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

by Jan Moran

  As a finishing touch, she applied cherry red lipstick and looped her mother’s pearls around her neck for good luck. Fianna’s friend, Elena, had done a beautiful job repairing the antique clasp. Today marked a new beginning for her career and her life, and she wanted a memento of her mother with her.

  Brushing her hair from her face, she gazed into the mirror. It was time she pursued her own career dream. She needed this break for financial reasons, but she also wanted to prove her talent. Not only that, she wanted to take some business classes to learn more. She’d hardly slept last night—ideas and visions had been racing through her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so inspired. Excitement surged though her.

  When she arrived at the Sunset Boulevard offices of Wilhelmina Jones and Company, an assistant ushered her into Wilhelmina’s office. A large glass table served as a desk, surrounded by potted palms and antique Persian rugs. Awards and skincare products filled a bookshelf.

  “Verena, it’s nice to see you again.” Wilhelmina still wore her jet-black hair short with vivid burgundy streaks. She was a stylish CEO, and was often photographed for business and fashion magazines alike.

  Wilhelmina motioned to a sofa, where they made themselves comfortable. “Start from the beginning, please. I want to hear all about your new concept. Then I’ll share my thoughts.”

  Verena plunged in and told her the story of Mia’s serum, Dr. Omondi’s comments, and the verbal commitments she had for manufacturing and packaging. She also told her about Dahlia, and their idea for an accompanying line of spa-inspired fragrances. Most important, she shared her need for project financing. Wilhelmina listened and occasionally made notes on a small pad.

  An hour, then two hours, flew past. Wilhelmina’s assistant tapped on the door. “Excuse me, but you asked me to remind you about your lunch reservation.”

  “Thank you, Gwen, we lost track of time,” Wilhelmina said. She turned back to Verena. “Let’s continue this over lunch, shall we?”

  Verena agreed and followed Wilhelmina to her car, a white Bentley convertible. The sun was warm on her shoulders, and they were so engrossed in conversation Verena didn’t think to ask where they were going. After driving a short distance on Sunset Boulevard, Wilhelmina turned into the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  At a loss for words, Verena clutched the edge of her seat.

  “This is my regular Friday spot,” Wilhelmina said as the valet attendant opened her door. She laughed. “Sometimes I think I do more business here than in the office.”

  Verena had trepidation over the possibility of seeing Lance. She glanced at Wilhelmina. Their meeting was going well, and she needed to focus for the remainder of their discussion. They were getting down to the deal points now.

  On the other hand, Lance was a chef. Didn’t chefs belong in the kitchen? Surely she wouldn’t see him in the restaurant. If she did, she’d be pleasant and professional. She got out of the car on shaky legs.

  When they arrived at the Polo Lounge, Wilhelmina waved at Johnny. “Love your bow tie, darling. More men should wear them.”

  “Hello, Johnny,” Verena said, and saw his face brighten.

  Johnny flashed a smile and adjusted his purple paisley tie. “Right this way, ladies, your table is ready.”

  If Johnny was surprised to see her, he didn’t let it show. That was his job, after all. He’d once told her he followed the tabloids just so he’d know not to seat feuding parties near each other.

  They sat at a prime booth on the patio surrounded by the scent of jasmine. Ruby red and pink bougainvillea flowers arched around the booths. The patio was full of beautifully dressed people, and laughter bubbled all around them.

  “I’m glad you brought your new concept to me.” Wilhelmina steepled her hands. “Now, let’s talk about how we might work together.” She began laying out her vision.

  Verena was excited as they shared ideas. As the conversation shifted to other topics, she found her attention mildly diverted as she glanced about for a tall, good-looking chef. Mentally chastising herself, she returned her full attention to Wilhelmina. This conversation was far too important.

  Lance never appeared. Perhaps Johnny had warned him.

  Verena relaxed after their tortilla soup arrived. It was a classic dish on the menu and as delicious as always. Their main course came—they had both ordered the salmon—and Verena wondered if Lance might have prepared it. She lifted her fork, remembering how he loved to cook and the meals he’d prepared for her.

