Dancing Barefoot by Amber Lea Easton Page A

construction by next month. The last architecture firm who'd had this contract had lost it due to incompetence, which had already put the clients behind schedule. She'd promised the moon now she needed to deliver. She didn't have time for petty distractions like gallery exhibits and ex-lovers appearing out of the blue. 
    “Fancy clothes and short hair. No more curls. I never imagined. Jacques was right...what a tragedy.”
    Jessica looked up from the sketches in front of her and dr opped her pencil to the floor. Ava Sinclair stood in her office wearing a smile that screamed trouble. She needed to check the office policy on deadbolts. 
    "Ava," she said the name as if verifying to herself that she wasn't dreaming. 
    “Can you escape this place for an hour or two? I flew up a few days early.”  Ava stood next to the desk looking sleek in a tailored white linen three-piece suit.
    “Early?” She blinked, unable to process that Ava Sinclair stood in her office.
    “For Jacques’ gallery exhibit. He's arriving later today, but I hadn't planned on coming up until Thursday. When I heard about what happened between the two of you on Friday, I had to come up to supervise.” Ava stepped around her to look at the sketch filling the desk. “You and I aren’t so different, are we?”
    She'd fulfilled her quota of handling friends' sisters for the day.
    “What do you mean?” She swallowed the apprehension closing her throat.  She hadn't seen this woman in years, yet Ava acted like showing up at the office was an every day occurrence. "What did you hear happened between us on Friday?"
    Considering Jacques' new propensity for revealing his soul to anyone who asked, she wondered how many detail s he'd confided to his sister.
    “We both sketch for a livi ng, don’t we?  I design dresses, you design buildings.  The same, see? Here.”  She shoved Jessica’s bag into her lap and motioned for her to stand. “We must go before someone stops you.”
    “I’m not in prison. Just give me a minute to tell my assistant where I’m going.”  Legs wobbled when she stood. This Belgian invasion of her life was taking a toll on her nervous system. 
    “Well, w ell, who’s your friend, Mori?” Marc asked, leaning against the doorframe.  His eyes scanned Ava from her golden hair to the designer shoes. "Wait...I remember you. You're the Frenchman's sister."
    “ We're Belgian and, yes, I remember you as well.”  Ava squinted at him. 
    “We’re on our way out. I’ll catch up with you later.” She linked her arm through Ava’s and steered her away.
    “ You work with him?” Ava looked over her shoulder at Marc.
    “ Yes.”
    “ And what else do you do with him? Is it true? Are you involved with him of all people? The man is nasty.” Emerald eyes focused on hers with the same intensity Jacques’s possessed. 
    “ Don't judge him based on his bad behavior when he visited me in Italy.”
    “Are you and he lovers?”
    “Can we save the personal questions until we’re someplace a little less conspicuous?” Ignoring Ava’s raised eyebrows, she told Alex that she would be out for a late lunch.
    “ Mmm, an assistant, office, short hair, suit...I see why Jacques was storming around acting like you'd died.”
    “ He sure has a lot of opinions. Died, huh? Does he realize how insulting that is or is that somehow slipping through the translation?” She tugged Ava toward the elevator. She stabbed the down button with her thumb. “Maybe we should take the stairs.”
    “I am in no hurry.” Ava smiled. “You’re successful then?”
    "So they tell me. Associate partner, which means I have a lot of work to do , yet everyone seems to think they can just barge in and take over my life today."
    "So high strung, you need to relax."
    Nerves jittered. Again, she ground her thumb against the down button on the elevator. After Marc's reaction about Jacques last night, the last person he needed to meet was Jacques' sister. She chewed the