Made for Me (Danielle Grant Book 1)

by Sarah Gerdes

  “Oh, please,” rolled out Lani. “Plenty of belts and notches, just no bragging.”

  The door whooshed open and Stephen was immediately on his feet. “You will see what I mean in just a second,” Lani said in a low tone. “That’s Andre Mettler.” Danielle got a glance at dark hair, leather jacket, jeans and a helmet under his arm. “This one is perfect for you.”

  “Oh, really?” Danielle queried, taking a bite of her food before glancing up at the door. Danielle tried to listen as a lock of mocha-colored hair dropped over Andre’s eye which he pushed back into a mop on his head. The sides were fashionably short, and he had a thin layer of facial hair covering his jawline, above and below his lips, in a perfectly manicured five o’clock shadow. His eyes were glacier blue contrasting all the more with his dark looks.

  “Yes, he’s permanently single, prefers groups when he comes here or gets take out. I’ve never seen him with a girl one-on-one.”

  “Which tells you what?”

  “He’s a commitment-phobe, just like you. Ah, it looks like I have an order. I’ll be right back.”

  Lani rose as Stephen walked towards the table with Andre. Danielle’s breath momentarily caught in her throat. She thought Lars was handsome in an elegant, undeniably classy and powerful sort of way. But this man was simply striking…and a bit younger. Around her age, she guessed, late twenties.

  “Danielle, this is Andre,” Stephen began, speaking a bit more formally. “I was just telling him about Lani’s best friend relocating here from America and that the two of you have things in common.” Andre eyed her in the curious, matter-of-fact way a doctor looks at his patient.

  Please let them be fun, appropriate things, Danielle silently willed to the universe. As if divining her thoughts, Stephen smiled. “Water and motorcycles.”

  Danielle and Andre shared a look of equal surprise. “You’re kidding?” he asked. She nodded, while Lani confirmed the truth of it.

  Sitting there, in the diminishing sun, she praised and thanked her father and David for ushering her off familiar shores and into a land of beautiful, intelligent people who, like her, didn’t want commitment. Well, at least one person, according to Lani.

  “Andre, it will take about ten minutes to make your food.” Lani left them alone, and Stephen attended to the other table.

  “I can wait outside or over there,” Andre told her, already pulling out his phone.

  “I’m a dining group of one,” Danielle told him with a moderate smile. “Have a seat. As long as you don’t mind if I eat. I like food while it’s hot.” He smiled, pulling out a chair. The uninterested ploy had worked. “So tell me,” Danielle began. “What’s there to do in this town of yours?”

  “It depends on what you like,” he responded, turning the question back to her. “You boat?”

  “Yes, riding, not piloting. I’m more of a sailboarder. I understand it’s still too cold though.”

  Andre shook his head. “Not for much longer. Depending on where you live, there’s a board shop on the lake run by a friend of mine. Bounty Boards, just by the marina.”

  “Giles?” Danielle asked. Andre raised his brows in surprise. “Our HR person gave me his name. I’ve only spoken with him once but he sounds like a great guy.”

  “He is. Very low-key, which is odd for a Swiss.”

  Danielle laughed at his dry sarcasm. “You mean unlike all the high-strung people I’ve met so far?” Andre paused, as if determining whether or not she were serious. “Actually, I’ve only met a dozen or so people at work, and they’re all very nice and professional.”

  Andre gave an easy smile. “How long have you been here?”

  Danielle glanced at her watch. “About thirty hours.”

  A laugh emerged, low and easy. Stephen joined them, asking Andre about the reservations for the upcoming season and if he might be interested in using Monroe’s for catering.

  “Sure, as long as it can be finger foods kept at room temperature. Things that can hold up for hours on the boats. Not all of them have fridges.” Stephen said he’d think about the possibilities and Lani emerged from the kitchen, handing Andre his order.

  “I hope you enjoy your stay here in Zurich,” Andre said to her, putting his helmet on and flipping up the visor.

