Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

Chapter 35 [Cordelia]

Clark knocked on the door of our studio the next morning, a tray of coffee in his right hand, a bag of donuts in his left, and a huge, goofy smile across his face.

"Good Morning, Cordy," he chirps. "Ready to start your day?"

Apparently, he is one of those annoying morning people.

"Why are you here?" I groan, ignoring his laughter as he follows me inside.

Tilly, another annoying morning person, gladly takes a coffee from him and puts him right to work helping

us load our two fashion collections into the back of Clark's rented van. During our "slumber party" last

night, it was decided that the convection would be more fun if we all went together.

T

I thought he was joking when he said he'd pick us up at 6 am.

"The convention starts at 8," he reminds us as he grabs another box. "We need to get there in time to unload our things, get your booths set up, and then check into the hotel. We want to make sure that everything is ready to go before the vendors stop by. "I hate you a little bit," I whine as I take a large bite of a maple bar and wash it down with hot chocolate.

Tilly and Clark somehow manage to drag me into the van, where I promptly fall asleep. One of them covers me with a blanket, giving me a small kiss on my forehead as I dream.

My dreams turn to nightmares as I remember the day before and the body parts floating in jars. My heart beating rapidly, I wake up with a start as the van comes to a sudden halt.

Looking around, I notice that we are not in front of the loading dock. Tilly is nowhere to be found. As I stumble out of the van, Clark tells me that Tilly is going to set up our side-by-side booths while Clark and I check into the hotel.

"She thought you might want to take a nap and freshen up before the convention officially begins," He smiles. My legs feel a bit unsteady after sleeping in an awkward position, so he offers me his hand so that I don't trip as we cross the threshold. "Thank you, Clark," I rest my head against his shoulder, my eyes only partway open. "You are such a good friend."

He replies with a small smile which slowly turns downward. I follow his gaze to see Atlas standing across the room, his furrowed and angry grimace visible even from a distance. Standing to his right is Sydney, who is engaged in a deep conversation with the concierge, who looks equally upset.

"I guess someone got up on the wrong side of the bed, Clark snorts. "I'll check in with him later. I already got our key, so I'll just take you up to the room."

We head straight for the elevator. Turning my gaze away, I pretend I don't feel Atlas' eyes on the back of my head as we disappear inside.

When we arrive in the main hall, Clark helps me find Tilly, who is handling both our booths like a champ. When she is finally free, I rush up to her, giving her a huge hug.

"Thank you!" I am so grateful for her help but I also feel guilty about leaving her alone for so long. "You are a lifesaver and I could not do this without you!"

"Of course you could!" she hugs me back. "And you will."

I take my position behind my booth, the words "Cordelia Louise" in bright gold letters hanging above a collection of tasteful but stylish day-to-evening ensembles. This is my first collection, and I am both proud and terrified to show it to the world. Looking over the ledger, with Tilly working my booth I have already sold $100,000 in orders since the show started. Beaming at my small success, I begin to imagine how it will feel to design my next collection, to watch my business grow and flourish. "These are stunning," his smooth tone turns my head as it always does. Atlas is moving the items on my rack, admiring the details. "I wonder if the designer would be open to signing an exclusive deal." Atlas hasn't noticed me, but Sydney has.

"These are terrible," her lip curls into snarl as she mocks me with her mouth as well as her eyes. "We need something more classy for Steele Industries, isn't that right, Atlas."

He shakes his head, ignoring the way she pants his name, oblivious to the fingernail she traces along his arm. "No, you aren't seeing the genius behind these ensembles. Whoever designed this..." He turns to see me standing there, blinking.

"Cordelia," my name sounds like a prayer on his lips as his hand slowly drops the sleeve of one of my finer pieces. "Are...are these yours?"

"Yes," I stand up straighter. "My first line." I point to the name above my head.This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

Seeing the sign for the first time, he looks at me, and then the sign, and back at me before he says. "Well done, Cordelia. I am so proud of you."

His gaze is so warm, so intense, that I look away, my cheeks flushed as my body betrays how I grow warm and excited by his praise.

Stupid hormones. Apparently, pregnancy comes with heightened emotions.

"Well it was nice to see you, Ms Greyson," Sydney steps between us. Atlas and I must get going. We have a lot to see before we retire later to OUR room. I'm sure that once we are done here we will not want to be disturbed." "Sydney," he places a hand on her shoulder and I feel my blood turn into ice. "This is not the time..."

I don't wait to hear what sweet nothings he wants to whisper in her ear.

"Excuse me," Turning from the booth, I don't look back as I rush towards the nearest double doors. Why do I even care? Sydney has his heart. Why can't I forget that I gave him mine long ago?

The cold air on my wet cheeks, as I find myself outside, is a welcome distraction from the burning of my pulse as blood rushes beneath the surface of my skin, my body still blushing in reaction to his fleeting, kind words. Chapter 35

As I bend down, placing my hands on my knees as I struggle to regain composure, a warm hand touches my shoulder. There is a fine silk handkerchief held between two of his fingers, the initials, "AS" embroidered in ivory thread. I slowly turn to find myself looking up into the deep blue eyes of the man I once loved.

"Atlas," I whisper, as if saying his name might make him disappear. "Why did you...?"

"Please," he places his handkerchief in my palm. "Talk to me, Cordelia."

I open my mouth to confess everything, let him know that he is going to be a father, but then I hear the mocking cruelty of Sydney's words and think of a world where this child grows up with her as a potential stepmother. "You should probably go back and check on her," I insist.

The silence stretches between us as I turn my back, waiting to hear him walk away before I bring his handkerchief to my face. It is still warm and smells like the fresh lavender he uses to pack all of his linens. Finally alone, I fall to pieces, weeping for a love that never was and never will be.