by Hart, Taylor
As Lauren entered the shop this time, she recognized the cashier, a woman who looked to be close to sixty, named Heidi—pronounced HAY-dee. Lauren didn’t know much Finnish yet, but she’d finally learned how to tease out pronunciations.
The cashier broke into a smile and waved. “You’re back!” Heidi said in heavily accented English, so back almost sounded like pack. She noticed the wheelchair, and her brow furrowed. “Oh no. You okay?”
“This is for a friend. She’s flying in.” Lauren plucked a 200-gram milk-chocolate bar from a stack, the one bearing the classic blue wrapper.
Heidi rang it up. “It’s good to see you again,” she said as she handed the bar and receipt to Lauren.
“Hei-hei,” Lauren said as a goodbye, then returned to baggage claim and stood between two carousels, waiting to see which would spit out Ulla’s luggage. Lauren opened the blue wrapper and broke off a line of four squares of chocolate. Then she popped one square into her mouth with her teeth. She had to consciously keep herself from moaning with enjoyment.
She must not have hidden her pleasure quite well enough, though, as a man’s voice piped up a few feet to her right. “That must be an amazing chocolate bar to get that kind of reaction, I must say.”
Lauren looked over, taken aback by a total stranger approaching her and talking to her without so much as an introduction. That might be normal in the States, but it certainly was not normal in Finland. She was what some called an extroverted introvert; she enjoyed hanging out with other people as much as anyone, but sometimes she wanted time alone for a while, time spent with herself and her thoughts. Finland was essentially an introverted nation, which fit her just fine. Quite simply, perfect strangers didn’t encroach on your personal space or start talking to you—let alone loudly, like this guy.
“Um,” she said, struggling to come up with something to say. She took in his appearance at a glance—slicked-back hair, an expensive suit, leather shoes, and a watch that might as well have had a neon sign pointing at it saying Rolex. She slipped the chocolate square into her cheek so she could speak and said, “Want some?” She held out the open end, then felt silly. She was seriously offering some rich stranger dude a piece of chocolate?
He gave her a half smile that curled just one side of his mouth. “No, but thank you. I couldn’t possibly deprive you of such enjoyment.”
Now she felt silly. “Okay, then.”
Before she turned forward to study the suitcases circling the carousel, a guy beside the rich guy piped up. “Is that local chocolate? I’ve heard it’s awesome. I’d love to try some.” She hadn’t even noticed him until she spoke.
Unsure what to think or say, Lauren glanced quickly at the rich guy and then back to the other. They seemed to be together, but the second man seemed down to earth, normal. He wore a new pair of jeans, loafers, a button-down shirt with a thin plaid pattern of red and white, and a tan blazer. Nice, but not Rolex fancy. Maybe Mr. Rolex was Mr. Blazer’s boss.
She hesitated a moment, but when Blazer held out an arm across Rolex, she closed the gap by offering the chocolate again. “It’s a Fazer Blue, my favorite. The Fazer factory isn’t far from Helsinki. The tour is really cool. If you’re into that kind of thing.” She was feeling more foolish by the moment, although she was aware that a lot of the feeling came from the stare of Mr. Rolex and how, though she was plenty wealthy herself, she hadn’t started that way. She didn’t know how to interact with people born with trust funds and multimillion-dollar inheritances.
Blazer guy broke off a row of squares as she had, bit one off, chewed a moment, then nodded. “That is good. Hershey’s, I never knew thee.” He held out his arm again, this time to shake hands. “I’m Eric, by the way.”
“Lauren,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Lauren.” He tilted his head toward Rolex. “And this is Mr. Carmichael. I’m his assistant.”
She swallowed in surprise, and the half-melted piece of chocolate got stuck halfway down. “Oh. Hello.” She should have guessed who he was. How many ultra-rich men would happen to be arriving at the airport the day before her merger meeting?
