“I'm fine,” she said quietly. “It's been an adjustment, but my kids have been great. And my friends. I just wanted a change of scene.”
“Were you living in New York?” He was interested in her.
“Greenwich, Connecticut. It's a fairly opulent bedroom community, and has kind of a life of its own.”
“I know it well.” He smiled. “I grew up in Purchase, which isn't very far away, and is pretty much the same idea. Tiny little communities full of rich people who know each other's business. I couldn't wait to get the hell out after college. I think you did the right thing coming out here.” He smiled approval at her.
“So do I.” She smiled broadly at him. “Particularly if I get a job working for you. I can't think of anything I'd like more,” she said, almost shaking as she made her brave little speech.
“It's a lot of very, very, very hard work. I'm a pain in the ass to work for. I'm totally manic, and obsessive about everything. I want everything perfect. I work a million hours a day. I never sleep. I'll call you in the middle of the night to tell you something I forgot and that you have to do first thing in the morning. Forget having a love life. You'll be lucky if you see your kids for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and probably not then either, because we'll have parties to do. I promise to run you ragged, drive you crazy, teach you everything I know, and make you wish you'd never laid eyes on me at least ninety percent of the time, if not more. But if you can stand all that, Paris, then we'll have a hell of a lot of fun. How does that sound to you?”
“Like a dream come true,” she said honestly. It was all she wanted to do. It would keep her busy and distracted, make her feel useful, the parties and events they did had to be exciting, she would meet new people, even if they were his clients and not her friends. She couldn't think of a better job for her, and she didn't care how hard she worked. She wanted to. “I think, I hope I can do a great job for you.”
“Want to try it?” he asked with a look of excitement in his eyes too. “We're only doing four dinner parties this week. One tonight, two tomorrow, and a good-sized fortieth-anniversary party on Saturday night. If you survive all that, you're on. Let's see how we both feel about it by the end of the week.” Then he looked at Jane with a stern expression. “And if you have that baby before that, I'm going to spank it and strangle you, do you understand, Mrs. Winslow?” He wagged a finger at her, and she laughed, rubbing the enormous Buddha belly that looked like it was going to explode out of her dress at any minute.
“I'll do my best. I'll have a talk with him and tell him that if he shows up before the weekend, his godfather will be extremely pissed.”
“Exactly. No inheritance from me, no trust fund, no graduation party, no presents for Christmas or birthdays. He's to stay where he is until Paris and I figure out if we can work together, understood? And in the meantime, I want you to teach her everything you know.” In a mere five days. Jane didn't flinch.
“Yes, sir, Captain Bly, Your Honor. Absolutely.” She saluted him, and he laughed at her as he stood up. And Paris was startled by how tall he was. He was at least six foot four, incredibly handsome, and she was almost certain he was gay.
“Oh, shut up,” he said to Jane, laughing at her as she stood up too, though with considerable difficulty. She needed a crane to get her out of the chair. And then he turned to Paris with a mock-severe expression. “And if you get pregnant, in or out of wedlock, you're fired on the spot. I can't go through this again.” He looked meek and boyish then, and they both laughed. “This has been very hard on me. You may have stretch marks,” he said to Jane, “but my nerves are stretched a lot tighter than your stomach!”
“Sorry, Bix,” she said, looking anything but contrite. She was thrilled about the baby, and she knew he was happy for her. In six years of working for him, he had become her mentor and best friend.
“On second thought,” he said to Paris then, “have your tubes tied. How old are you, by the way?”
“Forty-six. Almost forty-seven.”
“Really? I'm impressed. If I didn't know you had kids, I would think you were in your late thirties. When you said you had a son at Berkeley, I figured you for forty, tops. I'm thirty-nine,” he said easily, “but I had my eyes done last year. You don't need a thing done, so I won't bother to give you his name.” He was very generous with his praise, and she was touched by what he said. And then he looked serious as he glanced at the mountain of papers on his desk. There were files scattered everywhere, photographs, fabric swatches, blueprints, designs, and Jane's desk in the next room looked considerably worse. One entire wall of her office was cork, and there were a million notes and messages pinned to it. “When can you start?” he asked Paris bluntly, seeming to rev his engines suddenly. She could see what a dynamo he was. But he had to be. He had a lot on his plate.
