Totlandia: Spring (7 page)

Ally waited with the twins until Jillian climbed into the backseat, then handed them to their mother before folding their stroller into the trunk of her BMW X6 SUV.

The moment she closed the hatch, her cell phone buzzed. She glanced down at it. There was a text from Brady.

When are we going to talk?

She groaned out loud.

“A problem?” The concern in Jillian’s voice was touching.

Ally waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing that can’t wait.” She forced a smile on her face. “Shall we?”

It took Ally an hour to lay out her business plan to Jillian, how she wanted to partner with her on a retail pie store, located somewhere in Pacific Heights or the Marina.

“Your pies are going to be even hotter than the cupcake craze.” Ally was smiling, but the tone of her voice was all business. “I feel it in my heart, Jillian. It’s the same feeling I got when I started Foot Fetish.”

“I appreciate your belief in me, Ally. Really I do. And you know it couldn’t come at a better time for me, what with the divorce and all.” Jillian wiped away a tear. “But running a retail business takes a lot of time, not to mention money.”

“We’ll hire staff to manage the store on a day-to-day basis. And I’ll do my voodoo: brand the store and do the marketing and promotion.” She looked Jillian in the eye. “And, of course, I’ll secure the financing, too. If our model works, we’ll duplicate it in other locations in the city, and other cities around the country. Perhaps even go international with it.” Ally leaned in close. “All you have to do is to come up with a few scrumptious pie recipes and bake the pies. Initially, of course. You’ll supervise the baking when we get to the point where we need an industrial kitchen and baking staff.”

Jillian couldn’t believe her ears. Then a thought made her smile waver. “But—what if Bettina finds out?”

“Barry will make sure our corporation is veiled. By the time we go public, the kids will be in elementary school.” Ally smiled. “We’ll each be fifty-fifty partners, but any investor will want some equity stake, so we’ll have to both peel off percentage points for that. Whatever it is, we hold onto a combined fifty-one percent. So, what do you say? Are you in?”

“Oh my God, of course!” Jillian jumped up and hugged her friend. “I can’t believe this! It’s a dream come true.”

“Now the big question: what do you want to call it?”

Jillian thought for a moment. “What do you think about ‘Life of Pie’?”

Ally laughed. “It’s simple, to the point, and already familiar. Works for me.”

To seal the deal, they toasted with their coffee mugs. But their sips were interrupted by the buzz of Ally’s cell phone. She glanced down, seeing a text from Brady.

Pretty please, with sugar on top?

She sighed, then texted back.

Tuesday afternoon. 5:30. Allyne Park, in Cow Hollow.

That would give her a few days to consider what to say to him.

Whatever it was, it would cost her something: a friendship and her support system or a chance at love. Which was worse?

She sighed. “A piece of pie sounds great right about now, but the Grove’s can’t compete with yours.”

“If you and your little mummy give me a ride home, I’ll whip one right up. Apple! You can take it home with you.”

“Perfect. In exchange, I’m giving you an advance on your salary. Will six thousand cover you while you research our pie products?”

When Jillian squealed, heads from all over the coffee shop turned around to see what was causing the commotion. Embarrassed, she whispered, “I can’t wait to get home and try out a few recipes. Ally, I can’t thank you enough. And I won’t let you down. Ever. You’re a true friend.”

Ally desperately needed to hear that, now more than ever.

Tuesday, 8 January

9:10 a.m.

“It’s been a whole week! Why haven’t you returned my calls?” Art knew he sounded like a desperate fool, but he didn’t care.

He missed Kelly.

Okay, in truth, he missed their sadistic sexcapades. That girl certainly knew how to wield a paddle.

Maybe she considered ignoring his calls as some form of foreplay. He viewed it as torture, which is why he begged. “Can we meet tomorrow? If that doesn’t work, what about the day after? I’m flexible, if Friday works better.”

Kelly’s tone reeked of venomous scorn. “This is a joke, right?”

“A…what? Why would you say that?”

Kelly snickered. “Maybe you should ask your wife.”

Art could feel the blood leaving his face. Suddenly his heart was racing. He tried to loosen his tie before he suffocated. “What the hell does Bettina have to do with us?”

