Legacy of Lies (16 page)

“Well, it's certainly been wonderful meeting both of you,” she said. All right, so it was a lie. But only a little white one. Besides, from the dangerous, possessive glint in Miranda's gem-bright eyes, Alex knew better than to admit she and Zach had met before. “But I'm afraid I must be going.”

“Oh?” Miranda's glossy lips formed into a perfect, pouty O of regret. “So soon? We've barely had time to get acquainted.”

“I'm sorry. But we're taping early tomorrow morning.”

“I'll walk you out,” Zach said. As he'd feared, his casual remark drew a dark, fatal glance from his wife.

Lord, if looks could kill, Alex thought, Zachary Deveraux would be six feet under. “Thank you,” she said, declining his offer firmly, “but that really isn't necessary.”

Alex prided herself on getting through the obligatory parting conversation with Eleanor Lord, making her way back downstairs and remembering to tip the liveried parking valet.

It was only when she was all alone in the privacy of the new red Porsche that Friedman Television Productions had leased for her as a reward for winning the Emmy, driving through the darkened Los Angeles streets back to Venice, that Alex finally allowed herself to weep.

L
ord's executive offices were located in Century City, built on land that had once been 20th Century Fox's back lot and had housed Sunnybrook Farm, Peyton Place and Boot Hill. Before that, the valuable Los Angeles real estate had been cowboy star Tom Mix's ranch.

The day after the party, Zach sat in his office in one of the two towers, which had so altered the Los Angeles skyline, going over the monthly sales figures with Eleanor.

He found it difficult to keep his mind on the report. Because he knew that just across the way, in the vast network entertainment center on the other side of the sculpture garden, “Blue Bayou” was taping.

The memory of those stolen, magical hours with Alex in Louisiana flickered seductively through his mind, teasing him with sensual memories and erotic wishes.

“What about the Texas Fashion House acquisition?” Eleanor asked, leafing through the thick sheaf of papers.

Since opportunities for new stores nationwide were limited, expansion-minded chains like Lord's were forced to seek market share by acquiring existing stores in other cit
ies. Zach was currently negotiating to purchase a small chain of boutiques in San Antonio, Houston and Dallas.

Known throughout the retail industry for sales growth, Lord's was adding floor space at a faster rate than any other chain in the country. Expansion under Zach's leadership had fueled a thirty-three percent sales gain during the past five-year period.

Still, unlike so many of his contemporaries, who were leveraged up to their eyebrows, Zach was a conservative businessman. He slept easily each night knowing that under his leadership, The Lord's Group would survive—indeed, thrive—when the inevitable down cycle did occur.

“They've turned out to be more heavily leveraged than we first thought,” he revealed. “However, since our debt-to-capital ratio is down considerably since last quarter, that shouldn't prove a problem.”

“Good. Neiman-Marcus is opening a new store in Dallas. I don't want to lose market share there.”

“I'll see that we don't.” What was Alex doing right now?

Eleanor knew that on a lesser man, such innate confidence would have sounded like arrogance. On Zach it was an understatement. “I have every faith in you, Zachary.”

She put the Texas figures aside. “By the way, did you receive my memo about the boutique lighting?”

“About dividing the various departments with neon signs?”

“That's the one. Clara and I went shopping yesterday in the Rodeo Drive store and were met with a distressing phalanx of dress racks.”

“Well, it is a dress store,” Zach said. Was Alex standing at a window in that twin tower, perhaps, looking out across the complex, thinking of him and wondering if he was thinking of her?

“True. But the store seemed boring.”

“I believe the term you and the decorator agreed on last year during all those months of planning the remodeling was ‘sophisticated and timeless,'” Zach reminded her.

“I liked the plans on paper,” Eleanor conceded grumpily. “But in reality, there's just no
pow
. We need to liven things up.”

“Don't tell me you want to hire perfume terrorists like they have at some stores.”

During his last trip to Manhattan, on the way to a first-floor escalator in a major department store, he'd gotten attacked by a frighteningly aggressive young woman who'd leapt out from behind a counter and sprayed Polo cologne on him. Zach had spent the rest of the afternoon yearning for a shower.

“Nothing that drastic,” she assured him. “But these are exciting, fast-moving times, Zach. And our stores should reflect that. The minute a customer enters Lord's, she should experience a sensual overload that gives her an immediate sense of something going on. A happening.”

