Redemption (9 page)

He addressed his comments to Claire, who, as a result of the successful negotiations in October, was now the unofficial point person for any concerns regarding the filming. She didn’t mind; in fact, she preferred having at least some measure of control over the operation.

“Make sure the most expensive items remain locked in their cases,” she answered. “And our CCTV will be up and operating, I assume?”

Leon nodded. “The problem is, they want access to the whole building. They’ll be holding the extras in our auditorium, using our lounge areas and fitting rooms, moving equipment in our service elevator—there’s no way to monitor the entire situation, even with closed-circuit TV.”

“Post security personnel outside the main entrance and lock the other doors. If anything suspicious leaves here, have them demand to check it out. Remember, these aren’t customers we have to worry about offending,” Claire pointed out.

Evan spoke up. “You seem to have a poor opinion of anyone associated with Hollywood. I guess for someone who grew up in…Oklahoma was it…?” He lifted his brow in question. “It all must seem very…depraved.”

Claire gave him a cool look over her wire reading glasses. “You’d be surprised the degree of depravity I’ve seen in the boardroom, Evan. Which is exactly why I don’t trust anyone, regardless of whether they’re from Hollywood or Antarctica, to stroll around millions of dollars of merchandise unsupervised.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know I’ve asked my secretary, Lee Ann, to stay late to keep an eye on things.”

Claire sighed. Lee Ann was hardly equipped to put a stop to an invasion of army ants, much less shoplifters. And if the office gossip she’d heard was true, Lee Ann was mainly interested in sleeping her way up the corporate ladder.

“Then make sure she has a pass. No exceptions, not even for employees.” Claire shut her notebook with a thud that, she hoped, indicated the discussion was over.

Shortly afterward, Bernard Kaslow ended the meeting, and Claire tucked her pen into her briefcase. The next week would be a logistical nightmare, for the film crew as well as store personnel. She cringed at the thought of the cast and crew traipsing through the hundred-year-old corridors, but most of all she dreaded the presence of the film’s star. Her number one concern would be to stay out of his way and hope he in turn stayed out of hers.

On the way out, she was stopped by Evan. “Got a minute? I want to talk about the new Atlantic City store.”

“There’s not going to be a new Atlantic City store. We discussed that in our last board meeting, and it was voted down. Remember?”

“It was voted down because you were against it. A word from you…” He trailed off, the cold smile on his face not as charming as he no doubt meant it to be.

“That’s not true. Yes, I presented information that convinced the majority of the board members that it was a foolhardy idea at this point, but I was hardly the only voice in opposition.”

“Still, if you were to change your mind…”

“And why would I do that?”

“I’ve worked up some new figures—new sales projections, building estimates—that you really should see.”

Claire frowned. “Send me a copy. I’ll take a look at them.” She began to move away, but Evan took a step back, blocking her path.

“I’d rather discuss this now. In person.” The smile was gone, replaced by a tense frown.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have time now to hear what should have been presented a week ago, if your figures are even valid.” She resisted the urge to step back, out of the range of his cologne. Evan was a bully, but she didn’t give in to bullies. Not anymore. “As I told you then, we can’t afford another capital outlay at this point, not with the Cherry Hill store still not showing a profit. Plus, the board agreed to put our building funds into the Market Street renovations.”

“I really think you’ll regret your decision.” A thin film of sweat clung to his upper lip. Desperation didn’t sit well on his Armani-clad shoulders.

“It was the board’s decision,” Claire pointed out. “Take the case up with them. I’ll take a look at the figures, but right now, I’m busy,” she said sharply, then moved around him.

Evan had been unusually vocal in backing his pet project, so much so that Claire wondered if there were another reason he was so desperate to have the Atlantic City store added to the Kaslow’s chain. Perhaps it was the proximity to the casinos—she’d noticed his taste for risky gambles in the past.

But Claire took risk management very seriously, which was why she’d be glad when the next week, and the risk that Matt Grayson posed to her life, was over.

“Print it,” Matt called from his spot next to the video assist monitor. This was the third take of this particular setup and the first one in which the extras had hit their marks. So far, things had gone well. And it was only midnight.

Laura was giving a great performance as the snobby Jane. That elegant nose seemed to tilt upward, as if drawn by a magnet. Eventually Jane’s demeanor would mellow, after a few days in the company of “Luke.”

Laura glided over to him, still in character. “Matthew, you simply must let me do that again.” Then her voice dropped to its normal tone. “My stupid heel caught on the edge of the carpet.”

“You were out of camera range. I saw it. But we’ll do it again anyway for close-ups.” He turned to one of the production assistants hovering nearby. “Heather, get that carpet taped down. We don’t want any accidents.”

Laura leaned against a marble column and looked around. “This place is fantastic, isn’t it?” she said, taking in the opulence. “And the men’s department—that fireplace is amazing. Are we going to have it lit for our scene there?”

“Sure are,” he said, watching the camera operators return their equipment to the original positions. “And we’ve already alerted the fire department—and supplied the folks upstairs with plenty of aspirin. I imagine the thought of us playing with matches in their flagship store is giving them headaches.”

Laura eyed him with interest. “I heard you had to do some pretty fancy negotiating to even get us in here.”

He shrugged. “I think they had the idea we’d wreck the place.” He watched a member of the crew carefully place duct tape on the underside of the carpet—probably worth thousands, he figured, hoping the fears he mocked didn’t come true. He could just imagine the glee with which Claire would bill them for the damage.

Laura laughed. “They must have thought we were filming a sequel to
Jungle Fever…‘Retail Hell.
’” She threw out an arm in a dramatic gesture, barely missing a nearby display of hats. “I can see it now: You have a shootout with the bad guys on the escalators, then lunge over the cosmetic counter just in time to save me from the evil perfume spritzer.”

