2 Death of a Supermodel by Christine DeMaio-Rice Read Free Book Online Page A

she wondered if he was thinking, as she was, that it might not be the best day for a business dinner, with or without Ruby. But Laura preferred laser attention and direct questions to obfuscation and social dancing. “How can we make you happy?” she asked, choking on the words.
    Pierre made a last ditch effort to wrest control of the conversation from her. “Ms. Sidewinder is excited to review us. She said it’s in the cards for the next issue, which is tomorrow.”
    Bob ignored him. “I’m concerned about my ROI. We charted this out, and since your matching backing fell through, I’m looking at a loss.”
    “Can’t you take it off your taxes?” Laura had no idea what she was talking about, and Bob knew it.
    “I already have tax efficiency built into my business.”
    Ivanah put down her glass and spoke in her thick Eastern European accent. “This wastes time.” She pulled a small leather folder from her bag. “My husband invested in your little company because he thought it would complement my interiors. He did not invest because he believed in you, in particular. This was not for you to do whatever boring thing. You already started, so he let you do what you wanted, but that stops today. Now you will follow my sketches.”
    The ridiculous charade of Laura’s good mood shattered. There was only one road, the road of flashy crap, the road Jeremy had walked with Gracie, where she got to dictate what was what because of her money. Laura didn’t know whether to let things take their course, which everyone seemed to do, and let Ivanah have what she wanted at the expense of her vision or hold fast to her vision and lose the company.
    Ivanah opened the file and handed it to Laura. The only surprise was the skill with which the sketches were drawn. They were gorgeous depictions of velvets, damasks, and sparkly trims in jeweled pinks, purples, and blacks. She could see before she even picked up a piece of paper that it was a beautiful line, just not for her.
    “This is what you want my company to be?” Laura asked.
    “My husband’s company.”
    “I’m thinking globally,” Bob said. “As a business driver, we may have to restructure to improve our value.”
    “Why don’t you start your own company?” Laura tried to sound encouraging instead of surly, as though she’d just had the most awesome idea, ever. Pierre kicked her under the table.
    “It’s too late,” Bob said. “It is what it is.”
    Ivanah’s body language told Laura just how annoyed she was with her husband. “He told me he was buying a company that did things close to what I need. But he has no sense outside the numbers. He thought you were attached to Jeremy. This is what I wanted. And here we are.”
    “Well, no,” Laura said, “that’s not how it was told to me. And the fabric’s ordered already.” She lied before she even thought about it, and then built on the lie. Dangerous. “We have an eight-week lead time on some of this stuff. We can’t change it now.”
    They all looked at Pierre Sevion, who had been texting his little heart out. He glanced up with a blithe look on his face. “I don’t think there’s anything here we can’t work out. A touch here and a touch there can bring all of these to the next level. We add a few pieces that represent luxury and indulgence. And next season, we start from scratch with a new, fantastic vision that is a collaboration between extravagance, craftsmanship, and commerciality.”
    “Commerciality stayed home,” Laura said, referring to Ruby, who had the sharpest sense of what would sell.
    For the rest of the dinner, Bob stayed upbeat about the “new organization,” Ivanah tried not to look like a gloating victor, and Pierre tried to make lemons into peach pie.
    Laura felt as though she was giving away the farm.
    Laura didn’t turn on her agent until they were outside. “You didn’t just do what I think you just did. You didn’t just give Ivanah Schmiller the right to say what