Nothing but the Best

by Kristin Hardy

  The board members studied the memo for a few minutes. Fox nodded. "I like your direction. It's good to see you thinking this far ahead, Cil a."

  "My daughter knows my feeling about advance planning," Danforth said.

  "Some good work, here," Ruxton approved. "You've put together the outline of a very nice plan."

  "We did," she corrected tightly, "Rand and I."

  "If the project stays ahead of target by the end of the probationary period, I think we need to give serious thought to a timeline for moving forward on this," her father said. "Cil a, I want you to put together a ful business plan on this. Use Rand to help you as necessary."

  Panic shot through her veins. They kept talking about it coming from her alone, but that couldn't be right, could it? She racked her brains to remember the lines she'd dashed out the night before. The memo had been from her standard template, but she was sure she'd indicated both of them as the source. She had to have said that it was work they'd done together.

  Work they'd done as a team.

  Rand's face was expressionless. "May I see that memo, please?" he asked Ruxton pleasantly.

  Burt handed it over.

  Cil a watched Rand's face, holding her breath. As he scanned the sheet, his jaw tightened.

  And she knew.

  "I'd like a quick rundown of any changes you're looking to make to the store at this point, based on results to date," her father commented.

  Cil a turned to Rand, but he just inclined his head. "Please, take over by al means. It's your show."

  * * *

  "RAND, IT WAS A MISTAKE." Cil a hurried down the hal after him, almost tripping as her heel caught in the plush carpet. "They got it wrong." "Someone did."

  When they'd finished talking to the board—when she'd finished, real y, since Rand had remained silent—he'd risen and left as though he were alone. She refused to run after him. She couldn't let him go on thinking that he'd let her down, though. Surely once she explained he'd understand.

  Surely.

  Rand didn't turn into his office as she'd expected, but kept walking down the hal way to the elevator, fury vibrating through his body. He hit the cal button with the heel of his hand.

  "Rand, talk to me," she hissed, glancing around to see if anyone was nearby. Far down the hal way, her father and the rest of the board emerged from the conference room. The elevator dinged and the doors swept back. "Where are you going?" she asked He didn't answer, just walked into the car. Cil a stepped in behind him, even as the doors closed. "Look, it was an accident," she said, relieved to have a few moments of privacy. "I didn't mean it to come off that way."

  "I'm sure."

  "He hit me up for the memo last night when I was leaving for the reception," she blurted. "I just whipped it out without thinking. I wasn't trying to take credit for your work. I'm sorry."

  "Of course."

  "I forgot about it because of the reception and because of some things I was busy thinking about. Some things I'd like to talk with you about later."

  He didn't even respond to that, just stood waiting until the elevator doors opened, the tension building in his shoulders. "Wil you stop a minute and listen to me?" Cil a demanded, chasing after him as he walked through the lobby and outside with his ground-eating strides.

  "For what?" he spat out. "To hear you apologize another time before you turn around and do it al over again?"

  "I said I was sorry," she reminded him, with the beginnings of irritation.

  "You're always sorry, Cil a, and it's always an accident. You didn't think about it, you didn't mean it, it didn't occur to you. Wel somehow, somewhere along the line it should goddamn wel start to." He swung around to face her and his eyes were bright with anger. And betrayal, she saw.

  "It was a memo, Rand. I can't believe you're getting this bent out of shape over a piece of paper. It was a misunderstanding."

  "It's not the fucking memo, Cil a," he said furiously. "Don't you get it? It goes a lot deeper than that. It's about you flying solo, you thinking solo. It's supposed to be us, remember? How many times have we had this conversation?"

  Her cheeks and lips felt numb with the force of his anger. Even when she'd known he was irritated before, he'd always held on to control. He'd always been reasonable. Now, his fury was loose, palpable, whipping around her like a windstorm.

  "We keep talking, you keep being sorry, and nothing changes. And I'm an idiot because I tel myself that you'l start to get it, that you'l remember that I'm a part of this, too. I keep tel ing myself that you'l start thinking of us as a team, but it's starting to look like that's never going to happen."

