Perfecly Imperfect

Perfectly Imperfect

Published by Rachel Rager at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Rachel Rager

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To my

Wednesday Romance Readers.

Thank you for your support.

May you have wonderful kisses!

Life doesn’t always turn out the way we plan.

Someone told her that cliché long ago, and as she sat working at her desk that lay covered with material swatches and various sketches and crumpled papers, Monet Carlson understood the truth of it. Life had been wonderful, or so she thought, but that just went to prove that no one ever knows the outcome of anything.

Life had placed her at the age of twenty-five alone and somewhat reclusive from others. She had a good career, a career that would provide for her well being for years to come. However, as with most good things in life, a diligent sacrifice of time and money had been made to earn her the position she now carried.

Work was the only thing that kept her anchored to the present, and so she worked hard. She had little time for socializing. To her, going out, unless for a business adventure, was a waste of time and energy that could be spent climbing the ladder of success. Yet, as this thought crossed her mind, a small voice in the back of her head – one she had learned to ignore years before – struggled to be heard. It was the voice that continually told her of the dreams she once wanted, of the life she had always wanted. Pushing the voice aside with skilled practice, she reminded herself that the experienced business woman in her knew better than to let emotions run her life as they once had. They were, after all, what had destroyed her life.

Sighing heavily, she stood, shuffled through the papers strewn over her desk until she found the sketch she was looking for and marched down the hall. Her determined gait blinded her to anyone passing. The door at the end of the corridor was open. She walked in, slapped the sketch on the desk in front of the brunette that sat behind it, and sat down across from her.

What’s this?

Monet leaned back in her chair. That, Macall, is what is going to make this company double its income in a year.

Really? Macall Stevens picked up the sketch and studied it with revered awe. Macall and Monet had been lifelong friends. A couple years ago, – after Monet’s life had fallen apart – she’d gone to Oregon and started working for Macall. A year later, they became partners. Though Macall was talented, Monet brought in more revenue than anyone in the office.

Who bought it? Macall’s calculated gaze caressed every angle of the drawing.

Monet laughed. You’ll never guess, so I’ll give you a clue. A sly grin spread over her face, and she leaned forward, her voice lowering to a whisper. He owns over half the market west of the Rockies.

No, gasped Macall. She dramatically placed a hand to her bosom and slapped the sketch on the desk. You can’t possibly mean….

"Yes, I do. I put this sketch on my web site and who tracked into it? None other than the infamous Bristol Kelly. The Mr. Kelly who owns Virtually You. He wants to market this dress and claims to have several celebrities who want to get their hands on it as soon as possible. And you know what that means." Monet paused for effect, but her friend already knew what that meant.

It means other chains will want it too, as well as the knock-off chains. And you, my friend, will be one of the wealthiest women I know!

Monet simply laughed. The fact that Bristol Kelly wanted her design made life almost…exciting. Quickly, she dug up her feelings of hurt and pain that always came as a result of exciting things. This sobered her slightly, yet the feeling of succeeding at something was a wondrous feeling.

When did all this happen?

Monet batted the air casually with her hand. Mr. Kelly’s secretary contacted me the middle part of last week.

You’ve known all this time, and you never told me?

Monet shrugged. If I told you, the entire world would know about it before we even sealed the deal.

Macall raised her eye brows, then nodded in agreement.

I’d better get back to work. I need to finish up with a couple things before I leave. Monet stood and retrieved her sketch back from her friend.

What are you doing for dinner? Macall asked. Do you want to grab a bite to eat at Mike’s down the street?

No thanks. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Kelly this evening to discuss his proposition and how much money I will make off this thing. Monet threw her a charming smile.

Macall’s eyes sparkled. I hear the man’s so handsome he the Greek Gods of old look plain.

That’s only a rumor, I’m sure. Besides, you know that I have no desire to entertain a relationship. I’m focusing on my career.

I know. But if he happens to be the nicest, handsomest, and richest man you’ve ever met, you should at least consider him.

Macall, this is business. Business and love do not mix. You of all people know that.

Macall waved her hand in dismissive fashion. Well, then make sure to mention my name. He’s not my client.

Monet smiled and left the office.

~ * ~

I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Kelly, Monet told the man behind the counter of the restaurant. She had been to high end restaurants before but this one topped the cake, so to speak. This black tie establishment made Monet feel dowdy in her satin and chiffon evening gown. The decision of what to wear tonight had been grueling, but she had finally settled on the form fitting red one which complimented her complexion. She wore her hair down and as she looked around, instantly wished she hadn’t. Not a single woman in the establishment wore her hair down. And the red drew eyes that she wished to avoid.

The maitre’d gave her an appreciative look. Name?

Monet Carlson.

He’s expecting you. This way please, ma’am.

Monet followed the man among the tables weaving around the other patrons of the restaurant. Though she gave little heed to what others thought of her, the continual stares she received made her feel a little panicked.

Her host stopped at a table where a handsome man sat poring over some papers that sat before him and sipping some water from a glass beside them. The waiter motioned to the table before leaving her to fend for herself.

Excuse me. Mr. Kelly. When the man looked up, she continued. I’m Monet Carlson.

Ah yes. Miss Carlson. He stood, shook her hand, and motioned for her to take a seat opposite him. Please sit.

Thank you. She sat down as elegantly as she could, though she felt like an awkward doll being forced by some invisible hand to sit at the table.

She could not tear her gaze from the man before her. For some reason, she had expected to be meeting a grandfatherly figure; a man who had dedicated his entire life to his profession. As it was, this man could not be much older than thirty. His manner of dress was impeccable, of course, and she instantly wondered if she were on a blind date with the man or here on a business engagement.

"I hope you don’t mind a little business before dinner. I like to get it over with