  She missed so many things about him. Regret coursed through her, and she swallowed her meal with some difficulty, even though it was delicious.

  By the end of lunch, Wilhelmina made an offer to Verena.

  “I’d like to join with you and Mia in this venture as a minor partner,” Wilhelmina said. “You’ll be a natural in front of the camera. We can film with mocked-up product, and take just-in-time delivery for orders. When do you think you’ll have live product ready for fulfillment?”

  Verena shared her projected dates, and then she asked about financing. She held her breath waiting for a reply.

  Wilhelmina smiled. “I can assure you that I am able to fully fund this venture. It won’t take as much as you think, because we produce as we sell, so the inventory investment is small. You’re bringing much more to the table, your reputation, good will, and product and skincare knowledge. My attorney will send a fair agreement for you to review, and I assure you, it’s nothing like Herringbone’s agreement. Thomas Roper was a greedy old bastard.”

  Verena let out a small sigh of relief. “That’s what Mia said, too. And he was.”

  “The best advice I can give you is to trust your instincts,” Wilhelmina said. “Those who use Roper’s playbook like to make things complicated to fog their true intent. Even though they took advantage of you, you have a good head on your shoulders, Verena. Trust yourself. I’m very excited about this.”

  Verena appreciated her comments. “I will. I admit, sometimes my better judgment has been taken over by self-doubt, and then I discovered I’d been right all along.” About a lot of things, she realized.

  Verena tapped a fingernail on a crystal goblet in thought. A year ago, she would have never imagined the hell she’d been through.

  Now she was emerging from the depths of her nightmare and stepping onto a brand new path. She sipped her water, thinking about how much she admired Wilhelmina, who had a sterling reputation as well as brilliant business insights.

  Verena understood that it was time for her to forge ahead again in business. Perhaps in other ways as well. Verena looked up from the coffee they’d just been served and smiled. “I’m looking forward to working together.”

  “So am I.” Wilhelmina extended her hand and they shook on it. “Here’s to our new partnership.”

  Just then, an older, distinguished gentleman stopped by their table to speak to Wilhelmina, and while the two of them were engrossed in conversation, Verena spied Lance across the patio. As she watched him, her chest tightened, and she experienced a flash of insight.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” she said to Wilhelmina, and then slid from the booth.

  Wearing his chef whites, Lance was weaving his way around the tables, greeting guests. He hadn’t seen her yet.

  She strode across the patio with purpose, only this time, she wasn’t running away from him. It was time she lived her life. Time she spoke up for what she wanted in every facet of her life.

  When Lance saw her, his lips parted in astonishment.

  “Hello, Lance,” she said. With a slight tilt of her head, she slipped her hand in his, and headed for the entrance. He trailed behind her, past her wide-eyed friends, Dahlia and Scarlett and Fianna, who were now seated at a table near the door, and past Johnny, who beamed and winked.

  When they emerged from the Polo Lounge, Verena stopped and swung around to gaze into the depths of his eyes. Feeling more confident now, she plunged in.

  “I made a mistake, Lance. I pre
sumed to know what you wanted, or didn’t want, in an effort to protect myself from getting hurt. I didn’t think you’d want to have anything to do with a woman who had as much baggage as I do.”

  “That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. I wish you had let me get a word in, but you raced from the car so fast an Olympic coach would’ve been proud.”

  She felt her face flush. “Then you don’t mind?”

  “So your life is a little complicated. Mine is, too.” A grin spread across his face, and he swept her into his arms. “I know we can work it out.”

  “I have no doubt we can,” she said, trusting her instinct. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Verena pressed against the length of him, happiness surging through her. She couldn’t remember when she’d had such a perfect day. The thought of many more days like this brought a smile to her face.

  “Verena, I’ve missed you so much.” Lance’s deep voice cracked with emotion, and he pressed his mouth against hers in a kiss that warmed her to the core. “I know you have a lot of demands on your time. I understand, I grew up in a large rowdy family, too. I can help. I’ll cook, I’ll make crab for Anika and Bella every night of the week if they want.”

  “Don’t let them know that.” She smiled and kissed him again.