  She smiled pleasantly and said, “I am sure I will.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The moment the door shut, Lani sat down beside her, a curious look on her very tired face.

  “That was interesting,” Lani said.

  “What? That I could carry on a conversation with a man?”

  Lani batted her arm. “Hardly. It was Andre. For a Swiss man that was forward. Were you playing hard to get on purpose?”

  “That was him being forward? I thought he was objectively polite. And I wasn’t playing hard to get. Before I do or say a thing with a man, you know I have to check his name against our client records.”

  “Oh, right. Client conflicts are bad.”

  “Only if I sleep with them first. So don’t get your hopes up yet.”

  Lani sighed with the vigor of long suffering. “My only hope is for you to have a life.”

  Stephen rubbed Lani’s neck, his thumb and forefinger pushing deeply into the muscle, with the movement eliciting an appreciative groan.

  “So it’s your turn to talk,” Danielle began. “Two months ago you said it was rough with the restaurant and you haven’t actually said much more since. Now that I’m here…maybe it’s slow, but I’m getting some vibes that not all is well. How are you guys really doing?”

  Lani put her elbows on the table, hands crossed on top of one another. “I’m okay, physically. Mentally and financially, not so much. In fact, we’re thinking about closing.” Given what Danielle had seen, the news didn’t entirely catch her by surprise. Still…

  “Are you sure it’s not too soon to make that decision?” Danielle asked, looking at Stephen.

  “It’s busiest the first few months, when you benefit from the “new” factor,” explained Stephen. “Then it lulls, picks up again and hopefully business is steady. Unfortunately, we never really had the pick-up-again part after the lull. It just plateaued. People who like us—like Andre—love us. The others just don’t come back.”

  “Andre needs more friends,” said Danielle. The pause was long and painful. She knew Lani’s goals had involved two things hitched together like a see-saw. A restaurant and children.

  “Any guesses as to why things are the way they are?”

  Lani shook her head in confusion. “We looked at comparable places, spent tons of money going out, understanding the food, the atmosphere, all of it. Our look is clean, the food is better—in our opinion—and our prices are lower.” Danielle glanced at Stephen for confirmation. He only nodded.

  “And kids? Have you had any luck on the infertility side?”

  This time, Stephen answered. “Not since we gave you the last update, about two months ago.” Danielle nodded.

  “Still waiting for implants?”

  Lani’s hand flicked at the glass of wine. “Here, it runs nearly thirty-thousand. We just don’t have that kind of money. All the savings we had for the treatments have been eaten up by the restaurant.”

  Lani attempted a smile, but it came out crooked. “You coming is a welcome distraction in case I suddenly have more free time on my hands.” She raised her glass to her lips.

  “I’ll be taking up some of that time,” Stephen nudged. Danielle’s throat tightened. Stephen’s facial and body language exuded love so deep for her friend that she wanted to reach over and hug him. Danielle also saw his own feeling of failure in his face, as if he could have prevented this somehow.

  “How long before you decide about the restaurant?” Danielle asked.

  “Probably the end of the month,” he answered. “That would give me enough time to find a job.”

  “And me too,” added Lani glumly.

  Danielle left not long after, when a group of four came in for dinner. Ri
ding the metro, she thought about her friends. A struggling restaurant, the plans for a family on hold. She couldn’t possibly imagine what Lani and Stephen were going through.

  Danielle got off at her stop, noting a Buddhist meditation center to her left. A good place to have nearby. She walked up the cobblestones, careful in her placement of the heels. She wished there was something she could do to help them out, but short of dining at Monroe’s every night and paying for it, her ability to impact their life was limited.

  She pressed the button for the penthouse, inserted her key and stopped. Or was it?

