by Ava Miles
“You’re going to bust my balls?” He laughed. “Even after this past week? Oh, Francesca, you hold my feet to the fire like no other.”
“That’s why we work,” she said, looking at the photo again. “I didn’t know you kept this. Quinn, I… Thank you for showing it to me.”
He took it from her and tucked it carefully back into his wallet. “I think I’d like to get a new photo. Of you in one of my shirts and nothing else. Also without makeup.”
She linked her arm through his as they walked back toward the music. “That could be arranged. Quinn, I love you. And I’m so glad I’m here with you. I’m truly happy in a way I couldn’t be on my own.”
Pulling her to him, he kissed her softly. “Me too, babe. Now, let’s go join the party. At Flynn’s wedding, I’m ashamed to say I sulked away and kept to myself.” He’d actually drunk a lot of whiskey, watching his family have fun on the dance floor. Not this time.
His life was never going back to that sorry state. And fairly soon, he and Francesca would be dancing at their own wedding. He could already smell the jasmine.
He only needed to give her a little more time to figure things out.
Chapter 17
It was unanimous. Ready the champagne. I’m coming home early to celebrate.
Francesca’s work was officially done. Merriam’s board had approved the restructuring plan.
Quinn had invited her to be a guest at the board meeting, but she’d turned him down. This was his moment, and it made a stronger statement for him to present the plan on his own.
Alice and Hargreaves were sitting in the kitchen, their heads huddled together like usual. Arthur and Clara were with Shawn and Assumpta and the remaining family in town. She’d passed on going over there, wanting to take some time for herself after a whirlwind weekend with Quinn’s family. She’d enjoyed every minute, and his family had been wonderful to her.
The quiet gave her time to think, the silence punctuated by Alice’s explosive laughter and Hargreaves’ quiet chuckles. With the Hales leaving on Wednesday, Francesca knew it would be a letdown for Alice not to see her new friend every day. It hadn’t escaped her that any future she decided upon professionally would impact Alice.
“It’s done!” she announced. “The plan’s been approved. No dissenters.” Not that they’d expected anything else, but it was still a relief.
Alice lurched out of her chair and threw her hands up in the air. “Awesome! Bubbly?”
She rose and walked into the kitchen. “Quinn is coming home early, but I think we can have an early celebratory glass.”
Without further ado, Alice had three glasses poured and handed out. “To killing it like usual,” she said, hoisting her champagne flute. “Francesca, you rock, girl.”
Hargreaves lifted his glass in her direction. “To rocking it, as Alice says.”
There was a delightful incongruity between the words he spoke and the formal British accent in which he uttered them, which only further demonstrated the impact Alice had had on the man.
Then again, she had transformed Francesca too. “To rocking it. Thanks, you two, for making everything so comfortable here. A relaxing space always ushers in the right creative inspiration.”
They clinked glasses, turning to look out the windows at the ocean. The sun had burned off the early morning fog and was shining brightly, causing the water to look positively sapphire.
Goodness, she loved this place. Soon this would be her home, and her heart filled with peace when she thought of it.
An hour later, she was working in her room when her phone rang, and dread crept through her at the sight of her father’s name on the display. “Hello, Father.”
“I was informed of the press release outlining the Merriam restructuring plan and the board’s approval.” His sigh was harsh on the line. “I’d hoped it would take you longer to complete it. I warned you against oil. You should have listened, but there’s nothing for it now. You should leave San Francisco ASAP.”
The sick feeling in her stomach returned. “Why? I rocked this consultancy. Even you have to admit the plan is genius.”
Another deep sigh. “It is, daughter. Or it would be under different circumstances. Come to Milan. It’s time to talk about you returning to the family company.”
She pushed aside a rising tide of anger. He didn’t truly think she’d made a mistake—he was playing the same old game with her. Rather than snap at him, which would only lead to an argument, she murmured something noncommittal.
“You love fashion week,” he pressed. “It would be good for you to leave town now that you’ve completed your assignment. For reasons you don’t understand. The news about the virus is troubling enough. There are several flights a day between San Francisco and China.”
More vague allusions? “According to the news, there are no cases in the Bay Area. Father, you aren’t being discriminatory, are you?”
He scoffed. “Can a father not be worried about his daughter’s well-being?”
“Dozens of towns in northern Italy are in lockdown, yet you want me to go to Milan with you.” She and J.T. had spoken just last night about what was happening in Italy. He’d made Rome his home for many years, and he was deeply worried for his friends and colleagues there. Venice had even halted its annual carnival. It was all so difficult to believe.
“Italy only has around a hundred cases so far. Officials would have closed fashion week if there was just cause. You should come. We could talk.”
“And yet Armani presented its line to an empty showroom and streamed it on the internet yesterday, which was unprecedented.” Realization dawned. “Wait a moment. You’re already there. Your current mistress wanted to go, didn’t she? Were you hoping we would all have dinner?”
“Don’t shame your father. She’s a lovely woman, and it’s not as if I’m a married man. I needed a break from all the squabbling and tension in Lebanon. Much like I need to see my daughter. Things are bad at home, Francesca.”
