A Taste of Merlot (18 page)

“I'll see you at your place at seven.”

“I can't believe you actually asked Papa's blessing! That is the sweetest thing. . . .” She kissed the tip of his nose before they parted, each with his or her own myriad tasks to accomplish before they met again at the winery for dinner.

A
nxious to get to the board meeting, Mark wound up at his aunt's door a few minutes ahead of schedule. Before he could knock, subdued voices from within gave him pause.
Jeezus.
Were Gloria and Dick fooling around in there again? He'd always thought people their age only had ABC sex. Anniversaries, birthdays, and Christmas.

He checked his watch. Nine-thirty.
Heads up, folks, I'm coming in.

But though they were doing nothing more perverted than sitting across the conference table from each other, he still sensed an air of subterfuge in the room.

“Good morning, Mark,” said Gloria with an artificial smile.

“What'd I miss?” he asked, sliding into his seat, laying his phone on the table. He wasn't in the mood for formalities this morning. He wanted to see for himself exactly how yesterday's sales had gone down.

“Dick was just reminding me of how, back when you were in school, you tended to do better in your design classes than your business classes.”

“Damn, Dick, you need to get some new material. So seven years ago I got an A in Design and a B in Stats. How is that still relevant?”

“Actually, your business track record reflects your school record,” replied Dick coolly. “Last year, for instance.”

When Mark had miscalculated. Investing too much in Keltoi, the vendor that had looked good, but for reasons he still didn't comprehend, hadn't sold.

“I guess you've never made a mistake.” Mark eyed him with a level gaze.

“There are mistakes, and then there are serious errors in judgment.”

“Dick, let me handle this,” said Gloria.

Mark glanced across the table at the papers lying in front of his aunt. He knew which rows and columns held crucial numbers. Even reading upside down, he could see that things were worse than he'd thought. He reached for them to get a closer look.

“Look at what your department did this year, compared to last.”

He thumbed through the packet of papers. “My sales are in line with departments across the board. Part of it's the economy, you know. We're still in a nationwide slump. Unemployment's still through the roof.”

Gloria said, “But your established vendors didn't do too badly. Day of the Dead was your weakest line. If you hadn't made the decision to drop FireForged and cut way back on Gold N Ice to try someone new, you might have made plan.”

He shrugged. “Day of the Dead was your choice. If you recall, I wanted Meri's line.”

She ignored that.

“It's the second year in a row you haven't made plan during the holiday quarter,” added Dick.

Mark's head jerked back, his gaze moving from Dick to Gloria. “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? What's really going on here?”

“Now don't get upset, darling.” Gloria made a pyramid with her fingertips. “I have a proposition to make. How would you like to go down and manage the South Coast Plaza store?”

He gave her an incredulous look.

“The climate is delightful south of Los Angeles.”

“We could arrange for you keep the same salary.”

Mark floundered for words. “No. I'm not going back to store manager.”

Gloria considered briefly before ducking her chin to peer at him from beneath her penciled brows.

“You aren't taking my meaning, dear. You don't really have a choice in the matter.”

He didn't have a choice? It was partly his company!

“Your aunt is correct, I'm afraid,” said Dick with a smug expression. “As majority shareholder, she can hire and fire at her discretion. You ought to consider her generous offer. It's better than the alternative.”

“We'll see about that,” said Mark. Abruptly, he got up, swiped his papers, and exited the room.

Gloria called after him, but he heard Dick say, “Let him go.” He strode to his office, grabbed his laptop and a bunch of zip drives and files, and left the building.

 

There was a break in the rain clouds. An anemic February sun dappled the water of the Bay as Meri drove from the Art Deco hotel in the city to her workshop. All day while she sketched new olive-themed designs, her excitement at becoming engaged was tempered with concern over Mark's company's sales and his meeting with Rainn. Every time he was with that woman, Meri fretted until she saw him again.

She looked up from her work, biting her lip. How would careful, conservative Mark take the news about her film? Because she had to tell him—tonight. She couldn't walk down the aisle with him still in the dark.