  CHAPTER 6

  Danielle stifled a yawn, her fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. Overtaken with the idea she had in the elevator, she’d spent two hours dutifully researching analyst reports and periodicals then turned her attention to restaurants. Specifically, those in Zurich ranked the most successful. By midnight, she had a spreadsheet full of the establishment names listed by type of food, and in the columns to the right, the location, demographic and general price points. She was in bed by one, getting in four and a half hours of sleep before waking and getting to work by 6:15 am.

  The first order of business was to tap out a client inquiry for Andre Mettler. She watched the client list appear, scrolling down the page. Several Andre’s appeared with the last name M, but not one Mettler. One man came close, a Georgy Metterlen, who was in his sixties.

  When the last Andre appeared, she let out a sigh, visualizing his face. She was now free to do anything she desired with the man without the worry of breaking her employment contract.

  Not that it will ever happen, she said, closing the screen. She felt comfortable in her familiar work routine, the intensity of her vocation ever-present, adrenaline mixed with logical choices and decisions. She ordered in lunch and left her desk only for the short meetings required by Ulrich and to use the bathroom. Socializing wasn’t a part of the culture at MRD, the café and coffee stations remained empty during trading hours.

  That night, she skipped going to Monroe’s, working with a passion driven by her goal of financial emancipation, finally going to bed by eleven.

  Thursday afternoon, she called Stephen to see if she could come by.

  “I like friends at my restaurant,” he replied. When she arrived, Danielle made a point of telling him she intended on paying for her meal. “Friends don’t pay,” he told her.

  It had occurred to her it was one of the reasons they were losing money. “Really? Do you allow your other friends to dine for free?”

  “Well…actually no. They do pay. It’s a cultural thing.”

  Danielle smirked. “Like it would be bad manners for them not to pay, but for me, an American, it would be normal?” She faked punching him on the arm. “Then you have a choice. Either we cease being friends or I stop coming here at all. Which do you prefer?” Stephen looked at her in what Danielle thought might be the Swiss version of obstinacy before he caved.

  “You Americans,” he grumbled, gesturing for her to pick a table.

  “Yep. It’s why you married one of us.”

  Danielle ordered the flank steak, a moderately expensive item. She pulled out her computer and checked her financials against her father’s outstanding bills. Had he been older, or had made less money during his lifetime, he’d be eligible for government healthcare, but he was a classic case of an individual in-between. It was a dark day when his insurance dumped him, but within months she’d taken her first job and could at least keep pace with the medical expenses—for a while.

  “Work stuff?” Lani asked, sitting down.

  “Dad stuff,” Danielle answered, closing out the screen.

  “We all have our issues, don’t we? Here, try this.” Lani scooted a plate full of appetizers towards her. “Stephen mentioned that I might want to come up with food for catering events for Andre when the occasion arises.” Danielle took a filo-wrapped item. “Speaking of Andre, I thought you’d like to know that he stopped in yesterday.” Her friend paused for effect. “He was interested in knowing if you were going to be around for a while so I gave him the basics.”

  Danielle stopped chewing. “You didn’t tell him what I do for a living, did you?” Most men under forty buckled from the threat of her having a better job and making more money.

  Lani rolled her eyes. “You’d think you were in Mossad or something. I just said you work in the city. Unlike us nosy Americans these people are discrete, like Lars suggested you be. Andre didn’t ask any other questions. Besides, he probably took one look at you and didn’t care if you were a pole dancer.”

  Danielle visualized Andre’s face, his leather jacket, and the way his shoulders arched. He was so masculine and so different from what she’d been attracted to in the past.

  “It doesn’t matter anyway, right?” asked Lani. “You don’t want commitment.”

  “Nope,” she agreed. No amount of thick, windswept hair and leather were going to change that. “Switching subjects, did you ever explore bank loans or other forms of capital to help you with the restaurant?”

  “If by capital, you mean investors, then the answer is no. We were told up front the banks can’t loan without assets or a track record, and we have neither. Stephen did say we might have been able to pitch one or two friends or acquaintances of his family, but we needed real paperwork. Stephen,” she called to him. “What did you say the cost for investor paperwork would run?”

