A Dress the Color of the Sky by Jennifer Irwin

Author:Jennifer Irwin [Irwin, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Glass Spider Publishing
Published: 2018-04-11T05:00:00+00:00

* * *

To preoccupy my mind, I took a design class at NYU while I worked for Patrick Dunn. A nine-to-five desk job felt confining and not creative. Mom slapped me with the label “not driven by money.” I wasn’t sure what she meant. I also wasn’t sure what drove me.

My class consisted of all women, so when I walked into class and discovered a gorgeous guy had come to present his innovative ideas on marketing for designers, I cursed myself for not sitting in the front row.

Thatcher Miller, III, wheeled in the television platform and popped in a cassette. Worn-in khakis accented his round, firm ass. The pants clung enough to see perfection and were baggy enough to tell he didn’t care. A single bead hung around his neck from a piece of rawhide, and a Tibetan prayer bracelet encircled his wrist. Beat-up Timberland boots gave him a dose of toughness to contrast his soulful energy.

A fast-paced commercial unfolded on the screen depicting a young, hip decorator who had contributed to the Kips Bay Decorator Show House. Thatcher talked about being a contributing designer for the Show House, and the invaluable exposure for the price.

“This program gets your name out there as a legitimate designer to a plethora of influential people,” he said, then tied it all up with a charitable bow: “The proceeds support the YMCA.”

When class was over, I loaded my notebooks and pens into my bag, pulled them out, rearranged the contents of my satchel, and then replaced everything. After the auditorium emptied out, I swished on lip gloss and strolled over to him. Thatcher was still gathering his materials.

“Can I help you put anything away?” I asked, tilting my head to loosen a few curls. “Your presentation was interesting. I’m considering submitting a design to the Show House. I’m Prue, by the way.”

He gave me a firm handshake. A complicated mix of professionalism and sensuality coursed through him. “Thatcher,” he said. “Fantastic. Would you mind holding my bag while I put the TV back in the supply closet?”

With his bag on one shoulder and mine on the other, I followed.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the bag from my arm. “I’m famished. Want to grab some sushi? I know a place a few blocks away. It’s a real hole-in-the-wall, but the sushi is amazing.”

“Sounds great.” I turned away so he wouldn’t see me blush. He put on a leather motorcycle jacket and helped me with my coat. His musky scent pulled me in.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was a hole-in-the-wall,” I said when we arrived. The narrow restaurant had us maneuvering around small tables. We grabbed two seats at the end of the sushi bar.

“This place is small, but I dig the ambiance.” He had deep-blue eyes lined with thick, cow-like lashes that grew straight down. “They don’t have a menu. Just the chalkboard with specials. The chef makes me whatever he wants. My apartment’s a block away, so I eat here a lot.”

He spoke as if he were detailing tax return minutia.

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