  "Of course it's going to happen. I do think of us as a team."

  "Real y?" Abruptly, his anger cooled to ice. "You have a funny way of showing it."

  "Rand, don't be like this," she said desperately, even as his words sliced into her. "I was in a hurry, that's al . We can straighten this out. I wasn't trying to ambush you."

  He gave a humorless laugh. "The sick thing is that I believe you. I don't think you were trying to screw me over, I think it just didn't occur to you. And you know what? That makes it worse."

  "It was a mistake."

  "And it's always a mistake with you, isn't it," he said tiredly.

  She licked her lips. "I'm not used to thinking in pairs."

  "You've used that one up already, Cil a."

  And suddenly her own anger rose at his tone. "What, there's a project timeline on me, now? Do I have milestones to meet? And what happens then, do I get a bonus? This can't al happen on your schedule, Rand."

  "Look—" he rounded on her "—the reality is that you don't think beyond yourself. You don't understand what being part of a couple is al about. We keep coming back to the same thing, time after time. You say you're going to change, but there's always something that comes up. Wel , I'm tired of things coming up."

  "You're not the only judge of what a relationship is about," she burst out, trembling. "You're not the project leader here. This is supposed to be about us, right?"

  He stared at her. "It was supposed to be." And he turned on his heel and walked away.

  * * *

  AND HE WALKED, for the better part of an hour he walked. He itched to go run, to lift weights, to do something to burn off the anger that jittered through him. But al he could do was walk. And when he'd used up as much time as he could justify, given the things on his desk clamoring for attention, he made himself return to the Danforth building. He did his best to look the other way as he passed Cil a's office. Now that the first flare of emotion was gone, he ached for her. It would be so easy to turn through that door, to talk about it, to get past it.

  To hold her again.

  He could do that. He could let it go, but then again, he'd let it go time after time and the only change was no change at al . Maybe he needed to accept the fact that no matter how much he might love her, deep down, they didn't fit.

  Just as Danforth didn't fit. It never had. And he wasn't at al sure he could come to work every day and see Cil a, or even hear of her through the company grapevine, and not go crazy. It was time for a change, pure and simple. It was time for change in a lot of ways.

  He picked up the phone and dialed the headhunter.

  18

  CILLA SAT AT THE SUN-WASHED TABLE before her French doors, trying to focus on the drawings. She needed to expand the Cil a D. line in order to support the runway show during Fal Fashion Week in New York. Designing took energy. It took concentration. And if she focused on it hard enough, maybe she could manage to stop thinking about Rand for just one minute.

  She closed her eyes to imagine the lines of the new negligee she was sketching. Instead, she saw the disgusted look in Rand's eyes as he'd turned away from her. She blinked the tears furiously away. She should be angry, not hurt. He'd total y misunderstood the situation, and hadn't even tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. That was what she should be thinking about, not the cutting tone in his voice, not the
set of his shoulders as he'd walked away.

  He'd gotten frustrated before, but they'd gotten past it. She concentrated on that fact, held on to it like a talisman even as her hand shook and she dropped her pencil. Sooner or later, he'd come to her and they'd talk. Of course he'd come to her. He'd apologize, he'd accept her apology, and they'd go forward.

  But then, that had been what she'd told herself the afternoon of the board meeting, and that night she'd stayed by the phone and waited. But Friday had become Saturday, and now Saturday had slipped into Sunday, and stil she'd heard nothing.

  And so she fought to narrow her world down to her house, her friends, her work. And tried to forget that Rand Mitchel had ever been a part of it.

  * * *

  MONDAY MORNING, thought Rand, without the tiniest vestige of interest. He didn't feel as if he belonged in his own skin. The weekend had been endless, one long exercise of avoiding the phone, of watching the time crawl by and trying to convince himself that he'd get used to life without Cil a.

