Chapter 27
Mark had had a dull, working holiday without Meri. Christmas sales were predictably flat. Even worse, Gloria had called him in to her office this morning to tell him that the new Día de los Muertos ads were up and running, including the billboard they continually leased at the intersection of Highways 29 and 37.
He was glad his next brainstorming meeting with DeVon was scheduled for that very afternoon.
From the moment Meri walked into Our Little Italian Place, Mark could tell from the visible pallor beneath her suntan that she hadn’t somehow miraculously missed the glaring Harrington’s spread on her drive down from Napa. No such luck. He knew he’d have to tell her about it sooner or later. He just hadn’t planned on it being their first face-to-face conversation following their Christmas apart.
Both eager and wary, he rose to greet her.
“Hi, baby.” He kissed her hair. “Sorry I was running late. Thanks for meeting me here instead of your studio.”
When he released her, he was harpooned by the hurt in her eyes.
“It’s not what it looks like. I can explain everything,” he said, pulling out her chair.
“I’m sure you can. You’re really good at explaining things. Or should I say, explaining things away?”
“Honest, Meri, I was blown away when Gloria told me they were going to use that random shot in the actual ad. It was the final day of the shoot, and I had had it. I thought the stylist and our ad exec were never going to be satisfied. Messing around with an earring, a bracelet, and on and on . . . it was taking forever. Getting late. All I wanted was for the week to be over so I could go home. From my perspective yards away, I could see what was needed, so I jogged over and suggested the necklace. Next thing I knew, the cameraman was shooting away at us, the director shouting orders at me like he was David O. Russell and I was Bradley Cooper.
“Did you notice that all that was visible of me was my head and hands? I wasn’t in costume like the real actors. Pure coincidence that my jeans and T-shirt weren’t showing. If my clothes had been in the picture, it never would’ve worked. Gloria said when she and the ad guy sat down together with the proofs, he was determined to use that image based purely on its artistic value. I pushed back, but I was outnumbered.”
“But, Mark, don’t you see?” she leaned into him, exasperated. “Your ad man is right—aesthetically, it’s awesome. It’s going to be one of those timeless ads that sticks around forever. Everyone’s going to be talking about it. People are going to wonder who the cute guy is with the designer. Your name’s going to get out. And with it the message, ‘Harrington’s new jewelry star is with its hot young store owner.’ Once the big fashion magazines catch wind of that, it’ll spread, and pretty soon I’ll be reading in the tabloids about Rainn Gonzales having Mark Newman’s love child.”
Mark chuckled in spite of himself. “Meri, don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away? Even if it is a deliberate marketing ploy, it’s all a sham.”
“Perception is reality. Besides, I thought you said Gloria advised you to hide your family connections from gold diggers. Once this ad breaks, that’ll be impossible.”
“It’s a moot point now.” He took her hand across the table and gave her a look filled with meaning.
Now that he’d found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, he’d never have to hide again. He’d planned to have “the talk” with Meri’s father weeks ago, but Xavier St. Pierre had skewered things with his prolonged disappearing act.
Sal, their waiter, set down their drinks. One glance at their faces locked in a stare-down apparently told him they weren’t in the mood for light banter today. “I’ll come back in a minute, unless you want the usual . . .” He raised a questioning brow.
Mark gave Sal a curt nod, and the man tactfully disappeared to get her salad and his pizza.
Mark reached over to lift Meri’s chin gently. “There’s nothing going on with me and Rainn.”
She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “I know that. I just don’t want other people thinking it. Like I said, perception is reality.”
He leaned in to give her a quick kiss. “This is just another of those work things that is out of my control. It won’t always be this way. Trust me.”
“I want to.”
“Then do it. I won’t let you down. How are the designs coming?”
That brought back a hint of a smile, to his relief. “I’m really pleased with the way the vine necklace came out. Can you stop by after lunch to take a look?”
He’d just talked her down off the roof and now he had to thwart her again. He grimaced as he checked his watch. “I wish I could, but there’s somewhere I have to be. Can you send me a photo?”
Disappointment flashed in her eyes. He wished he could tell her he was working with DeVon concerning plans for the future of the company, but it was still too soon.
“Sure. There’s only one piece remaining—the last bracelet—and the Entwined Collection is fini. By the middle of the month I’ll be ready to start showing it to potential buyers.”
Mark’s heart began to thrum with panic.
Meri prattled on. “I’ve learned so much from you. Before, I had no clue what I was doing. Now I’m already dreaming up my next collection. I’m thinking of calling it Olive Branch. Napa is also big into olive oil production, you know.” She gave him a playful swat. “Of course you do. You know everything there is to know about food.”
He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Ah, no, I really don’t.”
“But you like my idea, right?”
Oh, yes, he did.
