Not only would this process, if it worked, streamline the Sachs Organization’s front-of-house wage bill, it would naturally roll out through Charlotte’s Sash hotels too, demonstrating Bella’s overarching authority as the organizer in chief, the ultimate manager.
‘We’re going to be working like dogs for the next six months,’ Nita said, and her black eyes sparked with anticipation. ‘But we’re all up for it, Bella. We want to. We want to take on the other divisions and win. We’re not glamorous. We’re not Instagramming our fingernails in the loo every other minute. Because we’re getting our heads down and getting on with our work, and we’re bloody good at it.’
‘We are,’ Bella agreed, and despite the cold water she was drinking, she felt what was almost a burning sensation under her ribcage. This was such a risk, and such a tight timescale, considering the huge scope of the rollout. Every existing Sachs Rewards account would need to be upgraded, the guest points accumulated moved over. Those balances were watched like hawks by their owners; they were like alternative bank accounts for the frequent travellers. Any mistakes would be pounced upon, requiring a massive temporary hire of IT and customer service staff to mop up the mess.
‘We’ll do all of it,’ she said, pushing back her chair. ‘Even the Points Plus Money. We can keep that basic at first – use big chunks of points that can’t be broken up, to simplify the calculations. Pull in extra IT staff as temporary contractors. We’ve got all that space on the fourth floor since the reshuffle and it’s perfect for this. I honestly don’t care how much it costs, though you’re the only person I’d trust enough to say that to!’
Nita’s face lit up.
‘Oh, trust me, I love negotiating with staff agencies,’ she said almost dreamily.
‘And while you do that, I’ll be on a whistle-stop tour of our major hub offices.’ Bella counted them off on her fingers. ‘Chicago, Dallas, LA, Tokyo, Sydney, Berlin, minimum. I don’t want to town hall this and stream it for them. I want to be there on site, doing the presentation, making sure they know what we’re shooting for, that this is a real deadline, getting any queries resolved—’
‘Making sure you have designated tech people in place to drive this and managers to report directly back to you—’ Nita chimed in.
‘Bella!’
The door to the office flew open, and there, framed in the doorway, golden and glorious, was Bart, with Tal, Nita’s assistant, hovering behind him, flapping her hands.
‘I’m so sorry, Nita!’ she babbled. ‘I tried to stop him, but he’s, you know, Mr Sachs, and—’
Nita held up a palm, both to tell Tal to back off and to reassure her that she was not in trouble.
‘Bart, please!’ he said to Tal with a dazzling smile. ‘Hello, Nita! I was worried for a moment when I didn’t see you out there. I should have known you and Bell would be in here putting your heads together.’
Nita hadn’t even mentioned Bart to Bella; like everyone else, she had immediately dismissed him as a serious candidate for CEO. But she was more than happy to bask in the glowing radiance of his film-star handsomeness, and she smiled back with great pleasure.
‘Everyone’s screaming and throwing things around!’ Bart complained, entering Bella’s office and throwing himself into one of the oversized plaid-upholstered chairs by the window. ‘Christ,’ he added in parentheses, ‘this chair is comfy. Conway’s stormed out of the building yelling like a madman, apparently. Poor Samantha, eh? Bloody humiliating for her and the kids. I popped up to see Dad and he bit my head off. This is all so messy!’
Bella stared at him, frowning a little at his air of surprise.
‘What did you think was going to happen, Bart?’ she asked. ‘Daddy’s pitted us all against each other! It’s going to be hell for the next six months. And then God knows how we’ll all settle down when he picks a winner and everyone else has to work for them after trying to rip them apart!’
Bart looked as hangdog at this truth-telling as the little boy he had once been, playing with his Scalextric, when Conway and his friends had swept in and insisted on bagsying the McLaren Formula One set for their own use.
‘Ugh, it’s awful,’ he said on a long sigh. ‘And Conway being in the papers today! Such weird timing! I don’t understand anything that’s going on, really.’
He stretched his arms wide along the back of the armchair, staring out of the window at the bustling Holborn streets many storeys below.