Throughout the day, she exchanged a half dozen excited calls with her sisters. Savvy said Mark's seriousness of purpose reminded her of Papa, but in a good way. Char shared that after she informed Jeanne that Mark's hobby was food, Jeanne was as nervous as a wet hen over tonight's menu. Savvy promised to corral Papa and warn him to be on his best behavior.

When Meri finally walked in the door that evening, they were waiting for her with open arms.

“Congratulations!”

“We're so happy for you!”

“We've barely been able to contain ourselves since Mark came to meet with Papa!”

Into the foyer strode her father, pride etched on his autocratic face.

“Ah,
ma petite
,” he cried, kissing both cheeks. “You have done well, no?”

Perplexed, she pulled back to better read him.
Done well?
She'd
done well
when she'd been admitted to a great art school.
Done well
when she'd won that school's Purchase Prize. (
Allegedly won
, her ever-vigilant conscience reminded her.) But Papa had never made much of those accomplishments. Never once asked her how things were going at the atelier.

Papa returned her look of puzzlement. “By making a marriage with the heir to the Harrington's chain of jewelry stores, of course.”

She stared at him in amazement.

“C'est formidable,”
he continued, lifting his palms into the air. “I could not have arranged a better marriage for my youngest daughter, myself.”

“
Papa!
” admonished Savvy.

“Seriously? You think that's why I'm interested in Mark?”

Papa pursed his lips and raised his shoulders in self-defense. “There is a better reason?”

“I'm marrying Mark because I love him.”

At least, she
hoped
she'd still be marrying him, after he heard what she had to say.

M
ark dropped his forehead into his hands. He'd been at his laptop for hours, poring over figures going back a couple of years. It was looking like Gloria and Dick were right. He
did
suck at business. He rubbed his bleary eyes and his lids scratched like sandpaper.

Bottom line, he was a failure. He'd let down himself, Harrington's, and now Meri.
Way to go, Newman—getting fired the day after you proposed
. He couldn't ask her to marry a man who was unemployed. Couldn't put her in the position of having to end it, either. He'd at least be man enough to break it off himself.

And—
shit
—he got up and began to pace the room. What about her father? Like Mark, he was heir to a family business. But unlike Mark, Xavier had built Domaine St. Pierre into an empire. He imagined
Papa's
haughty reaction when he found out his son-in-law-to-be had been canned—by his own aunt.

Hands on hips, he gazed down at his laptop. If only he could find a way to make sense out of all this data. Something just didn't jibe. Head pounding, he went to a kitchen cupboard, found the aspirin, and tossed down a couple pills, dry. Was it his poor business acumen that prevented him from figuring it out, or was something else wrong with the numbers? He sat down, scratched his head, blew out a breath, and went back to work.

Within minutes, he saw it, there, in black and white. His eyes bored into his computer screen as he compared his own hard drive statistics against Dick's reports on the zip drive, twice—three times. He went for his cell, but it wasn't where he always tossed it, in the tray by the door with his keys and wallet. He patted his pockets and did a rapid scan of every surface in the living room.

Then he swore a blue streak, remembering. He'd left it on the conference table in Gloria's office. It must have been under some papers when he rushed out. He dashed to the corner of the room where the old-school landline sat for emergencies like this and realized he didn't have DeVon's cell memorized. It was programmed into his cell.
Gaaa!
He snatched the receiver from its cradle and raced back to his computer to look up the number of the law firm. While the phone rang, his mind raced ahead. He checked his watch: five 'til six. He'd be lucky if DeVon was still there.
Would someone please pick up the damn phone?
He had to drive to the wine country tonight.

Finally, an office assistant answered and, after another long wait, found DeVon.

“Thank god.”

“You just caught me. I'd like to take a run, burn off some stress, but this rain . . .”

“Hang tight, can you? I'm on my way over.”

 

The Swedish tall case clock chimed eight times.
“Où est-il?”
demanded Papa, with a saturnine look at Meri.
Where is he?

“Papa, hush,” Savvy intervened.

“I'm sure Mark will be here any minute,” said Char.

They'd eaten all the lovely hors d'oeuvres Jeanne had knocked herself out preparing, and drank God only knew how many glasses of wine.

“He is an hour late.
C'est incroyable,
” Papa mumbled to himself, then raised his voice. “Bruno!” Instantly, his stony-faced butler appeared from the kitchen. “You will tell Madame Jeanne that we will eat our dinner now.”

