Love California Box Set: Books 1-3 (Love California Series Collection)

by Jan Moran

  “To people like that, it’s just business.” Mia rubbed her skin where an adhesive bandage secured a monitoring device. “Frankly, you were working far too hard. Someday you’ll want to start a family.”

  “If I ever meet Mr. Right, that is.” Verena winced. “And that doesn’t look promising, Mia. I have a unique situation. I’m not complaining, I’m just being honest with myself. I’m shelving those dreams until the twins are off on their own.” She’d be thirty-three when they went to college, and nearly forty by the time they finished, if they wanted to go to graduate school.

  Verena smiled wistfully. The chance of having children of her own was slim. Taking care of her grandmother and her sisters was far more important. Finding new employment was imperative.

  What will I do? She’d never even interviewed for a job. She sat fidgeting with an edge of the sheet, wondering what her next step should be, heartsick over the turn of events.

  Mia struggled to sit up, and Verena rose to assist her, plumping pillows behind her. She draped a soft shrug that Lacey had knitted around Mia’s shoulders.

  “What about that nice chef?” Mia asked offhandedly.

  What about him? “He called a few times, but I was always up to my neck in business.”

  “He seemed awfully sweet. Good manners, good heart.”

  Verena thought about their time together in Paris. For a few days she’d actually enjoyed herself. She touched her lips, remembering the kiss they’d shared. She’d loved dancing with him, laughing and talking. He actually listened to her, unlike Derrick. But no, it’s impossible. She had Mia and the girls to think about.

  Oh, but it were possible... Just imagining Lance in her arms, a warm feeling spread throughout her.

  Mia yawned and stretched. “I’d like to sleep this afternoon. No need for you to stay. Why don’t you go home and have a rest, too?”

  “You’re such an independent woman, has anyone ever told you that?”

  “My Emile used to say that to me.”

  Verena kissed her grandmother and closed the door softly behind her. She walked through the corridor and as she approached the nurses’ desk, she saw a man leaning against the counter. A nurse motioned to her. “Miss Valent, excuse me, but this man would like a word with you.”

  “With me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The man flashed a badge. I’m Detective Cardiff with the Beverly Hills Police Department. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions about Jimmy Don Herald? I understand he used to work for you.” When Verena arched a brow in curiosity, he added, “I visited the salon this morning. Lacey told me everything. Said I could find you here.”

  “Bad news travels fast. How can I help you?”

  The detective led her off to the side and whipped out a notepad. “It’s about Marvin Panetta. How did you know Mr. Panetta?”

  “He was my banker, and a personal friend.” Verena shook her head sadly, remembering the shocking events. “I never thought he was the kind of man who would take his own life.”

  The detective scribbled a note, nodding. “Did you ever hear Jimmy Don Herald say anything about Marvin Panetta?”

  A chill snaked through her. “Do you think Jimmy Don was responsible for his death?” Marvin’s wife had been adamant that her husband’s death was not suicide, but murder.

  The detective looked from one side to another, and dropped his voice. “We’re following some leads, and would appreciate any information you might have or remember. In addition, do you know where Jimmy Don might be?”

  “Come in,” Scarlett said to Verena. “I have the rest of the documents in the conference room.” Even though Verena had already signed some papers, Scarlett still needed Verena to sign the final set of agreements for Herringbone. “They’re really rushing to have these executed and delivered. I told their counsel it was a bad time for you.”

  “It’s okay. I’d rather get it over with.” Feeling as if she were walking to the guillotine, Verena followed Scarlett through the Century City office of her law firm. Plush burgundy carpet softened her step, and polished ebony furniture gleamed against hunter green walls. Everything about the office was serious, from the law magazines in the waiting area to the expressions of people she passed.

  They walked through the office. Verena said, “Scarlett, a detective from the Beverly Hills Police Department tracked me down at the hospital. He had some questions about Jimmy Don Herald and Marvin Panetta. Have you heard anything about this?”

