Every Waking Moment

by Meryl Sawyer

“Renata and Caleb.”

  Last night Vanessa had thrown another one of her command performances. They’d gone over to dinner to meet the newly found daughter and her father. Like Taylor and Trent, who’d suffered the same fate the previous evening, Doyle was convinced Renata was a fraud.

  Too bad they’d missed the opportunity to pay off the stripper and get rid of her before Vanessa had been taken in by the broad. Now that Renata knew how wealthy Vanessa was, they’d pay hell getting rid of her.

  The way Vanessa fawned over the woman amazed Doyle. He’d watched her operate through the years, manipulating his brother, social-climbing with a vengeance, and mercilessly dropping people when they were no longer useful.

  His former wife had a pedigree dating back to Flagler and the earliest of the wealthy families who’d come to Miami. He didn’t give Sophie credit for much, but she had seen through Vanessa and had refused to introduce her to any of her society friends.

  Vanessa was a beautiful woman with a cunning streak. Under normal circumstances, she would have cut any ties to a stripper. But as the saying went, these were not normal circumstances.

  “What about Renata and Caleb?” Doyle asked.

  “I know what’s bothering me about them. It came to me while I was putting on my lipstick. They have some hidden agenda.”

  “Sure, parting Vanessa from her money while trying to act as if they aren’t interested in material things.”

  “No, it’s something else. The way Caleb watches Vanessa tells me something else is going on.”

  “Well, she’s a beautiful woman, even if her health is failing. He wouldn’t be the first man to fall for her.”

  “Maybe, but I feel it’s something else.”

  Doyle finished his coffee and waved off the maid when she appeared to refill his cup. He hadn’t told Brianna about Trent’s arrest because just as he’d begin she would initiate sex; but now seemed like a good time.

  “While you were in New Orleans, Trent and Raoul were arrested for possession of crystal meth.”

  “Dios mio,” cried Brianna. “How terrible.”

  “Don’t tell anyone. Vanessa must not find out. Her health is too fragile.”

  “What about Taylor? Does she know?”

  “I haven’t told her.”

  “You should. She might be able to help her brother.”

  “I’ll see if I can catch her at the office and have a private conversation.”

  Brianna sighed. “It’ll be the end of Trent. I know. I saw enough ice in Calle Ocho.”

  “Ice?”

  “Crack, speed, meth, crystal. The drug has a lot of names. In Calle Ocho it’s called hielo—ice.”

  Doyle would rather forget Brianna’s past life in Calle Ocho, the heart of Little Havana, but at times it was helpful. She knew things, had seen things he hadn’t.

  “Did you ever try it?”

  She waved the hand with the rock he’d given her. The bauble splintered the morning light into a rainbow of colors.

  “No. Growing up, I saw what drugs do to people. It wasn’t going to happen to me.”

  “Apparently it’s the drug of choice among Miami’s gay men.”

  “I’m not surprised. It intensifies your sexual drive. You go on a hunt for sex like some wild animal, and you have sex much more frequently than normal.”

  Doyle couldn’t stop the frown tightening his face. Brianna was describing herself—especially lately.

  “I’m not on ice,” Brianna said, reading his mind the way she often did. “I’m too fat to be hooked. Those addicts never eat, never sleep. You know what that makes you look like.”

  “I see,” he replied, relief obvious in his voice.

  “I love you. That’s why I like to have sex so much. I want to keep you happy.”

  “I am happy. You know I love you, darling.” He meant every word. He’d never loved anyone the way he loved Brianna. “I don’t want so much sex. I just need to spend time with you.

  The words slipped out before he could stop them. He didn’t want her to think he was an old man who couldn’t get it up as often as she liked.

  Tears glistened in Brianna’s eyes. “I’m glad you love me. I love you so much it hurts.”

  “You’re a treasure and a huge help to me,” Doyle said, congratulating himself for defusing the sex thing in a loving way even though it had been accidental. “That’s why I want you to tell me how to use this drug thing to our benefit.”

  It took a minute to explain how he’d bailed out Trent and Raoul and kept the whole incident from Vanessa.

  “What I’d like to do is use this to stop Trent from imposing Raoul’s ideas on To The Maxx. I have two potential buyers in the wings. I don’t need any new products or for the company to go in another direction.”

  “What about the computer tampering?”

  “That’s enough of a problem in itself. I’m stalling the buyers until we have it resolved. If they knew about it, hell, the deal would go up in smoke.”

  Brianna thought for a moment, gazing across the room. “We could have a worse problem than the computers or Raoul.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Renata. You heard her last night. She’s so-o-o interested in the company. What if Vanessa dies and leaves her share to Renata? She might not want to sell.”

  “Of course, she’d want to sell—” Doyle stopped himself. Brianna was too perceptive and right too often to ignore her warning.

  “She’s a stripper with no education, but she wears enough makeup to stock a counter at a SoBe spa. What could suit her more than owning such a company?”

  Taylor was sitting in her office, checking some of the latest ads for To The Maxx products. Since their line was sold only in beauty supply outlets, spas, and beauty salons, the advertisements didn’t have to be as expensive or as slick as those of department store cosmetics.

