Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

Chapter 37 [Cordelia]Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

The rest of my morning went by in a flurry of signed purchase orders and special requests. There wasn't enough time for me to think about Atlas or anything else.

By the end of the afternoon, I had secured over one million dollars in orders and there are still another three hours of the market to go. Buyers and other investors are still swarming around booths, looking for collections to add to their stores, all of them buzzing about the next big event-the Best of Market Fashion Show.

"Hey, Cordy!" Clark's micro drone hovers next to his left ear like an electronic assistant, recording our conversation like an interview. "Did you hear the news?"

Tilly and I look at each other.

"The list for the Best of Market Show was just released," he pulls out a copy of the list and begins reading off the names. A few popular designers are listed, no surprise there, including Mathilda Madison."... And," he pauses for dramatic effect, "Cordelia Louise Designs!" he announces.

Heads turn as Tilly and I scream in excitement, our hands clasped as we bounce up and down like I just won the lottery. Newcomers rarely get selected for this show, especially not in their first year!.

"I told you!" Tilly exclaims, "You are a rockstar!"

Clark excuses himself to interview a few more winners. Tilly, who suddenly looks exhausted, asks me to watch her booth while she takes a little break. Remembering how she kindly set up my booth this morning, I immediately agreed.

Working alone, I am thinking of how much has happened in the last few hours when I feel a powerful, almost magnetic draw. Standing two booths away, Atlas is watching me, his eyes alight

with pride. He starts to move towards the booth, but I turn away. I don't strong enough to face him yet. My heart still burns as I think about him and Sydney alone together at this convention.

"Congratulations, Cordelia," I can feel his warmth as he stands close, not quite touching, but near enough that I can smell his signature, clean scent. "I am not surprised that you got in, your line is incredible."

"Did you have something to do with it," I close my eyes, not wanting to see how much the thought hurts me. I want to believe I did something incredible, but I can't help but think that money, not talent, was behind this choice. "Did you pay someone or..." "No," he protests arrogantly. I open my eyes in surprise to find my gaze matched by his steely glare as he declares "I would never do that, Cordelia. You earned your spot."

I take a step away from him, and his expression grows soft and sad. It is the same vulnerability from the night at the police station. It seems so foreign on the face of a man who prefers to be in control.

Sighing deeply I ask, "Why are you here, Atlas?" I turn my face away again so he doesn't see my pain as I ask "Shouldn't you be with Sydney? Where is she?"

"I don't know and I don't care," he replies blandly. "She's probably still upset from earlier, but she was in the wrong. Maybe she deserves to be upset."

"Aren't you two dating," I query, shocked at his sudden change of tone.

"It's strictly professional," he insists. "She is my assistant, nothing else is going on."

I give him a long, hard look. "I've seen the two of you together, Atlas. Is she aware that you aren't dating?"

He ignores my question. Setting his hands on the countertop of my booth, he moans, "Why do we always argue, Cordelia? I came here to ask you something, but now, I'm not sure where to start." "Maybe you can start with th as

truth," I demand as I turn away from him.

I'm done with this nonsense. I am about to ask Clark to watch my booth when Atlas calls out, "I want to offer you a job."

"You cannot be serious?" I gasp. "Me, come work for you?"

"Would that really be so bad?" his body is still. In his hands he is holding a small box. "Here," offers it to me. "I was hoping you'd accept this as a..."

"Yes."

"Yes," his posture straighter "Yes, it really would be that b

"You will work with me then?"

I cross my arms, scowling. "I am out here on my own, Atlas. I don't need,

nor want, your help." Turning my back on him, I add. "Now if you'll excuse me, it looks like I have a lot of work to do if I am going to be ready for a fashion show tonight."

He places a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he almost whispers. "Just, please, consider my offer."

I hum to myself, making sure he knows I am ignoring him as I begin to sift through my racks. Eventually his fading footsteps calm my nerves and I turn to see his silhouette disappearing around the corner.

I begin to tidy up my booth as I make calls to models, hair stylists, and makeup artists. I have 2 hours to get the fashion show ready. I had no idea I'd be winning, so unfortunately I wasn't prepared. Thankfully Tilly comes back from her break just as I become almost too flustered to focus. Patting me gently on the hand, she takes over the arrangements while Clark and I man the two booths.

I notice the box when I take my position at the head of the booth. It is the same box that Atlas had been holding moments before. My name is scrawled in his small, tidy handwriting on a small tag attached to a silver bow.

As I move to toss it into the garbage bin, I feel something rattling inside. Something heavy.

Curious, I untie the bow and open the box.

Inside is a beautiful emerald comb. It looks antique and very expensive.

Holding it up to the light, it almost glows.

"Cordy, where did you find that?" Clark asks, seeing me staring at the shining comb. "My grandmother used to have something a lot like

it."

Grandmother? Why would he give me such a precious gift?

Setting the comb back in the box, I hand it to Clark."Can you watch both of our booths for a minute," I ask him. "I need to check on something." Following the way I saw Atlas disappear, I take a step outside the hall and shout his name, "Atlas?"

He doesn't respond. I march towards an open door across the room.

"Atlas!" I call again. "At..."

A hand covers my mouth mid word as, with rough movements I am dragged backwards into the arms of a brutal stranger.