  “What a coincidence. I had to call Lacey this morning, and she mentioned that Jimmy Don didn’t come into the office today. She asked if I knew anything, and said a detective had been trying to find him. Must have been the same guy.”

  “That’s bizarre.”

  “That’s Herringbone.” Scarlett said, shaking her head. “Nothing surprises me now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Scarlett sighed. “You’ll see.” She held the door to the glass enclosed conference room.

  Still clad in her casual yoga gear from the morning, Verena felt as if she were entering a fish bowl, soon to be devoured by sharks.

  Scarlett shrugged out of her smartly tailored navy blue jacket and picked up two bottles of water. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

  Verena eyed two tall stacks of documents on the table. “Have any vodka?”

  “Actually, I do. One of the partners has a bar. Not that I hit the bottle, mind you. I’m two years sober next week.”

  “Congratulations,” Verena said, pleased for Scarlett. “Just kidding. Let’s get this over with.” She unscrewed a bottle of water and took a long drink.

  “I know this is the worst time to ask you to do this,” Scarlett said, sounding apologetic. “Herringbone’s counsel insisted and threatened other actions unless you sign off.” She shook her head, sorrow in her eyes. “They’re absolute bastards.”

  They sat down and Scarlett began to explain each document, and then showed her where to sign if she agreed.

  After reading through several legal agreements, Verena’s eyes began to glaze over. “Be straight with me, Scarlett, is there any negotiating room on any of these documents?”

  “Not really. You were out of financial compliance—quickly, I know, and through no fault of your own. Jimmy Don forced it, and I’m sure it was Roper’s plan all along. Roper is the most loathsome, detestable man I’ve ever come across, and doesn’t deserve the fine company you built up. Everything he did was legal, but certainly not moral. And as I’ve learned, it’s not the first time he’s pulled something like this on a company.” She pointed to a document before them. “This intellectual property agreement is one we should examine in detail.”

  Verena nodded, listening to Scarlett’s explanation and feeling sick to her stomach as she signed her family’s assets away. “I wish I’d known this is the way venture capitalists operate.”

  “Not all of them do. Herringbone is in a class by itself.” Scarlett leaned forward in her chair. “VC companies actually have their place, especially in bringing to market technological or medical advances that require vast outlays for research and development, but have enormous upside for everyone involved. Roper is definitely not one of the good guys in this industry. He’s their equivalent of Bernie Madoff, and he gives them all a bad name. He took advantage of the economic situation to pounce on companies like yours.”

  “He’s doing this to others?”

  “Afraid so. That’s what I discovered this morning.”

  Hearing that made Verena sick to her stomach. “What about the intellectual property?”

  “The formulas, trademarks, patents, copyrights. It’s all here. You could try to fight some of it, but honestly, you wouldn’t win. The assets were pledged against the loan.”

  “It says ‘anything I’ve developed,’” Verena said, reading the agreement. A thought struck her and she looked up. “This covers me, but what about Mia?”

  Scarlett raised a brow and scanned the document. “She’s not mentioned
at all. I think they assumed that anything she might have created was already in the company. She hasn’t worked in the business for years, has she?”

  “No,” she said slowly, thinking.

  “Then it only covers you.”

  “And this document? It limits where I can work and what I can do?”

  “That’s the one we discussed.” Scarlett shook her head. “There’s a lot in this one that reiterates what you had to sign earlier for the loan. Because of the non-compete agreement, you can’t sell competing products to any of their existing retailers or those you ever called on. You can’t work for any of the competitors listed there for five years, or offer employment to any employees. It’s awfully restrictive, but in California, you can argue for the right to work. It’s probably not enforceable. Of course, Roper can always come back and sue you.”

  Verena ran her finger down the list. It was exhaustive, and included every company she’d ever had contact with. Jimmy Don must have accessed their marketing and client databases. It was beyond restrictive; it was punitive. “What am I going to do? Skincare is all I know.”

