by Jan Moran
“Of course it is,” Anika answered. “But they don’t land airplanes there.”
Verena remembered her first trip to Europe with Mia. She had finished the school year with good grades—just as Anika and Bella had—so her parents had rewarded her with the trip for her thirteenth birthday. Mia had been an energetic woman; her battle with cancer was still five years away. Mia insisted on showing Verena her favorite museums—the Musée d’Orsay, the Louvre, and the Rodin—as well as her favorite skincare salons and fashion boutiques, often followed by tea at the Hôtel Ritz.
Mia glanced at the twins and smiled. She turned to Verena. “Remember the first time you and I came here?”
“I was just thinking about it. Shall we show them the same sites?”
“Absolutely.” Mia made a small moue with her mouth. “I’d love to visit the d’Orsay and the Rodin, but let’s start with the Louvre. We can save the others for another trip.” She stretched and rotated her ankles as she spoke. “Verena, I’ve been thinking about Henri. You should go to the meeting at Rose Beauté by yourself. I’ve been away from the business for so long, I can’t really add to the meeting.”
“Nonsense, Mia, you’re the founder. You’ll always be the face of VSS.”
Mia patted her arm. “I had my turn, but today you’re the face of VSS.” She looked at the twins, who were thrilled that the airplane was about to touch down. “They’ll have their turn, too, someday. If I were there, Henri and I would waste time going down memory lane. You’ll need all the time they’ve allotted for you. Be thorough. Henri will listen, but he will also be honest with you.”
As Mia turned her attention to the twins, Verena leaned her head back, mentally preparing her presentation to Henri. Could she make an agreement with Henri without Mia?
Yet in the last ten years, lining up funds to finance the company’s growth had been one of Verena’s most important activities. Valent Swiss Skincare was a first class product line, always on the innovative edge, and their customer service was second to none. To stay at the forefront of skincare innovations required more than dedication—it required financial investment. Henri would understand and appreciate that.
Fortunately, they had an impeccable credit record with their banks and vendors. Mia had always prided herself on that, and Verena assiduously protected their reputation in business circles.
By tomorrow, she had to have a concise, persuasive presentation. She massaged an ache in her neck. During the flight her muscles had tightened and spasms stung her shoulder blades. She didn’t have much time. As the plane touched down on the runway and hurtled to a halt, she set her watch to the local time.
Gazing out the window, Verena prayed she could steer their company to a safe landing in Asia as well. Everything her family had worked for depended on her efforts.
13
“WELCOME TO THE Villa and Hôtel Majestic,” the doorman said as he opened the door to the limousine.
Verena smiled at the girls, whose eyes were round with curiosity and delight. Anika and Bella had been so excited to ride in the sleek black car. In Beverly Hills, they often saw limousines, especially the lumbering black SUVs and sedans of the much longer stretch variety. But cruising through the café-lined streets of Paris and around the Arc de Triomphe on their way to the hotel was a new experience for them. Verena was glad they weren’t jaded by life in L.A.
“Here we are,” Mia said.
“Bonjour madame, mesdemoiselles.” Accepting the distinguished doorman’s proffered hand, Mia slid out of the car first.
Verena gazed up, admiring Mia’s hotel selection. Balconies laced with flowering vines rimmed the top of the exclusive boutique inn. A pair of navy blue uniformed young men whisked away their luggage.
“Can we go out now?” Bella asked. “I’m hungry.”
“We have to go to a café and sit outside,” Anika added with a sophisticated arch of her brow. “It’s the thing to do in Paris. Meadow Dylan said that’s what she did last summer.”
Verena smiled. Miss Dylan was Anika’s French teacher at school, and Anika adored her.
Mia glanced at Verena. “We could use a glass of champagne and hors d’oeurves, n’est-ce pas?” When Verena hesitated, Mia put her hand on her shoulder and said, “After we check in, let’s have a relaxing meal.”
Verena saw Bella stifle a yawn. “It’s the jet lag.”