Rolex smiled wider at her and held out his hand, as if he hadn’t just found her love of chocolate amusing. His smile was startlingly white and looked like something out of a movie. Would she ever get used to ultra-rich people? She constantly felt like a fish out of water around them, sure she’d say or do something dumb that would reveal her humble upbringing.
“My assistant is being too formal,” he said—after having acted rather formal himself, and apparently after having flown across the Atlantic in a suit. “No need for formalities. Call me Carmichael.”
“Okay. Pleased to meet you . . . Carmichael.” The name felt a bit old-fashioned, like a Jane Austen heroine referring to men by their last names. So much for not using formalities. She had the urge to just call him by his first name to see what would happen. Maybe not even Frederick, but Freddy. He might have a coronary. The thought made her want to laugh, and she had to hide a smile.
They lapsed into silence as they watched the carousels. The chocolate square must have melted and made its way down, because the pressure in her chest was gone. She wanted to break off another square but didn’t want to look obsessed with chocolate in front of Carmichael.
He spoke next. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”
“I live here,” Lauren said. “Moved here for business.”
“You’re American?” he said.
“Yep,” she said. “I’m at the airport to pick up a colleague. That’s what the wheelchair is for.”
Did she imagine Carmichael’s eyebrows lifting and his posture leaning ever so slightly her direction? Before she could analyze the moment, she heard her name.
“Lauren!” The sound of Ulla’s voice was as sweet as a Fazer Blue. Lauren hurried past the men and met Ulla across the way, being pushed by an airport worker in one of their wheelchairs.
“Your poor leg!” Lauren said, eying the cast.
“It doesn’t hurt much anymore,” Ulla said. “Thank you so much for coming to meet me.”
“My pleasure,” Lauren said, then helped Ulla transition from the airport chair to hers.
They returned to the carousel just as Ulla’s purple suitcase appeared. Lauren grabbed it and returned to Ulla. “Nice meeting you both,” she said to Carmichael and Eric, tossing them a wave. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
As hard to read as Carmichael was, she couldn’t deny that he was gorgeous, and the suit certainly didn’t hurt in that regard. Neither did the designer glasses. But Eric was also good looking. He had no glasses, slightly lighter hair, and an interesting, confident air about him. She would have thought that the assistant to a powerful businessman would be a bit quiet and demure, a follower in the shadows, yet Eric had taken the reins of the conversation Carmichael had dropped, and he’d gotten chocolate out of it.
If the merger went through, hopefully Eric would be the one more involved with Vista Cosmetics, not Carmichael.
She jerry-rigged a way to pull Ulla’s suitcase as she pushed the wheelchair, but before heading out, she fished what remained of the chocolate bar from her jacket and held it out to Eric. “Here. Enjoy.”
“Hey, thanks.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around.” Should she have introduced herself? Would not revealing who she was bode ill for the merger? She debated quickly but decided against it. He might not even remember what she looked like—just one more blond-haired woman in a sea of them. Lauren reached for the handle of her carry-on, but before she could take another step, Carmichael spoke again.
“I don’t suppose you’re Lauren Fisher, are you?”
She turned to face them, eying Carmichael, then Eric, then Carmichael again. “Um, yes, I am.” She glanced at her clothes—far more casual than the pantsuit she’d planned to wear to tomorrow’s meeting. She would have her hair up in a French twist, her makeup fresh, and more. Instead, his first impression
of her would be the sum of what he’d seen in the last few seconds: her in a graphic T-shirt under her jacket, jeans, sneakers, and a messy bun. Oh, and her obsession with chocolate. Great.
Carmichael stepped forward, leaning slightly toward her and smiling in a way he seemed sure would melt her insides but did nothing of the sort for her. “I believe we have a meeting in the morning?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, painfully aware as they shook hands of how her voice had taken on a more refined timbre. “A pleasure to meet you, Carmichael.”
Eric must have sensed her discomfort, maybe because she was smoothing back wisps that had escaped her messy bun. “Guess we’ll see you soon.”