Her heart hurt at the sorrow in his voice. They both knew the financial crisis was worsening. Protestors had taken to the streets. “I keep hoping for a miracle on that front.”
“Miracle? We need sweeping changes. Don’t get me started. Come to Milan, daughter.”
She decided it was time for complete disclosure. “I’m staying here. With Quinn. He and I have fully reconciled, Father.”
“Then there is nothing more to say. It won’t last, especially when your restructuring plan fails. I did warn you. Goodbye, Francesca.”
She stared at the phone after it went dead. That’s all he was going to say? She hadn’t expected him to be pleased to hear about Quinn, but the cryptic warnings he’d spouted didn’t sit well. Her fear and discomfort returned. If he was playing her, would he do it this thoroughly? Usually he tried a tactic to sway her, and if it didn’t work, he tried something else.
She pulled up the news on the oil industry again, searching for information. Oil prices had tumbled four percent this morning as concerns over the virus grew. Iran, South Korea, Japan, and Italy were reporting growing infections and a few deaths. The world market continued to be concerned about shrinking oil demand in the face of China’s closures.
But her mind kept going back to her first call with her father. He’d said the virus wasn’t the reason for his concern. She rubbed the space between her brows. He had to be privy to something not yet public.
Well, there was nothing she could do about it. If it happened, she and Quinn would deal with it.
When she checked the markets again, her gut wrenched. The Dow was dropping heavily in the U.S. stock market.
She and Quinn had drafted a press release about the restructuring to go out right after the board’s vote. News about the restructuring was supposed to shore up Merriam Enterprises’ stock price.
Only that wasn’t happening. It was caught in the downward market spiral with all the other companies.
She texted Quinn, sick at heart.
&nb
sp; You see what’s happening with the stock market?
She waited a few minutes for his reply.
We just can’t get a break. Our stock is tanking like everyone else’s. Jesus. I’m with Trevor, seeing if there’s anything we can do. I won’t be home early like I thought. Sending you a big kiss.
Part of her wanted to be with him. To work beside him and feel like she was making a difference. Powerlessness wasn’t her friend, but they both knew there was nothing they could do on a dive like today.
They’d announced the restructuring. All they could do at this point was hope that investors saw the new plan as a positive and started showing more confidence in the stock after the dust settled. But she feared it wasn’t done, what with the virus and her father’s dire warning.
A feeling of foreboding bore down on her, and she left her room to find Alice. The door was cracked, but Francesca could see Alice on FaceTime with her best friend, Sarah.
Descending to the first floor to make herself some tea, she smiled when she found Hargreaves seated at the kitchen table, a James Patterson paperback in hand. She would have expected him to favor heavy biographies, so it was delightful to see his interest in a popular suspense novel.
He set it down immediately and rose. “How may I help you, Miss?”
“I was going to make myself tea. I’m a touch restless.”
He set his book aside. “I confess to feeling the same. Usually a gripping novel commands my full attention, but the house feels rather empty today. I’ve spent much of my life alone except for Madam, of course, but I’ve discovered that I rather like having company.”
Her heart melted at the honesty. “I confess I’m missing people as well, Quinn especially. He’s been delayed.”
“May I recommend an elderflower and chamomile tea?” Hargreaves suggested. “Alice and I developed the blend together. It’s been calming for me, especially in light of the news.”
She tilted her head and asked, “You and Alice are going to miss each other quite fiercely, aren’t you?”
“We will. Her company is most delightful, but we plan to be in touch.”
He was already filling the electric kettle with water, and she decided it would be silly to step in. Silly, and likely not appreciated. “She is one of the most positive and enthusiastic people I’ve ever met. I’m glad she’s taken to you so. After her parents died, she found it hard to let people in. Did she tell you?”
“Yes,” he said gravely. “She said it was a dark time in her life. Death is very hard, especially when it is so unexpected. You were the first person she decided to accept as her new friend. Then you reached neighbor status.”
She thought of Alice talking to Sarah upstairs. They’d gone to grade school together, so their lives had been intertwined for many years. “What a lovely way to put it. I expect you’ve reached it as well. Do you ever think about retiring, Hargreaves? Sorry, that was an abrupt question. It’s only, I’m thinking about what’s next for myself—and Alice—since we’ve been working together for some time.”
She’d only given herself a few moments to think about it, but there was one point on which she felt great clarity. She couldn’t consult with anyone who was a competitor to Merriam Enterprises. That wouldn’t be fair to Quinn. But not knowing what areas Merriam might move into under their Speculative Ventures arm, how could she help other companies? At some point, she might find herself helping a future competitor. Ethically, it didn’t feel right.
“I expect you will know what is best for you,” Hargreaves said. “If there is one thing you’ve more than demonstrated, it’s that you have a good head on your shoulders. Alice respects and trusts you. You should decide what’s best for you and you alone. She wouldn’t want it any other way. Perhaps it will give her the room to make her own decisions about the future.”
Hargreaves was right. Alice needed space to decide what was next as much as she did. “I appreciate your thoughts, Hargreaves. And you?”
