Rand shrugged. "Hanging, mostly, waiting for you to show up."
It made her feel guilty, and crowded. "But we didn't have plans."
"No," he said evenly. "On the other hand, I couldn't very wel leave when you were supposed to be here and I didn't know when you were going to show up."
"You're ticked off."
"I'm…frustrated. I could have gone grocery shopping, or for a bike ride, even."
"I thought you'd just be watching the game," she said, bewildered. "I didn't think it mattered that I took a little extra time."
"But it did, and now the day's blown and the weekend's over."
Her bags stil sat in the entryway. She suddenly didn't feel much like moving them. How had she wound up accountable for every minute of her time?
As much as she loved being with Rand, it was okay to have a few minutes to herself, wasn't it? It wasn't that she hadn't shown up, she'd just lost track of time. Weekends were supposed to be about puttering.
And yet, somehow it was as if she'd done something wrong.
"I don't know how to feel about this," she began, picking her way careful y. "It's like I've done something bad, and yet I don't real y think I did. Al I did was spend a little time doing some odds and ends, on my time, on a weekend. It's not like we had tickets or reservations or plans to meet someone." She twisted at the thick chain bracelet that encircled her wrist. "I feel like somehow I'm on a schedule or something. I don't want to feel trapped, but I…" To her horror, she felt tears wel ing up and she walked toward the slider that led to his balcony.
Outside, the air was warm and dry, the sky stil clear this early in the summer. She leaned on the railing.
Rand came up behind her. "Cil a." His voice was soft as he leaned on the railing next to her. "I'm not trying to tel you how to spend your time or what you're supposed to do. We don't have to spend every moment together. Of course you need time to yourself to get things done. I do, too." He took her hand and drew her down to one of the chairs. "Al you had to do was cal and tel me you were running late and you'd be over later, or not at al , even. That simple." His eyes were dark and serious. "I'm not trying to trap you. But as long as we're involved, what you do has an effect on me. I'm just asking you to think about that."
It was like looking at a 3-D picture when a swirl of color suddenly turned into leaping dolphins or something. Except that in this case it wasn't leaping dolphins but the realization that he was right. Guilt pricked at her.
"I'm sorry. I…I never thought about it like that," she blurted. She watched a car thread its way up a road in the Hol ywood Hil s, searching for its way.
Like her. Biting her lip, she looked at Rand. "I've never been in this kind of relationship before. It's mostly been casual dating. You know, go out to a club, go to a concert. I'm not used to spending al my time with someone." She hesitated. "I'm not used to having to account for my time."
"I'm not trying—"
She held up a hand. "Let me finish, okay. This, what's between us, is real y important to me, and I want to be with you. It's only when I have a few minutes to myself that I start remembering al the things that need to be done." She swal owed. It was important that he understood. It was important to get it right. "That's why I was late today. I never thought about it as tying up your time, and I'm sorry. This is new territory for me."
Rand stirred. "Maybe it's new territory for both of us." He leaned forward and caught her hands in his. "The last thing I want is for you to feel trapped.
Look, I'm nuts about you and I want to spend time with you, but not if you're feeling hemmed in. Take the time to do what you need to."
"I'l be better about this in the future, I promise." She slanted him a look. "So, nuts, huh? Could you be a little more specific?"
He drew her to her feet. "I could demonstrate, if you want."
"I certainly hope so."
15
RAND LOOKED at his watch. Grand opening day. Somehow, when he hadn't been paying attention, over a month had whisked by since they'd opened the doors at the Annex. Maybe he hadn't been paying attention to the calendar because he'd been paying attention to Cil a, instead.
The telephone on Rand's desk burbled. Absently, he reached out and picked it up. "Rand Mitchel ," he said, without pausing in his work.
"Hel o, Rand, this is El iot Patterson, with Stratosphere Executive Recruiters. How are you doing?"
"Fine." He waited.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
Rand didn't, and yet the name rang a faint bel . And then his mental search engine brought it up. El iot Patterson, a headhunter who'd tried to recruit him when he was at his dot-com job. A different employer, but then a lot of them were at different employers these days. "It's been a while, El iot.
How have you been?"
"Scrapping a little but things have been getting better."
"Glad to hear it." But he knew this wasn't a social cal , and El iot proved him right.
"I'm cal ing because we've got an opportunity that might be a very good fit for you. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
Rand's first impulse was to say no and hang up. The grand opening's reception for the Annex started in less than three hours and he had a meeting, a telecon and a couple of e-mails to deal with before he'd be free to leave. He didn't have time for recruiters. Stil , a smart man always listened. You never knew when the hot opportunity was going to fal in your lap, and you never knew when a connection you made today might become important.
He checked his watch. "I've got five minutes before I have to be in a meeting. What's on your mind?"
"I was surprised to hear that you'd gone into retail. You seem like such a good fit for high tech. How's it working out for you in the bricks-and-mortar world?"
"The bricks-and-mortar world is producing a paycheck," he responded. "I like it just fine."
"You don't miss life on the cutting edge?"
It made Rand impatient. "Five minutes, El iot. Who is it and what is it?"
