by Jan Moran
“Was David willing to invest?”
She shook her head. “He’s fully invested in bonds.”
“Of course he is. He’s not willing to gamble,” Derrick said with a smirk. “Can you make payroll?”
“This isn’t a gamble, I’m sure of our business.” Verena shifted uncomfortably. “We can pay our employees for a few weeks. Not much longer.” She had invested heavily in inventory for the Asian expansion. She would pay the employees before herself. She had some money in savings, but not much. She’d been more interested in reinvesting and growing the business than in paying herself a large salary. Maybe I should have taken better care of my financial health, she thought, silently chastising herself.
Derrick formed a steeple with his fingers. “What’s your backup plan?”
“My line of credit was my backup plan.”
His dark eyes bore into hers. “Have you thought again of selling the business?”
“Selling?” Why did he keep asking that? The thought made her uneasy. “I’ve told you, that’s out of the question. This is our family business, and the employees are like family. The company is Valent, and we are Valent. I would never sell it. All we need is a short term working capital loan. Six months, maybe eight at most.”
Derrick’s chiseled face was expressionless. “Then I don’t have any answers for you, Verena.”
“What about individual investors, someone who can make a private loan? Do you know anyone?”
“These things take time, Verena. The due diligence research, loan documents, negotiation. You don’t have much runway; you’re almost out of time. You should be thinking about canceling the Asian debut and laying off staff.”
“Laying off employees? No, I can’t.” Their appointments were always fully booked, and they already had a lean management team. There was no one to spare. She rubbed Mia’s pearls between her fingers, thinking.
“Then you’ll have to close the business. You have to pay employees.”
Her chest constricted at his words. He spoke without emotion, as if the business meant nothing to her. Without employees, they couldn’t perform services. Why can’t he understand? Her mind whirred and she grasped at ideas. “But we have contracts, accounts receivables, and cash business, too.”
“Sure, but the financial markets are weakening by the day.”
Verena put her head in her hands for a moment, and then raised her head. “Derrick, I hate to ask, but could Herringbone help?”
Derrick drummed his fingers on the table. “Verena, you know this would put me in a difficult position.”
“I know, but I don’t know what else to do. This has all happened so quickly.”
He took her hand. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk to Roper, but I have to warn you, no promises. It’s a long shot.” Although he was frowning, his expression quickly gave way to such a warm smile that Verena was somewhat reassured.
The night wore on and they had a leisurely dinner, but Verena kept thinking about her meeting with David Cohen and his advice. Be careful who you trust, he had told her. Of course I can trust Derrick. We’re going to be married soon.
After dessert, Derrick swirled deep, amber colored cognac in a balloon snifter. As if reading her mind he said, “Why don’t we look for rings next week when I return from Tokyo?”
Verena smiled, but her happiness was shaded by her worries. “I’d like that very much.”
“I realize I should have proposed with a ring. You should be wearing one.”
Verena wondered if this had anything to do with Lance Martel. “It’s not the ring, it’s the marriage. It’s the life we create together. That is what’s important to me.” She gazed at Derrick, and a cloud seemed to pass over his face.
He didn’t speak at first. He cleared his throat. “And of course, I want the world to know you’re mine.”
6
Derrick arrived at LAX airport in Los Angeles, sped through the first class security line, and checked into the private Cathay Pacific Lounge. As he entered the corporate Zen-styled lounge, he spied Thomas Roper ensconced in a mahogany leather club chair, his grey head bobbing up and down as he spoke on his mobile phone.
“Bloody Mary,” Derrick told the bartender. “And make it a double,” he added, remembering the promises he’d made Verena Fortunately, he still had Greta. He’d probably give her up after the wedding, but he needed an outlet now, more than ever.
He checked his pocket, relieved to find he’d remembered sleeping tablets for the long flight to Tokyo. The last thing he wanted was to listen to Roper for the duration of a trans-Pacific flight.
