by Jan Moran
Verena folded her arms, at once both shocked and satisfied with Jimmy Don’s arrest. He’d always made her uncomfortable; he had a blatant disregard for human kindness, morality, and the law.
“In a related story,” the reporter went on, “the deaths of Herringbone Capital partners Thomas Roper and Derrick Logan have paved the way for a portfolio acquisition by White-Weber, another local venture capital firm. Last month an earlier offer was turned down, but a White-Weber representative says he believes Herringbone investors will likely vote for a sale now.”
Verena turned off the television, not caring to hear the rest of the story—it was too painful. Besides, it made no difference. She was on her own.
They ate by the pool, and after bathing, Verena put on her other new outfit, a gauzy peach, one-shouldered sundress, and wound her hair into a bun. She packed her few things, including the new negligee she hadn’t needed after all. When she put on her sunglasses, Lance told her she looked just like a celebrity. “Watch out for the paparazzi lurking around the perimeter of the hotel.”
As she and Lance prepared to leave, Verena cast an appreciative glance around the bungalow and wished they could stay longer. It had been a perfect intermezzo. And now, Lance was going with her to see Mia again. Verena hoped her grandmother would continue to improve.
Lance cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her face. “You’re so special to me,” he murmured. “You have been from the moment I first saw you. It was all I could do to contain myself in Paris. I want to spend every free moment with you.”
Lance spoke with true emotion. This is real. And she felt exactly the same way. She traced the length of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt fabric. Her lips parted, she closed her eyes and found his mouth, silencing their words. This feels so right; this is love.
But then another thought surged in her mind: The timing is all wrong. Now more than ever, she needed to commit herself to creating another career. How else would she and the girls survive? Although Mia had offered her retirement money to Verena, taking any part of the funds Mia had set aside for her retirement violated Verena’s deepest principles.
Verena was worried. She couldn’t share with Mia or the twins just how desperate their circumstances were. And the four of them were just too much responsibility for any man.
Even though Scarlett had assured her that the loss of the business was not her fault, that Herringbone has wronged her, Verena still blamed herself. It was Verena’s responsibility to provide the household income, and right now, she had no idea how she was going to do that.
Until she did, she could not permit herself the luxury of dating this man, no matter how much she cared for him.
Verena shook her head as her heart shattered. “I don’t have time for a relationship, Lance.”
26
The next week, Mia’s doctor approved her release from the hospital. Verena gathered her grandmother’s personal items from the room. “Ready to go home?”
“Indeed I am,” Mia said. “I just wish I didn’t have to leave in a wheelchair. I’m fine now.” She picked up her handbag, a new one that Pierre had brought as a surprise. “Pierre is bringing dinner to me this evening at the house. You should go out with your friends. Speaking of which, how is that handsome young man, Lance? I hope we’ll be seeing more of him.”
“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid.” Verena cast her eyes down, busying herself with Mia’s books. Lance had been calling, but she hadn’t returned his calls in days. Nor could she get him out of her heart. She dragged her thoughts back. She had so much to occupy her mind and her time—Mia, the twins, finding work.
The door opened, and Mia’s doctor stepped inside. “We’re going to miss you around here, Mrs. Valent.” Dr. Omondi sat next to Mia and rolled up the sleeve of her white jacket, exposing the burn scar that Mia had been treating with her special serum. “My skin is markedly improved. What did you say is in your serum?”
Verena stood to one side, listening. She was interested in hearing a doctor’s perspective.
“That’s my secret, doctor,” Mia said. “It’s something I’ve blended by hand for years. Only recently my chemist told me that’s it’s now technically possible to suspend the ingredients in a formula stable enough to be made in larger quantities.”
The doctor ran her fingers across her scar. “In my professional opinion, this is the most effective topical product I’ve seen.” She scrutinized Mia’s skin and touched her face. “Your skin texture and elasticity is amazing, too. You say you’ve been using this for years?”
Mia smiled with pride. “I have.”
“You’ve spoken to your chemist again?” Verena fastened Mia’s skincare bag and looped it over her shoulder. “I don’t recall that.”
“That’s because we didn’t discuss it. You were so busy, Verena.”
They said good-bye to the doctor and promised to keep in touch, and then Verena wheeled Mia from the hospital.
During the short drive home, Verena’s mind began to whir. Mia told her all about the recent tests and new formulations, and the payment terms the manufacturer would extend to them.
Verena began to grow excited. Their bank balance was growing thin, and Verena was desperate to support the family. She didn’t want to alarm Mia in her condition, but she couldn’t help worrying.
After Verena helped Mia into her room and made her comfortable, she phoned Scarlett and told her about the serum.
“Scarlett, I have you on speakerphone with Mia. Is there anything in those documents I signed that would stop us from developing a new line around Mia’s formula?”
Scarlett was quiet for a moment before she spoke. “You signed the intellectual property agreements, Verena, but they only pertained to you. No mention was made of Mia. Does anyone else know of this serum?”
“Only my chemist,” Mia said. “This is my personal formula.”
Verena took Mia’s small, smooth hand. “Think carefully. Did you develop it before or after you left the salon?”
