: Chapter 8

“What the hell, Olivia?”

“Calm down. Calm down. This is why I didn’t tell you until now. You overreact to things.”

I tossed the file I’d been working on to the side of my desk. “I’m overreacting? A woman opens someone else’s mail and crashes your wedding—a wedding that cost me a small fortune, I might add—and you want us to go into business with the loose cannon? I think it’s more like you have a couple of screws loose than I’m blowing things out of proportion.”

I left out that I’d asked said loose cannon out on a date. Luckily, it seemed Little Miss Wedding Crasher hadn’t shared that tidbit either when she’d talked to my sister.

I shook my head, still digesting that my sister had invited Stella to present for the investment team. “No, Olivia. Just no.”

“My God, Hudson. I remember when you weren’t such a perfect person. If my memory serves me right, Dad had to bail you out after you were arrested for breaking and entering once.”

“I was seventeen and drunk and thought it was our house…”

My sister shrugged. “What about the time you blew up a porta potty on a construction site? The only reason you didn’t get arrested that time is because Dad agreed to buy the contractor three new ones.”

“I was also in high school. It was the Fourth of July, and Jack lit the M-80, not me.”

“You know what your problem is?”

I sat back in my chair and sighed. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

“You’re no fun anymore. Five years ago you would have laughed if someone had crashed a wedding you went to. Now you’re uptight and bitter. Your divorce sucked the sense of humor right out of you!”

My jaw flexed. A woman I’d recently dated a few times had told me I didn’t smile enough. I’d been polite and refrained from telling her she just wasn’t very funny, but her comment had nagged at me. The week before, Charlie had drawn a picture of her family at school. Everyone was smiling—her, my ex-wife, the babysitter, even the damn dog—except for me. I was frowning.

I shook my head and picked up my pen. “Go away, Olivia.”

“She’s coming in to do her presentation for the team at two o’clock today. They can vote with, or without you.”

I lifted my chin toward my office door. “Shut the door behind you.”

“Evelyn.” I nodded as I walked into the conference room.

Stella frowned, and my sister glared at me.

“What?” I shrugged.

“You damn well know her name.”

I smirked and looked to Stella. “Ah, that’s right. Evelyn is your alter ego, the one who commits crimes. Apparently Stella is an upstanding businesswoman I have yet to meet. Do you change in a telephone booth or something?”

Since they hadn’t started yet, I took my usual seat at the head of the conference room table. I was curious to see how Stella would handle my jabs. She surprised me by walking over with her hand extended.

“Hi, Mr. Rothschild. I’m Stella Bardot. It’s very nice to meet you. I appreciate the opportunity to present to you today.”

I shook her hand and held her eyes. “Can’t wait.”

After telling myself I wasn’t going to bother showing up for this meeting, I went to the front reception area a little before two o’clock. I’d gone to put some mail in the outgoing bin, but as I walked down the hall near the conference room, I caught a whiff of perfume and knew Stella had arrived. She smelled even better than I remembered. The scent brought back some other memories I didn’t care to recall—her phenomenal smile, a spunky personality, and the way I couldn’t take my eyes off the slight hint of a pulse I could see in her neck when she laughed. The woman made me feel like a vampire, I wanted to suck on it so badly.

Back in my office, I’d attempted to ignore what I knew was about to start in the conference room. But ten minutes later, I gave in, knowing I wouldn’t get any work done anyway. Plus, I never missed a pitch meeting, and it was probably best that I kept an eye on my sister. Someone had to keep her bleeding heart from giving away the kitchen sink.

Stella returned to her seat. I could tell by the way she kept shifting in her chair and twisting her ring that she was nervous. Though she did her best to pretend she wasn’t, which I respected. The VC investment team was comprised of three senior analysts, the director of marketing, Olivia, and myself. But I generally led the team and did most of the questioning.

From the other end of the table, my sister caught my eye and gave me what I knew was a warning look. She wanted to remind me to be on my best behavior.

“Why don’t we get started, shall we?” I asked. Looking to my left, I gave Stella a curt nod. “The floor is yours, Ms. Bardot.”

She took a deep breath, not unlike the way she’d steadied herself after taking the mic in front of the crowd at my sister’s wedding—and not unlike the image I’d conjured up on more than one occasion over the last few weeks while in the shower…

Those gorgeous green eyes, full, pink lips, and innocent face—Stella Bardot was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. But it was the way she rose to a challenge, pushing through to say screw you at the end, that made me want to sink my teeth into her flawless, ivory skin.