El iot laughed. "Same old Mitchel . Listen, I've got a venture capital fund up in Silicon Val ey. They're looking to get their money working and they're looking for someone to manage it. You know, help them latch onto the next big thing."
"Tel them to get in line."
"That's just the thing, they don't want to get in line. They want to be there first and they're looking for someone to spearhead the project."
It raised a flicker of interest, but only a flicker. "Private or institutional?"
"Private. A dozen investors who want to get their money working."
"VC isn't the slam dunk it was in the nineties," Rand warned him. "What's to stop them from losing their enthusiasm?"
Patterson chuckled. "A very generous five-year contract with the managing partner, for one. Interested in hearing more?"
Rand glanced at his watch. "I might be, but not right now."
"When? These guys know your record and they're very eager to meet you."
"Let me think about it over the weekend and get back to you Monday. Give me your number and I'l cal you when I've got some time to talk."
He hung up the phone, already reaching out for the file he needed for his meeting. The five minutes had stretched to ten, making him late. Great, he thought, walking out of his office as he flipped open the folder to check his spot on the agenda.
And barreled right into a young woman from the mail room carrying one of those complicated frappuccino-whipped-cream-whatevers from the coffee bar on the ground floor.
A complicated whatever that wound up al over him.
"Ohmigod, I'm so sorry," she blurted, aghast, staring at the brown splotch that ran from his chest to crotch, and dripped slowly into a puddle on the ground.
Good thing it was iced, Rand thought. "Don't worry about it, I should have been watching where I was going."
"I can get some napkins from the break room," she offered anxiously.
"It's okay, real y." The last thing he needed was some inter
n mopping his crotch. Anyway, it was going to take a whole lot more than a napkin or two to fix his clothes.
So much for getting to the grand opening early.
Stifling his frustration, Rand ducked into the men's room to dry off the worst of it. Fortunately, little of the coffee had made it onto the documents inside. Uncomfortable as it might be, he real y ought to do the meeting.
Right, new plan. Skip the telecons, skip the e-mail, see if he could get pushed forward in the agenda and head home to change before the reception.
"May you live in interesting times" was a Chinese curse, he thought with a sigh, and headed more moderately down the hal to the conference room.
* * *
THERE WAS A REASON she never had parties on weeknights, Cil a thought as she glanced at her computer clock for the hundredth time. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck at work when she knew she had high-stakes entertaining to do. It would be so much easier to have done it on a Saturday night. Unfortunately, Saturday night wouldn't al ow the journalists to get the events into their fashion sections, whereas the weeknight would. She wanted to be at the Annex, hovering over the decorations, the food, the music. It didn't matter that they'd secured one of the top party planners in L.A. to arrange the whole event. Cil a needed to be on-site to do her ritual dithering, to calm her nerves, if nothing else.
The Annex wasn't her only job, though. Danforth and Forth's needed stock. Orders had to go out on time or else the shipments wouldn't arrive with the season. And when it came to couture, timing was everything.
With an eye on the clock, she reviewed her order files. Making herself go slowly was the hardest part, but eventual y it was done and she e-mailed the file off to her assistant. A fraction before five, Cil a thought jubilantly. She had her outfit with her so that she could change, spruce up and stil get over to the Annex in plenty of time.
There was too much riding on the success of this night.
Poor Rand, she thought as she locked herself into a stal in the bathroom, having to run al the way home to change.
Cil a wriggled into her complicated Helmut Lang top, focusing on getting the wide band of stretchy white jersey wrapped around her shoulder blades just right so that she could bring it forward to cover her breasts—that part was important—before threading it through the black hoop that hung from her neck and pul ing it down taut to cover her bel y. She slid the fabric into the skintight black mini that went with the outfit, which would leave her—she hoped—decently covered. She should have been smart enough to bring some of J. Lo's double sticky tape to hold it in place.
Instead, she tucked the fabric more securely into her skirt and reminded herself not to make any sudden moves.
Going from day to night with cosmetics was a bit more time-consuming when the party guests included the fashion press and photographers.
Fortunately, she had a skil ed hand with makeup. A little more dramatic on the eyes, a little more vivid on the lips, and al she needed was a spritz of perfume to be ready to go.
Not bad, Cil a thought, surveying herself in the mirror as she hooked swingy silver loops through her ears. Not bad at al .
She was back in her office fishing out her purse when her administrative assistant poked her head through the door.
She hesitated. "I know you're trying to get going, but the big chief wants you to stop in his office."
Cil a glanced at the clock. Five-fifteen. She looked back at Renee, who didn't move.
"Today, he said." Her eyes were sympathetic, but clearly she wasn't going to let Cil a off the hook and risk getting in hot water herself.
With a sigh, Cil a picked up her bag and headed down the hal . Was it her imagination, or did the carpet real y get plusher as she walked into the executive quarter? Certainly the artwork was higher quality. As to the offices…
She knocked on the open oak door of her father's half-acre office. "You wanted to see me?"
He blinked at her outfit. "Isn't that a little much for the office?"
"You're right, it is." Cil a laughed. "Relax, I just changed into it. It's for the Annex. The grand opening reception is tonight. Are you going to make it?"
