by Jan Moran
Verena looked around the table and realized that each member of her trusted team feared for their job as well. And no one was embracing the Rainbow Nails plan. But Herringbone kept insisting on it. The plan was far from perfect, but she needed to keep her team morale high. And that seemed nearly impossible.
“We have excellent prospects ahead in Asia,” she said, trying to sound positive. “In fact, pre-orders have far exceeded what we thought we would do in the first month. That,” she said, jabbing a finger in the air, “is our reputation making the sale, that and the enthusiasm of the sales teams on the floor. They trust us to deliver the best quality products, the quality we are known for. I assure you, we will succeed. And if we have to take on Rainbow Nails to do it, that’s what we will do.” She glanced at Jack and Annette. I can’t blame them. Even I don’t believe in this plan.
With reluctance, they both nodded their heads.
“Agreed, but frankly, I’m surprised they would burden you with Rainbow Nails right now,” Jack said. “Those must be pretty important investors you told me about.”
“Seems so. Jack, did you confirm with Herringbone’s attorney that the loan to VSS isn’t available unless we take Rainbow? I mean, is there any chance they would revert to the original plan?” It seemed pointless to ask, but she was hoping for some small miracle.
Jack pushed back from the table with a deep sigh. “Completely off the table, Verena. I’m sorry.”
“It was worth a try.” She looked around the table, feeling everyone’s concerns. “Well, team, it seems we’re going into the nail polish business.” But every fiber of her being warned her against it.
It was Saturday morning and Verena sat outside of her favorite coffee café at the corner of Robertson and Beverly Boulevards sipping a nonfat latte. It wasn’t far from Fianna’s shop, which was already busy this morning. Fianna had opened her doors early this Saturday for a sample sale, and Verena watched the women lining up at the door.
She was pleased for Fianna, and had told many of her clients about the sale. Unfortunately, she had no extra money now that she’d been supporting VSS until Herringbone approved the deal.
Today Verena had dressed casually; she had on a starched white shirt with silver rose cufflinks, blue jeans, and black leather boots. She wore her long blond hair sleek and swept to one side, and dark sunglasses to obscure her puffy eyes. She’d been worried and hadn’t slept much since she’d returned from Paris.
She glanced up in time to see Scarlett walking toward her. Verena smiled to herself as she watched the men at the surrounding tables turn to watch, too.
Scarlett was clearly oblivious to the attention she attracted today, but then, Verena knew her friend rarely noticed such attention, preoccupied as she usually was with legal issues.
“Good morning, darling.” Verena stood and kissed her friend on each cheek. “I ordered a coffee for you.” She slid a steaming cup toward her.
Scarlett eased into the chair next to Verena. “You’re amazing, thanks. I worked late last night.” She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, catching her dark blond, coppery curls, and Verena noticed that her face was clean, totally devoid of makeup, except for the moisturizer that she knew Scarlett always wore. Her complexion was flawless, a smooth, light olive testament to the benefits of good skincare, which Verena had helped her achieve.
Scarlett watched Verena sip the coffee, murmuring and closing her eyes as an expression of gratitude crossed her face. “How’s the deal going?”
Verena shook her head. “Complicated. We have to take on another company.” Verena went on to tell her about the deal with Rainbow Nails. “It’s an awkward alliance at best, but it’s a Herringbone requirement.” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes as she thought about it. “Derrick is really encouraging it. Says it will benefit us, our family.”
“You don’t sound confident.”
“It’s not up to me. They know more than I do about the way these deals are done. So, if they’re confident, I’m confident.” Her mouth curved into a smile, although it didn’t reach her eyes.
Scarlett watched Verena. “It sounds like they’re using Valent. What are you getting out of it?”
“We get to stay in business, avoid terminating loyal, highly trained employees, and grow the company without worrying about money again.” She sipped her coffee.
“And what do you give up?”
Verena shrugged. “Minor equity. Some control, that is, we bring in Herringbone talent, but we still control the board.”
