Redemption (2 page)

The elevator pinged. Gleaming brass doors parted silently, and Claire stepped inside, hoping the welcome awaiting her on the seventh floor would go as smoothly.

More likely, she’d be greeted as warmly as an IRS audit.

She frowned, remembering the article in today’s
Philadelphia Inquirer
. It had been just a small blurb, really, announcing her appointment to the board. Though it wasn’t her first brush with publicity, she still hated seeing her name in print—even her real name—and a photo that wasn’t unfocused and blurry. There was always the chance that someone would recognize her.

Although that hadn’t happened in ten years.

She smoothed her tight chignon of “crow feather” hair, as her mother had called it. Not a single strand had dared to escape its confines, and without checking, she knew the Lancôme she had applied that morning was flawless. Long ago she had learned the art of camouflage. Ninety-nine percent of attitude was acting, something she had once been told she was good at.

The never-let-them-see-you-sweat philosophy had served her well over the years, and today it would be her number one ally. When all escape routes were blocked, she could stand her ground with the best of them.

She allowed herself a tiny smile of triumph. It would take more than a boardroom of overstuffed executives to rout Claire Porter, she told herself, the pinging tune of the elevator cheering her on.

After all, what could possibly happen that was worse than what she had faced before?

In a far corner of the rotunda, near a crowded display of gloves, a man aimed his Nikon at the elevator doors and snapped the shutter, capturing the image of a dark-suited woman just before she disappeared into the elevator.

Then he glanced at the fountain, where a ray of sun glinted off the figure in the center, causing the bronze eye to wink at him.

He stopped, blinked, then shook his head.

As he turned and walked away, a spray of water surged to life from behind the goddess, showering her bronze head and anointing her with a stream of purified liquid from somewhere below. The water cascaded over her outstretched arms, then fell into the pool below, where it was stirred by underwater jets that kept it flowing.

The wheel of fortune had just spun into motion.

Claire jotted a final note on the tablet in front of her, then glanced around the boardroom.

She recognized most of the department managers from her previous meetings with management. Chester Wheaton was Vice President of Merchandise. She knew his easygoing exterior hid a sharp mind, which would be crucial in carrying out the retail strategy Kaslow’s would have to adopt if it was to remain competitive. Stanley Adair ran the Marketing department and seemed to have all the initiative of a contented housecat. Fortunately he was due to retire next spring.

Five minutes after the meeting was supposed to begin, Evan Kaslow walked in. He was slated to take over the president’s office after his uncle retired, but Claire wasn’t so sure he was the best choice. He had a reputation as a corporate Casanova, and the last thing Kaslow’s needed was a sexual harassment suit.

And now that Bernard Kaslow’s successor would be chosen on the basis of skill rather than family pedigree, Evan would have to earn his way to the executive office.

Which might explain his sour expression as he greeted her. “I see the Black Knight has finally joined our ranks.”

Claire swallowed a sigh. A business blogger had dubbed her the “Black Knight” after FGI put in its white knight rescue bid for Kaslow’s. She thought it made her sound like some sort of medieval mortuary director, hardly the image she was hoping to portray.

Evan narrowed his gaze, eyeing her black Donna Karan jacket as if it were a knockoff from H&M. “At least you’re dressed for the part. But shouldn’t you be buying your business suits at Kaslow’s now that you’re on the board?”

She leveled him with the impassive smile she’d perfected long ago, when girls at school mocked her knee-length dresses and clunky shoes. “Hello, Evan. I hope to have a chance to check out the styles in Ladies’ Corporate Wear later. But I thought it more important to get our balance sheets back in the black first.”

Evan’s confident look faded. As Vice President of Stores, he bore part of the blame for the financial losses Kaslow’s had sustained. Claire intended to see that each branch pulled its own weight from now on.

Claire congratulated herself on the easily won skirmish. Not bad for the first board meeting, but she had a feeling that when she announced the restructuring of the store’s pension plans, she’d have more than her wardrobe to defend.

Jackie Prescott, the public relations director, breezed into the room, the scent of Chanel floating in with her. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “But when you hear why, you’re going to die. Absolutely die.” A smug glance traveled over the assortment of executives at the table as she sank into the only vacant chair. When her gaze settled on Claire, Jackie’s wine-colored lips tightened into thin cracks. “Oh, hello, Claire. Did you see the announcement in yesterday’s business section? They wanted more background information, but I didn’t have any in my file.” Opening a floral notebook, she added, “You seem to have been born when you came to work for the Forrest Group.”

In some ways she had, but Claire wasn’t about to share that with Jackie.

“Yes, I did see it. I thought it was fine. It’s not my background that counts, after all.” She was grateful the mention had been brief. The unexpected publicity had unnerved her, although the article had been buried beneath a story on the local housing market.

Claire wondered what Jackie was doing at the board meeting—she wasn’t technically a member of the board. Perhaps she planned to prepare a statement on the changes expected at Kaslow’s—at least, the changes Claire hoped would occur. The board would still have to agree, and though Claire, as the unofficial representative for Connor Forrest, was a force to be reckoned with, there was no guarantee her plans would be implemented if they didn’t pull their own weight.

Connor’s system of checks and balances, she reflected with a smile.

The room stirred as Bernard Kaslow arrived. Nine minutes late, Claire noted. He was the spitting image of the portrait of Earnest Kaslow on the wall, minus a set of fluffy sideburns.

As he settled at the head of the table, Jackie leaned forward, filling Bernard in on her news, no doubt. Finally, he nodded and glanced up. “The details will have to wait until later, Jackie. I’m sure we’ll need some good news after we hear those numbers from Finance.” He frowned at Claire. “I hope the picture’s not as grim as some of the rumors floating around here seem to indicate.”

