Enchanted Heart (2 page)

“Something about emerging markets?” Lance said dryly.

The topic was Coleman Heart III's obsession these days. Anyone looking at the two men would know they were related—the square jaws, strong chins, broad shoulders and height a clear giveaway. While just eleven years separated them, Cole always acted and sometimes looked twice as old as his half-sister's son. Before the buyout, Lance worked as Cole's executive assistant. Since that time though, Lance had enjoyed doing mostly nothing while Cole immersed himself in Brazilian economics and a study of the Portuguese language.

“No,” Cole said, scowling. “I was talking about you.”

Oops. That would be the second track on Cole's greatest hits.

Lance reached for a crystal stirrer at the wet bar in Cole's family room—the room itself a misnomer since the last thing Coleman Heart wanted was any of their family in his house. Squeezing the juice from a lime into the tumbler Cole put in front of him, Lance poured club soda over the ice and slowly stirred the drink.

“What about me?” he asked.

“I'm not going to be around for you forever. You need to decide what you're going to do with your life.”

Lance frowned. “I'm not a child, Cole. So you can stop the patronizing paternalism.”

Cole glanced up, and Lance, not for the first time, found himself on the receiving end of one of those glacial stares. It worked in the boardroom and across the bargaining table, neither of which were evident at the moment. Lance, however, remained immune from the effect, a fact that usually annoyed Cole.

This time Cole was the first to back down, but only because he reached for a small blue bottle of Maalox antacid tablets.

“I thought Sonja weaned you off of those things.”

“She did.”

Lance took the bottle away from Cole before he could twist it open. “Tell me about the latest with your joint venture.”

Cole took the bait and leaped right into the description of his Rio de Janeiro and Salvador da Bahia projects. The language was one of the barriers to more open trade between African-Americans and Brazilians of African descent. Cole and his partner planned to eliminate those barriers via an education program and venture capital. They'd broker some deals and make more money than either could spend in several lifetimes.

Lance paid less than half a bit of attention to Cole's spiel. He'd heard it all before. Cole wanted Lance to join him. While the prospect of wooing Brazilian beauties held a certain appeal, Lance had his own reasons for needing to remain stateside. The less Cole and the rest of his family knew about those reasons, the better. Lance had dreams that had nothing to do with the Hearts, their retail empire or fitting into a niche assigned by Cole or anyone else. That's where Vivienne la Fontaine came in. His physical response and desire for her notwithstanding, Vivienne had something else he wanted.

When it seemed that Cole was winding down a bit, Lance decided to send out a floater.

“I met a woman today,” he said.

“Stop the presses,” Cole said with a roll of his eyes. Then he deliberately lifted his arm, exposing the French cuff of his sleeve. He tapped the face of his watch. “Have you already started the countdown to when you'll dump her?”

“Ha-ha.”

But Lance didn't at all like it that his pattern in relationships had become so predictable that even one-track business-minded Cole knew he didn't linger long with the ladies. Everyone in the family thought they knew all there was to know about him. But Lance had a few secrets, one in particular, that would set all their butts on the ground. He took a deep, cleansing breath, willing himself to bide his time. He had to remember to make his life appear like an open book, especially around Cole, who was not just his uncle, but his mentor and best friend.

Shaking his head to clear away those shadow thoughts, Lance again turned his attention to the conversation with Cole.

“So, when do you leave?”

“I'll head to Rio in two weeks. I've already set up a place to stay . . .”

“On which beach, Copacabana or Ipanema?” Lance asked, a grin on his face.

“Life is more than a party, Lance.”

Lance dropped the crystal stirrer on the marble countertop. It didn't crack, but the sound carried through the room shattering the bond between the two men.

“Yeah,” Lance said, stalking away. “As you so eloquently illustrate every day.”

Folding his arms, Cole stared at Lance's retreating back. “What do you want me to say, Lance? That I think it's okay that you're wasting away your life? That you bounce from woman to woman with no thought toward the future?”