  “You should know that Mia has already put in her order. I promised that I’d continue to cook for her.”

  “So that was your promise.” Verena laughed. “Do you think she was trying to get us back together?”

  “She’s a wise woman. Like you.” Lance nuzzled her neck. “But the vow I mentioned was to you. In Paris, I told you that wherever we are, I promised to keep the magic alive for the rest of our lives. I meant it.”

  As she recalled that magical moment in Paris, Verena felt her heart thudding.

  “I love you, Verena, and have from the first moment I saw you. I’ll welcome everyone who comes along with you. I’m signing up for the entire menu, not just the à la carte choices. I’ve missed being part of a big family. We’ll figure it out.”

  She gazed into his golden amber eyes, and realized she’d never felt this way with anyone else. This was magical, yet very real. “I love you, too, Lance. You’re the man I’ve been looking for.”

  A loud whistle sounded behind them, followed by cheers and clapping.

  Verena and Lance turned around to see Johnny, Scarlett, Fianna, and Dahlia rejoicing for them. A few passersby glanced at the handsome chef and the blond woman in the red dress, but this was L.A., and nothing fazed people here.

  “Keep it down,” Lance said, laughing. “This is a place of business.”

  “Aw, get a room,” Johnny said, and slapped Lance on the back.

  Lance turned back to Verena and waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe there’s one available.”

  Verena laughed and hugged him. “My meeting with Wilhelmina Jones is almost over, and I have great news to share with you—with everyone.” She turned to her friends and smiled.

  Dahlia let out a little squeal. “I’m so glad.”

  “Then it’s time to celebrate,” Lance said. “One bungalow, coming right up.”

  The End

  BEAUTY MARK

  In the glamorous world of high stakes beauty and fashion, Scarlett Sandoval is a top attorney who jets between Los Angeles and Madrid. When a devious plot endangers her life, childhood friend Johnny Silva -- now a handsome Beverly Hills restaurant owner-- offers his protection, though their platonic friendship threatens to ignite in the Spanish countryside.

  1

  London, England

  “WHERE IS SHE?” Scarlett Sandoval sat in the tea room at Brown’s Hotel in Mayfair waiting for her client to arrive. She was annoyed, as usual, at Fleur’s perpetual tardiness. She ordered a second pot of tea and checked her watch. Even though they were traveling on a private jet to Los Angeles, they did have a schedule, something that frequently escaped the fashion designer’s notice.

  “I’ll take a car to the airport,” David said, rising from his chair and slipping a button through a buttonhole on his crisply tailored bespoke suit. “I don’t want to get stuck in traffic. You’re the best one on the team at handling her anyway.”

  “We’ll see you there. Soon, I hope.” Scarlett made a face. David Baylor was on the partner track at the same high profile law firm, Marsh & Gold, in Los Angeles. Years ago, when she’d been in the firm’s New York office, and he’d been in Los Angeles, they’d threatened a cross-country affair, but now that she’d relocated and they were in the same city, they were glad they hadn’t crossed the line. David was a good work friend, and had recently become engaged.

  Her mother was right. At this rate she might never get married. Polite conversation bubbled across the room. Scarlett nibbled on a scone, and then checked her watch again. She glanced around the stylish room, which had been renovated in recent years. Antique fireplaces flickered in the corner, while contemporary art splashed color across the walls. Silver gleamed against white tablecloths, and VIPs of London filled every tapestry covered chair.

  A flurry of activity erupted at the entry way to the Georgian townhouse in which Brown’s had been established since 1837. The venerable old hotel was the law firm partner’s preferred hotel in London. As the story went, Alexander Graham Bell made the first telephone call from the lobby at Brown’s. Couldn’t Fleur have managed a call on the gold-plated mobile phone usually glued to her ear?

  Speak of the devil, thought Scarlett, dropping her buttered scone in shock. Fleur strutted into the room, and Scarlett realized what the commotion at the front door was about. Her client struck a defiant pose at the door, while a murmur rose across the room and the tea room manager hurried to speak to her. Waist-length purple hair matched her six-inch platform shoes, but it was the attire in between—or rather, the lack of it—that had the manager in a dither. Her sliver of a dress was definitely against the dress code at Brown’s Tea Room. Why then had Fleur insisted on meeting her here instead of at the airport?