He made an impatient noise. "Probably not. The board meeting is tomorrow, so I've got dinner with Burt and the rest."
Was it time for that already? It made Cil a's head spin a little to think of it. "Bring the board with you. You can see what we've done with the place.
We should have quite a crowd."
"Happy to hear it."
"Happy to hear it, but, you mean," she said slowly, knowing what was going to come next. He wasn't even going to give her the six months. He was going to pul the plug before they had a chance to make it go, just as she'd put everything she had behind making the store work. He was going to kil it before they'd even ful y seen what it could do.
She waited, fighting the urge to fidget.
Her father gave her a level look. "You know I wasn't in agreement with keeping that store open."
"I know." She could stay just as poker-faced as he could.
"And I certainly wasn't in favor of turning it over to you to revamp. I didn't think you'd have the skil or the discipline to pul it off, even with help."
Hadn't she done enough to please him? Cil a wondered. Would she ever? "And what do you think now?"
"I think you've done quite wel with it."
A beat went by. "You what?" she repeated blankly.
"It just goes to show that even I can be wrong." A flicker of humor entered his eyes.
She had to be hearing things. Had he just given her an attaboy? "Could you repeat that, please?"
"What, that I can be wrong?"
"No, the part where you tel me I've done a good job." She smiled faintly. "I could get used to this."
"I knew you had a certain skil with buying, but that's more about anticipating trends. It's not project management."
"I did project management in school." She was careful to keep her voice calm.
"School and the real world are two different things."
"I know. That's why I wanted the chance to see what I could do." And to show you, she added silently.
"Wel , we're al seeing it. Your revenue numbers are definitely going in the right direction. You've beat your first month projections, but then I'm sure you know that."
Cil a flushed with pleasure. "We could never have done it if we hadn't gotten the go-ahead from you, not to mention the money."
"Stewart Law got the go-ahead and money, too, and look what he did with it," he reminded her. "Your strategy looks promising right out of the gate."
"We need to make sure it holds," she said uneasily. They should be cautious about celebrating too much before they had more time in to be sure it was real. An unholy flutter in her gut told her it was, though.
"It'l hold." He steepled his fingers. "I thought it was an impossible timeline. And halfway into it, you've proved me wrong."
"We've proved you wrong," she corrected. "Rand has had a hand in this al the way. He should get credit, too."
"No doubt. The question now is what comes next."
Of course. It always was with her father. Plan to beat what your competition's grandson is going to do, he was fond of saying. An admirable focus, but it was also possible to get too far ahead. "The store's only been open for a month, Dad. We need to be sure it's got staying power before we think about anything else."
"You need to be focusing on making it work and on what comes next. You have to have thought about it. You're too much my daughter not to."
It gave her a little jolt of pleasure. "We've talked about it some."
"What have you got up your sleeve?"
"Spinouts. If it works, the next thing to do is pick a couple of likely locations and expand."
"In L.A., you mean?"
She shook her head. "Miami Beach, say, and Manhattan for starters. Then we move out to international locations—Milan, Paris, Berlin. Places with the right demographic. Break out slo
w, build buzz, and then broaden."
For a moment, he just stared at her.
Cil a shifted in her chair. "What?"
"I underestimated you," he said slowly. "Looks like I have been for a long time."
She flushed with pride.
"Wel , no more," he said briskly. "Starting now. The board meeting is tomorrow. I have your project status report, but I want something outlining your thoughts going forward."
"What, for the L.A. store?"
He smiled briefly. "No. For your chain."
She checked her watch. "I have to get to the opening."
"It's not even five-thirty." He dismissed her concern. "Your opening doesn't start until what, six? Seven?"
"Seven," she admitted.
"And, anyway, you've got people there, don't you? You need to remember to delegate."
"I have," she assured him.
"Then you've got time. Al I need is for you to bang out a one pager for tonight so that I can get them thinking about it. You can stil be on your way by six."
The words were already forming in her head as she hurried back to her office.
16
IT WAS SORT OF LIKE CHEMISTRY, Cil a thought. You put the right combination of things together—in this case, music, liquor, stylish people—and you got something that bubbled and fizzed. By any standards, the party was a success. On a temporary waist-high catwalk threaded down the middle of the store, models strutted in Cil a D. and designs by L.A.'s up-and-comers. At the back, tables covered in snow-white linen and crowned by ice sculptures held trays of oysters, tuna ceviche and crudités. Waiters dressed in black circulated with trays of crab puffs and Thai egg rol s. A statuesque woman tended bar. The sound of chatter and laughter rose and fashionistas from Hol ywood and the music industry mil ed around the room.
Cil a had been juggling interviews for much of the night. At the Video Style Awards, she'd teased them with the prospect. Now, she had them al to herself in one room for the real thing.
Across the way, Rand spoke with a reporter for L.A. Weekly, who definitely looked a bit starry-eyed as she wrote down his answers to her questions. Not that Cil a could blame her. He wore a Versace jacket over a band-col ar black shirt and jeans, a more casual, hipper look than his usual sleekly stylish Armani. He'd left his five o'clock shadow in place when he'd gone home to change. The dark of his jaw turned the gray of his eyes to silver.
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