Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 133878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 669(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Shane huffed out a groan. “Damn, but we’re dumb.” He started to pull the truck around the drive, going slowly so the sound of tires on gravel didn’t wake up anyone in the bunkhouse. Across the way, the lights were off at the foreman’s house. His brother had been smart and waited until he was sure everyone would be asleep since they had to move the herd early the next morning. “We have to get out of Wyoming. We should head south. There’s probably work in Texas.”
Bay had to be careful about this. “That sounds good.” He watched the big house as they drove by. There were a few lights on, but Kingman’s house was far enough away he wasn’t worried they would hear them. “Maybe we can stop at Stef’s. I’ve got a couple of ideas I’d like to work on, and you know he said we could use the guesthouse whenever I needed a break.”
Stef Talbot had “discovered” him as an artist, and the man had been an excellent mentor. Oh, Bay knew Stef viewed him as something of an enigma, but he was still kind to them, offering them room and board and a space in his studio to work.
Shane sighed. “And what would I do? I assume we’re staying for Christmas. I can’t sit on my ass and watch you sculpt and paint.”
Shane didn’t understand him either, but it didn’t matter. Shane was…more than his brother. He was the odd other half of his soul. He couldn’t function without Shane. Didn’t even want to try. It had driven his mother crazy, but even from an early age he’d recognized the importance of Shane. “We’ll find something. It’s a couple of weeks. Nothing more. I’m sure there’s some seasonal jobs we can do. I just…I need to work for a while.”
It had been building for months, the need to spend days with his hands in clay or chipping away at wood or marble to find the treasure hidden underneath, the one only his eyes could see until he uncovered it.
“All right then. But only until we’re back on our feet,” Shane said.
Bay nodded.
When they made it to the highway, Shane turned on the lights and headed south.
To Bliss.
* * * *
Manhattan, NY
Five months later
Brooke Harper sat on the sofa and sniffled. “I can’t believe it.”
Her roommate sat across from her, and Brooke realized there was not an ounce of sympathy in her eyes. It might be the colored contacts that somehow hid the empathy, but Brooke doubted it. Ami had never been empathetic, but shouldn’t this be the one case where the sisterhood stuck together?
“I don’t see why not.” Nope, not an ounce of sympathy. “You called human resources on your boss. You told them he stole your designs and presented them as his own.”
Yes, that summed up the situation neatly. “He did.”
Ami sighed, a world-weary sound that matched her ennui aesthetic. “They all do. I told you it’s how it works. If you wanted things to be fair, you should have picked another industry.”
“He got a massive bonus for my work,” Brooke pointed out.
Her boss led the design team at House of Bianchi, an up-and-coming design firm. They’d gotten their first big buy from Macy’s, and it was all from Brooke’s fall leisurewear line. She’d been deeply influenced by her trip home for the holidays a few months before. She had designed some skiwear and sweaters and whole outfits inspired by the horse ranch her brothers and sister-in-law ran. Cowboy chic, she’d called it. She kept it on her laptop because she hadn’t thought it was ready yet.
Mark Hallway hadn’t cared. He’d explained that the laptop was the company’s, and so were her designs. She hadn’t even known he’d stolen them, changed a couple of the fabrics and patterns, and put his name on them until one morning two weeks before. The company had a big presentation of the fall line with the announcement that they’d made the Macy’s sale and were close to inking distribution deals with several European store lines. She’d sat in stunned silence, not moving even when they’d brought the champagne out.
That champagne should have been for her.
Keep your mouth shut and I’ll make sure you get to go to Milan this year.
If only that had been all he told her to do.
It was some Devil Wears Prada bullshit, and she wasn’t taking it.
Not that it seemed like she had much of a choice now. The human resources lady had pointed out all the places in her contract that stated plainly any designs belonged to the company. It was on the laptop they provided for her, and clearly she’d done much of the design work during office hours, so it belonged to the House of Bianchi. The woman had been somewhat sympathetic but clear. Mark was more important than she was. He was influential, and she was nobody. She had only been working at Bianchi for a couple of years, and all she had under her belt were some accessories for lesser lines.