Lance turned. “It's my life. How I spend it is my . . .”

Cole cut him off. “How you spend it has a direct impact on the lives of a lot of other people.”

The smirk on Lance's face indicated what he thought of that. “Give it up, Cole. Heart Federated no longer exists. There are no employees, no stockholders, no one depending on you or me.”

“This is not about the stores, Lance. It's about your future.”

Cole closed the distance between them. Lance stood at a window, staring out at a patio, and beyond it to the golf course at Kingsmill.

“We've been over this a thousand times, Cole,” he said, his voice quiet, resigned. “It's not your fault the stores were sold.”

“Yes,” Cole said. “It is.” He was standing to the left of Lance now. Neither man looked at the other. “I should have anticipated . . .”

“Cole, let it go. It's been more than a year. Even Mallory has moved on. She's opened up a boutique at the Beach, you know.”

Cole didn't say anything. That in itself told Lance that animosity still lingered between Cole and his cousin Mallory. “You need to get on down to Brazil with your venture capitalist friend. The two of you can go make a gazillion dollars, then you and Sonja can live in the lap of luxury for the rest of your lives.”

Cole spread out a hand, encompassing the large room in the large house in the exclusive community of large homes. “I already live in the lap of luxury,” he said. “The seat is uncomfortable.”

His house wasn't though. Cole and his wife Sonja Pride had one of the largest estates in the gated community that was home to more than a few CEOs and celebrities. He didn't spend much time here though. Neither did Sonja. It was as though they continually searched for something more, the next great project.

Cole and Sonja were both driven workaholics, people who lived to work. Lance, on the other hand, had an allergy to that sort of thing. And he'd always wondered what made them so dedicated. Money was no longer an object, for either of them. Yet, they both worked as if a taskmaster with whip and chain haunted every move and moment of their days. What a waste of life, which was meant to be enjoyed. With the same amount of focus that they put into their careers, Lance pursued pleasure.

Even when he worked for the family, Lance hadn't been that motivated to excel. Steering clear of the drama that usually swirled in the family, Lance's mother pretty much left him to his own devices, which suited him just fine.

Cole and his grandmother, Virginia, were Lance's problems. By no means were those two a united front. They both, however, seemed to think it was a character flaw in Lance, something in him from his father's non-Heart genes, that needed to be stamped out. And that exorcism could be best achieved with a job, a goal to make a lot of money no matter who you stepped on along the way and a big, sterile office with windows to complete the image.

None of that appealed to Lance. Never had. There was more to life than making money. And that remained the crux of the problem between Lance and Cole. They weren't hard-wired the same way. But Heart blood did run through Lance's veins, and he knew just what to say to get both Cole and his grandmother off his case.

“The woman I met today owns a business that I'm thinking of investing in.”

That hadn't at all been his primary reason for visiting with Vivienne la Fontaine. But it would serve his purpose. For now.

“Oh, really? What kind of business?”

“I'd rather not say right now. I'm still getting a handle on the operation.”

“Retail, service, food, technology or something else?”

Lance smiled. “Retail.”

Cole slapped him on the back. “That's my boy.”

Lance bristled at the “boy” label. At twenty-eight, he was a grown man. Now though wasn't the time to pick a fight with Cole who remained oblivious to Lance's reaction, but had finally gotten off the other topic.

“Come on, give a little,” Cole cajoled.

“I will. When I'm ready.”

Smiling, Cole lifted his glass in salute to Lance. “I hope you make it work. You know I'm here if you need any help.”

“I'm fine.”

Silence fell over the room as the two men stared out at a foursome on the links. Cole took a sip of his drink then stared into the liquid as he swirled it in the glass. “I just want to make sure you're set, Lance. I feel responsible for what happened to you, for what happened to our legacy.”