Roper had seen him. He was gesturing now, so Derrick swallowed his drink and ordered another one to be sent to the table.
“Good morning, sir. Ready for Tokyo?” They had two full days of meetings planned, and knowing their Japanese investor, a long night of adult entertainment as well.
“Derrick.” He nodded his head perfunctorily.
Derrick knew Roper didn’t approve of drinking at this hour of the morning, but the old buzzard sure made up time once noon rolled around.
“What’s the news on Valent?”
Derrick paused for a beat, relishing his information. “She’s ready to deal.”
Roper gave a sharp nod. “Nice work. It’s the missing piece to the Newco.” He coughed and went back to his mobile phone, punching in another number. “But there will be a requirement.”
Before Derrick could ask him what he meant, Roper began his phone conversation.
The Newco. That was Roper’s common name for a new venture, and this one was being set up to rival the other monolithic beauty companies: Coty, LVMH, L’Oreal, and Estée Lauder. Roper had been quietly acquiring smaller companies, and had letters of intent to purchase a few underperforming assets from the major companies. Though Roper knew nothing about beauty, he knew all about profit margins, and he liked what he saw in the beauty industry and aging demographics. Valent would give him immediate high level entrée into the coveted Asian market, with an impeccable, celebrity-studded pedigree to boot.
Derrick’s second Bloody Mary arrived, and he leaned back to enjoy it, listening to Roper’s conversation. Thomas Roper had founded Herringbone Capital as a young man. Decades later, after his original partners had died, Roper had brought him on board—reluctantly, Derrick knew. He thought about what Roper had shared with him once over two bottles of a fine vintage Château Margaux—collectible wine that Roper swilled like water. “Even masters of the universe don’t live forever,” Roper had said, clearly angry about it.
Now Roper spent every day scheming about how to become even richer before he died, just so that his obituary would include a higher score than his competitors.
Derrick checked his new gold Piaget watch and gulped his drink, eyeing the long legs of a woman seated next to him tapping on her laptop computer. Roper’s way of living might be sick, Derrick acknowledged to himself, but it sure had its perks.
With Roper’s ailments, the old codger surely didn’t have long to live. Roper’s heirs would still own the majority share of the firm, but Derrick would run the show. He had to have patience. It couldn’t be long now. He watched Roper go into another coughing fit. And then I’ll be truly rich.
To his credit, Roper had begrudgingly taught him the formula he’d used to make more than a billion dollars in his lifetime. Find the company, whittle its projections, loan them less than actually needed. Lock up the founders with mountains of legal documents. Create complications for them, obtain board control. And the result? A beautiful set-up for failure. Then, acquire equity, take over the company on technicalities, replace the founders with his management team, grab the preferred stock, and repeat.
Inevitably, founders grew to hate him; one had even tried to have Roper killed. While founders often filed bankruptcy, committed suicide, or fled the country, Thomas Roper merely became wealthier on the efforts of others.
And soon, Derrick thought with satisfaction, people wou
ld say exactly the same thing about him. At that thought, another twinge of guilt coursed through him. But he’d be different; he’d give some money to charity, and make sure everyone knew it. His stress rocketed to a new level.
Derrick cast a second glance at the long-legged beauty beside him. “Excuse me, you’re working awfully hard. Can I buy you a Bloody Mary?”
She paused her typing and looked up at him. A slow smile spread across her face, and she closed her laptop computer. “Sure, why not?”
Derrick blew out a breath and signaled a waiter. “Two more of these.”
Sunlight streamed through the window. Savoring the early morning quietness in the house, Verena stretched in bed.
Saturdays were busy at the salon. She was often there meeting their guests, catching up with their travels and new babies and society galas. She liked to listen to their skincare concerns, see how they were responding to treatments, and work with the estheticians on new regimens and products. It was this closeness to their guests that her grandmother believed was the foundation of their success.
Mia always told her, “Listen to our guests. Inspect and analyze their skin, see how they’re responding to our products and treatments. Above all, strive to improve on our excellence.”