“See you tomorrow,” she said, and then she took the handle of Ulla’s suitcase and rolled it along as she pushed the wheelchair out the doors, determined to not be stopped again. She needed to get on the next train. Hopefully Carmichael and Eric wouldn’t be on the same one, or they’d get on a different car, so she wouldn’t have to see him or talk to him again until morning.
Eager to return and let the stress of the impending merger melt away, she thought of her cottage. She imagined sitting on the porch and looking over the sea, the gorgeous, rocky Finnish shore all around, with its thick pine forests. Holding a mug of her favorite herbal-tea blend, warming her hands on it.
As she bought her ticket at the machine on the platform, she smiled to herself. Whenever she relaxed on the porch, she wore something close to what she was wearing now, sometimes adding a pair of fuzzy slippers into the mix. Who cared if she looked unprofessional the first time she met Carmichael? She’d built a cosmetics empire worth a fortune, and if he hoped to be the one she picked to partner with, he’d better respect her, even if she showed up tomorrow morning in pink yoga pants with a ketchup stain on one knee.
So said her intellect, but her nervous stomach wouldn’t calm down until she and Ulla had boarded the train and it left the station.
A few seconds into the ride, Ulla grinned at Lauren from the wheelchair. “So that’s Carmichael, eh?”
“Hush,” Lauren said, holding back her own smile at how ridiculously the whole thing had played out. “Finns aren’t supposed to talk on trains, remember?”
“Sure,” Ulla said with a chuckle.
The rest of the ride, Lauren couldn’t wait to get to her cottage after a quick trip to the tori, the open-air market, where she’d get fresh food before having a nice, long sauna.
At five minutes to ten the following morning, Lauren entered the conference room and took her spot at the head of the table. She had a feeling that a man like Carmichael would need the nonverbal reminder about who was in charge. She moved one of the padded chairs to a corner so that Ulla could sit to Lauren’s left in her wheelchair, across from Carmichael.
He arrived with Eric at ten o’clock on the dot. She and Ulla greeted them and gestured toward the conference chairs on either side of the table. “Please, take a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the two chairs across from Ulla, on Lauren’s right. “It’s good to be on the same end of the table so we can hear one another easily.” She smiled politely.
Carmichael looked to Eric in surprise, and the latter just smiled. “That’s perfect. You’ll be able to see the notes I take on my laptop,” he said to Carmichael, leading his boss into the room and along the edge of the table. He reached for the seat closest to Lauren, but Carmichael stopped him.
“I should sit next to the CEO, don’t you think, Eric?” he said, scooting past his assistant. “Not only for the sake of negotiations, but also because I can’t bear to be far from such a beautiful face.”
Lauren exerted every effort to not roll her eyes and to instead keep her face inscrutable. It was that or laugh outright. Some hint of amusement must have leaked out, though, as Eric caught her eye, grinned, and shrugged as if apologizing for his over-the-top boss. She liked Eric more all the time but needed to focus on Carmichael.
Did lines like his actually work on some women? They must, though she guessed most of the attraction was that he was rich. Maybe if she’d grown up with that kind of lifestyle she’d be attracted to him, but as things stood, she felt uneasy around him.
With Carmichael and Eric having taken their seats, Lauren rotated in her chair to look at them more head-on. “First things first, Mr. Carmichael. The values this company was founded on are very important to me.”
“Naturally.” Carmichael leaned his forearms against the table, drawing closer than she felt comfortable with. This was the same guy whose company had such a good reputation? He felt slimy.
She used the toe of her shoe to wheel her chair back just a bit. “I need reassurance that you will maintain the vision and mission of the company.”
“Of course.” He winked—actually winked—at her.
Lauren was startled into forgetting her train of thought altogether. Flustered, she glanced at Ulla, who looked both confused and amused, and then she couldn’t help but notice Eric, typing away with his lips pressed together, as if he was holding back a laugh for all he was worth. The sight made not laughing that much harder for Lauren. “I assume you’re familiar with Vista Cosmetics’ products and history, but so we’re clear on expectations: we donate a significant amount each year to handpicked charities, selecting organizations that benefit women and children. Each year, we earmark ten percent of profits toward causes.” She slipped some stapled pages out of a folder and slid them across the table. “Here is a list of organizations we’ve donated to.”