They were shown to their suite, which had a small kitchenette, high ceilings, a large bathtub and separate shower. It was tastefully decorated in the French style with sumptuous taupe and burgundy fabrics and draperies, silver gilded furniture, a shaded chandelier overhead, and a polished parquet wood floor.
“Isn’t this lovely,” Mia remarked.
“You have a great travel agent,” Verena said, admiring the comfortable rooms.
Mia looked nonplussed for a moment, before she replied, “Of course, the travel agent. Mariana is excellent.”
“Isn’t she the one who suggested this hotel?” Verena asked.
Mia waved her hand. “I’d forgotten. At my age, I sometimes forget my name.”
Anika and Bella dissolved into giggles.
After unpacking, they set off toward Place Victor Hugo, a sprawling roundabout where ten avenues fed into it. Fountains of water soared in the center and stylish shops and cafés rimmed the perimeter.
“Here’s the one I like,” Mia said, catching Anika’s hand. “Miss Dylan would approve, I’m sure.”
At the Café Le Victor Hugo, they sat under apple red canopies and ordered croissants, salads, and foie gras, and the twins had ice cream for dessert.
“Here’s to a successful trip for you, my dear,” Mia said, raising a glass of champagne to Verena. “Trust that you are ready.” She gave her a confident nod. “Life is shorter than we think, so we must always make the most of it.”
Verena clinked glasses with Mia. She sat back to watch the girls and observe the simple joy on her grandmother’s face. Mia had faced illness and death so often. I’ll do anything to make her life comfortable, Verena thought with sudden conviction. And anything to preserve the company Mia built.
Observing cars circling the roundabout, Anika said thoughtfully, “We should have more roundabouts at home. Look how easily traffic flows around them. Whoever thought of that was very wise.”
“There’s certainly something to be said for them,” Mia said, lifting a brow at Verena.
“They’d be chaos at home,” Bella said.
The girls were growing up, crossing the chasm between childhood and the women they would become. Soon they would be joining Valent Swiss Skincare and working by Verena’s side, continuing the family tradition.
As long as Verena could produce the funding needed. If I can, she wondered, concerned about her meeting.
After they ate, they strolled along Avenue Victor Hugo. The twins loved going into the boutiques. With their slender figures, it was easy to find clothes, and they were excited to find a pair of new outfits that Mia had promised them. The day passed quickly, and soon they were enjoying a light supper at another brasserie on the corner of Avenue Kléber.
Verena saw Bella’s eyelids flutter from exhaustion. “We should go to bed early for a good night’s sleep. The first day is always difficult with the time change.”
When they returned to the hotel, Mia and the girls prepared for bed, but thoughts of tomorrow’s meeting still spiraled through Verena’s mind.
“I’m going downstairs to the pool for a swim,” she told Mia. “I need to clear my head.”
“Good idea. I’m sure we’ll all be asleep when you return.”
Verena slipped into her sleek, cream-colored maillot swimsuit, which she preferred for serious swimming and always carried with her when she traveled. She threw on a white cotton hotel robe and took the elevator down to the lower level where the spa, fitness room, and pool were located. She noticed that it was only seven in the evening, and after a quick calculation, realized it was mid-morning in California, but she hadn’t slept muc
h on the airplane.
She stepped out of the elevator, walked past the massage and fitness rooms, and opened the door to the pool area. Good, it’s deserted. Plenty of time to think in silence. She removed her slippers and stepped into the foot bath to cleanse her feet before entering the pool room.
To her left, glass-walled topiaries were illuminated with subtle colored lights that rotated between soft shades of cornflower blue, shamrock green, lemon yellow, and cherry red. A few cushioned chairs and lounge chairs surrounded the pool, while at the far end of the room water trickled over a pebbled wall, which sounded like a natural waterfall. The soothing spa music lifted another degree of tension from her shoulders.
After draping her robe across a chaise lounge, Verena stepped into the pool. The salt water felt silky against her skin, and she appreciated its therapeutic value. The water temperature was perfect—warm enough not to jar her, but cool enough for a vigorous swim. Stretching and lengthening her body through the water, she began to swim.
