Free Wayward Dreams by Gail McFarland

to the window. Morning sun slanted through the glass, brightening the room and promising perfect weather. I’m going to sign that contract, she promised herself, and the Winston sisters are going to help me complete the order. They have my designs, and the fabric is already in their studio. KPayne already paid for…
    His money again.
    Wanting to talk to the Winston sisters again, she pushed thoughts of KPayne out of her head and punched in their number. The phone rang twice before the sisters picked up on two different extensions, giggling when they answered at the same time. Enthused, Bianca told them about the call from the Neiman’s buyer, enjoying their excitement when they began listing what they would need to complete production.
    â€œI just want to make sure you have enough supplies on hand. I don’t want to run out of anything.” Because I certainly don’t have the money for extras.
    â€œNo ma’am, Miss Bianca,” Gaia said. “We have so much fabric on hand that you’ll even have enough to carry your shirt in your own store when you get it back up and running.”
    â€œAnd maybe make it a premium offering over the Internet,” Amaya suggested.
    Bless your little entrepreneurial hearts, Bianca thought. The Internet hadn’t even crossed my mind—yet.
    The conversation over, and feeling better than she had in days, Bianca didn’t even mind the thin white towels stacked in her bathroom. Finding something to wear in the snarl of things stuffed into her Vuitton bag was no problem. Dressed in jeans and tennis shoes, she had a little skip in her step as she left the motel room and headed for Vive la Reine.
    She decided against taking the highway and made a few turns, taking Peachtree Street through the middle of town. Humming along with the music from the car’s stereo, she told herself, Everything’s going to work out. I’m going to be okay.
    She was feeling so okay under the bright Georgia sun that she was a little sorry that the Jag was not a convertible. But at least it was a car, and a nice one, to boot. Making a final turn into the lot behind Vive la Reine, she was still humming as she reached the boarded-up wreckage of her shop.
    The song she was humming died in her throat the second she saw Martin Butcher. The building’s owner stood with one hand on the door of Vive la Reine, and the other on his hip, watching her. Tanned, urbane, and defiantly annoyed, he stood as a witness to the destruction beyond the door.
    â€œMiss Bianca. Have you been in there?” he demanded. “This place is about ready to be condemned.”
    â€œI know that it was bad the other day, but I thought I should check to see what could be salvaged.” Bianca squinted behind her sunglasses. Her stomach was already telegraphing dread. “Has it gotten any worse?”
    â€œWould it help if it had?” Butcher rolled his eyes and huffed as he slid a hand into the pocket of his carefully tailored jeans. “This is for you,” he said, slapping folded papers against his leg, then shoving them forward. “This is your lease. You’re going to have to leave.”
    When her mouth opened to protest, Butcher aimed the folded copies like a weapon. “Uh-uh. Read it, read it. The terminated utilities void your lease. You have to leave.”
    â€œMartin…” Bianca wanted to fall to the asphalt and bawl like a baby, but she didn’t. She pulled her large purse higher on her shoulder and tried not to tremble, because right then, humility almost hurt. “Please, can we talk this over? Try to work something out?”
    â€œThere is nothing to work out, honey. You have to go,” Butcher snapped, pushing his dark sunglasses over his eyes.
    â€œMartin, please. We’ve been friends for how long? You know that when I decided to open Vive la Reine, I never considered doing business with anyone but you. Can’t we work something