“It wasn't your fault, Cole. It was time for change. You knew that. Heart is sold to Knight and Kraus. They're doing a good job, and you have a lot of money to show for it.”

“I didn't want the money,” Cole said.

Lance blinked. “Excuse me?”

Cole met his gaze. “It was never about the money. When I ran Heart Federated I did it because it was what I was supposed to do, what I was called to do.”

Not about the money? Everything Cole did was about the money. He'd always made that abundantly clear.

“Preachers talk about being called, Cole. You were running a chain of department stores, not a church.”

For a long time Cole didn't say anything. Then, “Why do you think I'm so excited about this Bahia project?”

Lance shrugged. “I don't know. Your latest obsession, is how I see it. Just another way to make more money.”

Cole shook his head. “There is that, I'll admit. But I needed a new focus, something that was all mine. Heart Federated was all I ever wanted, for as long as I could remember. When I was a little kid I'd go into the office with my grandfather, sit in his big chair and dream of growing up and being chairman of the board. Mallory may have moved on, but it's not that simple for me. Everywhere I go around here, there are reminders of what should have been my legacy and your legacy.”

Lance hadn't realized that Cole still harbored such bitterness over the family's decision to sell the company. A secret deal Mallory Heart initiated with Knight and Kraus eventually led to the buyout. If Cole's own mother hadn't voted against him, there would still be Heart stores in Virginia and North Carolina today and Cole wouldn't be obsessed with this Brazilian thing. But shoulda, coulda, woulda wouldn't change the fact that they'd all had to move on. Mallory had. And now, in his own obsessive-compulsive way, Cole was trying to as well.

“I didn't know you felt so strongly about it. To me, Heart Federated was a job. But I had a life outside of work. You just worked.”

Cole stared at Lance for a long moment. Then he sighed. “You think my life is boring, that I'm obsessive. But one of these days, Lance, you're going to meet someone or stumble onto something that becomes an obsession for you. You'll be consumed by it, so consumed that you'll wonder how you ever lived before it.”

Lance frowned. He wasn't really feeling this conversation so he shrugged off Cole's solemn words. “Don't count on it,” he said. “You've been married to your work for as long as you or anyone else can remember. Me? I'm married to life. And I enjoy her sweet company.”

Cole just shook his head. “There's so much more for you to learn.”

Already tired of their talk, Lance aimed to end it. “We're two different people, Cole. People with different priorities. There's no right or wrong. It just is.”

But Cole wasn't ready to end the discussion just yet. “Lance, you have an MBA from one of the best schools in the country. You can write your ticket anywhere. Just say the word and I'll make some calls.”

“I don't want you to make any calls. You're just not getting it, Cole.”

“You're right. I'm not,” he said, finally losing patience with his nephew. “And neither are you at the rate you're going. I've tried to help you.”

Lance faced Cole, the mentor who had been more like an older brother than an uncle. The age difference between the two wasn't great, but Cole seemed so much older, so stressed. Lance had no intention of seeing his life turn into a carbon copy of Cole's.

While he'd never admit it to a soul, especially not to Cole, Lance was glad the family no longer had control of the stores. He'd been the heir-in-training, and Lance could think of just one thing worse than being CEO of Heart Federated: having people depend on him.

“I don't need your help, Cole. You're living your life, making your own choices. Let me make mine.

“Every person in this family has to go his own way,” Lance continued. “Your plan to make a hundred billion dollars with your venture capitalist friend sounds great. It's just not my thing.”

“What
is
your plan?” Cole said. “Your so-called thing?”

Lance grinned. “The same as it's always been. I have a date tonight with a beauty queen named Rochelle. She's Miss Hampton Roads. And I met a tall, dark and very lovely lady today. My plan is to get to know them both better. Intimately, you might say.”

