by Jan Moran
Verena knew that Scarlett was referring to a legal agreement that she was negotiating between Parfums Dubois and a major Hollywood celebrity for a new line of perfumes.
“Wonderful, let’s review it tomorrow,” Dahlia said, looking relieved. “I just learned we need the final contract before we can renegotiate our bank loans.”
“I’m surprised.” Verena drew her brows together. Parfums Dubois was a major international company. Something didn’t add up.
“You’re not the only one,” Dahlia said. “Camille has had her banking relationship for years, but it’s not only our bank. All the lenders are getting tough.”
“Why?” Fianna asked, taking an interest in the conversation.
“Our board said all banks are growing more restrictive in light of the economy.” Dahlia sipped her wine before continuing. “Scarlett, Camille will want to read the agreement, too.”
“Camille is out of the hospital?” Verena knew that Dahlia’s grandmother had been in Cedars Sinai for pneumonia treatments.
“Just this afternoon,” Dahlia said. “The doctor won’t allow her to return to work, so she’s bringing it all home. Her assistants have set up in her living room. She’ll have them working harder there than in the office. There’s no stopping that woman.”
Fianna laughed. “Camille is still fabulous. I want to be just like her when I’m in my sixties.”
Dahlia raised a brow again. “Sixties? French women seldom discuss their age, but between us, she’s a decade or two past that. Maybe it’s because she met Verena’s grandmother so many years ago and had a lifetime of superb skincare. Camille and Mia don’t look their age.”
“Or act it,” Fianna added, widening her eyes. “Imagine what they must have been like when they were young.”
Scarlett tilted her water goblet toward Fianna in agreement. “Not hard to picture, but I don’t think they’ve changed much. They’re both awfully sharp and completely self-trained. If there’s even a typo in the agreements we draft, Camille always catches it.”
Verena grinned at Fianna, the free-spirited artist of their group. Fianna Fitzgerald had been born in Ireland and graduated from the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising in Los Angeles. The youngest in a large family, she’d put herself through school working for Verena. She’d helped her with the twins after their parents died. “How’s your licensing program going?”
“Scarlett and I are working on it,” Fianna said, as Scarlett nodded in agreement.
Fianna’s fledging fashion line was sold exclusively in her boutique on trendy Robertson Boulevard in Los Angeles. Fianna had bootstrapped her company and was struggling to expand her distribution to attract licensing opportunities for handbags, eyewear, and shoes. Verena knew she’d welcome the deals. “Fianna, did you follow up with that public relations person in New York?”
“I did, but I’m waiting on payment on some invoices before I retain her. She’s pricey.”
“But worth it,” Verena said. “I think that’s the push you need in the media for more recognition.” Fianna’s designs had garnered a few small fashion awards, but she still had to build sales. Verena thought Fianna was a natural for media exposure. With her flaming red hair, one blue eye and one brown eye—a condition known as heterochromia—and an exuberant personality, Verena thought Fianna could attract a lot of attention from fashion editors.
Fianna and Scarlett nodded in agreement. After Verena had taken over the skincare company at such a young age, she began a media outreach program, inviting beauty editors and young actresses to the salon for free facials. It was a resounding success and helped to reposition the company.
Fianna sighed and looked up from her martini. “Honestly, I’m a little nervous speaking to the press.”
Dahlia and Scarlett both answered at once. “You?”
“I know, but I’m always afraid I’ll say something wrong. I’m too blunt.”
“You need media training,” Scarlett said.
“Well sure, but it’s expensive. Takes money to make money,” Fianna said, cupping her chin. She turned to Verena. “Do you think the bank problems could hurt your company? Greta sure seemed to think so.”
Verena was growing more concerned. “I’ll figure something out. We’re resilient. But I feel awful about Marvin.” Verena cast her eyes down to hide the concern she harbored. Even Dahlia’s banker was asking to see contracts, and their company was many times larger than VSS. She sipped her wine, noting the fine vintage Lance had chosen. “Scarlett, let’s talk tomorrow morning.”