  Someday.

  He'd always grown up blithely thinking that the chal enge was finding that right person, and that once you did, things fel into place. He'd never thought about how it would be if you found the right person and it just wouldn't work.

  He'd lived thirty-two years without her, and now, after three months, losing her felt like losing a piece of himself. Time and again over the weekend he'd find himself making a note to tel Cil a something, or saving a story to pass along.

  Only to remember that he couldn't anymore.

  Sure, he could go to her and reconcile. Their current conflict would eventual y fade away, but that wouldn't do anything about the real issue. The real issue was fundamental y wound up with how he fit into her world. He'd told himself over and over again that it was okay.

  It wasn't, and he needed to remember that.

  The other thing he needed to remember was that they had two weeks to get a business proposal finished. He massaged his temples. Launching into an affair with Cil a had been stupid to the nth degree. Sure, he could tel himself he hadn't been able to help it. Reality was he'd known that chances were they'd wind up breaking up badly, forced to work together when it was the last thing either wanted. At least in the past when he'd separated from girlfriends they'd been able to just go their separate ways.

  There was a reason getting involved with col eagues was a bad move.

  Nothing for it, he reminded himself, and reached out for the phone. Before he could touch the receiver, it rang.

  "Mitchel ."

  "Rand? It's El iot Patterson from Stratosphere Executive Search. Is this a good time?"

  "I've got a few minutes," he said briefly.

  "I've spoken with the client and they want to set up a meet with you. They'd like a chance to get to know you better, and vice versa. Look, do you have an afternoon free this week? We'l grab lunch, talk about plans and goals. It'l give us a chance to see if it's a good enough fit to keep discussions going."

  Rand checked his Palm Pilot. "I can't clear time until Wednesday, and even then it'l only be a couple of hours."

  "A couple of hours wil let us know what we need to." El iot's voice was brisk. "I can have some material couriered over today so that you can get acquainted with them. What's your home address?"

  Rand told him, and made a note in his PDA. "So where's the firm located?"

  "California. Offices in San Jose and L.A. If you wind up being a fit, you could work out of either, of course. So let's settle on a time for Wednesday."

  Minutes later, Rand hung up the phone thoughtful y. Location hardly mattered, of course. His parents would be happy to see him stay in L.A. On the other hand, a change of scenery would probably be the best thing that could happen to him. He supposed he ought to be disappointed at the idea of a job in San Jose rather than the globe-trotting position he'd held before with Danforth, but in truth it was a relief to think about getting back to what he did best.

  He'd never planned to stay with the company. He didn't belong here now. One way or another, whether the venture capitalist job worked out or not, he needed to move on.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Cil a.

  "Cil a Danforth."

  Rand closed his eyes at the sound of her voice. "It's Rand."

  A beat went by before she answered. "How are you?"

  Miserable. Sorry. Wishing he could wipe away the previous week entirely.

  Knowing he couldn't made his voice brusque. "We need to meet about your proposal. I've got to do some work on the European Danforth stores, so I need to know what you want from me."

  Her voice was cool. "Sounds like we've got some things to talk about. Your office or mine?"

  "Neither. I've booked conference room C for two o'clock." Get it over with, he thought. It was safest. "You open?"

  * * *

  THERE WAS A TAP on Cil a's door and her mother stood there, cool and chic in a pale gold silk pantsuit that complimented her ash blond hair. Going gray, for Elaine Danforth, had merely been an excuse to take her hair color even lighter. She smiled now at Cil a and swept into the room. "Hel o, darling," she said walking close to clasp hands and present a smoothly powdered cheek for a kiss.

  "Mother." Cil a blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

  "I had lunch in the area. Can't I stop by the office now and again to see how you're getting on? How officious you look, behind a desk." Elaine sat back in the client chair and crossed her legs graceful y.