“I think happenings went out with the sixties.”

“Don't be difficult. You know what I mean. Neon is bright and lively, and I think we ought to implement it in the Rodeo Drive store. If it works the way I think it will, we can take it nationwide.”

“I'll get work started on the designs.” He'd learned not to argue with Eleanor's innate sense of marketing.

“Good. While you're at it, have the design staff add some spotlights to brighten up our more special merchandise, as if they were on stage. Center stage.”

“Spotlights,” he murmured, jotting it down, along with a note to have the construction department ensure there would be enough capacity for the increased electrical demand. One thing they didn't need was another fire.

They were momentarily interrupted by his secretary, who arrived with the latest sales figures. Last quarter Zach had installed a much envied management information and control system that provided hourly updates on sales and inventory in every department of every store in the country.

Such a state-of-the-art computer system allowed Lord's buyers to recognize both the dogs and the hot sellers quickly. It also revealed regional trends; what sold well in Dallas or Los Angeles didn't necessarily work in Peoria or Buffalo.

He gave a copy of the report to Eleanor, keeping one for himself. “Debord's sales are still slipping,” he pointed out unnecessarily.

“I know.” Eleanor's lips drew down in a frown. It was not often she made a judgment in error. But when she did she characteristically made a quick correction. “Do you happen to know what it would cost us to buy out the last year of his contract?”

Zach had anticipated that question.

“You're always one step ahead of me,” she complained when he answered quickly off the top of his head. In truth, she wanted it no other way. “I don't understand what happened,” she mused. “The line we saw in Paris, when we signed him to that contract, was wonderfully energetic. I thought it would leap out of the stores.”

“Which it did. First-quarter sales were unprecedented.”

“And have been going downhill ever since. Just like his fashions. Oh, well.” She shook her bright head. “We'll just pay the man off and be done with it.”

“You know,” Zach said, “although I'll agree with you that his designs lack something, it isn't completely Debord's fault. All the designer lines, as well as the store brand names in other chains, have experienced slippage this past year.”

“I know. I've been giving that some thought and have decided that clothing has become so ubiquitous that we department stores are living our own version of every chic woman's private nightmare. Every store in every mall in every city has the exact same clothes….

“We need something new. A look that says, Only Available Here.”

Zach's attention had wandered again, across the sculpture garden, over the landscaped plaza, to Alex. “I suppose you have something in mind,” he murmured absently.

“You know me so well.” Eleanor sat back in her chair, crossed her legs and said, “Here's my plan.”

Her next words, spoken in that brook-no-argument tone he'd learned to respect, brought Zach back to reality with a resounding crash.

 

Alex was sitting on the porch of her rented home in Venice, watching the waves roll relentlessly onto the packed sand. The sun had sliced its way through the smog, splintering the sky with shafts of pure gold. The clarity of the light intensified the landscape, making the water sparkle like crystal beneath the gleaming sapphire sky.

Like so many residents of the City of Angels, Alex knew she was guilty of taking the benevolent weather for granted. It took mornings like this to make one stop and bask in the pure glory of California sunshine.

Unfortunately she was not to be given that luxury today. Because in a few short hours she was scheduled to have lunch with Eleanor Lord. And Zachary Deveraux.

Six days had passed since she'd encountered Zach at Eleanor's fund-raising party. Six long days and six equally long and restless nights. In trying to keep up with Sophie's demands that “Blue Bayou” remain the glitziest, most dazzling show on television, along with struggling to live up
to her own design reputation, which seemed to be ballooning into the stratosphere since the Emmy, Alex's work required her undivided attention.

So why the hell couldn't she stop thinking about Zach?

Although she'd fought it, he'd infiltrated her thoughts. Which she must not allow! A lifetime of experience had taught her that everything was transitory—here today, gone tomorrow. Homes, schools, work, relationships.

Nothing was forever.

Especially relationships.

With a sigh, she went back into the house. She stood under the shower, head back, allowing the water to sluice over her, willing it to dampen her desire for a man she had no business thinking about.

He was married, for God's sake, she reminded herself firmly as she rubbed herself dry with enough vigor to practically scrape away a layer of skin. And she'd seen enough women badly burned by unhappy experiences with married men to vow that she'd never make that mistake herself. Even if the man in question caused her pulse to jump with a single glance, or her heart to turn somersaults with a mere touch.