  To The Maxx advertised in beauty supply catalogs and professional publications. Still, she needed to make sure each ad showed their products to their best advantage.

  Her mind kept drifting back to what Shane had told her. Lisa had been in Miami for over a month.

  She’d never called.

  Why not?

  They’d been best friends since Yale. How could Lisa have come home and not told Taylor she’d returned? There had to be an explanation, but Taylor couldn’t quite bring herself to call and ask.

  No matter what the reason, Taylor was convinced Lisa could not be the one tampering with the computers. Lisa had been devastated when Trent left her, but she was not the vindictive type.

  Lisa had a lot of integrity and self-respect. When Trent divorced her, she’d refused to take any money, saying she could support herself.

  “Good morning. Am I interrupting?” asked Trent as he walked into her office.

  “No. I’m just going over the new ads.”

  Trent dropped into the chair beside her desk. “Have you heard the latest about our so-called sister? Mother bought her a red Mercedes convertible.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she replied, although she was shocked and a little hurt. This had happened so soon. “Mother must want to make up to Renata for lost time.”

  “I think we can expect her to change her will.”

  Taylor checked the anger she felt rising from deep inside her, saying calmly, “You’re probably right.”

  “I see it coming.”

  “There might be something we can do about it.”

  She rose, walked across the room, and shut her office door. It took a minute to explain her plan to sneak into Renata’s room to get hair for the DNA test.

  “Good idea,” Trent said, suddenly more upbeat. “If we can prove she isn’t the missing child, Mother won’t leave her a dime.”

  “It’s not the money,” Taylor said, being totally honest. “If this woman was her child, I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t believe for one second she is.”

  “We’re protecting Mother from con artists.”

  Trent smiled
at her, and for a moment, it seemed like old times when he would drop into her office just to chat.

  “I have an idea for a new product,” Trent said with another smile.

  “Uncle Doyle doesn’t think we should develop any new products while we’re considering selling the company, and I agree. Remember, I gave up on developing a collagen-type product like Perlane, which is so popular in Europe.”

  “I want you to try this.” Trent pulled a small bottle out of his pocket. “It’s shampoo. Use it and tell me we shouldn’t develop a similar product.”

  “To The Maxx already has an excellent line of shampoos, and we have a very loyal following according to our sales. Our shampoos are just about our bestselling product.”

  “This is from France. Leonor Greyl’s Moelle de Bambou is the best shampoo in the world. Raoul tells me the hottest beauty salons in New York are pushing it.”

  Raoul.

  She might have known.

  Once, she’d had misgivings about selling the company that had meant so much to her father. Now she thought it would be a good idea. Let Trent go into the cosmetics business with Raoul. There would be a lot less family friction then.

  Her heart was in designing computer games. So far she hadn’t had the time to do much more than work on Trivial Moments. This job took too much of her time.

  “If you look at the ingredients in Moelle de Bambou, you’ll see there’s no sodium lauryl sulfate or sodium laureth sulfate. None. Nada. Zippo.”

  “Wow!” She checked the bottle and saw he was correct. “Without the sulfates this shampoo won’t have any lather.”

  “So it won’t damage the hair’s cuticle. Right?”

  She nodded. It was an industry practice to add sodium lauryl sulfate or the milder sodium laureth sulfate to shampoo to produce lather. Professionals knew it damaged the cuticle of the hair, a big problem for women with longer hair. Not cutting it as often as men meant women didn’t have new, healthy hair.

  “You know the public expects lather when they shampoo. They won’t buy a product that doesn’t lather. They won’t think it’s working.”

  “Raoul says they’ll get used to it, if we start at the top with the best salons. Then word will spread downward.”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to change expectations. Vintners know screw tops protect the wine better than corks, but they’ve shied away from them because the public associates screw tops with cheap wine.”

  Trent stood up. “Try the shampoo, then we’ll talk again.”

  He was out the door before she could utter another word. She had no intention of encouraging him. Now was not the time to spend the huge amount of money it would take to develop and test a new product.

  She credited her business acumen for telling her to side with Uncle Doyle and refuse to allow Trent to bring Raoul into the business. It had strained her relationship with her brother, but she could only imagine how disruptive Raoul would be if he actually worked here.

  Unable to concentrate, Taylor left her office and walked down the hall to the finance division. To The Maxx had a sleek, minimalist environment, with wide halls to showcase contemporary art and give the company a gallerylike ambience.

  Behind doors of frosted-milk glass were different departments. A band of high, narrow windows at the ceiling allowed natural light to come in all around the building. She thought it was the most beautiful and unusual office building she’d ever seen.

  In the finance section, Shane and Vince were working on the computer security problem. The men had their heads together, studying something on one of the monitors. She stood there a moment, thinking about last night.

  Taylor had to admit something about Shane was beginning to appeal to her. Last night she’d gone back to her apartment and taken out the pictures of Paul. They’d evoked memories of happier times, yet when she put them away and went to bed, she kept thinking of things Shane had told her.

  Despite her best efforts, Taylor’s heart rate kicked up a notch as she watched Shane. The macho type had never interested her, but once she’d begun to know Shane, she realized he exhibited a power and depth of character that was very compelling.