He measured out a teaspoon of loose tea and spooned it into a blue teapot. “I am still musing over my life. These past months since Madam reconnected with her family have been the most exciting time in my life. They have a way of expanding what you believe is possible, simply by being who they are. I admire them for it.”
Expanding what you believe is possible. Yes, that’s exactly how Quinn made her feel. Hadn’t his words in the vineyard been a call to her soul? “I do as well.”
He set the teapot to boil, and she gestured to the chair across from her at the table. They both sat.
“This virus is also causing me to ask deeply buried questions inside myself, I must add. The more it spreads across the globe, taking lives as it does so, the more I feel the call of Horace’s phrase ‘carpe diem.’ What do the people facing death wish for in their last moments? I’m terribly sorry if that’s too macabre for you, Miss.”
She waved her hand. “Please, don’t apologize, Hargreaves. It’s a very good question.” Her mother had wished for more time with her as she lay dying, she remembered. “You know… I haven’t let myself think of the human toll this virus will take. When I do, my heart breaks. I was born in 1982, and my earliest memories are of the Lebanese civil war and the toll it took in human terms. I was eight when it ended, but by then, despite my parents’ best efforts, I’d seen people killed on the streets. As you said earlier, death is hard.”
Hard was an inadequate term for it. She’d trembled at night as the bombs and gunfire kept her awake. Her father, she remembered, had instructed her mother not to comfort her, saying it was a fact of life she needed to become accustomed to. He didn’t want a weak daughter.
“Living can be hard too,” Hargreaves said, pouring them both a cup of tea. “My father used to say that, and it’s stuck with me. He lost his brother in the war, along with many other close friends. He admitted in a moment of rare candor years afterward that he used to wish he’d been one of the brave men who’d been taken. Living had been more difficult, he’d said. Rebuilding was hard.”
She thought about Lebanon’s rebuilding, something her father and Maroun Industries had been a part of. She admired him for the role he’d played, something else that factored into their complicated relationship. “My father helped rebuild my home country. He isn’t the kind of man to talk about his emotions, but I know it took a toll on him.”
Hargreaves sipped his tea, lost in thought for a moment. “I imagine so. Your father and mine would have understood each other, I imagine. But I find I’ve benefited from Mr. Hale’s wisdom, although I’d never say so aloud.”
She smiled, having observed their playful relationship. “Mum’s the word.”
A shaft of sunlight cut through the windows, making his silver hair gleam. “He talks about a man making his own fate, circling the wagons with loved ones, and pressing on and on until undesirable elements are gone or defeated. Certainly his life is a testament to such sentiments. It’s given me much to think about.”
In her short time with Arthur, she’d seen ample evidence of his unflappable grit. “He is a wise man,” Francesca said, “and so are you, Hargreaves.”
“You are too kind, Miss.”
“Wouldn’t you please call me Francesca? I’ve heard you call Alice by her name.”
“Mostly when it’s only us two,” he said, and then he smiled. “Since it’s only you and me for tea, perhaps I can ease up on the restriction. Alice thinks it distances me from people, not using their given names. Her argument is what led to me breaking stringent butler protocol.”
Alice had a way about her. “You can’t argue with her on points like that.”
“No, Francesca, you can’t,” he said with a winning smile, settling back into his chair, more comfortable now.
She’d won plenty of victories in business, but somehow this felt more momentous. Later she would have to tell Alice. “Thank you for taking tea with me, Hargreaves.”
He met her gaze directly, warmth in his brown eyes. “I look forward to doing
so again.”
They quieted and sipped their tea, watching the sun light up the ultramarine ocean. Francesca relaxed into the companionable silence. Her hard-earned wisdom was to live in the moment, especially when things looked like they were coming apart.
She’d made a new friend, and in times such as these, that gift was priceless.
Chapter 18
Arthur Hale had never been one for Doomsday prophesies.
Yet he started every morning by reading a dozen or so trusted papers from around the world—his own included—and they were all painting the same picture: things were bad and getting worse every day. When he talked to Meredith and Tanner, they further confirmed it from their sources. For only the third time in U.S. history, the stock market had finished down more than a thousand points. As if the virus’ continual spread around the globe weren’t alarming enough.
“Poor Quinn,” Clara said, fingering her diamond bracelets. “And poor Merriam Enterprises. Their stock closed down twenty percent when Quinn was hoping for at least a ten to fifteen percent increase. Shawn had to take a walk he was so upset, and J.T., Trevor, and Flynn all headed into headquarters to be with Quinn.”
Arthur surveyed the family room at Shawn and Assumpta’s house. Caitlyn’s brows were scrunched together, but she was making a valiant effort to carry on a conversation with Annie, who looked equally troubled. Both of them knew how badly things had shifted after this morning’s success with the board.
“Arthur, I’m not sure we should leave on Wednesday,” Clara said. “A few of the Merriams are talking about staying on longer to see how things shape out with the company.”
Only Connor and Louisa had left as planned. Her work with the homeless didn’t allow for many vacations. Everyone else had stayed on for the board meeting except for Michaela and Boyd, of course, who were on their honeymoon.