Today her hair was up, pinned into some sort of a twist in the back, and she wore those thick, dark-rimmed glasses. I had the strongest urge to push her up against a stack of books, rip her hair down, and toss her glasses over my shoulder.

Mature, Rothschild. Very mature thoughts.

Not to mention professional, too.

Luckily, at least one person in the room seemed to have their head screwed on straight.

Stella cleared her throat. “I brought a few sample kits, a demo of the website, some details of what I’ve invested so far, and a report of the inventory on hand. It’s probably best if I start with the sample kit.”

I nodded once, but said nothing.

For the next half hour, I listened to her presentation. Surprisingly, for a woman who acted on impulse, her business planning had been well thought out. The website was professional, with good branding and simple navigation. Most of the time when new business owners came in, they’d get the pretty right, but hadn’t given any thought to the importance of remarketing. But not Stella. She talked about metrics and follow-back advertisements, demonstrating that she was thinking long term instead of short. The amount of capital she’d invested was also impressive, though it made me wonder where she’d gotten that kind of cash.

“Does the business owe anyone money or have existing investors?” I asked.

“No. No debt at all. I had one partner who had invested funds, but I bought him out last year.”

“So the two-hundred-and-twenty-five grand you’ve put into it so far… That came from…?”

“My savings.”

I guess the skepticism showed on my face, because she added, “I made a hundred-and-ten thousand as the senior chemist in my last job. It took me six years of saving and turning the small office in my apartment into a bedroom and taking on roommates. But I put away almost half of my net income every year.”

Impressed again, I nodded. Half the people who presented before us had gotten handouts from Mommy and Daddy, or owed a big chunk of money before they even got up and running. I had to give her credit for the perseverance it took to get this far. Though I wouldn’t be giving her that credit aloud.

When Stella got to the demonstration part of her presentation, I could tell my sister was already familiar with everything. She basically acted like her sidekick, helping Stella sell the product. They seemed to jell really well, and one picked up where the other left off. Olivia added anecdotal comments about how much all of her friends loved their creations. At one point, the two of them were laughing, and I found myself watching Stella, focusing on the pulse in her neck. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the damn thing. Olivia glanced over and gave me a funny look.

“So what do you think?” My sister asked after the presentation was over. “Isn’t it an amazing product?”

A strong murmur went around the room, each of my staff nodding and giving some sort of praise. The marketing manager talked about the profitability of the perfume industry and how much beauty supplies sold in general. For the most part, I remained quiet, until my sister looked at me.

“Hudson? What do you think?”

“The concept is interesting enough. Though I’m not sold on the idea that rating some smelling samples and completing an online survey equates to consistently making a product the consumer will like.”

“Well, I love mine,” Olivia said. “And the seven women in my bridal party all went crazy over theirs.”

Stella turned and looked at me. “Would you like to give it a test run yourself? Perhaps have a woman in your life try it out.”

My sister snorted. “Should he have his cleaning lady or his six-year-old daughter test it out?”

I scowled at Olivia.

“Actually,” Stella said, “he can try it out himself.”

“I’m not really much of a perfume wearer. But thanks.”

“I didn’t mean you had to put it on. You know what smells you like and which ones you don’t, right? If you go to the perfume counter at a store, you smell a bunch of samples until you find the one that appeals to you. Signature Scent just skips the unnecessary steps. If you go through the process, the scent I create for you should be appealing enough that you would’ve bought it in the store for a woman.” She shrugged. “Men like perfume as much as women. They just don’t spray it on themselves.”

As much as I thought her presentation had gone well, and she had a good product and unique marketing, I wasn’t sure she was a person I wanted to partner with. Something didn’t sit right, even without considering the wedding fiasco, or that she seemed to be the star of my pathetically frequent showers lately. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Though my sister would drive me nuts if I didn’t have a legitimate business reason to decline investing, so perhaps this sampling could be my out.

Standing, I buttoned my jacket. “Fine. Give me a kit, and we’ll see how this pans out.”

Olivia clapped her hands like it was already a done deal. I gave her a warning glare not to get her hopes up, which she, of course, ignored.

“I have a meeting to get to,” I lied.

Stella stood. She motioned to the crap all over the table. “I’ll put this sample box back together before I go and leave you a copy of the questions that will be up on the website.”

“Sounds good.”

As I went to walk out, Stella called after me. “Mr. Rothschild?”

I turned back to find her again extending her hand. “Thank you for your time. I really appreciate you considering this, especially with the way things started out between us.”

I looked down at her hand and back to her face before shaking. “Good luck to you, Evelyn.”