After a cursory glance at the papers, Carmichael passed them to his assistant. Eric took the pages and began reading them—every word and line, from what Lauren could tell. She had a suspicion that Carmichael was an idiot and that his assistant was the one who’d done all the work to make the company what it was, with the reputation it had earned. She’d have to think long and hard about partnering with Carmichael. If she didn’t have an ironclad contract and—hopefully—Eric working with Vista, she wouldn’t go through with the deal.
“Your charity work is admirable, and it’s smart, too—an excellent tax write-off.” Carmichael clasped his hands and closed his eyes partway, like some movie star about to passionately kiss his true love. “But tell me, what will it take to close this deal? Specific numbers.”
Lauren looked from Carmichael to Eric and back again. “Coming to an understanding will take a lot more than any single number.”
“What are you saying?” Carmichael asked.
Eric piped up. “She wants Vista to continue its mission, which is based on specific values.” He looked directly at Lauren, eyebrows raised. “Is that right?”
“Exactly.” Lauren wanted to sigh with relief but kept it in, not wanting to show any weakness or reveal specific emotions to Carmichael. “I founded Vista as a way to do good.” She folded her arms and leaned into her chair. “I won’t do business with someone who thinks that buying mosquito nets for children at risk of malaria or providing immunizations in places where children otherwise die every day from preventable diseases is worth it only because of tax benefits. I have an entire team devoted to researching charities and working with them. Continuing that work is nonnegotiable.”
He smiled at her with half of his mouth, his eyes still in that half-closed, bedroom way. “Everything is negotiable, Lauren.”
She sat straighter, feeling her spine tighten like steel. “That’s Ms. Fisher to you.”
He nodded but smiled a little bigger. “Of course,” he said with another wink.
Despite the annoyance, she continued to explain the needs of the company, the philosophy she’d developed—which was nonnegotiable—and more.
No matter what she said, Carmichael didn’t seem to care about what she had to say, instead he continued to flirt with her. Two hours in, when she’d managed to steer the discussion toward Vista’s history, he started talking down to her, explaining basics about both business—things she knew full well from starting her own—and the science behind the cosmetics s
he’d personally developed.
Just when she was about to call him out on the last bit, Eric interrupted. “Um, if I may,” he said, raising a finger.
Carmichael nodded permission and leaned back, arms folded, to listen.
With the pen he was holding, Eric gestured toward Lauren. “If I’m not mistaken, Ms. Fisher has a PhD in chemical engineering.”
“Really.” Carmichael sounded impressed as he turned to look at Lauren.
“Really,” she said flatly. “That’s something you would have known if you’d spent all of thirty seconds preparing for this meeting. I also have an MBA, which I got to help me with the business side of things, but science is and always will be my passion.”
When she stopped talking, she felt a bit out of breath and realized she’d probably said too much and came across as unprofessional. Why he could be unprofessional and successful, but others couldn’t, she’d never understand. What else did Carmichael not know about her company?
Ulla leaned in. “Would you like me to get some coffee and snacks for a break?”
“Yes, please,” Lauren said. “Thank you.”
It was an excuse; Ulla couldn’t bring in coffee and snacks while navigating her wheelchair, but she’d ask Sirkku to do it, and Lauren needed the recess. But she wouldn’t break until she’d spoken more of her mind first.
She pushed her chair back from the table and stood so she could be taller than Carmichael as long as he remained sitting. “Look,” she said. “I wasn’t born into money. I fought my way through a male-dominated field. Every single step of the way, I had to outperform the men, just to get the lowest amount of respect. Why? Because most of my male peers were convinced that professors went easy on me because I was a girl, and that our professors wanted more girls in STEM fields.