by Jan Moran
“Un peu,” he said, grinning. “When I worked in Europe, I picked up a smattering of languages. It sure helped in the kitchen. I can say ‘that’s burning’ in half a dozen languages.”
Verena laughed. “I have to admit, cooking is not my strongest point. But I can bake.”
“Really? Then we’re a good match. That’s quite a science; I usually leave it to the pastry chefs.”
“Mia and my mother taught me when I was young. The three of us used to gather in the kitchen, with Mia showing my mother how to make old family recipes. Tartes, brioche, and pastries.” Verena gazed off, remembering the good times they’d had and how much she’s taken for granted.
“Does your mother work in the family business, too?”
Verena hesitated, carefully choosing her words before she spoke. “She did. In fact, she was wonderful at everything she took on. But my mother and father died in a car accident when I was eighteen.”
Lance’s face was etched with shock. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” Verena lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “It’s been ten years, but I still miss them. I think about them so much, often wondering what they would do in this or that situation. How would my mother handle a marketing issue, or how would my father deal with the bank? They ran the business together after Mia stepped down, but when they died, it all fell on me.”
Lance didn’t speak, but covered her hand with his, and she could feel emotional strength flowing from him.
Idly tracing the thin scars on his fingers, she continued. “When it happened, Mia was in Switzerland undergoing intense cancer treatment. She was quite ill. Instead of going to college that fall, as I’d planned, I accepted the responsibility for the business and the twins.” She blinked, remembering. “That helped occupy my mind.”
“You were so young,” Lance said softly. “Did you have help?”
“The staff at the salon rallied around me. They taught me everything I needed to know. They were—and are—so loyal to our family.” She shook her head. “In my last year of high school, I became licensed and worked part-time giving facials, but I was unprepared for the financial, marketing, and human resource sides of the business. I was so inexperienced.”
Lance was taking it all in. “How did you manage with the girls?”
“I hired a nanny when Anika and Bella where little, and a few years later I hired Fianna—you met her at the Beverly Hills Hotel—to care for the girls after school. Fianna was working her way through the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising at the time. The girls loved her, and it gave me time to throw myself into a hands-on crash course on business. That’s when I began expanding the company.”
He stroked her hand, listening. “You’ve certainly succeeded, Verena.”
“If I succeeded, it was only with the help of my assistant Lacey, and that of my accountant, attorney, and banker. They took time to teach me, but I had to learn fast, because important projects were in progress. My first job was to expand the product line and sell it into luxury department stores. My father had started the process, but I had to implement the plan. Next, we expanded the salons across the country.”
“Sounds like it was rough, but you came through it.”
She nodded, recalling the difficulties. “After that, nothing seemed insurmountable. When you’ve faced the worst that life can serve up, and pushed on, moment by moment, day by day, until you’ve finally overcome your challenges, there isn’t much that can ever faze you again.” Or was there?
“You were strengthened by fire.” Lance searched her eyes. “But there’s something troubling you, isn’t there?”
She found it so easy to confide in him. “Am I that transparent?”
“Only to me.” He angled his head with interest. “You’re worried. Your meeting today didn’t go as you had hoped. Is that what’s bothering you?”
“It is.” She closed her eyes, thinking.
“Do you have another plan?”
An image of Derrick flashed through her mind. She raised her eyes to Lance. “We have an investor.” Tomorrow, when she landed in Los Angeles, she’d have to call Derrick. She sighed. And this—whatever this is—will have to end.
As Lance gazed at her, a new song began, and a few couples near them began to sway with the slow, soulful piano tune. “Dance with me?” he asked.
The music had a cool, sexy vibe, and it struck a chord of need deep within her.
Verena hesitated for only a moment before following him to the dance area. She moved into his arms, surprised that the movement felt so natural.
He held her close, their bodies melding together as they moved in rhythm to the music. His sure touch sent a wave of relaxation through her, and the disappointments of the day were swept away, at least for the moment.
Pressing against him, she felt the beat of his heart in his firm chest. She sucked in a breath. Never had she felt such a strong physical attraction to a man, including Derrick, who had pursued her with such persistence that she’d finally agreed to go out with him.
And look how that had turned out.
She hardly knew Lance either. Yet she could not deny their natural affinity, their easy connection. Tuning out her better judgement, she let herself go and looked up into Lance’s sparkling eyes.
A smile curved his mouth and she reached up to touch his inviting lips. He kissed her fingers, teasing her the tips with his tongue. Trailing her fingers across his chin and slight stubble, she explored his face, his neck, his chest. She liked what she was seeing.
He slipped an arm around her waist, moving gracefully with her in unison to the smoky vocals and jazz piano.
Leaning in, he said, “Verena, you’re an amazing woman.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You must know how deeply you’ve affected me.”
His words were a panacea to her soul, a caress to her heart. “As you’ve touched me,” she whispered.
He ran his thumb along her neck and bent to kiss her. Verena responded, awash in pure pleasure. Their surroundings seemed to fall away, and they danced as one, their desire mounting.