The past week had been grueling, and Verena decided she needed a day to herself. The salon would run without her today. She threw off the silk duvet, slipped into a robe, and padded across the smooth wood floors through the living room. Seeing the morning sun streaming through the window made her realize how much she loved this home with its cheerful groupings of family photos, creamy overstuffed furniture, and green potted palms and tropical plants, which were placed strategically to remove everyday toxins from the air.
Mia had a special affinity for orchids, too, and these exotic flowering plants in blazes of purple and pink and white were interspersed among her collection of prized Asian antiques, many of which Verena had given to her.
Stricken by a sudden thought, Verena froze, looking around the serene room. She’d never thought that their business, even their home, could be threatened. Unless she could find financing, they stood to lose all that they had worked for.
After she wrapped a blush pink robe around her frame, Verena walked into the kitchen, which was decorated with a cozy mix of antique hexagon tiled counters and gleaming new stainless appliances. Her head pounding, she reached for her coffee, a special blend of dark roast augmented with cinnamon and vanilla.
While it was brewing, she went to her bathroom, washed her face and applied Mia’s new serum to a bruise she’d had. She’d tripped a couple days ago while airing the tires on her bike, and had struck her head on the handlebars. She inspected the bruise. Miraculous, it’s healing quickly. Never had she seen such rapid skin regeneration. A frisson of excitement coursed through her. As she camouflaged the faint mark with layers of concealer, foundation, and powder, she made a mental note to discuss the serum with Mia.
She finished by smoothing sunscreen on her body, changed into slim cotton pants and a sleeveless shirt, and laced up her gym shoes. Stretching her legs, she decided it was a beautiful day for a beach ride.
She returned to the kitchen and sipped her coffee, trying not to think about business. She remembered the call from Lance, the chef she’d met, but she’d forgotten to return his call. Perhaps it’s just as well, she thought, running her hand over her forehead.
“Hey sis, what do you think?” With her slim, lanky pre-adolescent figure, Anika swept into the room and posed like a fashion model. She wore a leopard print swing coat with a bright coral lining.
“Love it. Looks like you’ve been shopping,” Verena said, giving her little sister a hug. She adored her sisters and their youthful spirit. When did I lose that? she wondered briefly, but she knew. “Getting ready for the trip?”
“Bella and I are trying on the outfits Mia ordered for us.” At the mention of Bella’s name, the other girl bounced into the kitchen, her silky blond hair swirling around her shoulders. She wore a similar jacket in zebra print with a brilliant turquoise lining.
“I’m so excited! Can you believe we’re going to Paris? And Switzerland!”
A smile tugged at Verena’s lips. Bella had such enthusiasm; she always seemed to speak in exclamation points. Anika was the calmer one of the two, the practical foil to Bella’s exuberant nature.
Anika leaned against the counter next to Verena. “Hmm, smells good, can I try your coffee?”
“I don’t know, can you?” Verena nudged her sister. “Use ‘may I’ for permission. And yes, you may.”
Anika lifted the cup to her lips with a prim gesture, sipping carefully. At twelve—nearly thirteen, Verena realized—she had a slender, athletic build like Bella, but she handled herself with more maturity. She tried to look sophisticated as she drank, but she crinkled her nose. “It’s bitter.”
“That’s because I don’t use sugar, only cream.”
“Mia said we’re going to visit cafés in Paris, so Anika wants to drink coffee,” Bella said, dancing around the kitchen.
Mia walked into the room, her soft blond hair brushed back from her face, a sheer rose lipstick on her lips. She wore an elegant floral embroidered, pink satin robe and little gold-toned, kitten-heeled slippers. Even in the morning, Verena thought, Mia looks stylish. “Did I hear my name?” Mia asked.
“Good morning,” Verena said, kissing her on each cheek. “Did you sleep well?”
“Excellent, yes,” she replied, laughing at the twins. “I need my rest if I’m going to keep up with these two in Europe.”
