Forty-five minutes later, Ren nosed the Mercedes into a parking spot in the subterranean garage of LifestyleXer’s office building on Howard Street. He and Kerry sprinted toward the elevators that would take them to the company cafeteria. They froze at the door. Beverly and Charlie were sitting together in front of a laptop at a table for two at the far side of the large room.
“Looks like they’re still at it,” Ren said in a low, angry voice. He whipped out his cellphone and snapped a picture of them huddled over the portable computer, instant messaging the image to Kerry’s phone.
“Yeah, busy trying to torpedo yours truly, her blog posts, and—ultimately—her payday,” she whispered back.
Fortunately, the pair was so absorbed in what they were doing that they never looked up. Behind his salad-making station, Tony glanced in both directions before he handed Kerry a file folder.
“It’s all in there,” he said in a hoarse whisper, handing her the evidence which Kerry clutched to her bosom.
“Let’s get out of here before they see us!” Ren urged, and soon the two were back in the elevator riding up to the CEO’s floor.
When they arrived at Harry Chapman’s office, his administrative assistant’s chair was empty but, fortunately, Kerry’s boss was at his desk, a plate with a sandwich and potato chips sitting beside his computer screen. Ren waited just outside the door as Kerry gave a quick knock and apologized for the interruption. As succinctly as she could, she described what had been happening to her blog posts.
Chapman’s expression grew grave as he studied the printout detailing the raft of negative, damaging comments on her site, along with the circumstantial evidence tracing them back to the company’s email server. Kerry explained Charlie’s connection to the founder of the obscure browser called Bark.
“Mr. Chapman, you can bet not many people here use that browser to access the Internet or LifeStyleXer email accounts,” she pointed out, handing him her cellphone. “Here’s a picture taken of them huddled over Charlie’s laptop in the cafeteria less than ten minutes ago. Since both the complimentary posts Charlie made—as well as the derogatory comments I think he and Beverly conspired together to make—used Bark to access the Internet, we can check the time codes on this picture of Beverly and Charlie and compare it to the time codes of the latest nasty-grams sent ten minutes ago and see if they match up. It’s got to be them!”
Kerry could tell LifeStyleXer’s CEO had begun to do a slow burn.
“This pre-IPO period is a highly sensitive time. If it got out that company insiders were sabotaging your success as one of our most popular bloggers, the media blow-back could possibly diminish our chances for having a successful public offering—to say nothing of damaging you professionally and financially.”
Kerry merely nodded, wondering what he would—or could—do about it. Chapman once again flipped through the pages that Tony’s team of techies had provided.
“Isn’t this at least some sort of professional malfeasance?” she asked. “I agree... it would be terrible if your board or the public knew that one of your vice presidents was doing something like this.”
“What I don’t understand is why would two of our own employees stoop to this?”
The previous, sleepless night, Kerry had closely compared her previous contract with her revised version Chapman had approved.
“My new contract with you merely changed the terms of my service, but all other paragraphs regarding Charlie’s redefined deal remained the same, except for the fact Charlie was to assume responsibility for managing the team of bloggers you plan to hire.” She gave a shrug. “I hate to say it, Mr. Chapman... but keeping track of ten bloggers, their twice-daily posts, and the paperwork involved in shepherding and paying so many independent contractors was going to be a lot of work—-and from my experience, actual daily assignments are not for our Charlie Boy. I think he was totally pissed off that I renegotiated my deal and he got stuck with more work than he bargained for... and I think wanted to punish me.” She hesitated and then added, “And since my contract still says if my supervisor—who, right now, is Beverly Silverstein—doesn’t find my work up to par, I can be fired at any time.” She pointed to herself. “I was the old girlfriend, so why wouldn’t she want to be in on this, too?”
It was plain from the scowl on Harry Chapman’s face that he agreed that the circumstantial evidence against the two was convincing. “Neither Ms. Silverstein nor Mr. Miller apparently bothered to consider that hurting the CookChic blog could impact the overall health of our company,” he fumed.
“So what happens next?”