“For now.”
“What?”
“They’ll find a way to take over, mark my words. Watch your back, Verena. You have a big red target on your shirt, whether you realize it or not. I’ve seen this happen before.”
Verena looked at her friend. “I have no other options.”
“Don’t let them push you into a corner, fight to keep control.”
Verena frowned, stared at her coffee. “Herringbone’s demands escalate daily, even though they agreed to the term sheet. I admit my control of the situation is slipping away, but with the economy eroding, and layoffs leading the daily morning news headlines, I don’t have much power left. The control of the board is all I have at this point.”
“You must retain that,” Scarlett said, jabbing a finger in the air to make her point. “Send me the documents, I’ll look at them.”
“That would be great. Nearly every night I wake with a terrible feeling, and it takes hours to go back to sleep. Mia says it’s my subconscious alerting me to danger. But what choice do we have now? We simply have to make the best of it, show Herringbone that Valent can rise to the challenge.” Verena straightened her shoulders. “And we will succeed.”
Scarlett’s mobile phone vibrated with a message. She read it with confusion, and then disappointment. Finally, anger crossed her face. Verena watched the storm of emotion that one short text had set off in her friend. “Scarlett, what’s wrong?”
“It’s not for me.” She shook her head.
“Who sent it?”
“Johnny.” Scarlett shoved a hand through her hair. “Mama was right.” She spun her phone around for Verena to see the message sent to her in error.
Carla, mi amour, do we need orange juice for the mimosas?
“Who’s Carla?” Verena asked.
“Carla Ramirez. We all went to school together. Looks like she and Johnny are dating. I’ve heard she’s been warming a seat at the bar at the Polo Lounge while he works.”
Verena studied her friend. “And why does that bother you? I thought you and Johnny were just friends.”
“We’ve known each other so long. Too long, maybe. He wants to settle down, marry someone who wants to have babies and put on an apron.”
“And what’s wrong with that? I thought you wanted children someday. Did he tell you that?”
“He doesn’t have to,” Scarlett said, sniffing with disdain. “He’s a man. It’s in his DNA.”
“Now who’s being sexist? Come on, you don’t really believe that.” Verena slid her eyes toward Scarlett. “Why would it matter to you anyway?”
“It doesn’t,” she said, sputtering. “But as a friend, I don’t want to see him make a mistake.”
“So, tell him.” Verena wondered what was really bothering her.
“I have to leave for New York in the morning.” She gestured toward the phone. “And he’s clearly busy today.”
“You’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” Verena said. “You’re taking the lead in that case here, right? And I can sure use your advice.”
Scarlett nodded. “Johnny’s love life is none of my business.”
Verena stared at her. “Like that would stop you from saying what’s on your mind?”
Verena broke into a grin, and Scarlett started to chuckle at herself.
“Never has,” Scarlett said.
“Remember the night at the Grammy party?” Verena burst out laughing, and soon the two friends were laughing so hard t
hat tears came to their eyes, and people at nearby tables were looking at them, but neither of them cared. They both needed a good laugh.
“Oh, I can’t stop,” Verena said, wiping her eyes.
The two of them kept giggling every time they looked at each other.
“Let’s get out of here before we run into clients,” Verena said, gasping for breath. She swung her hair out of her eyes and pulled her sunglasses down.
Still laughing, they stood and left, their arms around one another, chuckling as they hurried down Robertson.
“Verena,” Lance called out, but she didn’t hear him. Peering from under the brim of his favorite baseball cap, Lance lowered his sunglasses and watched Verena hasten from the café.
He’d been in the corner nursing his morning coffee, recovering from his long trans-Atlantic flight and reading the sports and business news when he’d heard a familiar laugh in the breeze behind him. He liked to stop here before reporting in for work at The Beverly Hills Hotel, because as soon as he set foot inside the busy kitchen, it was nonstop action for the day.