Claire thought she detected a warning in his voice, but she ignored it as she rose from her seat. “Hardly. As you all can see from the sheets I’ve passed out—the new budget proposals, along with next year’s earning projections—the financial picture could hardly be described as ‘grim.’ I think with some creative belt tightening—” she glanced around the room, noting a few relieved expressions, then continued “—we can all manage to live within our means for the next year and at the same time keep up the image of quality this store is known for.”

For the next twenty minutes, she outlined a detailed financial forecast for the company, one that differed vastly from the haphazard accounting her predecessor had favored. During his era, department managers had asked for, and generally received, their budget amounts. During hers, she would tell the departments what they were allowed to spend. The change would take some getting used to and would put a few backs up, but she was prepared to be firm.

“And finally,” she said, her gaze resting on Bob Berry, director of human resources. His broad face was smiling, since his budget would actually be increased. “You’ll notice I’ve earmarked funds to be used to establish a corporate childcare center on the premises. Currently there is no adequate daycare in the area, and after the center is in place, it will double as a drop-in childcare facility for our customers. Thus, the purpose is twofold: an employee benefit, in keeping with Forrest Group policy on the West Coast, and an incentive to bring in affluent suburban shoppers, many of whom have young children.

“As you can see,” she finished, “we plan to keep the emphasis on Kaslow’s as a shopping experience, a place to be entertained—but only when that entertainment enhances sales, rather than entertainment purely for entertainment’s sake.”

Jackie jotted a note in the floral notepad. “Oh, dear, looks like no more free concerts in the rotunda on Thursdays.”

“On the contrary, Jackie. The concerts are a relatively low-budget item and seem to bring in the sort of customers we want. However, we can’t afford another bridal extravaganza like the one last spring. The ‘wedding’ alone cost half a million dollars, and our bridal department is only a small part of our total operation.”

Jackie gave her a frosty glare. “Some of the best families in Philadelphia were there—the Stedwells, the Van Ostermans—even the mayor!”

“And did any of them buy wedding dresses?” Claire asked, knowing the answer.

But Jackie ignored the question. “You obviously have no understanding of how these things work. Word of mouth is the most important form of advertising.”

Claire calmly pulled out a sheet of paper containing sales figures broken down by department. “Sales in Bridals were actually down last spring, due to changing demographics as well as the labor problems of one of our manufacturers. Not even the most aggressive marketing can change that. People aren’t having big weddings anymore. A focus on less extravagant—”

“You’re a financial manager! What on earth do you know about marketing?”

Claire refrained from pointing out her dual Master’s in Marketing and Finance had well-prepared her for her current position. “My job is to maintain the bottom line. The benefits must outweigh the costs. Give me solid proof of a publicity proposal that meets that criteria, and I’ll be all for it.”

Jackie smiled triumphantly. “Ah! I have one right here.” She pointed to her notepad. “I’ve just been on the phone with Marty Baker. It’s still waiting approval on their end, but GrayWolf Productions wants to use Kaslow’s as a location for the film they’re shooting here in Philadelphia this winter.”

Claire could only stare at her, mute with shock.

“GrayWolf?” someone on the other side of the table asked as Jackie continued to beam.

“They’re an independent production company. This will be their first film, but they’re definitely legit. I talked with someone in the Philadelphia Film Commission this morning, and they’ve been given permission to shoot on location at some of our historic sights.”

Claire gripped her pen, wondering desperately if there was a roll of antacids in her briefcase.

“Who’s starring in this film?” Chester asked.

“For now that remains a secret—though I’ve heard Ben Affleck’s name mentioned,” Jackie said with a cagey smile.

Claire glanced around the room, noting the mounting enthusiasm. Even Bernard was beaming approvingly.

Apprehension lodged somewhere near the pit of Claire’s stomach as her worst fears materialized. No, not her worst fears. This qualified as a distant second, maybe even third.

She took a deep breath and held up a hand to ward off the buzz of excited questions. “Hold on. What exactly have they asked for? Permission to film outside the premises?”

“Oh, no, they want to film interior shots here—it may require closing the store for a couple of days, but the compensation they’ve mentioned would more than make up for lost revenue.”

“Absolutely not.” The words were out of Claire’s mouth before she could contain them. Every head turned toward her.

“Closing the store is out of the question,” she continued. “There is no way to compensate for inconvenience to our customers, not to mention the possibility that something could be damaged.”

Or someone
. She tried to keep the thread of desperation out of her voice. “And there’s also the matter of Kaslow’s reputation to consider. If the film contains scenes with graphic violence or sexual content, it would undoubtedly offend many of our customers.”

“Oh, there’s no need to worry about that,” Jackie said. “I’ve been told the film will most likely be rated PG. It’s a light romantic comedy, something along the lines of
Pretty Woman
. And they’ll be taking out an insurance policy to cover any damages to our premises.”

“But we can’t close the store,” Claire said firmly. “Regardless of what sort of financial incentive they’re offering.”

Evan clicked his pen as if loading a weapon. “They could always shoot around our store hours. We are closed on Sunday mornings, Saturday evenings. Surely they could get in then.”

“Marty did mention that possibility,” Jackie added.

But a few hours would hardly be time enough to set up for a scene, much less complete the numerous takes necessary to shoot a few seconds worth of film footage. Claire said nothing, though, her mind busy sorting objections into neat piles she could deal with.

Jackie went on. “They’ve asked permission to use some of our merchandise as props. They’re willing to pay extra for that, as well as cover any damages. They’d also like to negotiate with our restaurant for catering while they film here. That would certainly make up for some of the lost revenues.” She tossed a gloating look in Claire’s direction, then added, as if cementing the deal, “Filming starts in January, which is one of our slower months.”