“Well, I won’t even ask how you came by these persuasive printouts, Ms. Hannigan, but the deal between you and me still stands. I will order the site administrator to remove all spurious comments from your blog site immediately and post a disclosure that those entries were bogus and apologize to you publicly. As long as you keep up your fine work, I’m certain that you’ll meet the requirements of our recent arrangement.”
“And what about Charlie and—?”
“They’re history.” He gathered the paper evidence into a neat stack. “HR will let them know they have to be out of the building within the hour.”
“But even if you fire them,” Kerry protested, “they can still try more dirty cyber tricks from outside the company if they have the right tech connections.”
The CEO slowly shook his head.
“I think that reminding them I will personally set up an electronic watch system over your blog from here on out will greatly discourage them from making any more mischief for the rest of their miserable lives!”
“I hope so,” Kerry replied, doubtfully.
Harry Chapman chuckled. “I’ll also tell them that one more wrong move might open them to federal prosecution for playing nasty little games like this on the World Wide Web. Maybe they’ll believe it.”
***
Ren and Kerry—with Tony due to arrive after his shift at the cafeteria—returned to the ranch later than they’d hoped, by which time Jeremy looked as if he were about to keel over.
“Rest right there!” Ren commanded, pointing to the leather couch.
Kerry apologized for their tardy arrival, especially considering the fact that the cosmetic contingent was due in less than an hour.
“Jeremy, you’ve done the lion’s share of the prep, so why don’t you just supervise from right there and tell me what to do next,” she urged.
The chef nodded gratefully and stretched out, sipping water with a slice of lemon floating in it. After a half hour, he admitted he still wasn’t feeling particularly well, and Ren insisted he retire to his room.
Between those assembled in the kitchen, including the faithful José, along with Tony Perez, the four worked together as a well-coordinated team. Fortunately, the visitors were fifteen minutes late in arriving and Kerry was relieved that the spread of tapas-like hors d’oeuvres—where every dish made use of Montisi olive oil in some fashion—was both simple to make and a tremendous success. Ren served both as wait staff and the gracious host, insisting that Kerry accompany him to receive kudos from their guests.
After the group had departed for their dinner in Healdsburg, Tony returned to the city and José tackled the few cleanup chores left. Ren untied Kerry’s chef’s apron from behind her back and hung it on a hook next to several others. He took her by the hand and opened the screen door, leading her into the chilly December air, his arm firmly slung around her shoulders as they made their way up the slope to her cottage.
When they reached the front step, Ren turned and pulled her hard against him. The temperatures were dropping and Kerry burrowed into his chest.
“Mmmm... you feel wonderful,” she murmured.
Ren’s arms tightened around her. “I like this: pleasure and business! You’ll be pleased to know that the president of the Organic Cosmetic and Beauty Products Association was intrigued by what he saw here and told me tonight that he’d make introductions, once we have our prototype products ready.”
“That’s wonderful...” Kerry murmured, reveling in the feel of Ren’s chin resting on the top of her head. She heard him chuckle.
“All day long, I couldn’t get the vision out of my mind of you in a bathtub full of Montisi lavender bubble bath.” He began to kiss a path from her ear down to her neck, whispering, “When we make some of this stuff, I hope you’ll let me rub—”
Kerry glanced at her right hand, her palms flat against Ren’s chest. The ring’s stone glowed like a strong and steady beacon. Then she wrapped her arms around Ren’s torso and snuggled, again, against his shoulder. An amazing sense of the rightness in every single aspect of her life settled over her.
Ren seized her hands from behind his back.
“Let’s go inside or the staff will be gossiping, big time, if they see us making out like this on your front porch.”
“Oh, I expect it’s far too late to worry about that.”
He turned and opened the front door, pulling her gently inside. “Even so... this is better,” he said, replacing her arms where they’d been around his waist.
“Oh, yes...”
The cottage’s front room was in shadow, with the drapes only half open and to Kerry, it felt as if they were wrapped in their own private cocoon. His hands roamed her back, pressing the length of her body against his, offering clear evidence of his rising ardor. Then he bent down and seized her lips as Kerry felt her ring finger begin to throb, along with other parts of her anatomy.
