The days between Europe and visiting the American retailers passed like dominoes falling, one onto another. There were details to take care of, logistics to manage. The rough draft of the TV commercial had to be dubbed into each country’s language—and the balance of international territories to be contacted. Ann needed to fill the holes left by Spain’s lack of support and Germany’s meager order. In between, she saw her doctor for a prescription antacid that put the Maalox to shame.
Jonathan came by the office twice, but lavished most of his attention on her secretary. Ann couldn’t quite figure out the purpose of his visits, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She barely saw Patrick at all, and that worried her. As for Felicia, she was doing the best she could to dodge her, making only short visits to her home. She refused to burden the woman with premature news, hoping she would soon be able to paint a prettier picture.
Before Ann knew it, her travel date had arrived.
She was in her bedroom, folding a sweater into a suitcase, when Jonathan’s knock came at the door. She finished what she was doing, smoothing a hand over the soft cashmere, and picked up her coffee mug before she went to answer it. She grinned a little when a second thumping sounded, harder and more impatient than the first. She was deliberately goading him, forcing him to wait for her. Finally, she pulled open the door and ushered him in.
Instead of saying hello, Jonathan nodded at the coffee in her hand. “That stuff can’t be helping your stomach.”
“Neither do you, but I can’t seem to kick you out of my life, either.”
He stepped past her into the living room. Looking pretty damned good, she thought.
“Why aren’t you ready?” he asked.
“I am.”
“You’re barefoot.” He stared at her feet as though they were an affront.
“I can fix that. Will boots bother your sensibilities, or should I wear pumps?”
Jonathan had an unnerving flash of her in black leather. A lot of it. Not just boots, but head to toe with strategic gaps. And all that blond hair. What was he thinking? Shit. This trip was definitely a bad idea. How could he explain it to his mother and brother, let alone to himself? But he couldn’t bow out now.
“I need to use your bathroom,” he said suddenly.
Ann frowned. “Down the hall. The only door to your left.”
He found his way, closing the door behind him. He looked around. There was a rug on the floor, a geometric pattern of ultramarine and turquoise and sea-green. The walls wore a delicate tint of sky blue. There was a sunken tub of warm ivory, surrounded by urns of dried lavender and grasses, wire baskets of thick rolled towels, a pedestal sink matching the ivory of the tub … and a wine bucket perched on the tub ledge. With two glasses.
Jonathan returned to the front door where Ann was waiting with her suitcase and a garment bag. Her boots were brown leather, not black; her skirt was long, calf-length, but slit up the front. Nice, he thought, but instead of complimenting her, he brusquely picked up her suitcase and barked, “Let’s go.”
“You know, you don’t have to make this trip. No one is holding a gun to your head.”
“Keep trying to talk me out of it and I’ll start questioning your motives again.”
Her stomach jumped. Ann pressed a hand to it. “Is that your way of telling me that I am beginning to earn your trust?””
Damned good question. “I’ve got a cab waiting, Ann. Can we get to it before it costs me my entire portfolio?”
“I guess you don’t have much of a portfolio, then,” she said lightly, and she plucked her keys off the entry table.
“I, at least, can buy furniture.”
“So can I.”
“Your living room is empty.”
“I want perfect pieces.” She stepped out into the hall after him and locked the door.
“There are furniture stores all over the city.”
“I said perfect. Not adequate. Each piece has to speak to me. That takes time.”
“Yeah, well, if you’re planning another shopping spree, let me know so I can stay home.”
Ann bit her lip against laughing. Then she almost stoked the furnace of their old feud when they got into the cab. “Have you seen Patrick lately?” she asked.
His response was quick and too harsh. “Why?”
She turned her head to look at him as she buckled her seat belt. “He’s been laying low.”
“Not low enough.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He changed the subject. “What’s the purpose of this trip, by the way? Same as Europe?”
“More or less. Think of Toys ‘R’ Us and Walmart as small countries.”
“Are you still avoiding Felicia?”
“I told her the truth about Spain this morning. But I caught a real coup with Australia to make up some of the difference.”
He looked at her sharply. “Australia? You’re selling dolls to Australia and we didn’t get to go there? You made me go to London instead?”
“I like London. I’m afraid of kangaroos.”
He poked a finger in her direction. “You’re afraid of flying. It has nothing to do with wildlife, and everything to do with twenty-one hours in the air. Ah, man. Australia.”
“Stop complaining. I’m about to knock your socks off with Bentonville.”
“Where the hell is Bentonville?”
“Arkansas.”
“Can’t hardly wait.”
By the time they got to the airport, she thought he was his irritating self again. Then they ran into Alvin Pelletier.
They were heading up the concourse when his bellow came from behind them. Alvin’s voice had a way of demanding that people stop, then salute. Ann did the first, waiting as he closed the distance between them.
“You guys running off to Vegas to get married? You sure as hell got some tongues wagging around this city.”
“We’re headed for the Dominican Republic for a quickie divorce,” Ann replied. “The marriage lasted about as long as I thought it would.”
Pelletier laughed, a robust sound that drew the attention of passers-by. “That’s what I said to everybody. Hell’s going to freeze over before you two crawl into bed together.” His eyes went shrewd. “So where are you going?”
“Retailers,” Ann said. They all began walking again.
Alvin cut a glance at Jonathan. “And how do you fit in?”
“Trying to answer those rumors, Alvin?” Jonathan shrugged. “I’ve developed an interest in my mother’s business, and particularly our doll.”
“Because people like you wish you had her.”
“Not me,” Pelletier said, stopping at a gate and turning to Ann. “The gamble you’re taking is crazy. You can’t spend five million on television advertising, hoping you’ll get support from the major retailers. I hate to see you put Felicia’s company under this way.”
“This is Felicia’s baby, Alvin,” Ann said. “I’m just pushing it through for her.”
“You’re going to fall flat on that pretty face of yours.”
“It’s been scraped up before.”
“You should get out before it’s too late.” He took hold of her arm in a gesture of intimacy.
It already is, she thought. “Is this your way of saying ‘break a leg’?”
“Hell no.” He let go of her arm and waved a hand. “That’s my flight being called.”
Ann looked up at the sign over the check-in desk. “Why are you going to Milwaukee?” she asked.
“Got a meeting set with that asshole at Swanson’s.”
“Dean Carlson? Isn’t he the one you were going to cut off?”
“Yeah. I still may do it.”
Bull, Ann thought as she watched Pelletier turn away.
“Who’s Dean Carlson?” Jonathan asked once the man was out of ear range.
“The divisional merchandise manager at Swanson’s.”
“And what did he do, exactly?”
“Fined Alvin’s company a few thousand dollars for shipping early.”
“What?”
Ann laughed at his expression. “He does it to all of us. Fines us for shipping early. Fines us for shipping late.”
“And you accept it?”
She shrugged his comment off. “He’s not the only one. Just a cost of doing business today.”
“Jesus. No wonder you’re popping stomach pills all the time.”
“Oh, really? You mean, you’re finally starting to understand?”
He let her pull a bit ahead of him. Understanding all of the ramifications of the toy industry was one thing; fitting the puzzle pieces of Ann together, quite another.