Match Made In Paradise by Barbara Dunlop (black female authors TXT) 📕

of Veronica’s simple black and burgundy pumps. People weren’t expected to dress exclusively in Lafayette wear, but Veronica was smart to show the corporate colors this week.

Mia got straight to the point. “What are your feelings on the outcome?”

Veronica hesitated.

“Me as the new CEO,” Mia said, to be crystal-clear.

Veronica’s fingers fidgeted together on her knee. “I feel fine. I mean, we don’t know each other very well, but . . . you know . . . we can . . .” She paused.

“Get to know each other better?” Mia offered.

Veronica bobbed a rapid nod. “I’m sure you heard . . . I mean, some people thought . . .”

“That Henry and Hannah would take over?” Mia finished for her.

Veronica gave a slower, uneasy nod.

“I’m not going to ask who wanted that.”

Veronica’s shoulders settled in what looked like relief.

Mia reach out and slid the file toward herself. “I’m not looking for blind loyalty. But I do need to know if you can be happy here under the changed circumstances.”

Interacting with people from Galina and WSA these past weeks, even the staff of Bear and Bar, had been an eye-opening experience for Mia. She’d learned a lot about team dynamics. “It’s important to me that you like your job and respect your team members.”

“I do,” Veronica said. “Respect you, I mean. I’m totally looking forward to working with you, and with Dara-Leigh too.” She hesitated. “That is, if you want me to stay.”

“I want you to stay if you’re happy staying.”

“I’m happy.”

“Good. That’s settled.” Mia sat back and gazed around the office. “One thing to start, I want to freshen the decor in here. You think you could come up with some ideas to lighten it up?”

Veronica looked happily surprised. “Yes. Sure.”

“Great. And can you get me the latest Boca and Rittenberg swatch samples? We’re already behind on our fabric order.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll need a presentation from the head designers for next year’s winter collection, sometime tomorrow. Nothing fancy, just the broad strokes. Tell them whatever they have that’s easy to put together.”

Veronica rose. “Right away.”

“Thank you.”

As Veronica left the office, Mia tapped her fingers on the file folder. Inside were the contracts for the Shanghai and São Paulo shows. When she saw the signatures, she’d have her first traitor.

There was another knock on the door, sharper this time. Someone was in a hurry.

“Come in,” Mia called out.

Geraldine Putts entered the room and closed the door behind herself.

“Hello, Geraldine.”

“Good morning.” Geraldine took a couple of careful steps forward, like Mia was a mother grizzly bear and Geraldine was prey. Her gaze dropped warily to the file folder.

It was obvious to Mia what that meant. “I take it your signature is on these contracts?”

“I didn’t want to.” Geraldine was clearly fearful. “They insisted. There was a study, facts and figures, data and statistics. The market is moving, and demographics are changing.”

“But you knew I’d want to stick with Alastair’s plan.”

Geraldine slowly nodded.

Mia didn’t know if Geraldine was a collaborator or merely a victim of circumstance, and she hated to jump to conclusions, since she’d had enough of that coming her way lately. It was no fun and utterly unfair to be the victim of assumptions.

She could fire Geraldine for signing the contracts, and she could fire Veronica for letting Geraldine know she’d asked for them. And then she could interrogate everyone on the senior management team and try to determine their loyalty, maybe fire them all.

The thought of it was exhausting.

“Are you happy here?” she asked Geraldine instead.

“Happy?” Geraldine seemed baffled by the question.

“In your job, working at Lafayette.”

“Of course. Absolutely.”

“And with me being in charge? Because I’m here, and that’s just the way it is.”

“Yes,” Geraldine said eagerly.

“I don’t know who to trust,” Mia said.

Geraldine was silent for a minute. “We deserve that.”

“But who wants to go on a witch-hunt?” Mia pushed the folder away. “I don’t. Would you?”

The question seemed to stump Geraldine. Her answer was hesitant. “No.”

“Good. I’m not making assumptions about anybody. Show me who you are and what you’ve got. And maybe you can do me the same courtesy.”

“I will,” she said, looking massively relieved. “Thank you.”

“You can spread that around the gossip mill,” Mia said.

Geraldine didn’t seem to know how to respond.

Mia regretted the jab. “Veronica is setting up a design meeting for Thursday.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Geraldine’s expression changed and her tone went softer. “Thank you, Mia.”

After Geraldine left, Mia stared at the closed door, telling herself she was doing the right thing. She could trust her instincts here. As Silas had pointed out, this was her environment, the one where she would thrive.

She was in a supportive environment now, a place where her every whim would be respected and no one would challenge her anymore.

A car would pick her up tonight at five. The driver would deliver her to the house, where the assistant chef would have dinner prepared—maybe a salad, some salmon or halibut and maybe a nice Cabernet Sauvignon or Chablis to go with it. She wouldn’t say no to dessert. Since that first cinnamon bun in Paradise, she’d embraced carbs and sugar, increasing her cardio to compensate.

She could work out in the basement gym tonight. No bears down there. No mosquitos either. Then, after a steam shower, she’d sleep in her custom-built Belgardi Luxury bed with the down pillows and silk comforter. Life here in LA was the best.

*   *   *

Silas couldn’t help but chuckle at Raven’s efforts over drinks at the Bear and Bar. He’d given her zero chance of Brodie agreeing to her latest idea, and it looked like he’d been right.

“I’m nobody’s pilot poster boy,” Brodie said.

“It’ll be from a distance,” Breena said. She was sitting next to Raven and across the table from Silas. It was late enough that there were only a few customers left in the restaurant.

Silas polished off his beer and checked his watch. It was more than thirteen hours until his flight tomorrow, so he was in good shape, alcoholwise.

“We don’t want a close-up of your face or anything,” Raven said.

“I’m not sure how to take that.” Brodie sipped