night to serve as a, um, a kind of focus group. I’d like you to be there to take notes.”
“Sure.” Carly stood and turned to leave. As she whirled around, her things got tangled up in her purse strap and flew out of her arms. A sketch pad bounced off the top of the desk and landed on the floor, its pages exposed. They both bent to pick it up at the same time.
Carly flushed as they each grabbed a corner and pulled. The top pages came free and scattered across the floor.
Miranda looked at the drawings that covered the sheets of paper. Surprised, she looked up at the other woman. “Where did you get these?”
The assistant swallowed. “I drew them.”
“What are they?”
“Bras.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Miranda responded dryly. “But why are you drawing pictures of them?”
“Because I want to be a designer.” Carly raised her chin a notch as if expecting laughter, but Miranda could barely take her eyes off the drawings.
“I’ve been studying in my free time with Myrna. And I’m also learning CAD—you know, computer-aided design. But I do better sketching by hand like Myrna does.”
“And these are?” Miranda asked.
Carly stepped closer. “Drawings of a bra I designed for myself.” She blushed again. “I’m petite but busty. Off-the-rack stuff doesn’t work that well for me.”
Miranda took the pad and flipped through the rest of the sketches. “What about this?”
“Well, Anna in marketing saw what I’d designed for myself and asked if I could design something for her. She wanted a different kind of cup and she likes the padded satin strap instead of the normal elastic strap.”
“Have you had any of this costed out?” Miranda asked.
“No, but Myrna said it shouldn’t be too expensive. I mean we already have all the pieces, you know? I’m just combining them in different ways.”
Miranda handed the drawings back to Carly. She and the women in her family had always had custom bras. It was one of the perks of being in the business. But she’d never really stopped and thought about how other women got the right style and fit.
Miranda picked up her purse and a stack of folders from the desk and walked out of the office with Carly while the seed of an idea took root in her brain.
On her way home, Miranda stopped at Ling Pow’s to pick up her takeout order. The restaurant was mobbed, and after squeezing through the front door, she began to maneuver her way toward the cash register. There she waited next to the fish tank, her gaze drawn to one unhealthy-looking fellow who seemed to be floating on his side, until Ling Pow himself beckoned her forward.
“Ah, Missy Smith. So sorry. I don’t see your ticket here.”
Miranda’s stomach gave a growl of protest. She was tired and hungry and in no mood for crowds. “How long will it take if you start it now?”
“Want please, such good customer, but kitchen way behind. I go check.”
Miranda stepped out of line and back into the empty spot near the fish tank. Her friend had rolled over onto his back and seemed to be staring up at the ceiling. Every once in a while his tail fin moved, but the other fish were giving him a pretty wide berth.
Unable to stand the look in the fish’s eye, Miranda glanced up over the tank into the main dining room, where all twenty tables were occupied. Her gaze skidded to a stop when it collided with Blake Summers’s.
She would have turned and run if she’d had any hope of getting out of there without looking like she was turning and running. She’d already backed up against the fish tank as tightly as she could without joining her walleyed friend.
Before she could think, she heard Ling Pow’s voice beside her. “I put in usual order,” he said. “Let me find place to sit. You eat now.”
“No, I want to—”
“She can join us.”
Miranda whipped her head around at the sound of Blake Summers’s voice.
“No, I . . .” Their game of vehicular follow-the-leader was still fresh in
“Sure.” Carly stood and turned to leave. As she whirled around, her things got tangled up in her purse strap and flew out of her arms. A sketch pad bounced off the top of the desk and landed on the floor, its pages exposed. They both bent to pick it up at the same time.
Carly flushed as they each grabbed a corner and pulled. The top pages came free and scattered across the floor.
Miranda looked at the drawings that covered the sheets of paper. Surprised, she looked up at the other woman. “Where did you get these?”
The assistant swallowed. “I drew them.”
“What are they?”
“Bras.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Miranda responded dryly. “But why are you drawing pictures of them?”
“Because I want to be a designer.” Carly raised her chin a notch as if expecting laughter, but Miranda could barely take her eyes off the drawings.
“I’ve been studying in my free time with Myrna. And I’m also learning CAD—you know, computer-aided design. But I do better sketching by hand like Myrna does.”
“And these are?” Miranda asked.
Carly stepped closer. “Drawings of a bra I designed for myself.” She blushed again. “I’m petite but busty. Off-the-rack stuff doesn’t work that well for me.”
Miranda took the pad and flipped through the rest of the sketches. “What about this?”
“Well, Anna in marketing saw what I’d designed for myself and asked if I could design something for her. She wanted a different kind of cup and she likes the padded satin strap instead of the normal elastic strap.”
“Have you had any of this costed out?” Miranda asked.
“No, but Myrna said it shouldn’t be too expensive. I mean we already have all the pieces, you know? I’m just combining them in different ways.”
Miranda handed the drawings back to Carly. She and the women in her family had always had custom bras. It was one of the perks of being in the business. But she’d never really stopped and thought about how other women got the right style and fit.
Miranda picked up her purse and a stack of folders from the desk and walked out of the office with Carly while the seed of an idea took root in her brain.
On her way home, Miranda stopped at Ling Pow’s to pick up her takeout order. The restaurant was mobbed, and after squeezing through the front door, she began to maneuver her way toward the cash register. There she waited next to the fish tank, her gaze drawn to one unhealthy-looking fellow who seemed to be floating on his side, until Ling Pow himself beckoned her forward.
“Ah, Missy Smith. So sorry. I don’t see your ticket here.”
Miranda’s stomach gave a growl of protest. She was tired and hungry and in no mood for crowds. “How long will it take if you start it now?”
“Want please, such good customer, but kitchen way behind. I go check.”
Miranda stepped out of line and back into the empty spot near the fish tank. Her friend had rolled over onto his back and seemed to be staring up at the ceiling. Every once in a while his tail fin moved, but the other fish were giving him a pretty wide berth.
Unable to stand the look in the fish’s eye, Miranda glanced up over the tank into the main dining room, where all twenty tables were occupied. Her gaze skidded to a stop when it collided with Blake Summers’s.
She would have turned and run if she’d had any hope of getting out of there without looking like she was turning and running. She’d already backed up against the fish tank as tightly as she could without joining her walleyed friend.
Before she could think, she heard Ling Pow’s voice beside her. “I put in usual order,” he said. “Let me find place to sit. You eat now.”
“No, I want to—”
“She can join us.”
Miranda whipped her head around at the sound of Blake Summers’s voice.
“No, I . . .” Their game of vehicular follow-the-leader was still fresh in
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