“Bien sur.”
Bruno nodded curtly and disappeared.

“You all go ahead. I'm not hungry,” said Meri. Feeling her sisters' concerned eyes on her back, she left the living room, plodded up the stairs to her suite, and shut the door behind her. She lay down on her stomach with her phone nearby. She'd tried reaching Mark, but her call had gone straight to voice mail and he hadn't returned her text.

There was only one reason Mark would be a no-show for their family supper. He'd met with Rainn today at the flagship store. Now, not only did Mark know about Meri's sordid past, he also knew she'd committed a lie of omission, after she'd scolded him for lying about being a Harrington. He had promised everything was out in the open now, and it
was
when it came to him. But not to her. Her full confession planned for later tonight was useless now. Rainn had beat her to it. Now she'd lost her one, true love. And she couldn't even tell her family why.

She put her face in her pillow. The clock downstairs chimed eight-fifteen, eight-thirty, and nine. And then she lifted her head when she heard a different sound—the discreet electronic tone alerting the household that an approaching vehicle had been sensed on the premises.

She held her breath to listen, to be sure she hadn't imagined it. There it was again. She got up and ran to the rain-streaked window to see headlights coming down the drive. Did he actually have the nerve to show up for dinner three hours late, without calling?

She must look a wreck, she thought, flying to the mirror to check her face. It resembled the red sphere they used to play dodgeball with back at Lindenwood School for Girls. She splashed cold water on it, straightened her shirt, and went out into the hall to find Char standing outside her own suite.

“Is that him?”

Meri nodded.

“Do you want me to get it?”

“No,” Meri said in a subdued voice. “I'll see him. Alone.”

“Are you sure?”

Meri nodded and, peering out through swollen eyes, carefully put one foot in front of the other to descend the staircase. Savvy and Papa were waiting in the foyer.

“Merlot.” Papa pointed back toward where she'd just come. “Go back upstairs. I will take care of Mark Newman.”

She stopped, giving him a look.

“Papa,” warned Savvy.

“But,
Chérie . . .
” said Papa with a step in Meri's direction, his tone veering from brusque to paternal. “You are
très affolée
. Too distraught to see anyone at this late hour. Besides, he is not worthy of you. Allow me to deal with him. To tear his limbs from his body one by one and beat him with the bloody stumps—”

“
Papa
! Out!” commanded Savvy, jerking her head toward the solarium entryway, where she stood waiting, hand on the doorknob.

Meri pulled back the drape an inch to watch Mark exit his car, dash through the rain and up the steps. She dropped the curtain and walked mechanically to the door.

He was dripping wet from his sprint, but it didn't occur to her to invite him in. Bizarrely, the only thing that went through her mind was,
He forgot his trench coat again. One of these days he's going to catch a really bad cold.

“Sorry I'm so late.”

“You couldn't have called?”

“I left my phone with your number in it at the office and yes, I could have looked it up, but I was up to my neck in a meeting and then when I realized how late it was I decided I should talk to you about this in person. . . .” He sighed impatiently. “Can't I just come in?” He angled his shoulders to push by her. She didn't budge.

He paused, measuring his words. “Meri. A lot has happened since last night.”

“I know.” Her eyes began to fill again as she stepped back.

He scowled. “You do?”

She looked at the floor and nodded.

“Er, can we go in the living room or something?” he asked, leading the way to the room where they'd cuddled at Christmas.
If only things could've stayed that way forever.

There, he sat down on the edge of a couch facing her, his expression as serious as she'd ever seen it. He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “Ahem. I don't know where to start.”

He was breaking up with her. It was plain as the nose on his gorgeous face.

“Mark, I was going to tell you everything later tonight. . . .”

“Tell me what?”

She started. “You talked to Rainn today, didn't you?”

He brushed that away. “Just hear me out. I got canned today.”

Meri blinked.
“Fired?”

“That's not all. I found out Dick's been sabotaging me.”

“Dick?”

“Harrington's chief financial officer. Ever since I became a buyer, he's been taking every opportunity to tear me down. Last year I introduced a new line called Keltoi, and all indications were that it flopped. Dick used that failure to undermine my business sense with Gloria.

