"Off plan is one thing. This is a complete failure," Danforth pronounced. "Unfortunately, it's stil our problem. The question is, what do we do?"
Cil a felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. This was it. This was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. She'd done her research. As soon as she saw the opening, she was going to dive for it.
"You going to bring in a tiger team?" one of the board members asked.
Danforth shook his head. "I don't see the point. The concept doesn't work. I plan to close it and cut our losses. The market in L.A. clearly won't support more than one Danforth store."
Close down a property on Melrose? Cil a stared at her father. It was sheer lunacy. "If you give up the space, you'l be compounding one strategic error with another," she heard herself saying calmly.
Around the room, heads turned, first to her, then to her father. Danforth wasn't at the head of the table—with the arrangement, there wasn't any such thing—but he was the one everybody looked to, even so. And by his reaction, he wasn't amused. "I'm looking at a strategic error of about seven mil ion dol ars. How is breaking a lease going to compound that?"
"Giving up an opportunity to make money is just as bad as losing capital, and if you walk away from Danforth Annex, that's just what you'l be doing."
"We don't just need a modest sales increase at this store," he said impatiently. "It has to completely reverse, and I don't see a way to do that. We need to recognize that the Danforth concept is not working there and go on."
"Exactly." It was just the opening she needed. "The Danforth concept hasn't worked there because the people who come to Melrose are not the same people who shop at the Rodeo Drive store."
"If we're not looking at a clientele with the money to support the boutique, then we should pul out," Bernard Fox put in.
Cil a shook her head. "It's not a question of money. The people who shop upper Melrose have plenty of it, but they're not looking for their mother's store. Even if they like the clothes, they'l go elsewhere. Danforth appeals to a certain—" she searched for a diplomatic term "—conservatively stylish client. They want beautiful clothing, but nothing too edgy, and they want to buy it in a quiet, luxurious environment. That won't work for Danforth Annex."
"And I suppose you're going to tel me what wil work?" Her father's voice was dry.
Cil a grinned. "Of course. I'm your target demographic. I want a store with some energy, some fun. I want clothes that break the rules, clothes that aren't for sedate lunches but for clubs, concerts, premieres."
"What kind of a product line do you see Danforth Annex carrying?" asked Ruxton.
"A similar price range, but from edgier designers like Gaultier, Versace, the ones creating controversy. We also want the new designers who are just getting the buzz going. They won't al sel immediately, but they'l add to the draw of the store." Her voice vibrated with enthusiasm. Oh, she knew just how it should go, and for once she was getting a chance to say so. "We'l be the place for people to come to, to buy the cutting edge. The sexiest, the barest outfits that stars wil wear to annual shows and parties so that word wil get around."
"It looks like we've already dumped a considerable sum into marketing," Ruxton observed. "Even if we did revamp the store, we'd be hard-pressed to counteract the current impression. Rebranding takes an enormous amount of money."
"Word of mouth wil help, as a start. I can work my media contacts. Maybe we persuade a couple of the smal er designers to hold shows in the store." Cil a paused. It wasn't smart, but the temptation was too strong for her to resist. "There is one other angle that could real y work for us." She hesitated, then hurried on. "I've been working on a lingerie line, Cil a D. Very provocative and very luxurious. That ought to get us footage in al the magazines and the Times. Think of it, Danforth Annex as the launch of the Danforth heiress's line."
"We are not going to fund a vanity project for you," Danforth thundered.
"It's not a vanity project," she flared, then modulated her voice. "It's a publicity angle. I'm trying to tel you ways to make this work."
"Whatever it is, it's not appropriate." His face got that closed expression that told her he'd stopped listening. "Danforth Annex was an attempt to broaden the Danforth brand. What you're talking about is not the Danforth brand."