2

V
ivienne la Fontaine sent the two salesclerks home and closed Guilty Pleasures herself. Business had been slow, and, for once, Viv was grateful for the reprieve. When Lance Heart Smith walked into the store at noon, she'd almost fainted. When he'd told her he wanted to visit her shop, she'd figured it to be just a line—well delivered, but a line nonetheless. She'd read a lot about the Hearts in the business pages of the local papers and well remembered the stories when they'd sold their Virginia and North Carolina stores to Knight and Kraus. If she recalled correctly, only one or two Heart stores in Detroit remained—they hadn't been a part of the deal.

Viv, whose tastes ran a little more to the eclectic than department store ware, had never shopped in the Heart stores in Hampton or Virginia Beach, and she'd yet to get to one of the newly opened Knight and Kraus stores. Now that Lance had actually made an appearance, she wished that she'd at least been in one of them before the changeover. Viv didn't dwell in regrets though or in the past. Her life was about right now. And all that mattered now was that Lance Heart Smith, a potential investor with very deep pockets, had been standing in her store. She couldn't wait to tell her sister Vicki.

Tall, about six-four to her own five-eleven, dark, the color of sweet milk chocolate, and handsome—gorgeous actually—Lance Heart Smith was a woman's walking fantasy. Viv tried to ignore her initial response to him and to keep her focus on her rehabilitation. Weaning herself off one-night stands had been difficult, very difficult, because Viv was a woman who liked sex. And she liked men to notice her.

She'd gotten lots of notice from Lance and she'd deliberately—Vicki would say maliciously—led him on. She enjoyed the game. If they really sold lingerie that way at the shop, every last one of the store's employees would be hauled in on solicitation charges.

That thought sobered her quickly. She couldn't afford to lose track of her plan. Not now that she'd come so far.

She knew Lance's type. Viv reminded herself that she wasn't in the market for someone obsessed with the outer package: the hair and makeup, the boobs and the legs. If she needed or wanted a man, which she didn't, she'd only be interested in someone who looked deeper, someone whose main interest in her was the bottom line of her company, not the way her bottom rounded out her skirt or jeans.

But who was she kidding? She'd made a lot of money flaunting her outer package.

Unlike some of her colleagues who spent their salaries on cars and clothes and extended vacations in exotic locales, she'd scrupulously saved her money, eventually parlaying the financial freedom she'd earned into the launch of Guilty Pleasures. She had big dreams for her little store. And when Lance Heart Smith walked through her front door, it was as if Aphrodite, Viv's patron saint, had answered her prayer.

A smile curved the corners of her mouth. He'd flirted outrageously; but then, she had, too, under the guise . . . well, not a guise. He'd wanted to know how she sold lingerie. The truth was men liked to be turned on by the women selling them lingerie for their wives and girlfriends. And women wanted to be assured that they'd look stunning no matter their shape or size. Each of Viv's staff members knew how to exploit those desires and make all of their customers feel extra special. That level of service translated into sales. Big ones.

She spent the next twenty minutes trying to tally the day's receipts, but her mind kept wandering back to Lance. He had the height and physique of a cover model, and he dressed as if he'd just stepped out of a photo shoot for
GQ.
The model in Viv liked that. She also liked the buffed nails and the gold-and-onyx cuff links. Details made all the difference. And by all accounts, Lance Heart Smith was a details man. He'd indolently lounged on the chaise that women loved and men found sexy. But he'd been careful of his trousers. The suit she'd tagged as Versace. And his tie Italian silk.

He was also rich and looking for a new investment.

Or so he said.

Viv, though solvent with the current operation, was ready to expand in a big way. Her attention span with the shop was waning. Despite Vicki's warnings that she was moving too fast too soon, she wanted to shift the focus of Guilty Pleasures. That took capital. And the Hearts had more money than they knew what to do with. Viv aimed to get a part of it. Her dreams for Guilty Pleasures depended on that. First, she wanted to launch a glossy, high-end catalog and then open more stores, and then day spas that carried the la Fontaine name.