The water muted the world around her, and as she coursed through the water, she thought about her meeting with Henri, what she would say, what he might say. In her mind she rehearsed her replies, as she did before every important meeting. She revisited their revenue numbers, the Asian expansion timeline, and the marketing plan. She felt lighter, sleekly skimming through the water from one side of the pool before turning and continuing to the other side.
The financial numbers were fresh in her mind after the exhaustive due diligence that Herringbone had ordered. Unbidden thoughts of Jimmy Don intruded, and his pasty white face floated into her mind. He had spent hours gleefully grilling her about procedures and costs and operations. She submerged, swimming deeper under water as if to escape his omnipresent smirks.
Powerful strokes propelled her through the water. The muscles in her arms began to burn.
A foreboding sense deep in her gut warned her against the Herringbone alliance. If Henri Becaud could help, they’d have no need for Herringbone. But if not... She’d have to do the best she could.
Thomas Roper. She’d only met the head of Herringbone Capital once. He had a smooth complexion for a man his age, but it wasn’t from years of proper skincare. There were no creases around his eyes from laughing, no furrows between his brows from worry. Nothing, even, to suggest a life well-lived. That’s it, Verena realized, catching her breath as she broke the surface slightly. He had the waxy, expressionless complexion of a sociopath.
Tension gnarled between her shoulders. The Herringbone deal disturbed her. It made sense on paper, but every time she thought about it, agitation rose within her. She fought against the feeling now, flipping in the water when she touched the edge of the pool, speeding to the other end, and repeating.
She cut through the water—faster and stronger with each length—her chest feeling as if it would explode, frustration welling in her chest.
Her breathing was labored, but she kept on, slicing the water with powerful strokes, pulling herself through the currents her body created. Stroke, and stroke.
Pushing herself farther and harder, she thrust herself forward as she had in school swimming competitions, only now it was the ultimate competition that drove her, the fight for survival. We can do it, we will win, we will win....
She tried to expunge images of Derrick and Jimmy Don and Roper from her mind. Exertion and anger overtook her judgment. Faster, faster.
She approached the end of the pool, nearly ready to flip again, but blinded with rage and determination she miscalculated, her unbridled power driving her headfirst into the wall.
A splitting pain shot through her head, while the rock-hard thud stole her breath.
She gulped reflexively, and salt water poured into her lungs. Her chest threatened to explode, and her limbs thrashed ineffectively. No, she screamed in her mind.
Her head throbbed. She tried to pull herself to the surface, but she was disoriented and drove to the bottom instead. Her breath spent, she choked and sputtered, the taste of salt water pungent in her mouth. Water surrounded her in swift blackness, and she felt herself separating from consciousness.
Slipping away, she saw herself floating in suspension in her watery grave. Relishing the peaceful feeling devoid of worry, she wondered if she could stay in this muted existence, though she felt persistent pulls from both sides of her pleasant cocoon.
Suddenly, a wave crashed her against the wall of the pool with a deadened thud, shattering her solitude. At once, white hot pain seared her lungs.
A split second later, a muscular arm rushed her to the surface, and frigid air blasted her face. Thrust from the pool, she landed on her stomach. A man flipped her slippery body over and pressed her chest in rhythm, which purged salt water from her lungs. Gasping for breath, she began heaving and coughing. What had happened? She was an expert swimmer.
“That’s better,” she heard a male voice say, his fingers on her pulse. “Just breathe, try to relax.”
Struggling to a seated position, she opened her eyes.
“Verena?”
The room swirled hazily around her. She could barely make out the form of a man crouched beside her, water dripping from his hair. How does he know my name?
“Verena, look at me.” He cupped her face in his hands.
Her eyesight came into focus, and she could make out familiar features. Why, he looks like…but no, it can’t be.
Still in a stupor, she wondered how it was possible that she was looking into the eyes of the man she’d dreamed about on the plane. Or was she dead after all?