"Sure it is," said Rand, next to her. "Just as Forth's is the Danforth brand downscaled for the mainstream. You want to catch your Danforth customer of twenty years from now, you hook them with Danforth Annex. Sooner or later, they'l walk through the door and realize they're too old for it, but by then you've got them. That's when they start looking to the flagship store."
Bernard Fox considered. "Do you think she's right about the stock?"
"I wouldn't push it as far as she's proposing," Rand answered, "but I agree that you've got a different clientele there that you've got to address if you want to succeed. We could carry over the elements of Danforth that work and bring in some fresh air to complement them." He leaned back and propped one elbow on the back of his chair. "It's the same approach we've taken in a different way with Danforth Milan, and that we'l take for Danforth London. You've got to tailor the store to the customer, not expect the customer to fol ow the store."
"Danforth has got to move into the twenty-first century or it's not going to survive," Cil a said passionately. "We've got to take chances. Isn't that what you've always said?" she appealed to her father.
"We've already lost mil ions based on a chance we took. We can't afford to repeat that."
"We won't," she shot back. "I've done an analysis. I can make this work, I'm sure of it." She was getting too emotional again, she knew it. With effort, she toned her voice down. "Look, you're ready to shut it down. Why not try something different? I know the clientele, I know the market. Give me a chance. I can turn it around, I swear." How had it turned from a business discussion to her once again pleading to be taken seriously, to be given a fraction of the respect accorded to Rand, for example?
Sam Danforth looked at his watch. "I think it's time we took a break," he said wearily. "Cil a, the board and I wil discuss this and have an answer for you when we reconvene. Fifteen minutes, people."
And that, she thought dejectedly, was very likely the end of that.
* * *
"NICE PITCH IN THERE," Rand murmured. They stood out in the foyer with the rest of the nonboard members, waiting for the doors to open. "For al the good it did," Cil a said, hearing the whisper of bitterness in her words.
"You don't know that," he pointed out. "We're going on half an hour, here, and they're stil in closed session. You should consider that a good sign."
"What is my father thinking, talking about pul ing out of Melrose Avenue?"
Rand smiled. "Scandalous."
"Foolish," she countered. "It's a bad business decision. I don't like seeing us make mistakes." Why wouldn't they listen to her, and why wouldn't they give her a chance? "I wish—"
"What?"
There was something about those eyes, something she could get lost in. It wasn't about sex now, it was about needing a friend. "Just once I wish he'd listen to me. He never takes what I say seriously, and because he doesn't, the board doesn't, either." The familiar frustration wel ed up.
"Maybe it's the way you say it." Rand's voice was mild.
She bristled. "Meaning I should sugarcoat it? Why should I have to? You can say what's on your mind and people accept it. Why can't I?"
"You can say whatever you like, but not if you're looking to get what you want. To do that, you have to present things differently, same way I did with the Paris thing." He shrugged. "They're in business to make money. Show them the value proposition and they'l listen."
"I thought that was what I was doing."
"But you brought your emotions into it. You made it personal, and when it's personal, they can walk away. That's the thing to remember, it's not personal, it's business."
She looked at him, standing there in his beautiful suit, and sighe
d. "That's what I want it to be, but it always winds up being personal for me because ultimately I'm stil his daughter, and that's how he treats me."
"Maybe he's having a hard time accepting that his little girl has grown up. Show him you have. Act like you would if you were reporting to someone who doesn't know you from Adam. Show them how giving you what you want gets them what they want."
"I did that."
Rand grinned. "Sort of, but your agenda came through loud and clear. Try ratcheting it back some next time around."
He was right, she thought with a sinking heart. After al of her planning and research, she'd let her emotions run away with her. "I hate finding out that I've been an idiot," she muttered.
"I think that's too strong a word. You gave them something to chew on, you just need to polish your presentation a little. It'l come, trust me."
The reassurance, the kind words helped. It was good advice. The next time she'd nail it. "Thanks for the voice of support in there. You seemed like the only one who got what I was talking about."