  “You can start another company.” Scarlett touched her arm in a sympathetic gesture. “Look at it this way. Roper is scared of your name and your talent, otherwise this agreement wouldn’t be so restrictive.”

  “A lot of good that does me. I don’t have the funds to build another business.” What in the world will I do?

  Scarlett pointed to a signature line. “This is the last signature needed.”

  This was her final official act for VSS. Lifting the pen, Verena hesitated over the thin black line, then quickly scrawled her name and put the pen down. “That’s it?”

  “It’s all over now. I’m so, so sorry, Verena.” Scarlett’s eyes misted over as she hugged Verena, and the two women walked out.

  28

  THAT EVENING, VERENA returned to the hospital. Outside Mia’s hospital room, a commotion erupted in the hallway. “What on earth was that?” Mia looked alarmed. “Go see what’s happening.”

  Verena hurried to the door. A patient had heaved a tray of food from a room into the hallway, and an attendant was cleaning it up while a nurse tried to reason with the patient. It was disgusting the way some people behaved. “Who would do that?”

  At the same time, a nurse emerged from a room across the hall and called to another attendant. “It’s Mr. Roper again in room two twelve. I need your help.”

  Verena stood rooted by the door, hardly believing what she’d heard. Glancing over her shoulder she said to Mia, “I’ll be right back.”

  She sauntered down the hall, past the uproar, and caught a glimpse of the patient in room number two twelve. Thomas Roper. She clutched her throat and hurried back to Mia’s room, fury shooting through her. She closed the door behind her and caught her breath.

  “Whatever is wrong?” Mia frowned with concern.

  Verena opened her mouth to tell her, but instantly thought better of it. Mia was here to recover. The last thing she needed was to worry about Thomas Roper—the man who stole the company she’d birthed—inhabiting a room a few doors away. “Someone didn’t like the food, I suppose.”

  “Some people are so rude. What an unsavory, insufferable person that must be. I feel sorry for the staff for having to deal with people like that.” Mia wrinkled her nose as if she’d encountered a rotten stench. “The food is certainly palatable, if a bit bland, but this is a hospital, after all, not a gourmet restaurant.”

  Verena always appreciated her grandmother’s practicality.

  They chatted for a while as the sun set. Camille came to visit again, and Verena stood and stretched. An idea had formed in her mind, though she had tried to ignore it. “I’m going to stretch my legs and make a call. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  The hallway was quiet. Most guests had already left for the evening. She started down the long corridor, her rubber-soled shoes noiseless on the linoleum floor. She ducked her head against the glare of the fluorescent lights overhead.

  The food tray incident from earlier in the day had lodged in her mind and now, anger coursed through her veins. Room two twelve. She ambled toward the room as if drawn by hypnotic suggestion.

  She paused by the door, repulsed by the thought of Thomas Roper. I should leave now. She surveyed the empty hallway. Her mouth felt dry. Overcome by a sudden urge, she grasped the doorknob and turned it.

  There on the bed lay Roper, his eyes closed. Was he dead? She crept farther inside, hardly daring to breathe, her heart thudding in her chest.

  She stepped to the middle of the room between a vacant bed and Roper. With each breath he took, his chest rattled. Revulsion seared through her, rooting her to her spot. Digital monitors blinked and beeped, marking his bodily functions.

  Another step closer and she could see the crepe-thin skin stretched across his flaccid arms and age-spotted face. Here lies a man who values wealth above all else, even at the expense of others. She shivered with abhorrence, her upper lip curling back. This is who Derrick is modeling himself after.

  Disgust, hatred, and rage swirled through her and she shook uncontrollably. She imagined raking her nails against his arrogant face. Instead, she pressed her hand against her mouth and took another step, eyeing the wires and tubes that connected Roper to monitoring machines.

  Standing next to him, she grimaced at the smell of his noxious breath, which filled the air with a poisonous stench on every exhale. Cold fury burned in her heart against his evil malevolence. I hope he dies. The world will be better for it.