Yet, in the far recesses of her mind, a familiar fear began to edge into her consciousness as Ren’s kisses traced a delicate path down her neck. How could the miracle that had happened to her in the space of a week possibly be real? And how could she trust her own judgment after making such a terrible mistake with Charlie? She waited for her own thoughts to caution her against the direction she knew these embraces would lead if she truly allowed her heart to have its way.
But instead, all she heard resounding in her head were five whispered words.
Yes... this is the one!
Relief and a sense of utter peace enveloped her as real and reassuring as the warmth of Ren’s body next to hers. Kerry raised her arms to thread her fingers through his hair, a rich, dark gold in the rays of the porch light filtering through the cottage window. Then she leaned back in his arms.
“I can’t wait for you to meet my godmother, Angelica Fabrini Doyle. Do you think we have the budget to fly back to New York for Christmas?”
“Well, I already like the sound of her Irish-Italian name. Let me take it up with the Finance Committee.” He paused. “Great! They said ‘yes.’ Economy class.”
“She’s going to be just wild about you, Signore Montisi.”
Ren pulled her close again.
“Ah... Kerry Hannigan,” he murmured. “You’re magic... this is magic...”
Kerry smiled against his seeking lips.
“Faith and Begorrah, I do believe it is...”
It suddenly occurred to Kerry that it was just past midnight. Today marked a week since Angelica had bestowed on her the heart-shaped gemstone, held between two metal hands and framed by its tiny gold crown. In just a few more hours it would be seven full days since she had placed it on her finger, which meant that soon, the Claddagh would be nothing more than a pretty piece of jewelry... but no matter. Her godmother’s gift had worked its enchantment.
And then, the sounds in Kerry’s world were that of a breeze blowing gently through the olive trees on the hills that surrounded the cottage. The sage-colored leaves and dormant stalks of lavender sighed in the wind, an echo of other soft exclamations of pleasure and delight.
***
The first night Ren stayed with her in the cottage, Kerry pointed to the Claddagh ring and explained its symbolism: friendship, loyalty and love.
“My godmother gave this to me the day before I moved to California and urged me to know my own heart, just as the inscription says.” She slipped off the ring and pointed to the words incised in the metal. “I honestly believe that accepting its message led me to you... but I want to earn my way at the ranch as myself, and by my own contributions and talents—and not as your girlfriend.” She searched Ren’s face for his reaction as she restored the ring to her finger. “That’s why I want to wait a year to make our engagement official. Just know, though, that the Claddagh ring will always symbolize what we have together.”
She wasn’t quite ready to tell him of the still, small voice that she was certain had come from the emerald heart during that first week. Ren seized her hand and admired the ring before replying with the grin that had won her heart from the first.
“I totally understand your wanting to prove yourself here, but trust me,” he teased. “We’re not fooling anyone.”
“Maybe so,” she’d replied, “but I like the idea of being secretly engaged. One day, if the ranch is in the black, I’ll let you buy me another ring... or I’ll take off the Claddagh now, and we can use it as our engagement ring then, if our budget is still tight.”
Ren smiled at her with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes.
“I love that ring,” he assured her. “Keep it on, but turn the heart toward your own so it tells the world you’ve made your choice.”
Kerry promptly did as instructed. Ren held her right hand in his.
“Every time we look at it during the year,” he said, “we’ll both know what it means.” He kissed her on her nose in quick succession to emphasize each word. “Friendship, loyalty... and love.” Then he kissed her properly, murmuring, “Especially, love.”
And so it was that Kerry Hannigan and Renato Montisi walked out of Tiffany’s in downtown San Francisco one December afternoon—a year to the very day of their first meeting. Ms. Hannigan had a brand new square-cut diamond surrounded by smaller stones on the ring finger of her left hand. In the store, she had slipped the Claddagh into its burgundy leather box and stowed it in her purse with the intention of telling Ren, later this glorious day, how the Ring of Truth had worked magic in their lives.
They were due to pay a visit to Ren’s grandmother at the San Francisco Towers, not only to announce their official engagement, but to report on the success of their beauty products line based on the year’s olive oil and lavender harvests.