“You mean she hasn’t told you? Why, your bitch of a wife is onto you, my naughty little boy! She saw us on New Year’s Eve. Yep, that’s right! And guess what?
She has your favorite paddle.
When she confronted me, I gave it to her as a gift.” Kelly’s laugh sent a chill up Art’s spine. “So, if I were you, I’d beg for mercy. Oops! I forgot we’re talking about Bettina. No hope there.”

The dial tone must have been buzzing in his ear for two minutes or longer before his shaking hand was capable of hitting the off button on his cell phone. His mind was racing. If Bettina knew, why hadn’t she said something?

He knew his wife too well to think she’d ever let bygones be bygones. She was biding her time until he screwed something up.

Like hooking Brady Pierce as an investment client.

That’s it,
he reasoned.
She wants to make sure we present a united front to the Pierces. If I blow it, she’ll divorce me for sure now that she knows I’ve done it with her oldest, “dearest” friend.

The thought that Bettina now had his favorite paddle made him shiver. Would she dare threaten to use it on him?

That would be sick.

Or maybe…

Maybe it would be
fun.

For a fleeting moment, Art Cross contemplated the consequences of screwing up. He heard Bettina’s voice commanding him to bend over the round tufted ottoman in their bedroom. He contemplated how she’d position herself over his naked ass. Would she angle her arm so that the paddle swatted him low and slow, or hard and fast?

His hands fell into his lap as his mind’s eye played with both visions, one right after another, over and over again…

And again…

Until his assistant buzzed him, to tell him there was a client waiting in the lobby. He groaned. There was no way he could walk out there. Not with this humongous tent in his pants.

Maybe Bettina knowing his little secret wasn’t so bad after all.

Well, tonight, he’d make it a point to find out.

11:44 a.m.

“The boss will see you now,” said Jen, Ally’s assistant.

Ally winced. “Since when is Ellis Conway
my
boss?”

Jen pursed her lips. “Sorry, Ally! Honestly, it was a slip of the tongue. Of course, he’s not
your
boss.” She blushed. “It’s just that…Well, I’m feeling a bit stressed right now, what with you working just part-time, and with all the layoffs going on around here. Did you know they’ve got me doubling as his assistant, too?”

“You’re kidding!” Ally shook her head, confused. “What layoffs?”

“A third of the customer service staff and half of Foot Fetish’s warehouse personnel got laid off just after Christmas.” Jen frowned. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

“Apparently not.” Ally felt guilty. No, make that angry. Was Ellis purposefully keeping her out of the loop?

She had started the company. When she sold it to Bracknell Industries, the corporation’s board insisted she be part of the package. She agreed to do so, but only part time, now that Zoe was the single most important part of her life. One of Bracknell’s rising stars, Ellis Conway, had come onboard to run the day-to-day operations.

Suddenly the idea of asking him to advocate Bracknell’s investment in her pie shop proposal seemed futile.

But Ally’s trump card was her knowledge that her continued role in Foot Fetish was integral to its financial success. She was its tastemaker. She was the one with the connection with footwear designers. As recent as last quarter, sales had been doing better than their CFO’s projections. How had things come off the rails the past few weeks, and during their busiest season no less?

That was the first question she asked Ellis.

He swatted away her concern. “Ally, you’re over-reacting. It’s got nothing to do with you, believe me.”

“You’re wrong. Everything about this company has to do with me. Including the layoffs which, by the way, no one informed me were about to take place, nor any explanation as to why they were necessary!”

“That’s quite a presumptuous statement for a part-time employee who would prefer to be a full-time mommy, isn’t it?”

She wanted to slap the smirk off Ellis’ face. To keep her cool, she murmured, “Unless she’s the founder of the company, and she still sits on its board. So tell me. Why are you fucking up so badly?”

Ellis blanched at her question. “I’m not. It has nothing to do with me. I’m just following orders. The Bracknell men’s apparel division has a large customer support staff. Why duplicate efforts here when we can lateral the calls there?” He shrugged. “The same thing goes for our warehouse facilities. Corporate already has it covered. We’re just cutting out service redundancies.”

“But shoes are something women find personal. Customer support has to be trained to best explain their advantages! And my warehouse guys were handpicked because they were quick and efficient.”