  As she stared at him, fierce wrath edged with madness blinded her reason. Calming her shaking limbs, she reached for a pillow and slid it from the vacant bed. The pillow’s plump density was soft against her fingertips, its starched, crinkly cotton pillowcase cool in her palms. She pressed her mouth against it, and it robbed her breath.

  As if in a trance, she lowered the pillow from her face, inching it toward Roper’s putrid mouth. One quick motion, a firm hold—that’s all it would take. Should she disable the monitors? She lowered the pillow until she could no longer see his malicious face, smell his foul breath.

  One more finger’s breadth would end her pain.

  Or would it?

  A loudspeaker crackled above her, jarring her from her dazed state. No! She jerked the pillow back, flung it onto the vacant bed, and raced from the room. Awakened, Roper called out, his voice raspy.

  The door slammed behind her.

  She leaned against the wall in the corridor and tipped her head back, gasping for air.

  Thomas Roper had almost driven her to murder.

  It’s what he deserves.

  But not at the expense of my life.

  Blood roaring in her ears, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her thumping heart.

  “Verena, are you alright?”

  Am I hallucinating? Her eyes flew open. But no, that rich, gravelly voice was real, and she missed it so much. “Lance, what—”

  He stared at her with alarm and pressed his warm hand against her forehead. “You’re sweating, and your face is so red it looks like it’s going to explode. Come with me right now.”

  Lance took her hand and led her across the hall to Mia’s room. He stopped just outside of the door and put down the padded bag he carried. “Sit down on the floor and I’ll get water for you. Mia doesn’t need to see you like this.” Lance raced through the corridor.

  Verena slid to the floor and sat grasping her knees, her head buried against her legs. She couldn’t believe how close she had come to murdering Thomas Roper.

  Lance returned in a flash with a bottle of water. “Here, drink this.” He knelt next to her and opened the bottle, and then smoothed strands of hair that had become plastered to her face. “You’re under a lot of pressure. It’s okay to crack sometimes. You’re not made of stone.”

  She tipped the bottle of water up and let the water flow down her throat. It was just what she needed to cool off. What a mess she was.
Definitely not in the best shape to see the man who’d been haunting her dreams. “How did you know to come her?”

  “Dahlia came to see me. She told me everything. About Mia...and the business.”

  “Oh, no,” she mumbled, and swung her face away from him, acutely embarrassed. Tears pooled in her eyes, and she choked on a sob.

  Lance wrapped his arms around her. “Let it out, Verena.”

  Tentatively, Verena rested against his chest, and found his steady heartbeat calmed her own racing heart. How I’ve missed this man. The familiar scent of his skin brought thoughts of Paris to mind.

  Holding her, Lance rubbed her back, whispering to her. “You’ll be okay.”

  Would she ever? Yet after a few minutes, she felt somewhat restored and raised her face to his. “You came to see Mia, so we should go in. She’ll be glad to see you.”

  “I’d hoped you would be here, too.” Lance slid his fingers along the line of her jaw.

  A flicker of appreciation surfaced and she lifted a corner of her mouth. She was genuinely glad he was here. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I wish I’d come sooner.” His deep voice reverberated in his chest.

  “And I wish I’d returned your calls.”

  “Me, too. But you’re forgiven.” He grinned and helped her to her feet. He grabbed his bag, and pushed open the door to Mia’s room.

  “My dear Lance,” Mia said, her eyes brimming with delight.

  Lance crossed to her and kissed her hand, and then turned to Camille, who sat next to her, and did the same.

  “Such a lovely aroma of food always clings to you,” Camille said.

  Lance opened his padded, zippered bag. “Maybe this is what you smell.” He unloaded two large plastic containers and several smaller ones. Verena scooted a table close to the bed for him.

  Mia clasped her hands. “Oh, you darling man. The food here is adequate, but certainly not gourmet. I admit I haven’t had much of an appetite.”