Scarlett agreed. After chatting a little longer, they left the Polo Lounge and walked to the front of the hotel, where they waited under the canopy on a red carpet while the valet attendants collected the car.
“I’ll drive,” Scarlett said. She slid into the driver’s seat of Dahlia’s car and the other women got in.
While Scarlett drove the short distance to Verena’s home, Verena mulled over the events of the evening, her anxiety rising. Poor Marvin. She’d always trusted him. He’d been a true friend and a straightforward businessman. If what Greta said was true, her business—and her family—could be in real trouble.
Verena opened the door to her Spanish bungalow-styled home and slipped off her shoes so her heels wouldn’t click across the hardwood floors and wake her family. She stopped at the twins’ bedroom and looked in on them. They looked like little blond-haired angels asleep in their beds. She waited until she saw the covers lift and fall in silent rhythm. Quietly, she continued on to her grandmother’s bedroom. Her door was open.
“Come in,” Mia said, “I’ve been dying to hear how the event went.” She was sitting up in bed reading a book. Her pale blond hair was brushed from her forehead, and she looked small against a stack of pillows. She removed her reading glasses and patted the bed beside her.
“I’m glad you’re still awake.” Verena gathered her silvery evening dress around her and climbed onto the bed beside her grandmother. Mia looked rested, and Verena was relieved. Due to Mia’s bout with cancer, she often worried about her grandmother’s health.
Verena took Mia’s slender hand. “You were missed, you know. Scarlett is in town, and she asked after you. Many others did, too.” She hesitated, hating to have to share the bad news about Marvin’s suicide, but Mia had known him, too.
After Verena told her what had happened, Mia shook her head, blinking back tears. “Dear fellow, I never would have suspected that of him. Not at all like him, in fact. Something terrible must have driven him to such an act, something that compromised his values, or made his future seem hopeless. And he left behind such a lovely family.”
Verena agreed, something just didn’t seem right about his death. “I’ll call on them tomorrow to see if there’s anything we can do for them.”
“That’s a good idea.” Mia smoothed a wavy tendril from Verena’s face. “I wish I could have been there for you, but it takes so much to put myself together these days. I’m saving my strength for the long haul to Europe. I hope you understand.”
“Of course I do. Why don’t you stop in New York for a couple of days? It’s a long haul to Europe from L.A. It might be easier on you.”
“In the old days, that was the only route we could take. But I like direct flights. A little wine, a nice dinner, and when we wake up, voilà, we’re in Europe.” Mia touched her hand and said, “I wish you would come with us. We’re going to have such a wonderful time. Your sisters will miss you.”
“I wish I could, but I’m going to be awfully busy at the salon.” Although she’d told Mia about Marvin, she hadn’t mentioned that they might have difficulty finding another bank to provide the working capital they’d need for the Asia expansion. Why worry her?
Verena removed her small diamond-stud earrings and rotated her neck. She cradled the earrings in her hand, admiring the sparkle of the stones. These were the ones her mother had worn on her wedding day, so she liked to wear them for luck.
What had been lucky abou
t tonight? she wondered. A memory of Lance shot through her mind, and a small sigh escaped her lips. She’d spent a magical hour with a charming man. No more, no less.
That’s all it would ever be. She had far more important, pressing matters to deal with as soon as she could.
Mia peered at her. “Something else on your mind, dear?
Verena was tempted to confide in her, but she couldn’t bear to burden her. “Just tired.”
“Did you see Derrick?”
Her grandmother could always read her. “Only for a short time.”
“There will be someone else for you. Be patient.”
It wasn’t a matter of patience, though. Her life was more complicated that any man could understand. Or perhaps tolerate. No, she suspected her life was already written. She had Mia and the girls to look after, and they came first before anyone else. She’d fought to keep the business and maintain their home just as it had been when her parents had been alive.