Verena turned to Anika and Bella. “Girls, would you like to go biking this morning? Beautiful day for it.”
“We’re organizing our wardrobe today, and Mia is helping us,” Anika said.
Mia put an arm around each girl and hugged them close to her. “I told them I’d make alterations to their clothes today. They can help me thread the tiny eyes on the needles, and show me how much they remember about sewing.”
Bella resumed her dance while Anika pursed her lips and made a little moue with her mouth. “Oh, Mia, no one our age sews anymore. It’s so old-fashioned.”
“No, it isn’t. All the fashion designers know how to sew. You’re the exception because you’re exceptional young ladies,” Mia added, winking at Verena. “You go on, Verena dear, enjoy your ride this morning. We’ll be fine today.”
“Thanks,” Verena said, squeezing her hand in appreciation. “And I’ll pick up groceries for dinner from the market.”
Verena rinsed out her coffee cup, and gave them each kisses on the cheek before she left. The three sisters were closer than most because of the grief they’d worked through for many years after their parents’ deaths. Verena was half sister, half mother to them, given Mia’s medical issues. Only Verena could keep up with the energetic duo on a daily basis. She hoped their trip to Europe wouldn’t be too exhausting for Mia’s delicate health.
Verena went outside to load her bike onto the bike rack on the back of her car. With a clear blue sky overhead, she was soon on her way to Marina del Rey.
She parked and unloaded, hopped onto the bike, and then steered it onto the path that ran along the ocean’s edge toward Redondo Beach. The sun beamed on her shoulders, and she breathed in the marine scent of sea and kelp. A light breeze wafted through her hair, carrying with it the aroma of coconut-scented suntan lotion from sunbathers on the beach. Skaters, bicyclists, and walkers trickled onto the path; an occasional greeting punctuated her solitude.
This is exactly what I needed. She had to clear her mind of Derrick.
The exercise was invigorating. She filled her lungs with fresh sea air, feeling oxygen fill her body with energy.
After close to an hour, she wheeled into Redondo Beach. As she was disembarking, she heard someone call her name. I know that voice. She turned around, squinting against the sun. A half-clothed man stepped from his bike, and he was a gorgeous specimen to behold.
“Verena,
it’s me, Lance.”
7
Verena lifted her sunglasses. Lance was wearing shorts, had his hand on a bike, and a shirt thrown over the handle bars. He had a tall, broad build, muscular arms, and a smooth, well-defined chest bronzed from the sun. She caught herself relishing the sight of him. “What are you doing here in Redondo Beach?”
“I should ask you that question.” He grinned at her. “I live here.”
“Oh, well, I rode down from the marina.” Flustered, she smoothed damp tendrils of hair from her face.
“Must have been right behind you. Can’t believe I missed you.” He knelt to tie a shoe lace. “How about some breakfast? I’m cooking.”
“Well, I… I guess so.” Verena hardly knew him, but he seemed harmless. Besides, she’d built up an appetite on the bike. “Where do you live?”
He gestured to a tall, narrow building a short distance away. “I have a condo on the top. There’s my balcony.”
They fell into step easily, walking their bikes beside them.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked. He swerved his bike past a rock and his arm brushed against hers, sending a surprising tingle through her.
“Three years,” he said. “I bought it right after I returned from Zurich.”
“You lived in Switzerland?”
A grin creased his face. “Not for long, just six months. I worked for an international hotel chain, and they moved me around quite a bit. I’ve also worked in England, South Korea, France, and New York. I was scheduled for Sydney when the Beverly Hills Hotel called me. I wanted to settle down, get a dog.” They reached his building and he stopped, staring at her.
“And did you?” she asked.
“Did I what?”
“Settle down and get a dog, silly.”
He laughed. “I bought my condo, but the dog, no, not yet. I work long hours.”
“I understand. I do, too,” she said.
He cocked his head. “Are your eyes really that blue?”