“Definitely afterward.” Mia jerked her head with assurance.
“Did you use the same chemist?” Scarlett asked. “Would he have thought he was making it for Valent?”
“No, certainly not,” Mia said, her eyes brightening and nodding with more enthusiasm than Verena had seen in her in a long time. “I paid him myself.”
Verena leaned closer to the speakerphone. “Scarlett, I’m going to find a way to manufacture this line. Herringbone can’t keep me out of the market.”
“No, but they can sue you. Be careful where you sell it. All your old accounts are off limits.”
“I’ll think of something,” Verena said. She had plenty of reasons to yield to depression, but seeing Mia at home again spurred her on. I can do this.
After speaking with Scarlett, Mia wanted to nap, and the twins had gone next door to visit their friends. Verena took a pad of paper, sat at the kitchen table, and began to sketch ideas and tally numbers for a new line. She had good relationships with suppliers, and thought she could obtain generous payment terms, maybe ninety days.
She made a quick phone call to one of her former suppliers for containers and packaging. They had heard about what had happened at VSS and were shocked that she was no longer a part of the company.
After she told them about the new products she wanted to develop, they promised to extend the terms she’d requested. They also agreed to help her create packaging mockups that she could use to demonstrate and sell.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She wouldn’t need to pay for packaging or the serum and accompanying products for three months. She let out a little sigh of relief. There was still a lot to do.
Feeling somewhat buoyed, she turned her thoughts to sales and distribution. Although she couldn’t sell to the stores that carried VSS products, some of the buyers she knew had moved on to other companies.
However, inventory was expensive to produce, and then she’d need working c
apital for co-op advertising, sales commissions, and training—which she knew she couldn’t obtain. Selling in department stores, or even boutiques, required far too much money, even if she had ninety-day terms from her supplier and manufacturer. No, there had to be another way.
She tapped her pencil on the pad, thinking and staring into space.
What if she could multiply her efforts without hiring people in the field for sales and support? She thought about online Internet sales, and then her eyes rested on the small television in the kitchen.
An idea began to form, and one word floated to the forefront of her mind. Infomercial.
She’d met one of the top infomercial producers, Wilhelmina Jones, a few years ago at a cosmetic industry event. This woman’s company could manage television production, as well as order fulfillment.
Verena ran her fingers across her forehead in thought. While an infomercial might not be as upscale as the VSS high-end retail accounts, she’d heard successful ones made quite a lot of money. And the personal connection with clients inherent in an infomercial and direct distribution model appealed to her.
The more she thought about it, the more intrigued she became.
If Wilhelmina had interest in her idea.
Dahlia’s grandmother knew Wilhelmina, too. Surely Camille would have her phone number. Verena called Dahlia and told her about her idea. “What do you think?”
“That sounds like a real opportunity, and you’d be great on camera,” Dahlia said. “Wilhelmina might be interested, and she has a good reputation in the business world. I have her direct number right here.”
Verena jotted the number down. “We might even add perfume to the line, something subtle and Zen-like. Would you be interested in supplying it?”
“Count me in. We could create an organic spa collection for you.”
Verena grinned. Her idea was taking shape. “I haven’t seen you in forever, Dahlia. We should have coffee soon and catch up.”
“How about lunch tomorrow? I’m meeting Scarlett and Fianna at the Polo Lounge. Johnny has a table for us.”
As much as she enjoyed it there, that was the last place she’d go now. Seeing Lance would be far too painful. “I’d love to, but I’m on a budget now.” That much was certainly true. “Come over this weekend; I’ll brew a pot of coffee. The twins have been baking Swiss pastries, too.”
“Sounds great, count me in,” Dahlia. “And let me know how it goes with Wilhelmina.”
Verena hung up and gathered her thoughts. She blew out a breath to calm her nerves before she made the call.
An assistant answered and transferred her to Wilhelmina. Verena introduced herself again, and quickly pitched her idea in a couple of succinct sentences. Wilhelmina seemed a little interested and asked for more details, so she pushed on.
“Everyone knows Valent Swiss Skincare, and our new serum is more advanced than anything we’ve ever done. We’re planning an entire line round it.”
“I’d like to hear more,” Wilhelmina said. “Mia is well known, but I’d rather showcase you on the air. Frankly, we could use an upscale skincare line at a higher price point. We can spin a story about how you left the company to create something even more special with your grandmother, an industry legend. Do you have any celebrity endorsements?”
“I sure do.” Verena thought of her friend, the model Penelope Plessen, and other actresses and models she knew. And Dr. Omondi, who she thought would be great on camera, if she were amenable to it.
“Excellent. Are you free to meet tomorrow morning?”
Verena agreed, and then hung up the phone and did a little victory dance around the kitchen. She’d call Dahlia and let her know she’d gotten an appointment.
Mia had always said that a good name was worth more than gold, and in this case, their reputation was definitely opening doors for them. She’d talk to Mia about a new name for the company and the product line.
Before she could call Dahlia, her phone rang, and she paused to check the number. It was Lance. Raking her teeth over her bottom lip, she hovered with her finger over the answer button. Should she talk to him? She listened to it ring several times before she declined his call.
