Chapter 17
When Mark got into his own car, he took his phone off silent and it immediately rang. Gloria.
“Where are you? I’ve left you two voice messages.”
“I told you, I took a personal day.” If she’d only let him teach her to text message . . .
“How’d it go last night with Merlot?”
“Fine.”
“It’s a go?”
“It’ll all work out.”
His aunt’s sigh of relief was audible. “Wonderful. I took it upon myself to contact West Coast Artisans, and they’re on board. They’ll have to contract additional craftsmen, but they’re excited. We may still need Bali, even with that.”
What—she didn’t trust him to follow through on his commitments? Mark was steamed. But then, why should she? He hadn’t won Meri over to their side.
She twittered on about work, but Mark had stopped listening. He was too busy racking his brain, trying to think of a way to fix the major boondoggle he’d created. He scrubbed a hand through his hair as he reached the city limits. He was driving back to a mess that went up to his eyeballs, and it was only getting deeper. The plane tickets to New York for the trip to the Javits Center were canceled. Tomorrow was Friday. If he couldn’t change Meri’s mind by Monday, Gloria would eviscerate him, probably in front of Dick, who all the while would give Mark his usual, disdainful glare—but this time, it would be deserved.
Worst of all, there would be only one vendor left from whom to buy his spring line: Rainn. True, he’d promised Rainn orders over the phone. But nothing was final until he actually pressed send on the e-mail with the signed documents attached.
At the office, Mark couldn’t stop pacing. Even without Gloria’s constant interruptions—ironic, given he couldn’t remember the last time she’d traversed all of the thirty yards to his little corner of the world—his restlessness made it all but impossible to accomplish even the most routine tasks.
Gloria was gearing up for an executive conference call among all the divisional and store managers. She wanted to give everyone advance notice of an exciting new line for spring. When Mark heard about the call, his heart almost stopped. They couldn’t release Meri’s name before she’d agreed to their terms! He dashed into Gloria’s office just as her assistant was about to connect her to the nationwide network of stores.
“Hold it. Let’s keep the new vendor’s name under wraps, even to our employees. Instead, we’ll build intrigue with an extended, cryptic ad campaign as soon as we can update our billboards and websites, instead of waiting until after Christmas to promote her.”
“Promote spring before Christmas? It isn’t done.” His aunt was right, of course. It was unprecedented.
“What’s that old saying—something about how insanity is repeating things the same old way and expecting different results?”
Gloria looked at her CFO. “Dick?”
Mark gritted his teeth. Why was she bringing him into it? Dick was an accountant, not a merchandiser.
Not surprisingly, Dick gaped like a carp out of water. Impatiently, Gloria turned back to Mark.
“It’s unprecedented. But what do we have to lose? It might even give our holiday sales a bump.”
Mark breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t used to lying and the need to cover his tracks that went with it.
Later that afternoon, she was back in his office. “How do you like this for a teaser?” She slid an artist’s mock-up under Mark’s nose. COMING SOON FROM HARRINGTON’S: A SPARKLING NEW COLLABORATION F OR OUR GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY!
“Nice,” he replied, barely looking up. He grew more distracted as the day went on, dodging her questions and suggestions, hoping she didn’t see through his agitation. How could they advertise something they didn’t have?
He continued to fret all night, weighing argument after argument to use to persuade Meri, none of them more convincing than the ones he’d already tried. It seemed as though he’d only just closed his eyes when Saturday morning came.
He glared bleary-eyed at the ceiling. Forty-eight hours until deadline. Sunday was the game, and Monday the big meeting. He ought to be using every available minute to hold Merlot’s feet to the fire. But instinct told him that would be the worst way to handle her. Meri didn’t even know there was a deadline. She was bound and determined to do things her way . . . though she was dead wrong.
How had he gotten himself into this mess . . . deceiving both Meri and Gloria? Mixing business with pleasure, when he’d sworn off relationships for the foreseeable future?
With a heavy sigh, he swung his feet to the floor, propped his elbows on his knees, and scratched his head. Think, Newman. Think.