“The fact we didn’t lose money the first year is amazing,” Ren declared as he parked the car in the garage beneath the Civic Center, “to say nothing of making a modest profit, thanks to all the other things we’re doing at the ranch.”
“And then you blew most of it on this ring,” Kerry said, admiring her left hand for the thousandth time as she got out of the car.
“The last of my VC money,” he admitted, “which I am only to happy to spend on the woman I love.” Then, he very carefully leaned her against the Mercedes and kissed her senseless.
Before visiting Concetta after her evening meal, they had decided to have an early supper themselves at five o’clock at one of their favorite spots in Opera Plaza, across from San Francisco’s magnificent, gold-domed City Hall. Afterwards, Ren proposed a stroll along Van Ness to admire the opera house itself, along with the Herbst Theater, home of the San Francisco Ballet.
They had just finished sharing a salad and a shepherd’s pie when Kerry pointed out a noisy group wearing heavy stage makeup entering Max’s and crowding into a large booth across from theirs.
“Looks like they’re from the opera or ballet,” Ren noted. “Probably grabbing a bite after the matinee.”
One young woman, Kerry noticed, was silent among her boisterous companions. Her lovely features grew grave, and then tears suddenly began to spill down her heavily painted face. A soft sob escaped her lips and she swiftly rose from her seat at the end of the banquette and dashed outside into the Plaza while her compatriots continued their chatter, oblivious to her distress.
Just then, a waiter appeared, handing Ren their check. Meanwhile, Kerry couldn’t take her eyes off the arresting young woman with darkish blond hair and high cheekbones. She was now standing a few feet from their table, but on the other side of the window. Her shoulders began to heave and soon she brought her two hands to cover her face in an expression of anguish that Kerry found difficult to watch. The contrast between the joy that she had been feeling all afternoon, and the abject misery radiating through the pane glass separating the two women, spurred her to action.
“Ren... I’ll be right back!”
Her fiancé looked up from signing the credit card slip and his brows furrowed.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, jumping up from their booth. “Give me a minute, will you? I’ll meet you here in just a sec.”
Before Ren could answer, Kerry disappeared from his view and bolted out the front of the restaurant. Digging into her handbag, she wrapped her fingers around the small ring box and walked hurriedly toward the woman laid low by such sorrow.
“Look,” she said, breathlessly, “I know you don’t know me. I am so sorry for whatever has happened...”
The woman’s expression of surprise became one of acute embarrassment and she turned her back on the intruder.
“This may seem kind of crazy,” Kerry said in a rush, “but I want you to have something that’s very precious to me.” She circled the woman and reached for her hand. “Please take this,” she urged and thrust the ring box into her palm. “When you feel a bit calmer, take out the ring and read its inscription. There are instructions that came with it when my godmother gave it to me a year ago at a time I was feeling pretty much the way I imagine you feel right now.”
The woman stared at Kerry as if she were insane, but lowered her gaze to the well-worn leather ring box. Kerry retrieved the box once again and opened its lid to reveal the ring’s gold hands clasping the heart-shaped emerald, topped by its small, golden crown.
“It’s called a Claddagh ring,” Kerry said explained. “It came from Ireland. It survived the nine-eleven tragedy in New York and who knows what else? I don’t totally understand it either, but read the instructions folded into the top of the box,” she urged, closing the lid and handing it back. “You’ll just have to trust me when I say this ring could change your life.”
Just then, Ren emerged from the restaurant’s front door with a worried expression that brightened as soon as he caught sight of Kerry.
“There you are,” he called to her. “I thought you’d vanished into thin air.”
Kerry turned to the stranger. “Keep the faith that all will be well,” she urged softly, and then walked the fifty feet to Ren’s side.
As she hooked her arm in his, he asked curiously, “Do you know that woman? She looks absolutely stricken. What’s wrong?”
“I could see through the window that she was terribly upset about something, so I ran out to see if I could help.”
Ren inclined his head over his shoulder and asked, “Did you find out what had happened?”
Kerry gave a slight shrug.
“Actually, I have no idea... I just wished her a bit of Irish luck, trusting that eventually, everything will be just fine.”
*********