Season for Love - Velvet Carter Mills & Boon Kimani

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the tall, model-looking hostess asked.

      “Yes, table for two for Spears,” Lark answered, using Edwin’s last name, which rolled off her tongue with ease. “Mrs. Lark Spears”—I like the sound of that, she thought, getting ahead of herself.

      The hostess scanned the reservation book and then said, “Right this way.”

      Once again, excitement flowed through Lark’s veins with each step she took. She was looking forward to sharing a gourmet meal with Edwin and lingering over after-dinner drinks—and maybe, just maybe, going back to her place. She wasn’t ready to sleep with Edwin yet, but she wasn’t opposed to other forms of intimacy. During their coffee date, she had taken notice of Edwin’s full lips and had wondered whether or not he was a good kisser. Lark was sure tonight she would find out the answer.

      “Here’s your table. Your waiter will be right over,” the hostess said, placing menus on the table.

      “Thank you.”

      Lark sat down. She was a bit disappointed that Edwin hadn’t arrived ahead of her. He always called her at the designated time. She automatically assumed that he would be prompt for their long-awaited romantic evening.

      “Hello, my name is Jeff, and I’ll be your waiter this evening. Can I start you off with a cocktail or a glass of wine?”

      “I’ll have a Manhattan.”

      “Coming right up.”

      Lark peered around the restaurant. It was mostly filled with couples having cozy dinners. She was the only person sitting alone, and she began to feel self-conscious. I wonder what’s keeping Edwin. Maybe he got caught up in traffic. Lark glanced at her watch. It was a quarter past eight.

      She took out her cell phone and dialed his number. It rang and rang before going to voice mail. Instead of leaving a message, Lark sent him a text, thinking he would get her message sooner.

      Hey where r u? I’m @ Jean-Georges waiting 4 u.

      The waiter came back with her cocktail. “Would you like to hear about tonight’s specials?”

      Lark looked at the front entrance, hoping to see Edwin walking through the door, but he was nowhere in sight. “Actually, I’m waiting for someone. Can you come back in a few minutes?”

      “Sure, no problem.”

      Ten minutes passed with no sign of Edwin. Lark was starting to worry. Maybe he was in a car accident. She called his phone again. This time it went straight to voice mail without ringing, an indication that his phone was turned off.

      “Hi, Edwin. It’s me, Lark. Where are you? I hope you’re okay. I’m at the restaurant waiting. See you soon.”

      Another ten minutes passed. The waiter returned and Lark ordered another drink to ease her nerves. She had read the menu twice, trying to bide her time. Worry began to turn to disappointment and disappointment to anger at the thought of Edwin standing her up. Lark ran a company dependent on deadlines and she considered time to be a precious commodity. The thought of someone wasting hers was unacceptable.

      Lark took the phone out of her purse and dialed Edwin’s number again. She was now fuming. She was going to give him a piece of her mind for not showing up for their date.

      “Hello?” a female voice answered on the first ring.

      “Oh...I must have the wrong number,” Lark said.

      “No, Lark, you have the right number. Edwin won’t be joining you at Jean-Georges tonight or any other night.”

      Lark’s mouth fell open. She was speechless. “Who is this?” she finally said.

      “I’m Edwin’s fiancée. I read your text and listened to your message. I don’t know what Edwin has been telling you, but he’s taken. Please don’t ever call this number again.”

      The line went dead before Lark had a chance to respond. She sat there, staring at her phone in total disbelief.

      “Are you still waiting, miss?” the waiter asked, standing at the side of her table.

      “Uh...no... No, I’m not.”

      As the waiter rattled off the names of the gourmet entrées, Lark stared into space. She couldn’t believe the sudden turn of events. The words I’m Edwin’s fiancée kept reverberating in her ear. Lark was dumbfounded. She had totally misjudged Edwin’s character. He had lied to her about being single. Not only was he not single, but he was engaged to be married! His intention was probably to have no-strings-attached sex with her—as Darcy had warned—but he was taking the slow, drawn-out approach.

      “Excuse me, miss... Would you care to order now?” the waiter asked after he had finished explaining the specials of the evening.

      “I’m sorry,” Lark said, coming back to reality. “Can you repeat the specials?”

      After the waiter reiterated his spiel, Lark ordered.

      “I’ll have the salmon, medium rare. And can you bring me a glass of champagne?”

      “Right away, miss.”

      After the waiter brought the champagne over, Lark slightly raised the glass and whispered, “Here’s to the end of my online dating career.”

      She wasn’t about to sit there crying her eyes out and mourning the loss of a potential relationship. As far as she was concerned, it was Edwin’s loss, not hers. Lark knew she had a lot to offer the right man, and obviously Edwin was not that man.

       Chapter 2

      The Seventh Avenue offices of Randolph on the Runway—RR—were bustling with activity. The fall shows were over and the company was busy filling the last of the orders, designing a new line and preparing for the next round of fashion shows.

      Being the chief operating officer and creative director, Lark was right in the thick of things. She strutted briskly down the corridor in a snug black pencil skirt, a white cotton shirt with huge billowy sleeves and a pair of pointy black stilettos. Her short hair was tucked behind her ears and her lips were painted blood-orange, her signature color, which was a blend of two different lipsticks. Lark spoke quickly to her assistant, Angelica, as she walked alongside her.

      Although the fall fashion shows were long over, Lark had recently called some of the buyers she knew personally and had been able to convince them to purchase a few pieces. The sales numbers had been dwindling over the past few seasons and she desperately needed to increase revenue before the company drowned in debt.

      “Do we have the final sales numbers yet from Patricia Taylor?” Patricia was one of the buyers whom Lark had contacted.

      “No, but I’m sure I’ll have them later this afternoon,” Angelica responded.

      “Okay, sounds good. What time is my next interview scheduled for?”

      Angelica referred to her tablet and said, “Two o’clock.”

      Lark had been meeting with some of the hottest designers on Seventh Avenue. She had let go of her lead designer and was having a difficult time finding his replacement. Most of the candidates she had met with either didn’t have the design skills or the right vision for her company. And with profits plummeting, she needed a designer who not only had major cutting-edge talent, but whom she could work with in harmony.

      As she made her way to the conference room, she reflected back on the incident that had sparked the blowup with the previous designer.

      Lark and Sebastian, the lead designer, who had been with Randolph on the Runway for years, had been in the company’s showroom scrutinizing the collection just days before the start of the fall show. He had wanted to pull the final piece from the collection, saying the hemline was dated and the gown didn’t fit

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