“Never stop,” she whispered, and he kissed her again.
Another song began and they continued dancing, blissfully gliding from one tune into another, until finally, Verena pulled away, breaking the spell. “It’s getting late,” she murmured.
Lance found her mouth again and left a kiss lingering on her lips. “As you wish,” he said, and then guided her back to the table.
After paying the tab, they stepped out into the night. Lance put his arm around her and drew her close to his side.
Verena rested against him, content for the moment despite her inner turmoil. As they strolled through the streets of one of the world’s most romantic cities, she smiled to herself. It’s true what they say about Paris.
As they walked, Lance hugged her close to his side. “Verena, I understand your situation. I know things are difficult for you, but you can’t deny what we have.”
His words were like a soothing balm, but she had to ask, “What do you think we have, Lance?”
“A deep connection. Surely you feel it, too.”
She smiled up at him. “This has been a magnificent evening. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with in Paris.”
“Or anywhere else?” he asked, grinning at her.
Unable to answer, she looked into his eyes, her mind riddled with worry over what awaited her at home. Their timing was awful. She didn’t dare commit, not now. Not after two failed relationships and the responsibility of a family that depended on her to do the right things.
They strolled on in silence, savoring the moments they had and slowing as the neared the hotel. When they arrived, Lance walked with her upstairs to her suite. They stopped just outside of the room.
“Here we are,” he said, kissing her on the nose.
“I had a wonderful evening. Thank you for making this trip special.” She inclined her head toward the door. “For all of
us.”
“And for you?”
“Especially for me. Paris is magical.”
“It’s in us now.” A slow smile played on his lips. “Wherever we are, I promise to keep the magic alive for the rest of our lives.”
Lance kissed her, and this time their connection was deeper than ever before. She threaded her fingers through the back of his hair that curled along his collar. She pulled him to her and found his lips, yielding to her desire.
At last, their lips parted with reluctance.
“Good night, my darling Verena,” Lance said, his voice thick with passion. “I wish you were staying longer.”
“Me, too.” She cradled her head in the crook of his neck, regretting leaving him, and regretting even more what she knew she must do.
He trailed a finger along her jawline. “Paris won’t be the same without you.”
“Nor my life without you.” Verena hesitated. “I’m sorry, I can’t continue seeing you after we return.”
Shock registered on Lance’s face and he fumbled for words.
But before he could speak, Verena swiftly closed the door behind her and leaned into it, her heart bursting, hardly daring to believe what had happened on this trip, or that she had just told Lance good-bye.
16
“THANK YOU FOR the ride, George,” Verena said.
The driver turned into her driveway and stopped. “It’s my job, Miss Verena.” The well-built older man got out of the car and made his way to the trunk.
“I’ll help you with the bags,” she said, sliding out. Years ago, her father had hired George to ferry guests to and from the salon—the elderly, the city dwellers who didn’t drive, the sweet sixteen party-goers. He made product deliveries and airport runs, but more than that, he’d always been like an uncle to her, listening to her travel woes on her extensive travels to visit retail store buyers and conduct training across the country for them.
“Nonsense, it’s part of my exercise,” he said, hoisting the bags. “Makes lifting weights easier.”
“How’s your writing, George?”
“New detective book coming out next month,” he said with pride.
“Someday you’re going to sell the film rights and become a big Hollywood writer, and leave us all behind,” she said, joking with him.
“Hasn’t happened yet, but I still enjoy it. I think it’s important to have a creative outlet and take the time to do something you love.”
George often shared his thoughtful views on life with her. Verena thought about how much she loved helping people feel attractive and pampered. For many of those who lived hectic, time-starved lives, their visit to VSS was the only time they had to themselves. She’d seen the ravages that stress could cause in a person’s life, and she loved seeing their customers emerge from treatments feeling relaxed and happy.
Verena truly cared about the people she saw at the salon and those who bought their products. She felt she was doing her life’s work, and she felt fully alive and engaged when she knew she was helping people.
But the financing deal and her doubts about Derrick were taking a toll on her. Now she was the one who needed a therapeutic massage. She couldn’t wait to slip into a whirlpool tub and close her eyes.
Verena opened the front door, and there in the small foyer was an enormous vase bursting with fragrant white lilies and tuberose. The scent was intoxicating.
“My goodness, someone missed you an awful lot.” George placed her bags inside, said good-bye, and closed the door behind him.
Verena saw a note on the table from their neighbor, who had taken delivery and brought the bouquet over while they were gone. The family had lived next door to Mia for forty years, and they trusted each other with keys to keep an eye on their homes when they traveled.
She leaned in to smell the flowers. Derrick used to send flowers a lot. He had even joked that he had a standing order at the florist.
A pang of guilt shot through her. She hadn’t called him when she touched down. Mentally, she was still in Paris, still with Lance, although was trying to forget hm. Time to re-enter real life. A life that had no room for Lance right now. She pressed her palm to her forehead.