"Don't mistake me, I don't entirely agree with what you're proposing, at least not for a company like Danforth," he warned her. "I think some of what you said is sound, though. It was the right idea, and with a little adjustment you could—" He broke off at the sight of the meeting-room doors opening.
"Why do I feel like we should be looking for black smoke or white smoke," Cil a said under her breath. Burt Ruxton winked at her as she walked in and sat down.
Her father surveyed the room as everyone took their seats. "Wel , you gave us some things to think about with the Annex, Cil a, obviously. We weren't able to come to any initial agreement beyond the fact that we shouldn't pul out of the Melrose store without taking another run at it."
Clearly, he wasn't entirely in agreement with the decision. For al that Sam Danforth was the majority stockholder, though, the board held the other forty percent of the company and they had a voice in strategic moves like this one. And maybe they'd hand her the opportunity. She felt a little surge of excitement.
"There's been some debate about how, exactly, to move forward." And it fried him, Cil a could see. Stil , he'd needed the influx of capital back when he'd gone looking for Danforth investors, and he had to live with the situation he'd created.
Even if it meant final y giving his daughter the authority she'd earned.
"Clearly, what we've got isn't working. The question is how conservative the new model needs to be. But that's yours to figure out," he said briskly, glancing at her and then looking around the room. Effervescence began to fizz in Cil a's veins. "We've decided to fund the Annex for another six months. It's going to need to meet some pretty strict milestones," he stipulated, "but we're going to give the two of you a chance with it."
The two of them?
"Can you back up a minute?" Cil a fought to keep her voice calm, staring at her father. "What two of us?" It had been her idea. They couldn't give it to someone else.
"Rand weighed in with a scenario, too," he pointed out.
"The vote was split between the two directions," Ruxton explained. "Part of the problem is that, wel , to be frank, you've never run a project before, Cil a. You're a buyer."
Because she'd never had a chance for anything more, she wanted to rant. She'd run projects when she'd been earning her M.B.A. She just needed to be given a chance. "Rand's a business development person. He doesn't run stores, either."
"Rand's got project management experience, you know retail. It's up to you to find a way to work it," Ruxton added placatingly. "We couldn't come to a conclusive decision on direction, so we thought it was best to put the project to the two of you as a team." The worst part was that Uncle Burt thought he'd managed to do something good for her, she thought. He didn't understand that it was like saddling her with a baby-sitter.
"It's an understandable decision, but there's one big problem," Rand said calmly. "I'm up to my elbows in work on the London and Zurich stores. I won't be able to get over here often and I don't know how much use I'l be able to be long-distance."
"We've taken care of that. We'l pass your European projects off to Ken." Her father pointed to the business development manager for Forth's.
"You've done enough of the groundwork that he should be able to pick it up."
She was close enough to Rand to see his jaw tighten, though she doubted anyone else noticed. "These kinds of projects are about relationships."
His voice was even. "We're at a very delicate point in the negotiations. Switching the contact person now could break the deal and cost us money."
"Then make sure that doesn't happen," her father said in a tone that brooked no argument. "This is a temporary assignment but an important one. I want you to make sure it's done right."
Let Rand see what it felt like to be steamrol ered by Sam Danforth, Cil a thought grimly. So much for reasonable advice.
Her father, meanwhile, remained oblivious. "Rand, you and Ken should plan to spend a couple of hours this week mapping out a basic timeline. I'd like to see you in L.A. ready to work on Danforth Annex no later than two weeks from now. Sit down with Cil a before you go, as wel . After al , you two are going to be partners."
5
RAND WALKED UP to the wal of windows and stared out at the city of Los Angeles spread out seventeen stories below.
"The Wilshire Corridor is a very prestigious address," said the real estate woman from behind him. El en? No, Eleanor. "It's quite the neighborhood for up-and-coming professionals. You're lucky to find a corner unit like this." Her heels tapped briskly on marble tile as she led him back through the kitchen area. "The owner, Ian Cresswel , is spending a year on assignment in Australia."
