All of your business, p.8
All of Your Business, page 8
Embarrassed on his behalf – or maybe by the fact that she worked for such a grade-A grosero – Didi concealed her humiliation by draining her cup of coffee. Monte never dialed down his audacity, but it meshed better in the southern U.S. In London, he stuck out like a sore thumb that didn’t know when it was time to shut its mouth.
Although they were both out of their comfort zones, Monte channeled the worst version of himself. Something made him more obnoxious than normal. It was almost like he wanted to fail. But Monte liked losing even less than he liked giving away one cent of his profits.
Mrs. Richmond straight-up ignored him. “And what if this dream job required you to live far away from your family? Is that a reasonable condition?”
Didi’s attention flicked toward Ben. He looked as mystified as she felt. His mother’s questions were oddly specific, not to mention inappropriate. This was brunch, not a job interview, and her current boss was sitting at the table.
“Elegir es renunciar,” Didi shared. “To choose is to renounce. It’s one of my dad’s favorite sayings. If we want to go forward, we must leave something behind. That might require leaving the people we love, but we don’t have to stop loving them.”
“Your father is wise.” Mr. Akamba’s mild voice made Didi lean sideways to listen. “My father used to tell me that we give our children two gifts – roots and wings. To grant one and not the other condemns a child to half a life.”
“My dad had a favorite saying, too,” Monte barked. “Better never than late.”
Feeling betrayed, Didi folded her cloth napkin and laid it on the table. Between Monte’s insults, Mrs. Richmond’s interrogation, and Mr. Akamba’s insights, Didi was about ten seconds away from tears. She never cracked, much less cried, in the most intense professional settings.
But those meetings were never personal. No one asked about her dreams. Or encouraged her to pursue them. Or mentioned her father, much less called him wise.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Didi grabbed her purse. “I won’t be gone long.”
Mrs. Richmond folded her napkin as well. “Let me show you the way to the ladies’ room.”
Didi swallowed a groan. Cielos! Could she not escape for just five minutes? It took all of her willpower, and there wasn’t much left, to accept the offer with a strained smile. Courtesy forced her to follow Mrs. Richmond to the women’s restroom.
It was as lavish as the restaurant. Between the stalls and sinks was an oblong couch covered in pearlescent silk. Matching benches were tucked beneath two vanity stations that contained a buffet of lotions, perfumes, tissues, and mints in crystal containers. Citrus and eucalyptus scented the air.
Didi didn’t actually need to go, but she couldn’t skip that part of the process now. Otherwise, Mrs. Richmond might figure out she left the table to keep from falling apart. Peeing in a stall next to RE’s CEO? Not on her professional bucket list.
The moment was humanizing, Didi had to admit. She tried to think of something clever to ask Mrs. Richmond while they washed their hands. Nothing came to mind.
In desperation, she pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse. She still needed a minute to get her act together. Maybe Ben’s mom would get bored and rejoin the others.
“Jet lag, is it?”
Didi paused with the lipstick in midair. “What?”
“Jet lag.” Mrs. Richmond sat down on the couch.
As Ben had predicted, his mom wore a silk business suit that seemed identical to the one from the day before. Only its color was different, peach instead of plum.
“Is this your first trip overseas?” she asked.
Nodding, Didi applied a thin sheen of coppery-pink color to her lips. Why was she nervous? They were just two gals chatting in the bathroom – one of whom ran a billion-dollar company.
“Hydrate,” Mrs. Richmond said. “Try to get a bit of sunshine. If you must take a nap, limit it to half an hour.”
Didi thanked her for the advice. She tossed her lipstick back into her purse and dug for anything else grooming-related. Should she scope out the vanity table? Or would that make her look greedy?
Mrs. Richmond checked her cell phone while she spoke. “Have you made any plans for this evening?”
“No,” Didi told the multitasking image in the mirror. “I hadn’t planned to do anything but work.”
“Thomm didn’t mention the gala?”
Didi turned to face her. “He didn’t mention anything social.”