She pulled her phone from her bag. “I made a list of shows. It looks like this one in New York in early March is the best, but I wanted to get your opinion.” She tilted her phone his way. “There’s also one in Miami that looks promising. Or how about this one, in Basel?”
She’d been a good student. Too good. Mark pretended to examine the list while he searched for the appropriate response. He would personally cut off the hand of any other retailer who dared touch her work.
“Well, they’re all good, but I like this one in April the best.” He had to hold her off as long as possible while he figured out his takeover plan.
She frowned. “Really? That one is the furthest away. . . .”
Mark slid her phone back to her.
“When is your father coming back from Europe?”
“Next week.”
Not a minute too soon.
As soon as Mark had seen Meri’s film in that L.A. hotel room, all of the pieces had fallen into place. No wonder she was scared to death to put her name on her work, he thought as he drove to his rendezvous with St. Pierre and his two oldest daughters. He knew how close Meri was to her big sisters. He thought she would want them there in lieu of her late mother when he told her Papa of his intentions.
A few minutes north of Napa city was where the vineyards began in earnest. If this were fall, there’d be giant mechanical pickers straddling the vines, crawling along the ridges. From past winery tours, Mark had learned that most of the grapes were picked mechanically nowadays, rather than by hand. Much cheaper, though it had drawbacks. The machines were indiscriminate, picking debris, leaves, and even the occasional bird’s nest along with the grapes themselves.
But this was late January, and today the fields were brown, the motel parking lots he passed virtually empty. Not until next month would the wild mustard flowers come into bloom, starting the whole planting cycle over again. It was a great place to be a grape.
He took the Oakville Grade to Dry Creek Road, tapping nervously on the steering wheel as he drew nearer to Domaine St. Pierre. The sky was threatening rain when he pulled up to the estate. Soon, Tchaikovsky waltzes would be rousing the sleeping vines. And when fall came around again, there would be no mechanized picking here. Though he had to pay eighty pickers to do the work of one machine harvester, leave it to Xavier St. Pierre to stand by ancient French tradition—plus some cutting-edge drones to keep abreast of any plant disease, ripeness, and various other conditions.
Within minutes, Mark would be asking the so-called king of NorCal for his daughter’s hand in marriage. He should probably be more nervous, but he’d barely had time to breathe since Thanksgiving, what with staying on top of holiday sales while already working a season ahead and, at the same time, cooking up his covert business plan with DeVon.
Ironically, assuring a secure future for himself and Meri had left him with way too little time to spend actually loving her.
On February 14, rain fell in sheets from the Sonoma Valley, across Napa and on down to the North Bay. That would put a damper on sales at the flagship. But those were but a small percentage of the total. Mark and Gloria and Dick had spent the past week with their eyes glued to the real-time numbers pouring in from across the nation.
At five o’clock, the results were in, give or take. By that time, anyone intending to purchase fine jewelry for his or her Valentine had done so. Particularly in the Eastern time zone, where it was already eight, and the restaurants were now gearing up for their own heyday. Rubbing the back of his neck, he picked up his iPad and strode down the hall to Gloria’s office.
“You were right,” she said, the moment he walked in. “The numbers aren’t pretty. Apparently, no one wants skulls for Valentine’s Day.”
Go figure.
He’d gone into her office prepared for a showdown. But her humble admission of defeat threw water on Mark’s fire. Suddenly his all-powerful aunt seemed almost frail behind her grand mahogany desk. An air of resignation now mingled with her worldliness. “Sorry things didn’t work out according to your plan.”
“I’m in no mood to dissect things tonight. We can discuss it tomorrow morning, once Dick breaks down the data.”
Thank you, Gloria. Now he might actually be on time to meet Meri, for once. There was just one more thing he needed to do.
“Before I leave, I need to get in the vault.”
She looked up with surprise. The safe was located in her office. Though Mark was entrusted with the combination, it wasn’t every day that it was opened. It would seem strange to do it without commenting.
“May I ask why?”
“I’m going to propose to Merlot St. Pierre.”
The rare South African stone that his granddad had bought in Belgium two generations ago was now his to do with as he pleased. When he’d gotten engaged to Brandi, she’d insisted on a pre-set ring—she was clueless when it came to jewelry. But now Mark was flying high, grateful that the first person to wear the diamond since his grandmother would be Meri.
Gloria raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure she’s the right one?”
It was a not-so-subtle reminder of one of his past errors.
“I’m sure.”
“You’ve been wrong before.”
“He certainly has.” Dick, holding a ream of documents, had entered the office. He walked over to Gloria’s desk, where he let them drop with a theatrical swat.
“Have you seen these numbers?” He gave Mark a snide look. “So much for discarding our old, faithful vendors for rank beginners.”
Mark paused only for a second on his way to the vault. No. He wouldn’t take the bait, no matter how much it rankled. This was one night when he refused to let business take priority over what was really important.