Contractually Yours: Chapter 30

John Highsmith says it won’t be a problem to get The Hollywood News to cough up the source for the photos they got. They’re a bunch of spineless weasels who’ll cave at the first threat of losing everything.

“If they don’t cooperate, proceed with the lawsuit,” I say.

I end the call and return to the documents on the Sebastian Peery collaboration, which are spread out on my desk. The initial projections and timeline are aggressive but reasonable. But the execution is off. Delays. Delays. More delays. Bad communication. Mishaps.

At least Luce’s team did a decent job of logging all the issues in chronological order, so it’s easy to see what’s gone wrong so far. A lot of them are problems that could have been avoided if Luce had more experience and a better team. Like that jackass who talked to her with utter disrespect. He can’t be the only one in the organization with an attitude. He might have started out as the sole asshole, but one bad apple tends to ruin the whole barrel. It’s especially true when the person in charge is soft. Which Luce seems to be.

Perhaps it would be better if she stepped down as the CEO, got away from the pressure to perform and got some experience under her belt before taking up the position again. I want her to succeed, but she won’t if she keeps going this way. She’ll get pushed out for failure or burnout.

The key is how to tell her without pissing her off. Preston blew up when I told him he needed to learn the business by working at one of Sebastian Jewelry’s retail locations. His ego couldn’t handle it—he was better than that. I don’t think Luce has an impossible ego, but she might be hurt or come to resent me.

I make a mental note to come up with a diplomatic way to approach this, then get up from my desk for my lunch meeting with the central regional retail manager for Sebastian Jewelry. He’s in town on business and wants to catch up in person.

As I head out, I notice a finger painting pinned to one of the cubicles. Underneath the painting is a framed photo of a couple and a baby. I sweep my eyes along the other cubicles. Small stuffed animals. Some plants. And lot of photos featuring families or significant others.

My desk doesn’t have anything like that. But then, I never had a reason to put anything on it except for a small clock and calendar.

I pull out my phone.

–Me: Noah, can you send me the pic you took of me and Luce?

–Noah: Sure. By the way, you can thank me. I take great photos, even if the subject isn’t cheetahs in heat.

I roll my eyes. Noah often says cheetahs wait for no one. He’s obsessed with them.

–Me: You should write a book about them. You’d finish it in no time.

–Noah: I’m not writing cheetah porn. They deserve dignity.

Like getting photographed while they’re doing it in the wild is dignified…?

Noah sends the pic. Luce is adorable in it, her eyes a little wide with shock, but her smile is gorgeous. It’s perfect for my desk.

Now that I think about it, Luce probably doesn’t have any photos of us, either.

I Google for a frame and find a crystal and silver one that’s perfect. I forward the picture to Christoph.

–Me: Print this in high resolution. Two copies.

–Christoph: Any particular size in mind?

–Me: 4×6.

Wait, that’s too small. I want to be able to see Luce’s smile clearly.

–Me: Actually make that 5×7. Frame both. Use this frame.

I insert the link to the frame.

–Me: One’s for me. The other’s for Luce. Send it to her office.

* * *

The lunch meeting, held at an Italian restaurant inside the Aylster, is productive. But that isn’t the sole or even main point. If somebody asked me to define consistency, I’d point at Sabato. He isn’t a showy man, and his work style isn’t showy, either. He’s six-one, medium frame with a moderate amount of muscle from a daily morning exercise that he adheres to religiously. He has intelligent brown eyes over a thin mustache. He speaks in a surprisingly deep, modulated tone, and his clothes are expensive but staid. His only jewelry is a wedding band of simple platinum.

Nobody would realize he’s one of the most successful regional managers at a luxury jewelry brand. The man is diligent to a fault and doesn’t believe in shortcuts.

I value those qualities more than any other. Prima donnas and attention whores don’t grow a company. I make sure he understands that honest work is rewarded at Sebastian Jewelry, and he’s shown his appreciation by staying with us for over fifteen years.

“Your youngest is graduating from high school this year, isn’t she?” I ask over cheesecake drizzled with a raspberry reduction.

“Yes.” He smiles fondly. “You remember.” He doesn’t sound surprised. He knows I keep track of the people on my radar.

“Talk to your wife and see if you’d prefer L.A. or McLean,” I say, naming our two headquarters. “Your choice.”

“How much time do I have?” His gaze is somber, but there’s a hint of excitement. There is the seriousness of taking on bigger responsibilities, but he likes a challenge.

“At the end of this fiscal year.”

“That’s this summer.”

“Right. Should give you and your wife enough time to discuss things and come to a decision. If you want to stay in Chicago we can arrange something, but opportunities are better at the headquarters.” I plan to groom him for the COO position eventually. Our current COO, Abner Cox, wants to retire in the next five years. He and I agree that Sabato would be a perfect replacement.

As we head out of the restaurant, I spot Gabriella leaving Nieve with her agent. Our eyes meet, and she whispers something to her agent and starts toward me.

“I’ll get going now. Another meeting to get to,” Sabato says diplomatically.

“Great. Talk with you later.”

Gabriella’s smile widens as we approach each other. Her skin’s glowing—probably had another spa treatment or something—and she’s in a gorgeous red dress that flatters her dramatic coloring. Her makeup is a bit dark, but she pulls it off.

But then, she can pull off anything. That’s why Sebastian Jewelry’s marketing team decided to make her the brand spokesperson two years ago.

“Why did you come to the party on Saturday?” I ask, half hoping she denies it. The Hollywood News could’ve Photoshopped everything, and I want to believe my ex isn’t totally indiscreet and tactless.

“I’m doing very well. Thanks for asking.” She finger-walks my shoulder playfully.

I shrug off her touch. “This isn’t funny, Gabriella.”

She lets out a soft sound of irritation. “Why are you acting like I did something wrong, when your wife’s the one who sent the invitation?”

“What are you talking about?” Luce had no reason to invite Gabriella. She stresses about causing negative publicity for me, and having my ex-girlfriend at the party would definitely cause a stir. “She didn’t send you anything.”

“Then it was you, I guess.”

That makes even less sense. It’s my motto never to think about or bring my exes into my current relationship, and Christoph knows it.

She shrugs. “It isn’t important who sent it. What’s important is that I got it.”

I’m going to see who I need to fire for the screwup. “You still didn’t have to come.”

“I was curious. Did Sebastian Lasker really fall in love with Lucienne Peery at first sight? The Sebastian I know isn’t capable of that.”

Curious, my ass. “You could’ve asked. I haven’t blocked you on my phone.”

“I know, but you wouldn’t have told me the truth.”

My temper starts to fray. I open my mouth to give her a piece of my mind, but she raises her hand.

“I’m not calling you a liar, but sometimes we deceive ourselves, believing what we want to believe.”

“So?”

“So I wanted to see for myself. I can’t say I like Lucienne because I was—well, still am—fond of you. You’re one of the best boyfriends I ever had. But you do seem to like her.”

“Of course.” I try not to get too irritated with Gabriella for coming to the party to check on something that obvious. “She’s my wife.”

She chuckles and pats my shoulder. “That isn’t why, but you just keep right on thinking it is.”