Verena had been in an earnest conversation with the woman he recognized from the Polo Lounge—Scarlett, he recalled—but by the time he rose to say hello, they were off, laughing together over some private joke as they strode down the sidewalk, turning heads in their wake.
All through the chef competition in Paris, she’d intruded upon his thoughts—but a welcome intrusion it was. He shook his head and grinned to himself.
Lance returned to his table and sat down, thinking. As far as he was concerned, Derrick was a train wreck waiting to happen, but he hated to see Verena caught in a catastrophe. He drummed his fingers on the table. She might be engaged, but he couldn’t believe she would actually marry Derrick.
If he could help it, he wouldn’t let that happen. He punched in Verena’s mobile number.
16
“The flowers were beautiful, and so thoughtful,” Verena said. She and Scarlett had just stepped into a specialty food shop when her mobile phone rang. “They really lifted my spirits,” she said, breaking into a smile. “You’ve just returned?”
Scarlett swung around, clearly puzzled. Derrick? She mouthed the name silently.
When Verena shook her head, Scarlett’s curiosity was piqued. Verena waved her off with a smile. She liked listening to Lance, enjoying the sound of his voice, remembering how they had danced and how it felt being in his arms. A warm feeling spread throughout her chest, as palpable as the touch of cashmere, but as soon as she thought of Derrick, the sensation lurched to a halt.
“How was the competition?” She smiled as he told her. “Congratulations,” she said, after he added that he’d won an award with his entry of ginger-lemongrass crab stir fry.
Scarlett stared at her, a hand on her hip and her toe tapping, refusing to budge.
“At our house?” Verena paused, turning away from Scarlett. “I know Mia and the girls would love that, but we already have an engagement that evening…no, I’m sorry, the whole weekend looks bad.” She swallowed, wishing she could accept his invitation to cook for them. “I loved seeing you in Paris, too, and I’ll never forget that you saved my life.”
She hesitated, mesmerized by the sound of his gravelly morning voice, imagining the warmth in his eyes. “Breakfast and a bike ride? Oh, I loved your French toast.” She lowered her voice. “But I don’t know if it’s such a good idea that we see one another, Lance, except as friends.”
Scarlett ducked into her line of sight again; she was bursting with questions.
Once she said that to Lance, his enthusiasm dimmed, and she wished she’d never said anything. She loved listening to the sound of his deep, rich voice. “Okay then, maybe in a couple of weeks. I’ll mention it to Mia. I’ll call you later.” Verena clicked off, wishing she could have spoken longer with him.
“Who was that?” Scarlett demanded. “Who’s sending you flowers? And who saved your life? What happened?”
“The chef from the Beverly Hills Hotel, Lance Martel. We ran into him in Paris.” When Scarlett looked suspicious, Verena quickly added, “We were staying at the same hotel, and he pulled me from the pool when I hit my head swimming—it was all quite by chance.” Or was it?
Scarlett let out a low whistle. “Some coincidence.”
“That’s right, that’s all it was.” Verena was flustered over her reactions. But why? Scarlett is one of my best friends. Verena stared at her phone. Because I’m engaged, that’s why.
Verena slipped her phone into her purse. “Come on, I have to buy ingredients here for an old Swiss fondue recipe Mia is teaching us how to make tonight. Anika and Bella fell in love with it in Switzerland.” She pulled a list from her pocket. “Let’s see, I need a couple of cheeses, Gruyère, Vacherin Fribourgeois, a bottle of white wine, kirsch—that’s cherry brandy—and garlic.”
“You’re avoiding the question,” Scarlett said. “You can’t outmaneuver me, I’m trained to probe. And I don’t believe one iota in coincidences.”
If Verena was honest with herself, neither did she. “Who knows, maybe it was karma,” Verena said, eager to change the subject. “That’s what Mia calls uncanny, meant-to-be coincidences.” As soon as the words left her lips, a surge of discomfort flashed through her. What if karma were real? What if Lance and I were meant to meet again in Paris?