  “Twenty to thirty thousand.”

  Lani turned to her with a “there-it-is,” shrug. “That would be francs, not dollars. Why, do you think we should have done it?”

  “I can’t answer the question, but it’s moot. The money to do it was too much.”

  Lani changed the topic back to Danielle and her work. Her numbers were up ninety-six percent. An unheard of number, but unlike the US, there was no bell ringing, flag waving or other notification. “It’s just like David said,” Danielle said. “It’s all treated like its expected and commonplace.”

  That night, she telephoned her father who promptly scolded her for calling.

  “Didn’t I say to call me on Sunday?”

  “What can I say?” Danielle sighed. “Going from daily contact to once a week isn’t easy.”

  “Sheila now comes over once a day just because,” he told her, sounding happily irritated. Danielle’s feelings were tamed a little at the thought of Sheila, the next door neighbor who had been widowed years before Danielle’s mother died and who had been extremely kind to her own family ever since.

  Danielle imagined her father now, sitting on the green, plaid couch facing the television, the field of barley behind him, her late mother’s flowers starting to bloom in the window boxes outside the kitchen. They were probably in need of the first soil fertilizer of the season. Maybe she’d call Sheila and ask her to look at them.

  “Have you met anyone yet?”

  Danielle groaned. “Okay, you have succeeded in making me want to get off the phone.” Her father let out a bark of laughter, increasing her irritation as she hung up.

  Thursday was uneventful. If you count being up a whopping one-hundred and four percent as uneventful she thought to herself when she took a tally at three pm. The end of the day registered to Danielle only by the warmth of the afternoon sun on her back and two taps on her open door.

  “Did you bring over the American hours?” asked Lars, his expression slightly less leader-like and instead more human. Today he wore a dark blue suit with wide pinstripes. His white shirt was wide-collared, the perfect offset for his sleek, sapphire blue tie with small white dots. His hand rested on the doorframe, revealing onyx cufflinks.

  “No different from your traders in New York, I’m sure,” she said calmly. Lars looked pleased, a single nod of his head confirming her statement before he left.

  Turning back to her screen, she thought of their deal, ignoring the realization that Lars was just as divinely handsome as he’d been the first day. It was good she had put him in the category o
f regular people, like all the other beautiful Swiss she saw on the street. Regular. Normal.

  That night, Danielle sat down at the dining room table she’d transformed into her home office, not budging until 11 pm eastern standard time. Thanks to the eight hour difference between Zurich and New York, she could work a full day then come home and work another six hours.

  It was glorious.

  Danielle looked at the clock, checking her financials. Dutifully, she transferred half to savings, a rule David had espoused to becoming personally rich.

  “Be a good gambler,” he’d intoned early in her career at Russelz. “Make a goal. When it’s reached, take half, put it away and never touch it. Ever. Use the half you have left over. A trader makes money on trades, but gets rich by saving the profit.”

  She stood, stretching her back before sitting back down. She had eight more days of the incentive money coming in—another four hundred thousand francs. At her current rate, she could triple that, put half aside….

  Quickly, she sat down again, leaned forward, her fingers moving quickly. Yes, she could do it.

  Satisfied, she checked the weather reports. She could finally get on the water if she wore her wetsuit. Tomorrow she’d call Giles; she wanted an ETA on the board anyway. The thought morphed into one that included Andre and his relationship with Giles and the possibility of seeing him again at Monroe’s.

  Her father was right. She could afford a little fun while she was here, as long as it didn’t interfere with her number one goal of making money.

  CHAPTER 7

  Friday morning, Danielle dressed with care. She picked a black knit St. John two piece suit with white trim around the collar, wrists and hemline. A single strand of white pearls hung around her neck, set off by drop pearl earrings, a Mikimoto double-strand bracelet and a one-of-a-kind gold ring her maternal grandmother had given her just before she died. She was the perfect mix of modern and classic, ideal for her meeting with Ulrich and Lars.