Ben’s mom popped up from the couch like its silk cushions were rigged with springs. “Tonight, Richmond Enterprises will host its annual gala to benefit the British Heart Foundation. I’d like you to attend as my personal guest.”
“I’m flattered,” Didi admitted. “But I don’t have anything to wear. I can do business, business-casual, or casual.”
With the panache of a magician, Mrs. Richmond produced a matte gold business card and offered it to Didi. “As my guest, you may borrow a dress from the boutique on the ground floor. Its staff will also see to your hair and cosmetics. Ask for Fabrice. He’ll have everything sorted.”
Didi accepted the card and read it.
Boutique d’Couture
Richmond Tower Suite 103
Fabrice Bouffette
Senior Fashion Consultant
What was happening? Did Lydia Richmond just invite her to the ball and offer to be her fairy godmother? Ben’s mom seemed equally equipped to play the wicked stepmother.
Didi waved the business card between them. “Why would you do this?”
“Why would you refuse?”
“Because we’re competitors.” Didi said it in the same “Duh!” voice that she used a lot with Monte. “We’re in the middle of a bidding war. We’re on your turf which puts us at a disadvantage. My best guess is that you’re attempting to appear benevolent so Mr. Akamba will consider your bid.”
Mrs. Richmond’s lips flattened. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Didi said. “The two of you are already friends. I read the article in Forbes about your previous partnerships.”
“Then why hasn’t Kwame made his choice?”
When the restroom door opened, admitting noise from the restaurant, Didi checked who entered. Tall woman. Cropped blonde hair. Black pants suit with an art deco blouse. She wore an employee’s badge. She nodded at Ben’s mom but didn’t speak.
“I haven’t figured that out either,” Didi admitted. “But I’m glad that he hasn’t. It means DEI still has a chance. You know, we really shouldn’t be discussing this subject.”
Mrs. Richmond nodded like she was aware. “Why would Thomm put you at that ghastly hotel?”
Didi shrugged. “You’d have to ask him.”
“And what is your relationship?”
Didi’s jaw dropped. If Ben’s mom was looking for the line, she found it. “That’s none of your business. But for the record, it’s purely professional.”
“I only ask because you’ve risen in the ranks very quickly. Two years ago, you weren’t even an assistant director. And we’re all aware of Thomm’s proclivity to romance his employees.”
At first, Didi could only shake her head. So much for escaping the tough questions at brunch. The bathroom chitchat was ten times worse.
“I’ve worked hard to get where I am,” she insisted. “And that’s all I’ve done.”
As the tall blonde emerged from a stall, Mrs. Richmond spun on her heels. “I’ll see you back at the table, Ms. Velasquez. They won’t serve our meals until you return. So, please, don’t be late.”
After the door closed behind Mrs. Richmond, Didi braced herself on the sink. Wasn’t brunch supposed to be fun? Where was the champagne and the lighthearted banter?
Didi squared her shoulders. She would return to the table, stay on message, and attempt to enjoy her food. This wasn’t some routine regional exhibition where she charmed the good old boys from Houston. She had scored a seat at the grownups’ table. It was time to prove she belonged.
And Lydia had handed her the brass ring of networking by inviting her to the gala. The tickets probably cost a small fortune. Didi could swallow her pride and borrow a dress in order to shake hands with people she admired. Ben’s mom wouldn’t be the only philanthropist in the room. With any luck, she’d make an impression.
Didi smiled at her reflection. She could do this.
Buena cara.
Chapter Nine
As the disconnected voice announced the floor number, Didi gathered the short train of her dress and stepped carefully from the elevator. She already knew the way to the ballroom. It was adjacent to the restaurant on the thirty-seventh floor – otherwise known as the scene of the crime.
Didi hoped the gala would be less stressful than brunch. More happy talk. Less cross-examination.
Bypassing the maître d’ station, she approached a double-door entrance flanked by tuxedoed ushers. A crimson sign with gilded script welcomed guests to the Hearts & Tickers Gala. The ushers nodded to her as she entered the ballroom which was unexpectedly quiet.