“This year, with our numbers even worse and the economy still not recovered, Gloria was game to let me try again. I wanted you, but when you wouldn't agree to be marketed under St. Pierre, Gloria stepped in and chose Rainn instead. Rainn's line bombed too. No surprise there, but Dick blamed me again—even though Rainn was never my choice to begin with.

“My instincts told me that something wasn't right, so I went back and studied last year's sales from every possible angle. When I compared the raw data to Dick's reports, that's when I realized he'd manipulated Keltoi's numbers to make it seem like they hadn't done as well as they actually had.

“Meanwhile, he's been making himself indispensable to Gloria, worming his way into her personal life, using her for vacations. . . .”

“Wait a minute. What happened to the money from the Keltoi sales?”

“It's too soon in the investigation to make accusations, but all signs point to old Dick pocketing it.”

“But how could he get away with that? Don't you keep track of units sold, as well as dollars?”

Mark nodded. “He changed the units report to make it look like there are still pieces there, when there aren't.”

“That's horrendous! How long has this been going on?”

He shrugged. “I've only just started following the trail. He could have blamed the unit loss on shoplifting or employee theft if he was ever challenged. But he didn't plan on being around that much longer. He's been trying to convince Gloria to buy a place in the islands for some time now. Probably thought he'd be safely out of the country by the time he was found out.”

“What did Gloria say? She took you back, didn't she?”

“I haven't had time to fill her in. All of this happened just this afternoon. DeVon and I have been going over the ramifications all evening. I lost track of time. That's why I'm so late. We put things on hold 'til tomorrow morning.”

“I can't imagine how you must be feeling right now.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Pissed off. But relieved, too. My instincts might not be half bad, after all. For people or business.”

He stood. “Where is everybody? I need to apologize to your father for ruining our dinner.”

“No.” Meri raised worried eyes to him. “Not yet. There's something I need to tell you, too, and it can't wait one more minute.”

“Why are you getting upset again?” He sat back down, across from her, and took her hands. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

“You say that now
.
”

He frowned with concern.

“I did something I'm ashamed of.”

“What? When?”

“Back when I was in college.”

He huffed. “Who didn't?”

“I've asked myself a million times what motivated me to do such a stupid thing. I think I've figured it out, but I'm not sure I'll be able to make you see.”

“Try me.”

She drew a ragged breath and sat back to put some distance between them, to prepare herself for his reproach. “After we lost Maman and Papa sent us to separate schools, I was so homesick, tossed in with a bunch of strangers who were as lost and lonely as I was. Oh, no one talked about it outright, but you could see it in their eyes. There's a name for us:
throwaway kids
. Children who have everything except someone who cares enough to tuck them in at night.”

Telling him this was like slogging through mud up to her knees. But Mark's kind green eyes—the eyes she'd fallen in love with the first time she'd seen them at the lowly diner—gave her strength.

“The culture at my prep school was rampantly”—there was no better word for it—“promiscuous.” She held her breath and tried to gauge his reaction so far, but his expression was unreadable. She rushed on before she lost her nerve. “Sex was a way to connect, to feel wanted. I slept around. A lot.”

He chuckled softly. “Did you think I was a virgin before I met you? We've both had lives. Made mistakes. Plenty of them.”

“We haven't both made sex tapes.”

To her shock, Mark threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what this is all about? I saw it. Rainn showed it to me the last night we were in L.A.”

Meri's eyes flew open wide.

“The lighting's poor, the quality atrocious. Your face was in shadow the whole time.”

Her hand shot to her breast. “You can't tell it's me?”

“You didn't know that?” He looked at her quizzically.

She collapsed into the plump couch cushions.

Mark laughed again. “You never watched it!”

She eyed him askance. “I couldn't bear to. But wait, are you positive? That film can never humiliate my sisters or Papa?”

He came over and sat by her side, wrapping an arm around her. “Aw, babe. Has that been bothering you all this time?”

She half-laughed, half-sobbed with relief. “I've never been so glad not to have tattoos.”

“I've always wondered about that. When I met you, I thought for sure you would.”

She sniffed. “Thought about it a lot. Think I was the only Gates student who didn't have one.”