  She sensed he wanted her. She knew it in the primal way a woman always senses a man is sexually attracted to her. She had to concede she found his interest exciting.

  “Taylor, do you have a minute?”

  While she’d been daydreaming, Uncle Doyle had come up behind her.

  “Sure, I was just going to remind Shane to check on Jim Wilson. He might have a reason to sabotage us, but it looks as if they’re really busy. I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “Let’s go into my office,” he said, without commenting on the employee her father had fired.

  He turned and headed down the hall toward the office that had once been her father’s, and Taylor followed.

  Inside, he closed the door, which was unusual. Taylor looked around at the office. Uncle Doyle had done nothing to change it except put Brianna’s picture on the desk.

  The same industry awards lined the walls along with pictures of Duncan Maxwell with famous celebrities who used his products. A blow-up of his one-hundred-and-twenty-foot Swan sailboat dominated the back wall. Stately potted palms with ferns around their bases softened the room.

  There were two chairs facing the glass and chrome desk. Instead of sitting behind the desk as he usually did, her uncle sat in one of the chairs and gestured for her to sit beside him in the other.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.

  Once again, she was reminded of her father. They had been identical twins who shared the same mannerisms. His habit of shrugging one shoulder never failed to bring a pang of sadness.

  “I’m listening,” Taylor said when he seemed to hesitate.

  “Your mother’s not to know anything about this. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she replied, expecting a new plan to get rid of Renata.

  “While you were in New Orleans, Trent and Raoul were arrested for possession of crystal meth.”

  Shock caused words to wedge in her throat. All she could do was listen to the rest of the story. Shane was right, she decided when her head began to clear.

  You never really knew anyone but yourself.

  She could never have imagined her brother taking drugs. He didn’t smoke and never had. He rarely drank.

  Taylor kept silent, a cramp in her chest, until she was certain she could speak. “What are we going to do?”

  “For starters, I’m making it clear to Trent that I don’t want him ramming Raoul’s ideas about this business down our throats.”

  She thought about the shampoo back on her desk but didn’t mention it. Uncle Doyle already hated Raoul. He’d be furious to learn Trent was pushing another of Raoul’s ideas. A very risky one at that.

  “Trent needs help. There must be a doctor or—”

  “We don’t know he’s addicted. This might be the only time he took meth. I didn’t think to ask, but it doesn’t physically appear as if he’s hooked.”

  He was explaining the physical changes to watch for when his secretary knocked on the door.

  “Taylor, your mother’s here with her daughter. She’d like you to give Renata a tour of To The Maxx.”

  Chapter 11

  Fuming, Taylor watched Renata fill her large straw handbag with samples of To The Maxx products in the promotions department storeroom. Without so much as asking if Taylor had appointments or something important to do, her mother had left Renata with Taylor while Caleb took her to the hospital for her weekly blood test.

  “I never had enough money to buy fancy cosmetics like these,” Renata said, helping herself to handfuls of To The Maxx lipsticks.

  “Let’s go into the laboratory where they’re blending our perfume.”

  Taylor led the way down the hall connecting the main office to the adjacent building where the products were manufactured, before Renata could wipe out all the samples intended for a trade show next w
eek.

  “This is some operation,” Renata said when they entered the perfume facility.

  It was difficult for Taylor to tell if there was genuine awe in Renata’s voice or if she was merely acting the part. When you looked at her, Renata still had the hard edge of the stripper—overmade-up. Even though her newly discovered “mother” had bought her a boatload of new clothes, Renata chose things that made her look like a hooker.

  Her personality had softened since that night in New Orleans. Taylor was certain it was an act, but she was grateful the woman wasn’t being mean to her mother. The way the stripper had sounded in New Orleans made Taylor expect the worst.

  But the two of them got along just fine. She tamped down a surge of jealousy, knowing her dying mother desperately wanted to believe she’d found her long-lost daughter.

  Her mother was dying. Let her be happy.

  “What does that machine do?” Renata was pointing to an expensive stainless steel machine the company had recently purchased.

  “It presses the fragrant extract out of magnolias and lilac petals. What comes out is called an essential oil, the basis of all perfume.”

  Taylor waved to an older man with a full head of curly white hair.

  “I’ll have Marcel, who heads this department, explain the details.”

  Marcel ambled over, his bum knee obviously bothering him again. Taylor had tried so often to get him to go in for a knee replacement that it had become a sore subject between them. Marcel seemed to think the entire operation would shut down if he wasn’t here every day.

  Taylor introduced him to Renata without saying they were related. If Renata noticed the omission, she didn’t show it. In fact, Renata never said she was Vanessa Maxwell’s daughter. It was always Taylor’s mother who brought up the subject.

  “The first thing to know about fragrance,” Taylor said, “is it changes on the skin. Each of us has a unique body chemistry, so the scent develops differently on each of us.”

  “The top note,” Marcel said as he sprayed a bit of To The Maxx on the pulse point on Renata’s wrist, “is our first impression of the fragrance.”

  Renata sniffed her wrist. “Yummy.”

  Taylor couldn’t help thinking their perfume was a marked contrast to the heavy, cloying scent Renata wore.