Instead of the normal party noise, Didi heard only one voice. A microphone amplified its rich tenor. Its measured tone was as smooth and stimulating as a well-aged Jalisco tequila.
The ballroom was equally entrancing. Its entire ceiling resembled one vast chandelier with crystals dripping like cascading stars. Softly backlit by a bluish light, it reminded Didi of a nighttime sky. Chairs and tables framed a space cleared for dancing. The polished wood floor shone like a mirror.
London provided a spectacular backdrop to the already-breathtaking scene. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, infinite spires of neon light twinkled.
Despite the ballroom’s opulence, all eyes were on Ben Richmond.
He stood at a microphone atop a bandstand against the wall farthest from the doors. With modest confidence, he addressed the hundreds of attentive people. His black tuxedo emphasized his height. His long fingers cradled a glass of champagne.
Didi kept her place at the edge of the crowd while she shamelessly admired him. Her cheeks flushed with a heat she hadn’t felt since college. The intensity of it shocked her.
She couldn’t develop a crush on Simply-Ben. It simply wasn't an option. His success meant her failure. He lived an ocean away. And his mother might be on the wrong side of sane.
Besides, it would be Daniel all over again. Choices for one meant sacrifices for the other. Ben couldn’t leave a company whose first name was his last. Richmond Enterprises needed its heir apparent.
Which meant Didi ended up confronting the same unwinnable dilemma. Relationship or career? His life or yours?
Why tempt fate when fate wasn’t playing?
While Ben spoke, his eyes skimmed the audience with practiced ease. “My brother Kip sends his regards from across the Pond. He and Lou look forward to seeing you all at this same time next year. And your presence here tonight is appreciated by each of us.”
Ben paused to acknowledge his mother who hovered just to his right. She wore a red evening dress and a simple updo. Her expression seemed almost pleasant.
“At the end of each day, Father would say to me and Kip, ‘Remember, lads, all is forgiven.’ It was a fine reminder that we are strongest when we honor the frailty of others – and permit their infirmities as they permit ours. We are all...”
Ben’s rehearsed words trailed away as his eyes landed and then locked on Didi.
Timewise, the lull wasn’t any longer than a yawn, but it was enough to make everyone pivot. Audible gasps popcorned up from the crowd. Curious glances became outright stares.
Didi stared back at the symphony of unsolicited attention. She couldn’t feel any more self-conscious if she’d shown up in her underwear.
Instead, she was swathed in a dress of pure couture that would pass muster with the strictest fashionista. Its ivory silk was draped in form-fitting layers arranged by Monsieur Fabrice. Half stylist and half artist, Lydia’s French fashion consultant was as fastidious as he was flamboyant. Didi’s gown wasn’t budging an inch unless someone ripped it off.
So, what was the problem? Was she giving everyone a backlit peep show? The material seemed too thick for that fashion crime, but Didi prayed it wasn’t the case. Not the impression she intended to make.
Still uncertain, Didi compared herself to the other female guests. She wasn’t overdressed. Or underdressed. Her hairstyle was suitably elaborate. Everyone else wore makeup and jewelry, pantyhose and high heels.
They were also all in red.
Just like Mrs. Richmond, each woman wore some variation of the color. Scarlet. Crimson. Coral or maroon.
Didi blushed for a different reason. She might be wearing the wrong color fabric, but her cheeks now fit the dress code. Should she back out slowly? Or just cut and run?
“We are all a bit heartsick, aren’t we?” Resuming his speech, Ben regained the room’s attention. “And yet somehow we are prone to hope. It is both those inclinations which find us here tonight.”
When Ben raised his glass, the audience mimicked the gesture. He glanced again at Didi.
A server approached holding a silver tray with a crystal flute balanced at its center. The champagne was freshly poured, its bubbles shimmying upward. Knowing the Richmonds, it was the good stuff. They struck her as a Dom Pérignon family.
Taking the glass, Didi thanked the server. If she wasn’t going to retreat in embarrassment, then she was definitely having an apéritif. And if God was in his heaven, there would be an open bar throughout the evening.