She thought of all the people who depended on her—not just her family, but her employees and their families. She had to be responsible. There was no time to waste.
Sighing, she called Derrick’s number to make arrangements to go forward with the Herringbone financing.
As the phone rang, she plucked a tiny envelope from the bouquet.
Derrick’s voice boomed from the phone. “Hi, are you back in L.A.?”
“Yes, I am.” She could hear loud noise in the background and a woman’s familiar laugh. She heard him excusing himself and the woman said something she couldn’t make out.
“Listen, I can’t talk.”
“Was that Greta?”
“No, I’m at dinner with a client.”
“Oh. Well, I just called to tell you that I’d like to go forward with the deal.”
“I knew you would. We’ll celebrate.”
She glanced at the bouquet. He was as presumptuous as always. “And thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
Derrick paused. “I didn’t send you flowers.”
“No?” She opened the envelope and slid out a small card. A remembrance of Paris. She caught her breath as she remembered where she’d seen a similar bouquet. In the foyer at the Majestic. With Lance. Her heart twisted with regret. She had mentioned how much she loved the floral arrangement. “Ah, they must be from Mia.”
“But you just left her.”
“She’s thoughtful,” Verena said. “I’m here alone until they return.”
“Mia spends a lot of money, Verena. This trip with the twins, for example. Was it really necessary?”
Where did that come from? Verena didn’t know what to say. Mia had never been extravagant. She had saved money for her retirement, and she certainly wasn’t a spendthrift.
“Listen, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “We have things to discuss.”
Click. Verena stared at the phone, and then her eyes fell on the note card. It was simply signed: Lance. Sighing, she ran her fingers across it and slipped it into her purse.
17
THE NEXT DAY, Verena continued trying to resist thoughts of Lance by spending hours reviewing financial documents in preparation for her meeting with Derrick. He’d called that morning and invited himself over, saying that he wanted to talk to her in private tonight. He even had a special request: Can you make my favorite Beef Wellington?
If she hadn’t been desperate to get this deal done, she’d have told him exactly what he could do with his Beef Wellington.
Verena glanced at the clock on the stove. Derrick was late, which wasn’t like him. She opened the oven to check the pastry covered roast, which was baked to a rich golden brown. This was a special dish she’d enjoyed making for her family for Thanksgiving. When they’d been dating, Derrick had spent a couple of hours with them that day before flying out to Shanghai. Tonight, she was so worried that she’d derived little enjoyment from cooking. Especially for Derrick.
The doorbell chimed.
“Verena, wonderful to see you again, babe,” Derrick said as Verena opened the door. He took her in his arms.
“Babe?” She laughed and pulled away. “You’ve never called me that. And I’m not your girlfriend.”
Something seemed different about him and it made her uncomfortable, but she couldn’t articulate the change.
Maybe it was because she now compared him to Lance. And Derrick fell far short in comparison.
As if on cue, her phone rang in the kitchen.
Derrick caught her hand. “Can’t you turn that off? We have a lot to discuss tonight.”
“Of course not, it could be Mia or the twins.” She raced to answer it but she was a second too late. Lance’s missed call appeared on the screen. She drew her fingers over the message, wishing she could ta
lk to him and explain herself. Yet she’d made her decision. Her life was about to get even more complicated.
Derrick had followed her to the kitchen. “Was that Mia?”
“No.” Verena snapped off her phone and whirled around. “Dinner is almost ready. Would you care for a glass of wine?”
“Sure. Smells delicious.” He made himself comfortable at the kitchen table while Verena turned to her salad preparations.
“This is a wine I discovered in Paris,” she said, handing him a bottle. “Open it for me?”
“Sure. How was Paris?” he asked, watching her.
“It’s an incredible city.” Made even more so by Lance. Biting her lip, she rinsed off a handful of vegetables from Mia’s garden.
“Get your business done?”
“I made an important connection, and kept the trip short,” she added, remembering what he’d said about the cost of the trip. She’d never had to justify personal expenses to anyone before, but now that Herringbone had been researching the company—the due diligence—she felt she had to explain the expense to Derrick.
He nodded. “Speaking of expenses, we’ve been going over the numbers on your company.”
Her controller had sent the last financial statements to her by email, and she had gone over them on the plane, and again that morning, analyzing their position.
Now that Rose Beauté had passed, she had few others to turn to, even though she’d still made a few calls to other financiers. At this point, Herringbone was the only one willing to lend to VSS, and if it didn’t make the loan soon, she’d have to start terminating employees.
Wielding a large knife, she sliced through a carrot with vengeance. She didn’t even want to think about that. “How do the financials look?” she said, trying to keep concern from her voice.
Derrick pulled the cork from the bottle. “Good news. There’s a deal on the table, Verena.”
She paused, her knife suspended in one hand. “What does that mean?”
“Herringbone is willing to do the deal. But the terms have changed a little.” He took a wine glass from the cupboard, poured wine for himself, and took a swig.