  There were some daughters who would no doubt pour their hearts out to their mothers at a time like this. Cil a envied them. She and her mother had never been able to communicate particularly wel , especial y not since Cil a had begun working at Danforth. Elaine had always seen it as a defection, from mother to father. She'd never been able to understand Cil a for Cil a's sake.

  "You look thinner, Cil a. Your father's working you too hard."

  Cil a forced a smile and shook her head. "Hardly."

  "Nonsense. You're tired. A mother can always tel . We should do something about it." Elaine paused a minute, then snapped her fingers theatrical y.

  "I know. How about if you play hooky next week on my birthday and we can go to Elizabeth Arden for the day, just us girls, to get ready for my party."

  Cil a's heart sank. The party. "I told you last month that I have a buying trip next week, Mother, remember? We're going to L'Orangerie tomorrow night. I've been looking forward to it." A white lie. Dinner with her parents was right up there with root canals.

  Elaine snorted—elegantly, as always. "We own the company, darling. Just change your plans."

  "We might own our company, Mother, we don't own the New York fashion houses. These are the days they can take me, so I have to go."

  "Danforth clout counts for something," Elaine flared.

  The legendary Danforth clout. For the thousandth time, Cil a wondered how her mother could simultaneously worship the Danforth empire and loathe it as she did. "Look, Dad and I wil take you out, like we planned."

  "Oh, sure, you and he are quite the team."

  It was a measure of how distracted she'd been by Rand that Cil a would have made the tactical mistake of even remotely appearing to al y herself with her father. In a family where the resident couple was anything but a pair, neutral was the safest way to go. Cil a glanced at her computer clock and gathered her papers together. She stood.

  "Where are you going?"

  "It was lovely to see you, Mother." She came around the desk to kiss Elaine's cheek. "I've got to go to a meeting, but I'l see you tomorrow night and we'l celebrate your birthday. It'l be fun," she said with false enthusiasm. Another lie. "I'l bring you something special back from New York."

  "Have a good trip, dear." For the first time, Elaine real y seemed to look at her. "Are you al right? Something's wrong, isn't it?"

  "Nothing's wrong," Cil a maintained. "I'm just a little stressed about this meeting. You know how business is," she added, squirming inwardly.
<
br />   Elaine shook her head. "Get some rest tonight." She kissed Cil a's forehead. "You real y don't look wel ."

  "I'm fine," Cil a replied automatical y.

  And that was the biggest lie of al .

  * * *

  CILLA SET HER FILES AND her notepad on the conference room table with an impatient thump. It wasn't the palatial boardroom but a claustrophobic cube designed to seat perhaps six or eight people around a faux wood-grain table. The chairs were chrome, with thin woven pads. The wal s were bare, save for a white board bearing what looked like a list of advertising campaigns with a decision next to each: hold, increase, terminate. Terminate.

  She shivered in the air-conditioning. She'd survived the weekend, but she'd missed Rand with an intensity that sliced at her. When she'd opened her eyes that morning, her first thought was that she was going to see him again. However mixed up things had been, they were going to be okay.

  This bobble would work itself out. One way or another, once they'd seen each other, they'd resolve their conflict.

  When she'd heard Rand's flat, emotionless voice over the phone, though, she'd known something was stil wrong. Everything was stil wrong. He'd cal ed instead of just walking into her office. They were meeting in the conference room.

  Neutral ground, suitable for negotiations between hostile parties.

  So she'd arrived early, trying not to feel embattled. They'd had other disagreements and they'd always worked them out. Once he understood why she'd done what she'd done, Rand had always been fine. That's how it would work out this time, also, she told herself, though uncertainty began uncoiling somewhere deep within her. It would be al right. It had to be.

  Then Rand walked through the door and her pulse began thudding in her ears. It had only been a couple of days since she'd seen him. It seemed more like weeks.

  He'd nicked himself shaving. His gray-blue shirt turned his eyes to silver, or maybe that was just his mood. It was a face she knew almost as wel as her own, one she'd woken to nearly every morning for going on three months.

  But his expression was closed, as though they were strangers.