close to admiration, even though she was not the type of woman who normally appealed to him. In her, though, he recognized a worthy opponent. The thought startled him. Why think of her as an opponent? If things went well today, they would be colleagues.

      And he did want them to go well, even though up to this moment he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure of that. “Shall we go into my office?”

      Once they were settled in the office—him behind the desk, her seated in front of it, with her portfolio on the desk between them—he said, “I was impressed by the designs on your website, Ms. Spinelli.”

      “Thank you. But please, call me Joanna.”

      She should smile more often; it made her seem warmer. “And I’m Marcus.” She really was quite attractive, once you got past all that black eyeliner and mascara and the dark red lipstick. Not to mention the black nail polish.

      Even Vanessa knew better than to wear black nail polish in his presence. He did notice that Joanna’s nails were quite short. He figured she kept them that way because it made it easier for her to work with the delicate fabrics she seemed to favor in her designs. “Before we discuss a possible show for you, I have some questions.”

      “Of course.”

      “First of all, how many designs have you ready to show?”

      “Right now I have nine completed and the tenth about half done. But I’ve only recently found out that a business loan I applied for has been granted, so I’m planning to give notice at my day job in the morning. Once I’m working on the collection full-time, I should be able to get half a dozen more designs ready by, say, the first of November.”

      “I know very little about the fashion industry, but sixteen seems like a good number for a show.”

      “It’s actually more than most designers show. I had been hoping for twelve designs. So if you feel sixteen is too many, having a couple extra would give us more options to choose from.”

      He nodded. “If I may ask, where are you getting a business loan?” He hoped it wasn’t from some fly-by-night finance company that would gouge her.

      “From the Queen Anne Community Bank.”

      “Really?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Queen Anne Community Bank was one of the most conservative banks around. Joanna’s hardly seemed like the kind of business they would be willing to back. They generally wanted something physical they could use as collateral against default, like a building or expensive equipment. What would she have? A few sewing machines?

      “I know,” she said, her own voice echoing his disbelief. “I can still hardly believe it myself. They just called me, right before I left to come here. I was shocked. I—I’ve been turned down everywhere. In fact, I’d given up hope.” She made a face. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”

      He liked her better because she had. After all, anyone with an ounce of business sense would know she wasn’t a good financial risk. No artist was.

      “That answers another important question,” Marcus said. “I was curious about how you’ve been financing your work.”

      “It’s been tough. Up till now, I’ve had to squeeze every penny out of my personal finances. Although my family has helped out some.” She smiled again. “In particular, my grandmother. She believes in me. Well, actually, my entire family believes in me. But they’re not wealthy. Besides, this is my dream. I knew going into it I would have to work really hard and probably have to sacrifice a lot if I was going to make it. I didn’t expect anything less.”

      Marcus studied her thoughtfully. He was surprised to find he liked her. She seemed to have a commonsense approach to her work and a good, level head. “You might have noticed that we are planning to show the work of a young jewelry designer sometime soon.”

      She nodded. “Truthfully? That’s the reason I thought about approaching you. When I read about the jewelry designs.”

      “How would you feel about our combining the two shows? Having some of the jewelry worn by your models.”

      She frowned. “I don’t know. Um, what kind of jewelry is it? I know the designer is your sister. Miss Garfield told me. But she didn’t say anything about the jewelry itself.”

      “I have some photos.” He got up and walked to the bookcase, where he took down a thin album. He laid it in front of her and watched her face as she turned the pages and studied the various designs.

      “I like them a lot,” she said, finally looking up. “She makes exactly the kinds of things I like to wear, but do you really think they’re compatible with my designs? I mean, the jewelry is ultrasleek, and my designs are completely the opposite.”

      “I think that’s exactly why they’ll look good together. Because they’re so unexpected a combination.”

      She hesitated. “I don’t know. I told myself I would agree to anything you suggested, but I’m just not sure this will work. Is...this a deal breaker?”

      He was a bit taken aback that she hadn’t immediately agreed with his suggestion. And yet he couldn’t help respecting the fact that she wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. “Not necessarily. I would like for you and my sister to meet so you can see her work in person. Can you reserve judgment until then?”

      She nodded, but he could see the doubt remaining in her eyes. No problem. He’d change her mind. Most people, even if they disagreed with him initially, came around to his way of thinking. “Good. We’ll see if we can set something up for next week. Perhaps lunch one day? Would that work for you?”

      “That sounds perfect.”

      He had planned to show her the work of the artist whose paintings would be featured throughout the month of November to see how she felt about being paired with him, but now he decided to wait until she and Vanessa met. He wasn’t really worried about the outcome of the meeting—he was confident he could convince both women his idea was a good one—but it paid to be cautious.

      “Um, Mr. Barlow...Marcus...what if, after meeting your sister, I would still prefer not to be paired with her?”

      She had guts, he’d give her that. “You mean, will I still be interested in giving you a show?”

      She nodded.

      “Yes, I will.”

      “So