Matt chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Write the screenplay. Maybe it could be a sequel to
Lyin’ Hearts
.” Then he noticed that Mimi, the assistant photographer, had moved the close-up camera in place. “Places,” he called, then walked over to peer through the camera’s viewfinder. “Perfect. Cue the extras. Heather, we want quiet on the set. Sound—you’re on.”

Mimi snapped the electronic clapboard to begin the next take.

It was seven a.m. when they finished the scene. They had spent over nine hours setting up and filming for what would probably be less than five minutes screen time. It was a crucial five minutes, however. It established Laura’s character as a young woman of discriminating tastes and the wealth to back them up.

Laura was nothing like her character. And though Matt was enjoying her company, he felt no romantic stirrings for her. In fact, if he had had to choose a little sister, she would have been his first choice. Laura, too, seemed to look at him more as a friend and adviser than a potential shower partner.

As he walked back to his makeshift dressing room on the third floor, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from skipping back to another young actress, who had once looked at him with similar trust. But that innocent admiration had quickly erupted into more, flaring up into a fierce passion that still gave off a thin wave of heat, even after ten years. No other woman had ever affected him like that, so instantly and completely.

As the elevator doors opened, he wiped a hand over his face, disgusted with himself. It was useless feeling lust for a girl who no longer existed. All traces of Clarissa had been wiped out and replaced by the stern executive upstairs. At least, he thought they had. Somewhere underneath those tailored business suits and the prissy coiffure, was there a passionate woman itching to get out?

He smiled at the thought, though a part of him wanted to head for her office and shake the starch right out of her. The sane part of him, the part that had learned long ago not to follow those wild impulses, warned him not to. One film had already been shelved because he couldn’t keep his hands off Claire Porter, and he wasn’t about to risk this one.

Besides, he was thirty-six years old, too old to react like an awkward adolescent hard up for girls. He should call Annie, see if she could fly out and spend a weekend in Atlantic City—naked.

He passed by the windows overlooking the city street below, just coming to life. Heather had told him snow was in the forecast. That should cool his jets—plus, the second unit could get the outdoor shots they needed. Obediently, his mind turned back to the business at hand, but it was a while before his body remembered he was no longer wild about Claire Porter.

And lingering in the back of his mind were a dozen questions he still wanted answered.

Chapter Six

“Y
OU
A
RE
T
HE
T
YPE
O
F
W
OMAN
we had in mind when we developed this fragrance. Very elegant,
trés chic
.” M. Lemond gazed across the table at Claire, an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

The representative from the French perfume maker was living up to the reputation of his countrymen. Claire ignored his heavily accented flattery and moved her fruit plate to the side, replacing it with her notebook. They were having a breakfast meeting in the sixth-floor restaurant.

An exclusive deal to sell a new line of fragrance was a retailing coup. Not only would such a deal establish Kaslow’s cachet among East Coast retailers, but the expenses were shared by both the manufacturer and Kaslow’s, making the product one of their most profitable.

Claire normally wouldn’t have been the sole representative from Kaslow’s at this meeting, but Evan Kaslow had cancelled at the last minute and Monsieur Lemond couldn’t reschedule. The possibility of getting exclusive rights to market the new perfume from famed perfumier Mme. Bendel was too tantalizing an opportunity to let slip, so Claire had offered to meet with Bendel’s representative by herself.

The financial details had been worked out with no problem; it was the marketing aspects that he insisted on controlling.

She jerked her attention back to what he was saying.

“You see a very elegant woman at the office, who is perhaps, how do you say, not so uptight at home?” His dark eyebrows raised suggestively over a pair of frankly admiring eyes.

She smiled and refrained from mentioning that flattery would get him nowhere. What she wanted to hear was how they intended to cooperate with Kaslow’s when it came to promotion. “Our Marketing department has come up with several ideas,” she began. “Full-page ads, samples enclosed with credit card bills—”

“No, no, no,” he interrupted. “That is out of the question. We don’t want our product associated with such an unpleasant experience as opening a bill.”

Claire hid a smile. He did have a point, not to mention the fact that credit card bills often went straight to accountants, who weren’t likely to purchase expensive perfume for their clients.

Monsieur Lemond stroked his thin mustache. “Macy’s has offered to display our product at the store’s entrance. They’ve also invited our signature model to launch the campaign,” he informed her.

With a cool nod, Claire volleyed, “And we’ll do the same, except…” She recalled an article she had read in
Advertising Age
. “Perhaps the entrance is not the best place to make an impression. When people walk in off the street, the first thing on their minds is finding the location of the item they’ve come to purchase. It’s while they’re browsing the aisles that a well-placed product display has the potential to capture their attention, maybe spur an impulse purchase. While they’re searching for the hard-to-find gift, a small kiosk featuring your perfume may be just the thing.”

He looked interested. “Perhaps you are right.”

“And”—Claire went out on a limb— “why don’t we have Madame Bendel herself visit the store for the kick-off promotion? I’m sure the local press would be interested in covering the event.” And Jackie would turn cartwheels across the boardroom at the prospect.

Monsieur Lemond hesitated. “I’m not sure Madame could be persuaded to come to America. She rarely leaves Paris these days.”

“Of course, it was just an idea.” But Claire wondered if there were some way to sell Kaslow’s to the famed perfume maker. Her gaze swung behind M. Lemond to the window, where she could see production trailers and vans lined along the street like stranded railroad cars. Kaslow’s flagship store had sold itself to the producers of
Lyin’ Hearts,
much to her dismay, with the help of a few photos and a video the location manager had filmed. Perhaps the same method could be employed to entice Mme. Bendel. Never underestimate the power of video—and maybe this time, it could work to her advantage.