Embraceable You (Irish Hearts Series) (20 page)

Mr. Rich Fairchild introduced himself and reached across the shiny, wooden desk to shake her hand. Siena sat before the sleek, three-foot wide, mahogany expanse that separated them. This desk put to shame the mayor’s smallish oak desk, but she knew Zach didn’t care. The size of the desk did not make the man.

Siena took in a deep breath and put on her business face. "Mr. Fairchild, I’ve got a proposal to create a new business in town, something that will stay open year-round and hopefully turn a profit."

"So you want to change your aunt’s shop? To what?" He spread his hands as if to express what could possibly be better than lobster dishes and lighthouse lamps.

"I’ve done some market research that points to a positive target market, and I think I have a special niche that is unmatched."

"We’re just a small town. Don’t know if all that marketing research gobbledy-gook works here."

"It works anywhere, given the proper demographics." She whipped out the neatly typed business plan and slid it across the dark mahogany. "Our pr
oducts will be supportive shapewear, featuring vanishing edge technology and distinctly decorated with handmade, local lace. Every item will be seamlessly infused for the greatest comfort."

Rich looked down at the title page and blinked as he read. "You want to sell
. . . ahhh, I see." He paused and pursed his lips. "And call it ahhh, uh . . . " 

With a proud smile, she finished what he couldn’t say. "
Amazing Lace Lingerie Salon's
products will be lingerie and shapewear. They will be beautiful and serviceable, specially measured to fit the client and utilizing the amazing locally-made lace. Have you seen their products? The lace is truly outstanding. There’s nothing else like it anywhere around here. You’d have to go to Ireland to find anything this beautiful and unique. All hand-made."

Rich looked slightly ill. "Probably nothing like it in all of Maine. It sounds so
. . ."

"You have to admit, it’s innovative. And modern. And the best thing for women and especially the women of Haven’s Point."

"I imagine this Irish lace concept came from Aunt Claire." He shook his head and looked as if he regretted reporting to work today. "Well, I… "

"
Claire taught everyone lace-making. The idea for this improved business model to sell it came from me." Siena rushed on. "To put it plainly, this is a shop providing bras that are measured and constructed to fit and support every individual woman’s breasts. I’ve talked to a textile company in South Carolina that is making prototypes now and will -- "

He waved a hand to halt her explanation while he studied her papers. Admittedly, there was more in the prospectus section than on the financials. She waited breathlessly, licking her lips, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Finally he lifted his face, which appeared to have a faint tone of green. "Miss Summerfield, ah, you’re asking a lot here. You have no real collateral, other than the shop in question and a four-year-old Honda." He paused to aggravatingly clear his throat. "That’s not enough. You have no history here, no roots in the community, no – shall we say – reason for me to trust that you can make enough of a profit to ever repay a loan."

"My Aunt Addie had roots here. I’m doing this with her assets."

"That’s very sweet, but . . . I’m afraid not financially firm enough. She is, unfortunately, not with us anymore. Do you have a friend in town who might be persuaded to co-sign with you?" He paused to clear his throat. "In case you can’t make the payments?"

Friend? Siena’s mind whirled.
How about a lover who happens to be the mayor?
Quickly, she rejected the idea of mentioning Zach. She didn’t want to put anyone at financial risk for her, especially not him. Besides, Zach would never do this and frankly, shouldn't. It wasn't his plan, it was hers. "I have the building –"

Before she could finish, Rich was shaking his head. "I don’t think so. Not worth much. Only the land."

Where had she heard that before? Was Rich Fairchild in on Zach’s planning committee to appropriate her property? Damn!

He sighed and closed her folder. "I’m afraid the risk for a small bank like ours is too great. You might try some bank in ah, Portland or even up in Bangor
who is willing to take the risk. Sorry, Miss Summerfield."

Siena was stunned. She felt as if he’d stretched across the mahogany and slapped her. She halfway expected him to draw out a big red stamp and smack REJECT on her precious business plan.

But he didn’t. He merely slid her folder toward her and reached across that vast mahogany expanse that separated him from the rest of the world and shook her hand in dismissal. "Good luck."

Siena gathered her papers. It was worse than she expected. She owned nothing of value and her crazy ideas were worth nothing. Who in their right mind would loan her money for this hare-brained idea? Now what? She stumbled on a rug on her way out of the elegant office.

As she regained her footing before sprawling in an embarrassing heap, something snapped inside her head. She whirled around to face Mr. Rich Fairchild. "I don’t need your money to do this, Mr. Fairchild. I will make this shop successful. And . . . and . . . " She took a deep breath. "And I’m going to unveil all the mermaids in town for everyone to see! You will not be able to stop me. This is a free country!" Whatever made her say it, she did not know. But it was out of her mouth and would soon be bounding through town.

He stared at her, open-mouthed. "Mermaids?"

"Yes, mermaids! Braless and beautiful!" She walked out with her chin high and footsteps steady, even in her stiletto boots. And she knew she had ruined her chances of getting the new business started. And where the hell would she get the startup money she needed? Needed, but didn't have!

Okay, she was sulking after her encounter with Rich Fairchild. Curled up with two humongous cats, a large glass of red and a historical romance novel to transport her far away from the storms in Haven’s Point. The call from Dana interrupted her temporary escape.

Siena listened to her mother's rambling for a full minute. Her
mind whirled and her voice warbled. "A tattoo? No! Dana? Really."

"It's beautiful. And of course, unique. Doesn’t hurt much, honey. Sort of like a sunburn. Chaz says it’ll be better in a few days."

"Dana! You're serious? You actually did it?" Siena sat upright, nearly spilling her wine. The cats sprang to the floor. "You got a real tattoo?"