Ellis put his hand on Ally’s shoulder. She tried not to shudder, but she couldn’t help it.

Feeling it, he frowned and pulled away.

Damn it,
she thought.
I’ve blown it. Now Ellis won’t give my pie shop proposal a second glance.

“Your renewed commitment is refreshing,” he said icily. “In fact, word from above is that we’ll be expanding Bracknell’s corporate board. If you want to suggest a candidate, Mr. Bracknell is all ears. Then again, I doubt your mommy duties have allowed you to rub shoulders with anyone with the biz chops to make the list.”

“As a matter of fact, I could recommend Brady Pierce, if you want. He is—I mean, he and his wife are dear friends.”

She regretted the retort even as the words left her mouth. What the hell was she thinking? If Brady sat on the board with her, it would be more difficult than ever to be simply friends.

Friends. Really, could they ever be just that?

Who am I kidding,
she wondered.

“You know
the
Brady Pierce?” Ellis’s eyes glimmered with new respect for her. “Well, well, well! I’ll certainly pass that tidbit to Mr. Bracknell. Now, what was it you needed from me?”

Ally shrugged nonchalantly, but her heart was racing. For once, she might actually have Ellis on her side. She smiled up at him. “I’ve put together a prospectus on a new business, something Bracknell may want to get in on the ground floor.” She handed him the prospectus folder for
Life of Pie.

“A pie shop?” He raised a brow.

“Really, it’s the prototype for a bakery chain, with pie as its focus. Haven’t you heard? Pie is the new cupcake. My research bears out its potential.”

He smiled. “Hmmm. Intriguing. I’ll be sure to pass it upstairs.” Without further ado, he shut his door. But through the glass wall, she noticed he’d already opened the file.

At least, he’s reading it,
Ally thought.

She didn’t know what made her more excited, the thought that Bracknell would finance the pie business, or that she and Brady might have a good excuse for seeing each other on a regular basis.

Just as friends, of course.

As if.

4:00 p.m.

The moment Bettina saw Caligula’s bitch, Zenobia, it was love at first sight.

Granted, the Tibetan mastiff’s swollen belly—not to mention her painful panting, groaning, and farting—did little to reinforce the nobility of Zenobia’s bloodline.

Bettina was willing to look beyond these temporary trifles. After all, the dog had been best of breed and best of show, a prizewinner many times over. The pick of Zenobia’s litter would be a worthy addition to the Connaught-Cross household.

Sybil Vidal, Zenobia’s owner, was a six-foot-two-inch redheaded giant. She laughed raucously when Bettina inquired as to the price of the pick of the litter. “Ten thousand dollars. But sorry, the pick already has a commitment. All of Zenobia’s picks are committed at least four years in advance. And there are three back-up commitments.” Sybil squatted beside Zenobia. “In fact, the sonogram shows she’ll be delivering eight pups. Seven of them are already spoken for. However, if you’re so inclined, you can purchase the runt.”

Bettina raised her head high. “I don’t think you understand. This is for
Lily
.” She pointed to her daughter, who was hovering in a far corner.

The poor girl looked close to tears. “Mommy, it’s okay. Maybe I don’t need a puppy. Not one from a smelly, scary old dog, anyway.”

Lily’s
faux pas
were rare, but from the look on Sybil’s face, this one would have to be addressed post haste if Bettina were to salvage the purchase. “What my daughter means to say is that she is humbled in the presence of Zenobia, and hopes she can live up to the honor of owning any one of the priceless pups blessed to be of her bloodline.”

Sybil sighed. “I doubt she will. Perhaps a more suitable pet will be found at the SPCA? It’s on Alabama Street.” She reached for a pen and a notepad. In a moment she was scribbling what looked to be a street map. “From here, all you have to do is wind your way up Portola and back down the other side of the hill. Eventually, you’ll hit Market. Then it’s a short drive through the Mission to Alabama—”

Bettina snatched the pen from the woman’s massive hand. She rummaged in her pocketbook until she found what she was looking for, her checkbook. Opening it, she turned back to Sybil. “I guess I’m not making myself clear. I’m willing to pay whatever it costs to ensure we get the pick of Zenobia’s litter. How much did you say? Ten thousand?” She wrote out the check and signed it with a flourish.