Ben continued his toast. “My family and I thank you for joining us once more. Please enjoy yourselves this evening and accept our heartfelt appreciation for your support of the British Heart Foundation.”
As Ben sipped from his flute, so did the rest of the crowd. Didi battled the urge to drain hers. Instead, she took one small gulp and counted to ten before taking another. This wasn’t A Night in Old San Antonio, where drunk and disorderly was the status quo. Even though she had committed a major faux pas, she could still salvage her honor. She was there to make an impression, not cause a scene.
Like, for instance, by wearing the wrong color.
If she was going to regroup, she needed to mingle. Hiding in a corner was not going to cut it. Summoning every last ounce of her God-given grit, Didi charted a path toward the windows. She moved without rushing, smiled without making eye contact. So far, so good.
Until Monte ambushed her. He approached from behind in his sidewinding style. His fingers pinched the bare skin at her elbow. When he growled in her ear, she felt his breath on her neck.
“What the hell, Didi?”
Monte entered most rooms with a hurricane’s gusto which made his sneak attacks all the more startling. They were rare and effective with many employees, but Didi had learned his worst tricks. Besides, the aftershave gave him away. He doubled the dosage for special occasions.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “And what are you wearing?”
Didi leaned away to meet his critical glare. Over the years, she stopped noticing his coarse-but-thinning hair and his leathery-from-too-much-liquor skin. His mood swings, however, had grown more extreme. When DEI struggled, so did Monte.
Discretely she tried to twist free of his grip. “Lydia Richmond invited me.”
“Did you wear white on purpose?”
“It’s ivory.” She fought to keep her words at a whisper. “And no, I didn’t. Mrs. Richmond didn’t tell me that I should wear red.”
Monte sucked air through his teeth. “You can’t trust that woman, Didi. She’s as crooked as they come. She’ll hang you out to dry before you even know you’re wet.”
“Let go of me,” Didi ordered.
His hand unclenched. His attitude didn’t. “Can you go upstairs and change?”
“No, Monte.” Didi let her aggravation show. “I didn’t pack one evening gown, much less two, because I didn’t know we’d be attending a gala. You could have told me.”
“I assumed you weren’t invited.”
“Good evening, Didi.” Even without a microphone, Ben’s words carried easily above the blend of voices and music. With a stone-cold glare, he peered down at Monte. “Mr. Montgomery.”
“Ben.” Monte stuck out a hand. “Not a bad speech you gave there. Doesn’t your brother usually do all the talking?”
Their handshake lasted about half a second. “I agree with Charles Dickens that a word in earnest is as good as a speech. But I endeavor to manage when the occasion requires.”
Didi smirked at Simply-Ben’s reply. It was eloquent, humble, and gracious. Monte spoke none of those languages.
“Well, keep at it, sport.” Monte slapped Ben’s shoulder. “You’ll get there.”
Ben looked more amused than annoyed as he shifted toward Didi. “Would you like to dance?”
It was Didi’s turn to behave like a southern bumpkin. “Do what now?”
“I’d be honored if you’d dance with me.” Ben took Didi’s champagne glass and passed it to Monte. “Please excuse us, Mr. Montgomery.”
When Ben extended his right hand, palm upturned, Didi rested her left hand against it. As Ben led her to the unoccupied dance floor, the band transitioned into a waltzy song with a restful melody. The tune was from a movie – Breakfast at Tiffany’s maybe?
As Ben wrapped an arm around Didi’s waist, the flush returned to her cheeks. Imitating his stance, she made sure to keep a respectable distance between them. His peppery cologne mingled with the flowery scent she had selected in the boutique.
“Is this a good idea?” she asked while they swayed. “It’s one thing to show up in the wrong clothes. It’s another thing to flaunt it.”
“You’re not flaunting anything. I asked you to dance.” Ben appeared more relaxed than Didi had seen him. Maybe champagne softened his edges.
It was certainly affecting hers. She didn’t finish her glass, but she still felt lightheaded. She needed something to bring her back down to earth.