"I did," Dana said with a little giggle. "And so did Chaz. We’re committed with hearts and twining vines around our ankles. Isn’t it romantic?"

Siena groaned aloud and took a large gulp of wine. "Is this person certified? Licensed, or whatever? Was the needle new and facilities clean and proper?"

"Oh baby, don’t worry. Julio is more than legitimate. He decorates thousands of tourists every year.
Well, hundreds."

"I don’t know if that’s a good thing. Where are you, anyway?"

"Key West, tip of the land, end of Florida. Next stop, Cuba. I wish you could see how beautiful it is here. Palm trees and water everywhere. Weather's warm and gorgeous. I’m practicing yoga on the beach. My balance is amazing here at the water’s edge."

"I think you’ve lost it, Dana. Yoga, or something liquid has gone to your head. And now, a tattoo!" Siena couldn’t believe the picture forming in her imagination.

Dana’s voice was exuberant. "Beach yoga is free, a wonderful way to share with anyone who wants to join in. I love the concept. We’re having a blast here."

"Did you go by Aunt Addie’s friends for the, uh
n. . . the ashes? Aunt Addie’s ashes?"

"Oh baby, we just – I don’t think I can do it."

"I knew it. You’re not going to do anything you deem unpleasant. You’re right there! So, what’s the big deal?"

"Take it easy, Siena. What’s wrong?" Dana turned serious, for once in her life. "Come on, spill it. I can tell you’re upset. And it's not just me and my tattoo."

"Well, I certainly don’t want to spoil your fun, Dana. I’m just trying to make it up here in the frozen tundra. And things are not . . . going so great."

"Is it Warren? Is he harassing you? You can get a restraining order, you know."

"No, it isn’t Warren." Siena paused for another sip of wine. "It’s this damn business that I’m trying to get started. It’s not going anywhere. I can’t even get a loan in this backwater town."

"The bank refused to give you a loan? How could they? You have a wonderful portfolio."

"Actually, not so much. I don’t have the needed assets. Besides, a man who obviously doesn't have a vision beyond his own thin, sharp nose runs the one and only bank in town. He could care less about my portfolio or the possibility of a woman in business who wants to sell lacy lingerie."

"Do not let this hitch in your plan stop you, Siena. Go to your old bank in Boston."

"Rich Fairchild suggested I go to Portland or Bangor. To go somewhere else. He just wants to get rid of me. I’m sure he thinks I took his daughter’s fiancé, but that’s not the case. I'm afraid I ruined everything by telling him about the mermaids. But I just couldn't help it. I had to get in a last jab. He’s so . . . damned infuriating."

"Oh baby, you've got a lot on your plate there, more than a business." There was a pause in Dana’s response. "Did you say Rich Fairchild?"

"Yes, everybody who is somebody in this town is a Fairchild. They run the whole show. And control the money."

"I remember that name. Money isn’t everything, you know."

"No, but I sure could use some for this business."

"I’m sorry, honey. Sorry if I  -- that is, sorry that maybe I set you up – "

"What are you talking about, Dana? What could you have possibly done to impact my situation here?"

"Well, it’s been many years ago. But Rich and I were
. . . well, we had a brief affair. Now, surely he wouldn’t, that is, wouldn’t let that . . . oh damn honey. I’m so sorry."              

"Dana – h
ow could you?"

"I didn’t think it would matter. That was a long time ago. I didn’t think it would come up again, certainly not
having an impact on you."

"Haven’t you ever heard of consequences? Everything we do has consequences, even an affair a hundred years ago."

"Well, it wasn't
that
long ago. Please forgive me for being human."

Siena took another deep breath. And another gulp of wine. She hopped out of bed and began pacing. And thinking. It was time to stop crying and blaming others. Time to get angry and make it work for her.

"Siena, are you there?"

"Dana, don’t. Don’t apologize for something that happened so many years ago. It happened, so get over it. And don’t worry. Whatever you did, will not affect my outcome. I’ll figure this out, myself. Just in case, is there
. . . anything else I should know about? Anyone else?"

Dana paused as if thinking. "No, I don’t think so."

Silence from Siena.

"Honest baby, I swear, that’s the truth."

"Okay, Dana. I’m going out on a limb here to trust you."

"Don't you want to tell me about the
new business? And the mermaids?"

"Not now. I have too much to do right now. Have a happy tattoo
, Dana."

"I'm going to blog about it. You might want to read – "

Siena had heard enough. She closed the phone and muttered so the cats alone could hear. "That's exactly why I don't want to tell you anything that might make it to the freekin' Internet!"

*     *     *

Zach paced the floor of his room before picking up his phone and punching the numbers. "Hey David, we’ve hit a snag."

"What’s up, man?"

"It’s not going to go down as soon as we’d hoped."

"What’s wrong? The old lady causing trouble?"

"Naw
. . . she’s . . . ah, not the problem." He let him mind wander to Siena, the woman who gave him an erection just thinking about her.

"What then?"

"Just a little delay, that’s all. I’ll get back to you on this when it clears up."

"Hey, I thought we had a deal, man."

"Yeah, yeah, we do. Just give me a little time, here."

"We don’t have much time. We need to get it done when the weather turns good."

"Oh yeah, yeah. Plenty of time for that."

"Listen, you’re the man, so use your power. There’s always the power of imminent domain."

Zach forced his words through his teeth. "Damn it! I don’t need some out-of-work contractor telling me how to do my job."

"Hey man, we’re friends, right? You just get back to me and tell me when to start. I’ll be there."

Zach cut the connection and started gathering things. Two shirts – white, cuffed and pressed slick. Two pairs of slacks – the kind with sharp creases. Ties that matched – power red. He reached for a jacket – tweed, not the casual leather with brass zippers.