Verena swept through the back door with her groceries and was surprised to see Mia bustling around the kitchen, happily singing a tune. She was dressed in an apricot linen blouse and white linen slacks, with a Chanel twill scarf at her neck pinned with a vintage diamond-studded brooch. Her hair and makeup were perfect. She’d clearly taken extra care for something special today.
“You look lovely, Mia.” She placed her shopping bags on the counter. “Are you going out?”
“No, darling, I’m expecting company. An old friend, Pierre Chevalier, is stopping by for tea to welcome me home.”
“That’s thoughtful.” Verena drew a glass of filtered water from the faucet. And unusual.
“Camille said that he asked after me several times while we were gone. He asked me to tea at the Peninsula Hotel, but I suggested we have tea here. Much more intimate, don’t you think?” She colored slightly. “I mean, why should we put ourselves on display and start tongues wagging?”
“Sounds like you might fancy him,” Verena said, using one of Mia’s favorite terms. Now she knew whose handkerchief Mia had been carrying in Paris. She was happy for Mia, but wondered about this man.
Verena tried to remember a time when she’d seen her grandmother with a man. Mia had dated a few times after Emile’s death, but there wasn’t anyone she really cared for. Then the cancer struck, and her son and his wife died in the accident. Her world had nearly imploded. Since then, Mia had dedicated herself to looking after her, Anika, and Bella. Verena smiled at her grandmother. Mia deserved a shot at happiness and companionship.
“Maybe there’s someone other than Derrick that you might fancy, too,” Mia said lightly. “Remember Paris?”
Verena shot her a pointed look. “I do, but let’s not start this again. Besides, Derrick is helping us with the business.”
“It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
Verena ignored her comment. “What time will Pierre be here?” Verena glanced at the new wooden clock on the wall that Anika and Bella had insisted they bring home as a souvenir from Switzerland. The clock was in the shape of a Swiss chalet, with carved figurines dancing along a ledge, and acorns hanging from the pendulum chains. As she looked up, the little cuckoo bird jutted out to mark the hour with a whistle.
A knock sounded at the door at precisely the same time. “There he is now.” Mia brushed her hands on her snowy white apron and hurried to the door.
Verena couldn’t help but trail behind her. She was curious.
Mia opened the door. “You’re perfectly punctual, come in, Pierre.”
Removing his hat, Pierre Chevalier stepped inside. He whi
sked a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “I searched for authentic Alpine flowers, but they’re rarer than snow at the beach. The florist said daisies grow in the Alps, so I thought these might do.”
“What a cheerful mix of colors. And I’d like to introduce my granddaughter, Verena.” Verena and Pierre exchanged pleasantries as Mia took Pierre’s hat, and then they followed Mia to the kitchen, chatting. Mia arranged the blaze of purple, white, and yellow flowers in a vase and put them on the kitchen table. “Such a lovely sunny day, I thought we’d have tea outside on the patio.”
Pierre said, “Verena, will you join us?”
“I’d like that.” She was interested in learning more about him.
They seated themselves on cushioned chairs under the awning, and Mia poured freshly brewed Earl Grey tea into cups. She sliced a fluffy angel food roll filled with strawberries and cream. “This is a traditional Swiss treat; it was always Emile’s favorite.”
Verena saw a shadow cross Mia’s face. She probably didn’t mean to say that. Mia seemed nervous now.
Pierre fixed her in his sight with an intractable gaze, watching her every movement. “Emile was a lucky man.”
Verena caught a whiff of Pierre’s sandalwood cologne, and noted his immaculate shirt and blazer. It seemed he’d taken extra care today, too.
“And Ondine was a lucky woman,” Mia said.
Pierre slid a wrinkled hand over hers. “They’ve both been gone a long time, Mia. Long enough, you know.”
Mia reached into her pocket and withdrew the monogrammed handkerchief she’d been carrying. “I forgot that I had this. I washed and pressed it for you.”
A smile creased his face. “Keep it, my dear. It makes me happy thinking that you’re carrying it close to you.”