We chuckled and it got me back on track. Julian’s text confirmed his LA arrival as Amanda and I concluded the day in Macy’s conference room with her area store managers. My anecdotes brought laughs as I reviewed the band’s schedule, but I made sure they understood the level of chaos and extent of required security measures for what was to come.
Within the hour I reached Julian’s Beverly Wilshire suite where he and the elephant in the room greeted me. When he pulled back his cuff I found my ice breaker. “Is that a Lacroix-Barre I see on your wrist?”
“Spot on. I made sure to flash it around at the event Saturday. I put you to such trouble to get it to me, it seemed only fitting I wear it here in the States.”
“There was no trouble whatever, but I owe you an apology for my behaviour and abrupt departure Thursday.” We exchanged glances.
“Emma, no apology necessary.”
“I disagree. You know Ethan and I appreciate your extraordinary generosity. I overreacted to the shock that he hasn’t been honest with me.”
“Whatever I’ve offered has been with the best of intentions. I should apologise for having any part in your marital dust up.”
Dust up. We took our places at the table. “This phenomenal chance for Mayfair to break wide open and come into its own demands my full attention. It’s critical I keep my professional and private lives separate.”
“I see this is clearly difficult. You needn’t say more.”
Why? Because I’d successfully blamed myself to make my point? Was he sparing me the humiliation of explaining or elaborating? Did he know Ethan had walked out? It would have been so easy to lay it all at his feet, but if I started who knew where I’d finish. Before I worked myself into a panic attack, I cleared my throat. “Thank you. It’s imperative I stay on point today and tomorrow. And you, Julian, your Dallas distraction has been resolved?”
He took the hint. “Bloody hell, not a prayer. Injuries? Trade rumours? Disgruntled coaches and their attorneys? Name your poison. Press and paparazzi exacerbate any and all of them. I’m even registered here under an alias.”
“We’ll pretend you’re a rock star, hiding from fans. Speaking of rock stars, Axel White is connected to the entire industry. A strong relationship is key to his loyalty. And his loyalty to Mayfair could place us above the big-name companies who’ll be breathing down our necks to grab our market share. As frazzled as you are, it’s worth squeezing in this sit-down at Mercury tomorrow.” Prepping Julian right down to suggested conversation boosted my mood and kept the wheels on the rails, but I still declined dinner. I returned to Sunset Towers thankful for room service and the distance between us.
He and I met Kirk Hollenbeck at Windmill Beauty’s Melrose Avenue office the next morning. The broker again extolled owner Gregory McDaniel’s creative fragrance development ‘based on The Hamptons.’ When a brand is created without proper research or marketing knowledge it’s almost impossible to claim success. His news that winning a New York State lottery provided McDaniel’s ‘considerable resources’ set off my first alarm bell.
One presentation after another filled the morning. I listened, kept my mouth shut but lost count of the red flags. Hollenbeck’s attentive poker face gave no hint his ignorance of current industry trends and its lingo made him look like an idiot. We broke for lunch served in the conference area. Julian sat between board members, making it impossible to tell if he was taken in or playing nice. Nevertheless, I felt confident Maureen McDaniel was going to be disappointed.
When we regrouped, I stayed attentive but stopped taking notes as I used the final hour to revise To Do, update UK-C, and jot down a staff meeting agenda. Unless they caught my grin as I recalled Wilma Nash’s board meeting behaviour, no one had a clue I was brainstorming more important matters. The presentation finally closed with our assurances of an answer within forty-eight hours. We shook hands with Hollenbeck, ever-eager Greg McDaniel, and set off for Mercury headquarters in Burbank.
“Thoughts?” Julian asked as we settled into the car.
“Julian, this morning demonstrated how easy it is for outsiders excited about the beauty business to invest in con artists or creators ignorant of how the industry works.”
“Con artists! Bollocks!”
“I’m not saying they’re bogus, so much as inept. We need to be careful. Let’s hold off on Windmill chat until dinner. It’s more important to cram all things Axel White into you.”
“Fire away.”
I changed gears with a clear head. “Similar personalities, winning is everything. Axel’s cultured, right down to an art collection said to be one of the best in North America.”
“Most Americans don’t know art compared to Europeans.”
“Don’t contradict him!” I looked at the ceiling. “Forgive me. You know very well how to schmooze with oversized egos.”
“That I do but I defer to you better judgment.”
“I was out of line.”
He covered my hand. “Emma, you are never out of line.”
“Well then, save opinions for a chummy chat in your Priory Bay digs or something.” I pulled away to open my satchel. “He has several Aston Martins if that’s a safer topic.”
“Impressive taste in cars, I grant him. The only other hobby that sets a rich man apart from his equals is thoroughbred horse racing. Although I opted to buy an American basketball team, the ultimate status symbol for Russia.”
“And American jocks like Axel.”
Despite the traffic, we arrived on time and Axel welcomed us into his well-appointed office. His opening repartee did not include art, cars, horses, or basketball. He began by joking about the debunked rumour that I’d had an affair with him to land the UK-Connection deal. I glared at both men. “A rumour hatched to discredit all of us by Carmine Isgro, industry’s biggest sleaze ball.”
To his credit, Axel dropped the Old Boy innuendos and praised my work with the band. My two days in the L.A. pressure cooker wound down listening to them connect over rich men’s champion steeds, sport franchises and savvy business strategies.
“Profitable day.” Julian ushered me into our waiting car. “Worth our exhaustion and this detour. No doubt Axel and I can be powerful resources for one another. We make quite the team.”
“That you do.”
He smiled at me. “I meant us, Emma. We’re both of us totally knackered but once again you’ve worked your magic.”
I closed my eyes as we were whisked to the Wiltshire. “Emma?” was barely a murmur.
I opened my eyes. “Sorry!”
Julian studied me. “Never a need to apologise.”
With privacy non-existent even in the hotel dining room, we hustled up to his staffed suite. Over martinis and substantial canapés, I opened our files to Windmill’s proposal.
“Interesting,” I said as gin warmed my engines.
“No need for diplomacy.”