This is for the best.
She sank into a chair and stared at the phone, remembering their magical night in the beautiful pink bungalow. She ached with longing for him, for the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter, the feel of his skin under her fingertips. She wished she could share this ray of hope with him. He would understand how much this appointment meant to her, in a way that Derrick never could have.
She recalled their visit to Paris; Lance had been so at ease with Mia, and Anika and Bella adored him. That day it had almost seemed as if they were a family.
Though she’d denied her feelings, Lance had lodged himself in her heart. His quick grin, his optimistic attitude, his loving manner. Verena rested her chin in the palm of her hand and stared out the window, her prior decision weighing heavily on her mind.
The next day, Verena chose her clothes with care. She dressed as if she would be on camera—that was the look Wilhelmina would want to see. She wore a vibrant red, Diane von Fürstenberg wrap dress and stepped into her red-soled, black Louboutin heels. In the beauty industry, a woman had to know her business and look chic and glamorous.
As a finishing touch, she applied cherry red lipstick and looped Mia’s pearls around her neck for good luck. Fianna’s friend, Elena, had done a beautiful job repairing the clasp. Today was a new beginning for her career and her life.
Brushing her hair from her face, she gazed into the mirror. It was time she pursued her dream. Since her parents had died, she’d done what was expected of her and faced every challenge, even the last disastrous round with Herringbone. It had been her idea to expand the salon chains across the United States, to open department store accounts, to sell into the Asian markets. VSS had been successful, and it still was. Now, she planned to seize the opportunity to create an entirely new line based on Mia’s serum.
She needed this break for financial reasons, but she also wanted to prove her talent. She’d hardly slept last night—ideas and visions were racing through her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so inspired.
When she arrived at the Sunset Boulevard offices of Wilhelmina Jones and Company, an assistant ushered her into Wilhelmina’s office. A large glass table served as a desk, surrounded by potted palms, and an antique Persian rug. Awards and skincare products filled a bookshelf.
“Verena, it’s nice to see you again.” Wilhelmina had short, jet-black hair with a burgundy streak, and she wore a bright Pucci dress. She was a stylish CEO, and was often photographed for business and fashion magazines alike.
Wilhelmina motioned to a sofa, where they made themselves comfortable. “Start from the beginning, please. I want to hear all about your new concept. Then I’ll share my thoughts.”
Verena plunged in and told her the story of Mia’s serum, Dr. Omondi’s comments, and the verbal commitments she had for manufacturing and packaging. She also told her about Dahlia, and their idea for an accompanying line of spa-inspired fragrances. Wilhelmina listened, and occasionally made notes on a small pad.
Two, then three hours flew past. Wilhelmina’s assistant tapped on the door. “Excuse me, but you asked me to remind you about your lunch reservation.”
“Thank you, Gwen, we lost track of time,” Wilhelmina said. She turned back to Verena. “Let’s continue this over lunch, shall we?”
Verena agreed and followed Wilhelmina to her car, a white Bentley convertible. The sun was warm on her shoulders, and they were so engrossed in conversation she didn’t even ask where they were going. After driving a short distance on Sunset Boulevard, Wilhelmina turned into the Beverly Hills Hotel. Verena clutched the edge of her seat. “We’re going here?”
“It’s my regular Friday spot,” Wilhelmina said as the valet attendant opened her door. She laughed. “Sometimes I think I do more business here t
han in the office.”
Verena had trepidation over the possibility of seeing Lance. She glanced at Wilhelmina. Their meeting was going well, and she needed to focus for the remainder of their discussion. They were getting down to the deal points now.
On the other hand, Lance was a chef. Didn’t chefs belong in the kitchen? Surely she wouldn’t see him in the restaurant. She got out of the car on shaky legs.
When they arrived at the Polo Lounge, Wilhelmina waved at Johnny. “Love your bow tie, darling. More men should wear them.”
“Hello, Johnny,” Verena said, and saw his face brighten.
Johnny flashed a smile and adjusted his purple paisley tie. “Right this way, ladies, your table is ready.”
They sat at a prime booth on the patio, and Verena could smell the scent of jasmine in the air. Ruby red and pink bougainvillea flowers arched around the booths. The patio was full of beautifully dressed people, and laughter bubbled around her.
“I’m glad you brought your new concept to me.” Wilhelmina steepled her hands. “Now, let’s talk about how we might work together.” She began laying out her vision.
As Verena listened, she found her attention diverted, glancing around for a tall, good-looking chef. She chastised herself, and returned her full attention to Wilhelmina. This conversation was far too important.
Lance never appeared, and Verena relaxed after their tortilla soup arrived. It was a classic dish on the menu, and as delicious as always. Their main course came—they had both ordered the salmon—and Verena wondered if Lance might have prepared it. She lifted her fork, remembering how he loved to cook and the meals he’d prepared for her. She missed so many things about him. Regret coursed through her.
By the end of lunch, Wilhelmina made an offer to Verena. “I’d like to have you on board. I think you’ll be a natural in front of the camera. We can film with mocked-up product, and take just-in-time delivery for orders. When do you think you’ll have live product ready for fulfillment?”