She knew better than to stake her entire future on a yes-or-no decision from Lance, someone who'd expressed merely a casual interest in her business. So the ever-resourceful Viv had a backup plan. Of course, she'd rather not be forced to use it because it would involve eating a lot of crow and enduring even more I-told-you-so's from someone she'd rather not even deal with. But Viv was a woman who did what she had to do.

After he'd kissed her, Lance Heart Smith asked if they could have dinner together. One part of her was glad she had plans for the evening, plans that didn't include being wined and dined by a rich playboy. The rich part suited her just fine. She'd had enough of self-absorbed playboys though. Years on the runway surrounded by gorgeous men with egos the size of the Chesapeake Bay and intellects about as developed as that of a jellyfish had cured Viv of any lingering hankering for pretty boys.

Lance Heart Smith tipped the pretty boy meter. He was the kind of man who made reasonable women drop their panties and slip their room and house keys into his large, capable hands. In other words, he was just the sort of man Viv loved.

Except she was trying to do better. How many times had Vicki urged her to focus on big-picture goals and the long-term rather than the moment? It was easy for her twin to say that; Vicki didn't understand Viv's needs.

Viv had to admit, the eye candy meant a pleasant diversion on a slow afternoon. But, she conceded with a sigh, the only thing Lance could do for her was agree to invest in her expansion project. Viv was great at coming up with creative ideas. She let Vicki worry about the other stuff, like details and the long-term.

The telephone rang and she reached for it and the printout from the register. “Guilty Pleasures, where it's no sin to indulge.”

“You know, one of these days somebody's gonna take that the wrong way.”

Viv smiled and settled back into the soft leather chair in her office. “And how are you taking it?”

“Never you mind.”

“One of these days I'm going to persuade you to totally release those inhibitions.”

“Promises, promises.”

She chuckled, enjoying the easy bantering with Julian. “What can I do for you this evening?”

“Are you done at the shop?”

“Just about.”

“Then you can have dinner with me. I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes. There's a new restaurant downtown that we must christen.”

Viv did a quick estimate of the work she'd yet to finish, including payroll for her three full-time and two part-time clerks. She'd planned to order Chinese takeout and catch up on all of her paperwork tonight. But spending time with Julian suddenly seemed a much better idea. She could count on him to lift her spirits. That she needed her spirits lifted gave testimony to how hard she'd been working lately—and to how hard she'd been trying to win that bet with her sister.

“Forty-five minutes,” she bargained.

“Thirty.”

She tapped her pen on the surface of her desk, an antique secretary she'd purchased in Milan. “Forty. I'll meet you there. Have my Cosmopolitan waiting, and make sure it's—”

“Shaken not stirred.”

“You're an angel,” she said. “And I have news.”

“Hint.”

“Unh-uh. I'm gonna make you suffer.”

“Witch.”

This time she did laugh. “That's why you love me.”

“You know I do,” he said before giving her the address of the restaurant and ringing off.

Smiling, Viv slowly replaced the receiver. Twice now Julian Gerard had asked her to marry him. Twice now she'd put him off. Not because she didn't love him. She did. Sort of. She just...

Viv sighed. She didn't know what the “just” was. Staring at her pen without seeing it, she readjusted her thoughts.

Sometimes she thought she wanted the stability and comfort of marriage, but if she had it, it had to be without the attendant strings that most men would demand. Like children. That thought alone sent frissons of revulsion rippling through her. At twenty-seven, Viv was in what many would call her prime childbearing years. But she'd never, ever wanted children, not biological ones, not adopted ones, not step ones.

Julian on the other hand, professed to want the textbook American life, complete with picket fence and cocker spaniel. The new Viv just wanted to make a good living and provide for the people who depended on her, including her employees and her sister. Well, that, and be the center of the Universe. That's why being a model, with all eyes on her as she pranced down a runway, had been ideal. It stroked her ego, boosted her in ways she didn't want to examine too closely. Running Guilty Pleasures was fun, but she needed something else.