‘Bart,’ Bella said, indicating to Tal that she should shut the office door. ‘Do you want to be CEO of Sachs?’
Her brother turned to look at her, his eyes infused with colour: of all of them, he perhaps had the largest irises, the most hypnotically blue eyes.
‘Honestly, Bell, I don’t know!’ he said, and her heart sank, because she had been hoping for an unequivocal no, and then perhaps even an agreement to back her bid for the top job. ‘I mean, two weeks ago I thought absolutely not. But now I’m thinking that maybe if I were the boss, I could be a peacemaker, stop everyone fighting like this . . .’
Bella and Nita’s eyes met, briefly but eloquently, both of them rolling fractionally to signify their derision at this. The idea of Bart successfully intervening between a battling Conway and Charlotte was as likely as a golden retriever managing to break up a fight to the death between a pair of Rottweilers.
But then Bella thought: Is that even true, though? Is Bart saying he wants to be a peacemaker to make me think he isn’t competing with me for the job? Because there’s no way Daddy would make Bart, or anyone, CEO with that pitch, and he must surely be aware of that. So is he playing stupid to lure me into a false sense of security, while still keeping his hat in the ring?
She looked back at her brother, at those huge, winsome blue eyes, so wide, so apparently innocent of any secret motivation or double-dealing. So much was at stake in these coming months. Bella had agreed to sabotage Conway, and guilty as she had felt, she had handed over to Charlotte the photos to pass on to her media contact. She wasn’t going to pretend that her hands weren’t dirty. Bella had thought that Charlotte was her main rival now that Conway had tarnished himself in his father’s eyes; Bart’s refusal to rule himself out of the running, however, was making her nervous.
What if Jeffrey, softened by infatuation with Adrianna, ready to retire, tired of all the contention and fighting and politicking that had characterized his rise to the top of the hotel industry, decided that his youngest child would be the perfect candidate to unite all the warring factions? Could Bart actually persuade their father that a new, holistic approach was the way forward for the Sachs Organization, with Conway, Charlotte and Bella all working away under benevolent, sunny, easy-going Bart?
On the face of it, this seemed an entirely ludicrous speculation. But no one had predicted that Jeffrey, in his eighties, would divorce Jade, whom they had all assumed would cling to him like a limpet until he died so that she could scoop a huge pool as his legal widow. No one had predicted, either, that he would retire; his children had all pictured him dying with his hands still on the reins of power, delegating more and more as he aged, but absolutely refusing ever to give up the kingdom he had built on the twentieth floor.
So if they had been entirely wrong about both those predictions, could it be that they were wrong about this too? Bella knew that Charlotte and Conway were counting out Bart as competition, and strongly suspected that they were dismissing her too. But she too had discounted Bart, and now she was doubting even that calculation . . .
Once more, Bella met Nita’s eyes, and saw that her right-hand woman, too, was narrow-eyed, tight-lipped, as she processed Bart’s surprising refusal to rule himself out of the race. There were no certainties any more, no safe places. The bones of Bella’s skull seemed to tighten as she realized she had a headache coming on.
The next six months were going to feel like an eternity.
Chapter Ten
‘We’re very excited about this, Bella,’ the head of PR for the Chicago o
ffice said eagerly. ‘It’s so much to take in! I’m really psyched to craft a press release that’ll hit all of our key target points and get the entire media buzzing—’
‘Robin?’ Bella interrupted. ‘I love your enthusiasm, but I’ve been briefing people all day. Can we take a break from the reward scheme until tomorrow?’
And good luck, Robin, Bella thought wryly. Down the line, if anything went wrong with the points scheme – which it won’t, she told herself firmly, repressing for the millionth time a cold stab of fear, it absolutely won’t – Robin’s team, like all the other Sachs PRs, would be on the front line trying to mop up a flooded dam with kitchen sponges, smiling brightly even as hordes of angry customers took to Twitter to share their complaints with the world—
Stop! Have a drink! Have two! Talk about something else, anything else!
‘I totally get that,’ Robin said earnestly, nodding to show how much she got it.