"Do I have to take it for the whole year?" Rand walked past the kitchen to the bedrooms.
"No, of course not. We could do it on a revolving six-month lease, with sixty days' notice of vacating."
The views he liked, and high ceilings and wal s of windows made the space airy and open. The furnishings, though? Ian Cresswel had seen a few too many swinging bachelor movies, it appeared. "Does the furniture stay?"
"This is a very chic look, Mr. Mitchel . Very Italian. Very of the moment."
Or very not. Given that he'd just come from Italy, he was in a perfect position to cal her on it, but it wasn't worth bothering over. The project was going to last for six months. Not long enough to pul his own stuff out of storage, at least not most of it. Maybe some of his music, some of his smal col ection of art. For six months, he could ignore the black leather and chrome and soak up the view.
Stil , he thought longingly of his town home in Boston, currently leased and off-limits to him. Even the apartment in Milan had been better. During his months in Italy, he'd picked up a nice piece of furniture here and there, and the place had been coming together. Rand stifled a sigh. The Italian furniture would go into storage with the rest of his belongings. At some point, he'd settle down enough to bring it al out again. While his life was in flux, though, it would have to stay out of sight.
Al he needed now was a temporary roosting place.
He looked at her. "When can I move in?"
* * *
"ALL YOU PEOPLE getting al mushy," Delaney complained, looking from Kel y to Sabrina to Trish. They sat clustered around tables, amid the detritus of dinner. "We're going to have to kick you out of the Supper Club and start restricting it to us single chicks." "I'm stil single," Kel y objected.
"You're cohabiting." Delaney dismissed her. "It's practical y the same thing as being married."
"What about me?" Trish piped up. "I'm not doing either."
"Say the words 'Ty Ramsay,'" Delaney ordered.
Trish's look turned dreamy. "Ty Ramsay," she repeated obediently, her lips tugging up into a smile.
Delaney shook her head sadly. "It's just a matter of time."
Trish fairly glowed, and had ever since she'd gotten involved with Sabrina's cousin the previous fal , Cil a thought fondly. Though she stil
dressed casual y, there was a flash and a friskiness that hadn't been there before. She'd changed, and Ty had been a part of that. It real y was just a matter of time.
"So, I rest my case," Delaney announced. "You should al be banished to the far end of the table if you're not going to contribute."
"Wel , it's not like you've been exactly regaling us with stories," Paige told her.
Delaney crossed her legs, flipping her short, flowered skirt. "I'm taking the week off."
"What about the tortured artist?" Thea asked. "I thought he was your hunka hunka burning love."
"Intense men take so much energy," Delaney sighed. "He wore me out. Plus, he wanted to paint me, which was sexy at first, especial y the first few times we got playing with the paint," she added thoughtful y. "After a while, though…do you have any idea how long you have to pose for a painting?" she demanded.
"So what we're real y talking about here is your limited attention span," Thea said.
"It's someone else's turn to come up with a story," Delaney told her. "What about you."
"I've had my fil of guys for a few years, thanks," Thea responded. As usual, her hair was skinned back from her face and she wore completely unflattering black glasses. Cil a wondered, not for the first time, why Thea changed after col ege, what had happened to her while she'd been a model in New York? She wasn't like Trish, who'd merely ignored her appearance. Thea seemed to actively work on ways to disguise herself.
"Oh, come on, Thea, I bet we could set you up with our waiter," Delaney said, tempting.
Thea looked down. Cil a figured it couldn't hurt to run some interference for her. "Forget that," she announced. "Let me tel you about my week."
* * *
"SO HERE I'M THINKING I'm going to get this great chance to prove myself and instead I get saddled with a watchdog," Cil a finished, fuming anew at the situation. There was a short silence at the table while they digested her story. "I don't know, it seems to me like you ought to be excited," Thea said, twirling her wineglass on the table.
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