  “Put this on my corporate account, please,” Scarlett whispered to the tea sommelier. Hastily grabbing her briefcase, she slid from the booth. She covered the room in long strides and hooked her arm in Fleur’s, whisking her from the room.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Fleur said, struggling to keep up in her platform shoes. “We need to get some shots.”

  That’s when Scarlett saw the billionaire shipping magnate with whom Fleur had been pictured in the tabloids. The impeccable Vladimir Ivanov was having tea in a booth near the entrance with another woman. She sighed and checked her anger against her client. “The plane is waiting.”

  Scarlett nodded to the doorman, who was attired in a formal top hat and three-quarter length coat. He signaled for a black town car that had been idling on the quiet block. Out of nowhere appeared several paparazzi; they began snapping photos like mad. Fleur placed her hands on her hips and angled a shoulder in a provocative pose for them.

  “Let’s go, Fleur.” Scarlett gave her a minute, and then grabbed her hand. This was not the brilliant legal career Scarlett had imagined while she was pulling all-nighter study sessions in law school. She slid into the backseat and let out a sigh of relief as the driver steered his way through London.

  “Did you call them?” Scarlett had traveled with Gina “Fleur” Georgopoulos long enough to know that she often called paparazzi to keep herself in the headlines. A Greek native from the Bronx, she’d moved to London, adopted an accent, and took the world by surprise when she had one of her boyfriends buy billboards over Sunset Boulevard in Los Angeles. Soon everyone was asking, who is Fleur of London? On some level—a low one, Scarlett thought—it was brilliant.

  “If I’d just had the chance to speak to Vladimir, they could’ve gotten some great shots. Cover page stuff.” Fleur sniffed. “I’ll be lucky if those make it into print at all.”

  Fleur was known for her outlandish costumes. “Chin up, Fleur,” Scarlett said. “I’m sure that outfit is print-worthy. Besides, you should be celebrat
ing. This new cosmetics trademark deal is nearly complete. You’re about to be one very wealthy woman.” One of the top makeup companies in the world, High Gloss Cosmetics, was licensing the Fleur of London trademark for a new line of brilliantly colored products, including lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara.

  “Pour me a couple of shots of vodka then.” Fleur smiled coyly and shoved on oversized sunglasses, her signal that she was through talking.

  “I have a call to make,” Scarlett replied, matching Fleur’s smile. A bartender she was not.

  Scarlett punched in a number on her phone. “We’re on our way,” she said, and clicked off. She had already had a long day of negotiations regarding the intellectual property uses, and now they were in route to Los Angeles for Fleur to meet with the company in person. It was the final phase in the deal. Fleur was a master of self-promotion who had, surprisingly, few other talents. She hired other fashion designers to create her line, dressed outlandishly, wore makeup more suited for Kabuki theatre, and dated billionaires. This got her a multimillion dollar deal that others worked a lifetime for and never realized.

  When they arrived at the airport, Fleur gravitated toward the partner, which was fine with Scarlett. In her mauve silk blouse and chic grey wool suit, she could hardly compare to the peacock style of Fleur. Not that she wanted to, though. Scarlett preferred being an advisor to her famous clients.

  Most fashion designers and actors she worked with were creative and accomplished, and they worked well together with mutual respect, but occasionally an eccentric client like Fleur came along, and usually landed in her lap at the firm. Scarlett was one of Marsh & Gold’s top intellectual property attorneys, and made the firm a fortune every year.

  “Welcome aboard.” Lucan Blackstone was her fifty-something boss from Los Angeles. Originally from London, Lucan seemed to be going through a permanent mid-life crisis. Fast cars, fast women, fast money—that was his motto. He traded in Teslas, Lamborghinis, yachts, and long-legged European models. Both men and women were attracted to his charm, his intelligence, and his silver-haired, movie-star good looks. He was the consummate rainmaker. Marsh & Gold partners often overlooked his missteps to keep his deals flowing.