Night Thunder Read Free

had slammed down the phone before Josy said something she’d have regretted. Standing up for herself was one thing, but getting herself fired was another—especially in the current job market. She needed this job, at least until she had a few more notches of success on her belt and a comfortable financial cushion to fall back on in case she was out of work for any length of time.
    But if she didn’t have the sketches done in two weeks—a month at the latest—that point would be moot. She
would
be out of a job—and up a creek.
    If only she could just get past this mental block, relax, and come up with an
idea . . .
    She went back to her desk and picked up the sketches. Coffee stains or no, they weren’t that good, she realized, her heart sinking. Adequate maybe, some possibilities to work with . . . but . . .
    The individual pieces lacked cohesion and . . . something else.
    Flair. Freshness.
Inspiration.
    Frustrated, she sank into the chair and dumped the sketches in the wastebasket. She dragged her hands through her hair, trying to picture the runway at the spring show, the models all dressed in the new line from Francesca Dellagio.
And what were they wearing?
she wondered, closing her eyes, trying to see the suits and jackets and skirts and dresses draping the models’ bodies. They were wearing . . . they were wearing . . .
    Nothing. She saw nothing.
    And that’s what your future will hold if you don’t shake
off this block,
she told herself furiously, opening her eyes and pushing back her chair. She began to pace through her apartment. She thought better when she paced.
    But all she could think about was how much she was going to miss working with Jane and Reese after she was fired.
    They’d both hurried into her office after that last nasty phone conversation with Francesca.
    “That bitch ought to be kissing your feet!” Jane had exclaimed. “The only reason Francesca Dellagio Designs made it in the first place was because of
your
ideas! You’ve been letting her take the credit for three years, when you’re the one who came up with every single element of the collections!”
    “And look what happened this season, when she vetoed your stuff and went ahead with her own,” Reese pointed out, as they both dropped into the chocolate suede chairs opposite Josy’s desk. “The fashion writers crucified her. She knows the new line has to be a stunning success. You’re her only chance.”
    “Start your own company and I’ll come with you.” Jane leaned forward, her blue eyes dancing beneath her crown of short, spiky red hair. “Wouldn’t you, Reese?”
    “Yes, if everything was in place. If Josy had the resources and was ready,” Reese had said slowly. She’d studied Josy with frank appraisal. “I don’t think you are right now, are you?” she’d asked thoughtfully. “You’re still figuring out what direction you want to go in.” At thirty-four, she was tall and lean as a model, with dark hair, flawless olive skin, and a master’s degree in business from Yale. And she’d been married and divorced three times before she was thirty.
    “Ever since Doug Fifer burned you, you’ve been . . . different. Distracted. You can’t let a man get to you like that, Josy. Don’t take men—any man—so seriously. They’ll only bring you down.”
    “I’m not down. I’m just . . . blank. Every time I get an idea, I discard it. Nothing’s ringing my bells.” She’d pushed a bunch of papers around her desk, hesitated, and finally told them the truth. “It’s not just Doug. It’s not just because I feel like an idiot for not
knowing
he was married, for letting him deceive me all that time. Even though, God knows, I do.”
    She’d taken a deep breath and looked from one to the other. “There’s . . . something else. Something that I found out about right around the same time. And . . . I can’t stop thinking about it.”
    “Oh, my God, you’re pregnant!” Jane gasped.
    “
No.
I’m not