Chapter 9
Mark double-checked his stack of purchase orders before presenting them to Aunt Gloria for her signature. The whole time he was writing them out, he was thinking about more than Meri’s designs. He couldn’t get that long, lean body of hers out of his head. Except when he was thinking about her sea-glass eyes or her luminous skin.
Unfortunately, the attraction seemed to be mutual. That was going to make working together even dicier, since he could never act on his feelings. First of all, there were still four months left in the year he’d vowed to stay single, following his annulment. Second, he kept hearing Gloria’s voice in his ear: It’s as easy to fall in love with a rich woman as it is a poor one. Made perfect sense. How was it he’d never heard it before he married Brandi? Meri Peterson clearly did not fall into the category of “rich woman.” If she was like most art students, she was probably in hock up to her neck for tuition and supplies. Raw metals and precious gemstones didn’t come cheap.
He cringed. He sounded, even to himself, like some cold-blooded, holier-than-thou hot shot. Meri Peterson was intelligent. She’d look amazing in rags. And being middle class didn’t diminish her talent one iota.
But the truth was, he’d taken a blind chance on love—or what he’d thought was love—before, and where had that landed him? Handing over his ass in an out-of-court settlement. It was only thanks to a sharp-eyed lawyer that Brandi hadn’t got her hands on his entire inheritance and his share in the stores.
But if Meri found out that Mark was a member of the Harrington family, he’d be right back in the same boat. He’d learned his lesson. Once it was discovered you had money, you were a sitting duck.
Luckily, Mark was a Harrington through his mother’s side. Having gotten the name Newman from his father, he could hide his connection to the Harrington fortune, at least for a while.
He checked his watch. The workday was almost over, and he was determined to see his aunt before she left for the evening. He picked up his POs, strode down the hall, and rapped on her door.
From within, Mark heard scurrying, accompanied by low voices. He bent an ear to the door. “Aunt Gloria?”
Not again. Today wasn’t the first time he’d caught his aunt and her CFO fooling around during work hours. He blew out a breath, looked to the ceiling, and passed the next ten seconds rocking back and forth on his heels.
The latch release clicked and the door swung open.
“Mark,” Dick greeted him tersely, straightening his tie with a triumphant glare. Then, cocky as an old rooster, he sauntered down the hall in the opposite direction from where Mark had come, back to his own coop.
“Yes?” asked Gloria, from behind her desk. Her cheeks were flushed and she was applying garnet lipstick, checking her reflection in Grandma’s old gold compact. Mark tried to see her face as critically as she did. Despite some tastefully done cosmetic surgery, the fine lines on his aunt’s neck and the prominent trail of veins on the back of her hands betrayed her age.
When was she going to start trusting him again, give him more responsibility? The company’s fiftieth anniversary was coming up next year, and she’d been there for at least thirty of them.
“I was about to call it a day. Dick’s taking me to dinner.”
“I’m glad I caught you,” said Mark. “I have some POs that need signed. Tonight, if possible.”
She pulled a tissue from the box on her desk and blotted her lips. “Mark, you know I like to take my time signing orders. It’s not something you can simply slide under my nose at five o’clock.”
Mark gritted his teeth. Before being promoted to buyer, he’d been an assistant buyer for three years and, before that, paid his dues in the San Francisco flagship store, working in every department from customer service to department manager—thanks to Gloria strapping a rocket to his back. But as Gloria giveth, Gloria taketh away.
“I know. I sent it to you electronically, but I printed it too so we could go over it together. I’ve been working on these all afternoon. I finally found a hot new line. But we gotta move fast to get the goods in for the spring season.”
Gloria slid her reading glasses on. “Yes, I do know. I’ve been wondering how long you intended to put off your buying. Very well, let me see them. Who is the vendor?”
“It’s called Gilty Artisanal Jewelry, and it’s going to be a sensation. Here, let me pull it up for you.” He reached in between Gloria and her keyboard and brought up Gilty’s prize-winning bracelet on her big screen to give her the full impact. She tilted her head back and studied the screen.
Mark held his breath and waited.
“All right.” She lowered her chin and peered at him from over her readers. “Start talking. What’s their history? Their price point? Who retails them now?”
Yes!
“No one.”
She looked at him askance.
He appreciated her experience, but why couldn’t she be more flexible? More receptive to new ideas?
“What I mean is, she’s brand new. Right out of Gates. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but this bracelet”—he tapped the screen—“won their Purchase Prize. We’re going to be the ones who discover her. Harrington’s is going to put her on the map.”
Gloria removed her readers, folded them, and laid them on her desk.
“I see. Well then. First of all, the word ‘artisanal’ scares me. Who’s ‘Gilty’ got working for her?”
She needed some kind of assurance that the goods would be produced, delivered. No goods, no sales.
“Nobody, yet . . .”
Gloria’s arched brows said he should know better than to bring her a substantial order with a vendor that was completely untried. “Are you joking? Do I need to remind you what happened last spring?”
“. . . but I’m looking into that for her. I’ve got calls in to West Coast Jewelry Artisans and our connections in Bali. When they see the quality of the designs, they’ll be jumping at the chance to partner with her.”
“Assuming they’re not already committed for spring, at this late date,” said Gloria, taking another gander at the screen. She commandeered the mouse, scrolling through more of Gilty’s designs with a practiced eye. After she’d had her fill, she rocked back in her ergonomic leather chair.
“Mark, I’m surprised at you, frankly. You walk in here at five o’clock, expecting me to sign off on four purchase orders totaling a sixth of your spring budget. Meanwhile, for the past two months, FireForged has been hounding me with e-mails, wanting more display space. Gold N Ice, too. They did all right for us last year, given the bear business climate. But this vendor can’t even be properly called a vendor yet. She’s just a . . . a”—Gloria’s bejeweled hand made air circles as she searched for the right word—“a fledgling artist.”
How could he make her believe what he knew in his heart? “Why don’t I take you to meet her, to see her samples up close? Once you see them, talk to her, I know you’ll be sold. Will you give me that much?”
Dick stuck his head in the door. “Almost ready?”
Gloria lifted a finger. “Fifteen seconds. Meet you in the lobby.”
He disappeared again.
“I don’t know why I’m agreeing to this. I’ll meet with her. But it’d better be soon.” She tapped on her big, old-fashioned desk calendar with a manicured nail. “If you don’t have that money spent by the end of New York, I’m going to have to spend it for you. You’ve got a week.”
“Thanks, Aunt Gloria.” Mark took what felt like his first inhalation since he’d entered her office.
“And you have to get a commitment out of either West Coast Artisans or Bali. Without them, there’s no sense in signing anything.” She rose stiffly from her chair and he knew he was dismissed.