With a sigh, she again concentrated on the work in front of her.

She printed off the paychecks for her staff and then the bonuses each got for selling certain commissioned pieces, mostly art and jewelry. The salesclerks could earn commissions on the furniture, too, but no one had this pay period. The chaise was the shop's bestseller. An identical one graced her sister's bedroom at home as well as her own. The artisan who crafted them offered a nice bonus to the clerks for every customer who ordered one.

On her Outlook calendar, Viv made a note to call Lucia Allen. Customers had really taken to the jewelry designer's work, and Viv wanted to make sure she had enough of the funky brooches, earrings and bangles on hand to meet demand during the upcoming pajama party at the store.

“Not bad for yourself this period,” she murmured as she made out a bonus check in the amount of $350.38 for Dakota. In addition to working at Guilty Pleasures Dakota did some catalog modeling. Next to her sister, Dakota was the closest thing to a friend that Viv had. She'd never really gotten along with women; that included female photographers, even though some of the best work in her portfolio had been shot by women.

She finished payroll, then made a neat stack of the work she'd do first thing in the morning. She'd made the mistake of telling her accountant Basil about her expansion ideas. He'd proceeded to shoot her down and had even followed up with a detailed letter outlining the reasons why it wouldn't work. For a couple of weeks, Viv put off answering that letter. Since he'd decided to jump all official and send it on letterhead, she'd respond in the same way.

But not right now.

She put his nasty-gram in a floral folder—it was always better to wrap unpleasant things in pretty packaging. She stuffed in that same folder a couple of other notes on tasks she'd been delaying and placed the folder on top of the stack of other work to do.

Julian was definitely the diversion she needed tonight.

 

 

Cloud 9 was tucked between a former bank that had been converted into a trendy furniture store and an artist's cooperative that doubled as a small performing arts venue. The restaurant was small, but Viv loved it the moment she walked in the door. Calming blues and creams made up the overall decor. The tables were covered in layered fabrics of the same colors. And everywhere she looked, angels peeked at her, naughty ones, sexy ones, angelic ones.

A mural on a wall illustrated an artist's interpretation of what it meant to ride on cloud nine: angels were hanging ten on surfboards, a couple of them zipped by a fluffy cloud on a Harley, and in obvious deference to the heavy military presence in the region, one gave a jaunty wave while piloting an F-15 fighter jet. And when a server passed by with a tray of drinks, Viv grinned. Angel wings sprouted from the woman's back.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” she said.

A moment later, she spotted Julian at the bar. As usual, he was dressed in black. She'd been trying, obviously to no avail, to get him to drop the New York night-at-the-art-gallery look, but he'd insisted that as a publicist he had a certain style to live up to. He apparently didn't mind that he looked like a cliché.

When they'd first met, Viv would have put money on the table that Julian was gay. From his speech to his mannerisms, everything about him put her gaydar on full alert. But he insisted he was straight, and he'd been playing a mighty convincing role of heterosexual all this time. No matter his sexual preference, she loved him dearly.

Viv paused, her brow furrowing for a moment. The answer to her relationship problems was right there, if she could just put her finger on it. But before she could narrow the focus of her thoughts, Julian flagged her.

“There you are, Viv,” he said, approaching with what undoubtedly was a rum and Coke in one hand. “Isn't this place wonderful?”

After air kisses, she let Julian steer her to a table for two tucked in a corner. Viv frowned. He knew she liked to be at the best table in the house.

“I just ordered your Cosmopolitan,” he said. “They make them with Grand Marnier and a cherry cranberry juice. I think you'll like it.”

“Julian, this table . . .”

His face scrunched into a moue. “I know. But we didn't have reservations. I had to drop a twenty just to get this.”

She decided to forgive him. This time. But she wondered if a man like Lance Heart Smith would be escorted to a table in the corner, reservation or not.