Verena rose from the bed, kissed her grandmother good night, and softly closed the door behind her.
But as she walked through her familiar home to her bedroom, Verena had the strange prescience that nothing in their lives was going to be quite like it had been before.
4
AFTER VERENA AND her friends left, Lance stayed behind waiting for a chance to speak to Johnny, with whom he shared a good friendship. It was after midnight by the time the dining area closed and the kitchen was clean. Lance looked for his friend, anxious to find more about Verena Valent.
Johnny looked up from the reservation book he was making notes on. “Did you have a good night?”
Lance leaned against the host desk. “I’ll say. Not often I have a beautiful woman in my kitchen to cook for.”
“That’s only because you don’t let them in. You could have a line out the door if you wanted.” Johnny winked and loosened his bow tie.
“Not my style.” Lance knew that wasn’t the way Johnny operated either. They both worked too many hours and held important positions at the hotel. “More of my brother’s,” he added. Although Lance enjoyed painting, his free-spirited brother was the true artist, travelling the globe to visit galleries or work on special commissions. Women had always flocked after Adrien.
Stifling a yawn, Johnny asked, “Has Adrien gone back to San Francisco yet?”
“He’s visiting our parents in La Jolla.” Lance was close to his brothers, Adrien and Rhys, even though they all had different temperaments. He couldn’t imagine how his mother had managed three boisterous boys born only a couple of years apart. They’d been a formidable bunch growing up, but they’d all gone their separate ways. He had to admit he missed them now.
Johnny glanced at several business cards that patrons had given him during the evening and made notes on them. “How are the folks?”
“Doing pretty well.” His father was a writer and his mother was a costume designer. Creativity ran deep in their family. He’d always admired the way his parents had weathered the vagaries of their careers, yet they’d always made sure their sons had plenty of love and guidance. His parents were his role models, and they generally supported his decisions, although his mother was always straight with him. Lisette Martel didn’t hesitate to let her sons know when she thought any of them were in the wrong or could do better. In her mid-fifties, she was still a lovely woman with a slender figure from years of yoga and dance. She’d tried introducing him to women in San Diego, but he hadn’t really been interested or had the time. He was waiting for a magical connection, the kind his parents had.
Lance tapped on the reservation book to get Johnny’s attention. “So how well do you know Verena Valent?”
Johnny glanced up from his work. “She’s a good friend of Scarlett’s. I’ve gotten to know her that way, and through her grandmother. Mia Valent is a regular here.”
“And?” Lance rotated his hand in a circular motion. “Come on, help me out here. Is she dating anyone?”
Closing his reservation book, Johnny shook his head. “She was engaged to Derrick Logan, but Scarlett said she broke it off. With good reason, I bet. That guy’s a snake.”
“What about now?”
“She runs her family skincare salon here, and I gather she’s pretty busy with that and her family.” Johnny quirked his mouth in a half-grin. “If you could get through to Verena, she’s a keeper for sure.”
Taking it all in, Lance nodded. He couldn’t put his feelings into words, but Verena had something special. The expression in her eyes, the sound of her laughter, the way she’d shot back at Derrick in the kitchen. She had grace and guts, a formidable combination that he couldn’t help but admire.
“Thanks a lot,” Lance said, giving Johnny a friendly fist bump.
The next day in the kitchen of the Beverly Hills Hotel, Lance changed into a white chef’s jacket and went to work. After meeting with his kitchen crew, he went to the Polo Lounge to survey the busy lunch scene, where celebrities dined with their agents and publicists, fundraisers pitched charity balls, and out-of-town guests relished the glamour.
It was his custom to circulate and visit the tables of the hotel’s regular customers and welcome new guests. He would ask how they were, and make sure they were enjoying their meal. By doing this, he learned a lot and the attention made their guests feel special, which was good for business.
As he was chatting with a group of filmmakers, he overheard a conversation behind him. A gruff, older voice asked, “Why won’t Verena entertain a sale?”