The company dining room in the Lord's Century City office complex was, as Alex would have expected, exquisitely decorated. Dove gray silk walls blended quietly with the soft blue sky outside the tall windows, which wrapped the room in nonstop views.

Rosewood gleamed, glazed pale pewter tile glimmered underfoot. Oriental vases claimed space in arched wall niches, while special-effects lighting illuminated priceless Impressionist paintings.

Although she'd been nervous about this meeting, Alex tried to relax as Eleanor greeted her warmly and congratulated her again on her Emmy, then complimented her
work, the dress she'd worn to the party, the outfit she'd chosen to wear today.

Other than greeting her politely, Zach remained silent. But as she exchanged preluncheon small talk with the department store owner, Alex was all too aware of him leaning back in his chair, his nonchalant pose doing nothing to soften his innate power.

The lunch, a fresh Alaska king crab and shrimp salad topped with raspberry vinaigrette and served by a blue-suited butler, was a superb example of California cuisine. The polite conversation continued over lunch as they discussed the weather, the Lakers and, of course, “Blue Bayou,” the plot line of which Alex knew, but could not reveal.

And still Alex had no idea why she'd been invited here today.

The plates were cleared. Finally, after a dessert of pears poached in California champagne, Eleanor said, “I have a proposition for you, Alexandra.”

“A proposition?”

“I'd like you to adapt your glamorous television designs for Lord's ready-to-wear market.”

The Limoges cup filled with coffee was halfway to her lips. Alex slowly lowered it back to the table. “Like your Lady Lord's line?”

“Not at all,” Eleanor corrected quickly. “Actually, I always had my personal doubts about Lady Lord's. The only reason we initiated the line was it seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, everyone else was establishing private-label clothes. But there was a problem we didn't foresee.”

“The latest focus-group study revealed customers view private labels as knockoffs,” Zach said, entering the con
versation. “Which was Eleanor's concern all along,” he added, giving credence to his employer's instincts.

“Actually, the report said customers perceive private labels as the kind of frumpy, cheap stuff you'd see on the first floor,” Eleanor revealed. “Store brands are, unfortunately, viewed as the bottom of the line. Which is definitely not where we would position your designs.

“We'd insist on exclusivity, of course. But we are willing to pay for that privilege.” The figure she suggested was higher than the deal Debord had reportedly cut with the chain. “And, naturally, we would work out a generous commission schedule,” Eleanor tacked on matter-of-factly.

Alex was, quite literally, stunned. The idea was intriguing, the money being offered staggering. But the deal also came with a definite downside. And that was that if she agreed, she would undoubtedly be forced into frequent contact with the very man she'd vowed to stay away from.

That brought up another even more unpalatable thought. What if this had been all Zach's idea? What if he was willing to spend Lord's money to force her into an intimate relationship?

Eleanor misunderstood Alex's hesitation. “I realize that couture gets all the headlines. But perhaps you've heard of something Prince Matchabelli once said: ‘When customers come to you in Rolls-Royces, you go home on the subway—”

“When customers come to you on the subway, you go home in a Rolls-Royce,” Alex filled in the rest of the quote. She shot Zach a sharp look, earning only a bland one in return.

“Exactly.” Eleanor smiled her approval. “Besides,” she said, “you wouldn't be designing clothing for K Mart, Alexandra. Lord's is decidedly upscale. And as I was telling
Zach just the other day, with all the department store chains now carrying the same designers, fashion has grown boring.

“It will give Lord's extra clout to have its own line. You've a remarkable gift, Alexandra, dear. Together we could bring that gift to women all across America.”

“How would it be displayed?” Alex asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

“Oh, I'm so glad you asked that question.”

Eleanor reached into the leather-bound portfolio on the chair beside her and pulled out a series of sketches, which she handed across the table to Alex. “I took the liberty of commissioning these specifically for this meeting.”

Alex stared in wonder at the dazzling artist's renderings of an in-store boutique featuring the Alexandra Lyons Blue Bayou collection. Exclusively at Lord's.

The drawings were incredibly detailed, making Alex wonder if Eleanor always worked at such warp speed. She glanced at Zach, who merely shrugged, revealing his own surprise with the artwork.