Blinking, she tried to recall where she was.
Paris.
“Verena, stay with me.”
But he has an American accent.
She pushed her hair from her face. “Lance?”
He grinned as she blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
Verena managed a small laugh, and then she glanced down and saw he wasn’t wearing a stitch.
Lance became aware of her gaze, and he shifted his thigh with modesty. “My robe’s over there,” he said, nodding to the edge of the pool, where he’d clearly flung it off before diving in. It was half in, half out of the water. “I was waiting for a massage, relaxing on the chaise lounge, when I heard you go down.” He grinned again. “You’re a mighty powerful swimmer. Impressive.”
She wiped spittle from her mouth. “Yeah, that was pretty impressive.”
“I’ve never seen anyone head butt the pool.”
Verena felt her face grow warm—the curse of having such fair skin. She couldn’t keep her eyes off this handsome, well-built man. And he was a sight to behold. She motioned to the other side of the pool. “I have a robe over there.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“No, for you,” she said. “You must be cold.”
“Never say that to a naked man,” he said, laughing.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” Not at all.
“I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll get a robe for you.”
She angled her face while he stood, but once his back was turned, she couldn’t help peeking. I nearly died, didn’t I? So, a girl can look. Watching the sensual movement of his powerful hips and thighs as he crossed the room, she felt her body respond. He wrapped a towel around his hips and picked up her robe. She clamped her eyes shut when he turned around.
“You can open them now,” he said, walking back to her. He paused to pick up several towels.
A woman opened the door. “Monsieur Martel, are you ready for your massage?”
His gaze rested on Verena. “Something else has come up. I’ll reschedule tomorrow.” The woman nodded and closed the door, leaving them alone.
Shivering from a combination of cold and shock, Verena sat clasping her legs.
“You’re shaking pretty bad.” Lance knelt beside her. He quickly draped her robe around her shoulders and a towel over her wet head. “You need to warm up. Can you walk?”
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She nodded and he helped her to her feet, sliding his arm around her waist to steady her. His grasp was strong and sure, but more than that, it felt natural.
“I know just what you need,” he said, supporting her weight. “Hot sauna. Come with me.”
Wrapped in terrycloth, her teeth chattering, she leaned on him to walk from the pool but after a couple of steps, her knees buckled.
“I’ve got you,” he said, scooping her in his arms.
Water droplets glistened on his skin, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you were here,” she said.
“So am I.” His golden eyes mesmerized her. When they reached the sauna, he gently set her down. “Can you stand yet?”
She nodded. She could stand, but he had taken her breath away.
As he opened the door to the private steam sauna, eucalyptus-scented steam billowed out. “They have one of the greatest hammams around,” he said.
Warmth cloaked her icy skin. “This is heavenly,” she murmured, sinking onto a broad bench covered in azure-colored tiles. Clouds of mist enveloped them as heat seeped into her skin. The herbal aroma soothed her roughened throat and sinuses with every breath.
“This is one of my favorite saunas,” Lance said, laying out towels on the tile.
Verena closed her weary eyes. Moments later, Lance brought in a cup of cool, lime-infused water and pressed it to her lips. After drinking, he leaned her head against the tiled wall, grateful that he’d been there to save her.
“I might have drowned.” She shuddered.
“It was close.” He held the cup to her lips again, and she slid her hand over his to steady the water.
For the next few minutes, they sat in silence, both breathing deeply in the steamy sanctuary.
Finally, Verena asked, “So what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for an international chef event representing the Beverly Hills Hotel. Lots of publicity, that sort of thing. It’s a lot of fun. I even get to save beautiful women. How about you?”
Verena cleared her scratchy throat. “My grandmother and sisters are here on holiday, and I came for an important business meeting. Unfortunately, I won’t be here long.” She saw perspiration gleaming on his chest. She had to admit, he had a nice physique. “Funny how we keep running into each other. Seems like an awfully big coincidence.”