Glancing over his shoulder, Lance was startled to recognize Derrick, who was dining with one of the most well-known power brokers in Los Angeles, Thomas Roper.
Lance stepped behind a potted palm under the guise of observing the activity in the restaurant. He hated eavesdropping on principle, but he couldn’t help himself. Verena had been on his mind all night, and he’d even woken up thinking about her.
“She’s emotionally tied to the business,” Derrick said. “Told me she doesn’t want to sell.”
“That was months ago. We need to acquire Valent Skincare,” Thomas Roper said, tapping his age-spotted fingers on the linen-covered table.
Lance remembered catering a board meeting at Roper’s office when he’d first started. Everything in Roper’s office was designed to intimidate. The cold sprawling office topped a towering Century City office building. His corner view encompassed the Pacific Ocean on one side, and on the other, the Los Angeles Country Club’s groomed golf course, where Lance had heard that Roper was a founding member. Roper wore a black suit, starched white shirt, and red power tie. With steely grey eyes and a perpetual grimace, he looked like he’d sold his soul long ago.
“Did you hear me?” Roper frowned in annoyance. “Like everyone, she has her price. Make her an offer.”
Derrick drew a breath. “Yes, sir. But we should look at other companies.”
“No. You will do this deal.”
Or else, thought Lance. He knew Roper’s reputation for taking advantage of people and opportunities. Word travelled fast in the hospitality business. Lance also cooked for private parties, and he had his own celebrity clientele. He’d given interviews and been photographed for plenty of magazines. In the homes of the rich and famous, he’d often heard Roper’s name. And a whole lot more.
Roper went on, irritation evident in his voice. “Valent is a well-respected company with a marketable story.” He ticked off points on his fingers. “Legendary Swiss formulas, three generations, based in Beverly Hills, celebrity clientele, plus pure organic botanical products. The efficacy of her products is off the charts. She has no idea what that’s worth. You will get that company in our portfolio, one way or the other.” He creased his brow. “You didn’t tell her about the clinical tests, did you?”
“No, of course not. I told Verena I wanted to give her products to some VIP clients as gifts. I never told her about the tests or the results.”
“Good, don’t. We can use that later to boost sales. L
ook, Derrick, Verena Valent doesn’t have the experience to understand the future value of her company after she launches in Asia. The accounts she has are critical building blocks for a cosmetics empire that will be worth billions. I want Valent, and you will get it for me.”
“Don’t underestimate her, sir.”
Lance leaned in. As if the old man needed the money.
“And don’t let me think I’ve overestimated your ability.” Roper narrowed his eyes and pointed a bony finger at Derrick. “There’s a reason I made you a minor partner.”
“Let me do it my way.”
“Then do it. Valent is on track to make hundreds of millions of dollars, with proper management, of course. We’ll send Jimmy Don in. He can handle it.”
Derrick cleared his throat. “Verena definitely adds value to the business. She has good relationships with clients.”
“They don’t care. They’ll forget her tomorrow.” Roper tapped his glass. “You plan to marry that girl?”
“I told you I will,” Derrick said, sounding sure of himself.
As if he had a chance, thought Lance. He’d only just met her, but she struck him as a lot smarter than that. Not that it was any of his business.
Roper snorted. “You’ll have to have a prenuptial agreement. She’ll want the same. If that’s what you’re thinking, you won’t get the company that way. So, why bother marrying her? Lots of fish in the sea, trust me.”
“I understand, sir.”
Roper waved a hand for the check. “I’ve got to take a leak.” He left the table, leaving Derrick alone.
Disturbed by what he’d heard, Lance narrowed his eyes. This conversation violated his deep sense of fairness. As Lance started to leave, another man in a dark suit joined Derrick at the table. Lance recognized him from the usual lunch crowd, but he didn’t know who he was.
“How’s that deal going?”
Derrick glanced around and lowered his voice. “Making progress. VSS is missing piece to the Newco.”
