Her mouth moved away from the receiver. “Yes, yes, I hear you, Marie Antoinette! And your chocolate chip crepes are coming!” She lowered her voice. “Along with a little arsenic.”
Olivia laughed. “Hang tough, Mother. She’ll be gone by this afternoon.”
After ending the call, Olivia concentrated on taking the fastest route to work. But due to heavy traffic and a missed turn caused by admiring the haircut of the woman in the car next to her, she still arrived late.
French Kiss’s corporate headquarters were located in a high-rise office building just a block away from the flagship store on Union Square. Michael had spared no expense in remodeling the historic building. While the outside kept its Gothic look, the inside had been totally gutted and refurbished, using plenty of French Kiss’s trademark colors—lavender and silver. The lavish decor of the lobby included purple variegated marble floors, plush furniture upholstered in gray and purple velvet, and a huge crystal chandelier hanging over the receptionist’s desk.
The corporate office employed both men and women, but front desk receptionists were always attractive women who wore business attire and lavender high heels. The high heels had been Michael’s idea, and he’d expected every female employee to wear them. The men were to wear suits and lavender ties.
Olivia waved a greeting to the receptionist on her way to the elevators. Her office was located on the top executive floor in the corner opposite Michael’s. Before his stroke she had always started her day in his suite. Over coffee and pastry, they would discuss new designs and marketing plans, or laugh over something her mother had said or done. But those days were gone. And had been gone since the morning she’d discovered him slumped in his chair, unable to move the right side of his body. She had hoped that with rehabilitation he would recover. But the second stroke had removed that hope. And the final one had taken Michael’s life.
The hard punch of grief came from nowhere, and needing to find some remnant of his presence, she bypassed the empty secretary’s desk and pushed open the door of his office. The scent of espresso and his expensive cologne was still there, as were the photographs of Olivia and her mother on his desk and the paintings of Paris on the walls.
Michael had loved Paris, and Olivia had never understood why he hadn’t located the corporate offices there. Especially when the idea for the company had come from a small Paris lingerie shop. She had asked him once, and he’d simply said, “Paris is in my past.” Since he had never liked to talk about his past, she’d left it at that.
“Oh, it’s you.”
The clipped tone had her turning to the doorway.
Anastasia Bradley was the vice-president of marketing and an organized, punctual overachiever who would never be distracted by a hummingbird, a naked neighbor, or a hot manly Beaumont brother. While the rest of the executive board treated Olivia like an annoying relative of Michael’s whom they had to put up with, Ana treated her like the village idiot.
“So nice of you to join us, Miss Harrington.” She repositioned the box she carried and glanced at her watch. “Let me guess, you missed the trolley or traffic was bad?”
“As a matter of fact…” She let the words trail off when Ana carried the box to the desk and started unpacking it. “What are you doing?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious. I’m moving into Michael’s office.”
“By whose authority?”
Anastasia turned and sent her a wicked-witch smile. “Imagine the board’s surprise when we learned that Michael hadn’t left you the company after all. Instead he gave it to his nephews. Nephews who will more than likely sell first chance they get. But until they do, I think I have just as much right to this office as anyone. Especially since you already have a big office.”
Olivia wanted to take the contracts out of her briefcase and
Olivia laughed. “Hang tough, Mother. She’ll be gone by this afternoon.”
After ending the call, Olivia concentrated on taking the fastest route to work. But due to heavy traffic and a missed turn caused by admiring the haircut of the woman in the car next to her, she still arrived late.
French Kiss’s corporate headquarters were located in a high-rise office building just a block away from the flagship store on Union Square. Michael had spared no expense in remodeling the historic building. While the outside kept its Gothic look, the inside had been totally gutted and refurbished, using plenty of French Kiss’s trademark colors—lavender and silver. The lavish decor of the lobby included purple variegated marble floors, plush furniture upholstered in gray and purple velvet, and a huge crystal chandelier hanging over the receptionist’s desk.
The corporate office employed both men and women, but front desk receptionists were always attractive women who wore business attire and lavender high heels. The high heels had been Michael’s idea, and he’d expected every female employee to wear them. The men were to wear suits and lavender ties.
Olivia waved a greeting to the receptionist on her way to the elevators. Her office was located on the top executive floor in the corner opposite Michael’s. Before his stroke she had always started her day in his suite. Over coffee and pastry, they would discuss new designs and marketing plans, or laugh over something her mother had said or done. But those days were gone. And had been gone since the morning she’d discovered him slumped in his chair, unable to move the right side of his body. She had hoped that with rehabilitation he would recover. But the second stroke had removed that hope. And the final one had taken Michael’s life.
The hard punch of grief came from nowhere, and needing to find some remnant of his presence, she bypassed the empty secretary’s desk and pushed open the door of his office. The scent of espresso and his expensive cologne was still there, as were the photographs of Olivia and her mother on his desk and the paintings of Paris on the walls.
Michael had loved Paris, and Olivia had never understood why he hadn’t located the corporate offices there. Especially when the idea for the company had come from a small Paris lingerie shop. She had asked him once, and he’d simply said, “Paris is in my past.” Since he had never liked to talk about his past, she’d left it at that.
“Oh, it’s you.”
The clipped tone had her turning to the doorway.
Anastasia Bradley was the vice-president of marketing and an organized, punctual overachiever who would never be distracted by a hummingbird, a naked neighbor, or a hot manly Beaumont brother. While the rest of the executive board treated Olivia like an annoying relative of Michael’s whom they had to put up with, Ana treated her like the village idiot.
“So nice of you to join us, Miss Harrington.” She repositioned the box she carried and glanced at her watch. “Let me guess, you missed the trolley or traffic was bad?”
“As a matter of fact…” She let the words trail off when Ana carried the box to the desk and started unpacking it. “What are you doing?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious. I’m moving into Michael’s office.”
“By whose authority?”
Anastasia turned and sent her a wicked-witch smile. “Imagine the board’s surprise when we learned that Michael hadn’t left you the company after all. Instead he gave it to his nephews. Nephews who will more than likely sell first chance they get. But until they do, I think I have just as much right to this office as anyone. Especially since you already have a big office.”
Olivia wanted to take the contracts out of her briefcase and
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