Every time Bella visited the States, she was reminded all over again about the very different energy levels that Americans had in business compared to the Brits. Robin was bubbly, bright-eyed, unashamed to gush with enthusiasm, underline her statements with her gestures, make and hold plenty of direct eye contact. It would have been too much for most British companies, especially in the corporate world. If Robin wanted to work in London, she would find herself gently encouraged to tone herself down, cultivate irony rather than eagerness, and certainly lose the habit of clapping her hands and exclaiming ‘Yay!’ when agreement was reached on crucial points under debate.
However, though it might not be British culture, Bella liked it. She particularly liked it this visit, when the project she was here to brief on was so critical. Robin’s American positivity was just what Bella needed as she started her world tour of Sachs offices. She could leave confident that this charismatic and popular woman, while not being directly responsible for the points scheme rollout, would work with the IT department and the CEO, motivating them to their absolute best efforts; she had seen Robin achieve excellent results before, though never on so large a scale.
They were having a much-needed drink before Bella retired to her suite at the Chicago Sachs for room-service dinner and a thorough review of the notes that had been taken at the various meetings throughout the day. Robin had picked the perfect bar, of course, which was an essential skill for someone in her profession. It was bustling, high-ceilinged, classic yet fashionable, with hugely comfortable armchairs and five-star service, offering the latest cocktails; but not so hip and trendy that it was over-packed, over-loud and staffed by pierced and bearded young people who acted as if they had invented Campari as they patronizingly explained its flavour to you without even being asked.
Sipping her cocktail – a martini with olives stuffed with blue cheese, whose calories Bella always convinced herself didn’t count – she surveyed Robin, feeling wistful. Somehow, after an entire, punishing day of work, with a catered sushi lunch in the boardroom eaten on the fly, Robin was still sleek, her straightened black hair pinned into a chignon, not a single flyaway hair, her wide lips beautifully outlined and filled in with a caramel gloss that did not seem to have shifted in twelve hours, though Bella had not seen her reapply it.
Not only did Robin have enviable energy levels, her grooming was, even by American women’s standards, superb. And in Bella’s extensive experience, American businesswomen were almost always more polished. She had seen both UK and US versions of reality shows and been struck by how the female US contestants were as camera-ready, hair and make-up perfectly done, as if they had their own professional team; some must have been up since the small hours putting rollers in their hair and contouring their features. By contrast, the British women were either plastered in make-up or wearing the minimum, and the few who had taken time to fully style their hair looked overdone by contrast with the others.
‘It’s the natural look,’ she said out loud, realizing the difference.
‘Excuse me?’ Robin’s perfectly threaded and pencilled brows rose a little.
Bella explained the theory she had just formed, that American businesswomen were the reigning queens of achieving a maquillage that looked as if they were wearing practically nothing.
‘The opposite is the French style,’ she continued. ‘That’s where all you put on is mascara and red lipstick, and if you don’t have dark circles under your eyes you draw them in to look moody, or as if you’ve been up all night with your new lover, having sex and arguing about philosophy.’
Robin burst out laughing, quite spontaneously, not the forced amusement of an employee feeling obliged to show amusement at her boss’s jokes. Bella flushed in pleasure. She really did like spending time in America; their open and straightforward attitudes made her feel easier and more relaxed, and their all-consuming business ethos normalized her own workaholic tendencies.
‘We’re all MAC girls here,’ Robin said. ‘MAC and Bobbi Brown. You’re right, it’s the no-make-up make-up. Just tons and tons of neutral shades and you contour and blend for hours. It’s all about the brushes. You should see how many brushes I have! You work the powder in and then it really does last all day. I mean, I touch up, of course.’
She glanced at Bella, and her large, dark, slightly up-tilted eyes were so warm and friendly that Bella didn’t flinch under the scrutiny, despite knowing that she was considerably less powdered and brushed than Robin.
‘Hey, why don’t we go together while you’re here?’ she suggested. ‘There’s a great Bobbi Brown in Bloomies, only a couple of blocks from the Sachs. What about—’
But Bella was very regretfully shaking her head.
