Page 23 of Always

“You need a bigger office,” he said. “Not to mention some windows.”

“Oh we’re happy here,” Anika assured him. “It keeps us all friendly.”

At that moment, Calvin turned his head to sneeze directly onto Hannah’s arm, prompting a disgusted shriek.

“I can see that,” Marco laughed. “I know you’re probably busy, after that party. But do you want to take a walk with me?”

“Oh...” Anika looked at her open office door, mentally tallying the dozen tasks she had planned to finish before lunch.

“Go on!” Gwen encouraged her. “There’s nothing that needs doing this minute.”

“Well...” Anika said. “Let me get my jacket.”

It was beautiful and breezy out. It had rained just the smallest bit early in the morning, and the air still had that fresh smell of geosmin rising off the pavement and the slightest salt tang blowing west from the bay. It was fully springtime now.

As they walked along, Marco tucked her arm into his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He asked her questions—a hundred questions about the Red Line, about her coworkers, about Bennet and Stella, about her mother. Anika tried to reciprocate, to turn the conversation back to Marco, but he wanted to know so many details. It was strange to talk so much about herself, yet he seemed genuinely interested.

She did learn a few things about Marco—that he had been fairly wild until his accident the year before. That he had reached a turning point, and now wanted desperately to settle in here, to make a success of himself and the opportunity his father was giving him.

“Bennet can be difficult to work with,” Anika warned him.

“I’m not worried about that,” Marco said. “Your father is a genius at design. I’ll leave him to do what he does best, and I’ll simply take over the parts he has no interest in. There’s been some issues with profitability the last few years. I have ideas of how to solve that.”

“That’s great,” Anika said with some relief. “The designs are all he cares about.”

“Should we stop in at Bennet Knight?” Marco asked. “I want your opinion on a few things.”

“Oh,” Anika faltered. “I’m not sure I’ll be much help—I have almost nothing to do with the main fashion line. I really only work on the charity.”

“Come on,” Marco pleaded. “We’re right by it.”

Steering Anika along, he led her through the massive glass doors of her father’s flagship store and design studio.

It really had been years since she’d come inside. She was immediately beset with the old anxiety and awe of entering her father’s domain. Her mother used to bring her here occasionally, in her attempts to promote a closer relationship between Anika and Bennet. Bennet had always been extremely busy and irritable, clearly viewing their visits as an imposition.

Stella he had tolerated, allowing her to work as an assistant, and later as a buyer. Her real job had been to spy on her fellow employees and report back to Bennet. In time, she had become distracted with social opportunities, and after a few spats with Bennet, she had quit.

Anika had never felt welcome here in any capacity. Still, she couldn’t deny the stark beauty of the space. Bennet loved fame and wealth, but unlike Stella, he wasn’t ostentatious. He had an acute aesthetic sense.

His store and his studio were built on the principle of bold, clean, elegance. The retail section was an open glass atrium, three stories in height. Dresses, jackets, jumpers, and blouses seemed to float on transparent hooks. The central point of honor was dedicated to Bennet’s footwear, the crown jewels of his collection. Crocodile-skin thigh-high boots, stilettos studded with dangerous metal spikes, ermine-trimmed sneakers that cost more than a month’s rent in Manhattan—all displayed on glass pedestals as if they truly were the Cullinan Diamond or the Durbar Tiara.

An iron spiral staircase led to studio space. Anika knew there was a more prosaic entrance round the back, connected to the parking lot, but her father would want her to bring Marco through reception.

They climbed the stairs, pushing through yet another double glass door to the studio. They were immediately greeted by the statuesque blonde receptionist, who apparently did not remember Anika, but had been briefed to expect Marco.

“Mr. Moretti!” she greeted his warmly. “Mr. Bennet is expecting you. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Just water please,” Marco said.

“Cucumber, blackberry, or distilled?”

“Just normal, thanks.”

Before she had returned with the water, Bennet was already coming out of his office to meet them. This was remarkably prompt, and a clear sign of Bennet’s nervousness.

“Marco!” he said with a strained smile. “Welcome.”

He actually looked pleased to see Anika in attendance. She had intended to loiter back by reception while Marco walked around with her father, but both Bennet and Marco seemed eager to include her.

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