‘I’d so love to,’ she said, ‘but I just don’t have the time. I’m on such a whistle-stop tour.’
‘I’m an idiot!’ Robin mimed slapping her own head. ‘What am I saying? I was talking to you like a girlfriend, and you’re Bella Sachs! I’ll get my PA to call ’em first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll get a Bobbi Brown or a MAC make-up artist into the office tomorrow. They come to you – you don’t go to them!’
‘Oh! That’s so nice of you, but—’
‘Seriously, this kind of thing is real easy to set up,’ Robin said with complete nonchalance. ‘And then we can get them to send over whatever you want after they’ve worked their magic. Plus a full set of brushes. Honestly, they’ll change your life. Like I said, it’s all about the brushes. Blending, blending, blending. It takes way more time than the French chicks drawing in their dark circles, but it’s worth the effort.’
Bella was still unsure whether she could spare the time, and was about to say so: but her breath caught in her throat, and the words never came out. Because just then, across the bar, a group of businessmen in suits moved and re-formed into a different configuration to welcome a new arrival. A waitress passed with a tray of drinks as they did so, and the man smiled at her and said something lightly as she went that made her pause for a moment and return his smile as she replied.
Bella stared at him with such shock and wonder that her jaw dropped open. She actually felt saliva forming on her tongue, as if she were a dog panting through its mouth to cool itself down.
‘Uh, Bella, that okay?’ Robin said a little nervously, misinterpreting her boss’s reaction. ‘I didn’t mean to be pushy – I just thought you might like me to set something up . . .’
‘I’d love it,’ Bella said without looking at her or even really listening; her gaze was still fixed on the dark-haired man in the slim-fitting navy suit.
Actually, if you could bring someone here right now to wave some sort of magical make-up wand over me, that would be perfect! she thought. Could you do that? I’m at the end of a long working day, I’m jet-lagged and I don’t have any of your magic brushes.
I’ve imagined this scene so many times. Hundreds? Thousands? It’s been well over twenty years – it could be in the tens of thousands by now! When I picture it, though, I’m dressed up for a gala, my hair and make-up done, walking down a red carpe
t for a charity fundraiser in a fabulous dress. He turns and recognizes me and stares in complete amazement.
Like Prince Charming seeing Cinderella across the ballroom and knowing straight away that she’s The One. Not just that she’s the most beautiful, breathtaking woman in the world, but also because he knows her already, because they were childhood playmates, and he’s remembering all those happy times they had together. And his past and present are blending together, like the moment in a film where the hero walks through a doorway, a garden gate set in a high stone arch. It’s dark under the arch, but as he moves through it he sees a rose garden flooded with sunlight beyond, and there she is, the love of his life, standing there dressed in white, and they reach out their hands to each other, and that’s it – that’s the happy ending, the one I always dreamed of . . .
Ridiculous, all of it. A childish, Disney fairytale fantasy from when Bella was a small child. For as long as she could remember she had had a crush on him, the older boy who was nice to her, listened to what she said, played with her, unlike awful Conway, who did nothing but pick on the weaker and less confident of his younger sisters. The crush had only been increased by his utterly unexpected disappearance from her life, that terrible day when they came back to the only home she had ever known to see her doll’s house being packed into a huge moving van, Maria standing by the front door crying as if her heart would break, and Jade looking down on them in triumph from that upstairs window.
And before anything else, before her confusion about the strange woman standing at the landing window; before taking in that the entire family wasn’t moving, that this was about Daddy not wanting them any more; before losing her beautiful room with her canopy bed and window seat with the view over the canal, Bella’s first thought had been: ‘Does this mean I can’t play with Ronaldo any more?’
He had not been there that day, at some after-school activity or hanging out with his friends. She had begged Maria to say goodbye for her, but she had not then had the faintest idea that she would never see Ronaldo again, or she would have been a wreck. The family estrangement had been very pointed at the beginning, as Jade got pregnant twice in quick succession to ensure her status and inheritance, marking her territory by effectively banning Jeffrey’s children with Christie from the house of which she was now the chatelaine.
Bad Twins Page 11
