She pretends she doesn’t see me approaching, but the flush on her cheeks betrays her.
“Juliet.” I pause by the desk. “I have a meeting, I need you to take notes. Now.”
She flushes even deeper. “I… Umm…”
I’m almost enjoying watching her squirm, when Victoria interrupts. “I can take care of that, Mr. Sterling. Juliet is compiling sales reports. Besides,” she gives a glare. “I don’t think she’s ready for that responsibility.”
I’m about to overrule her, but Juliet has already grabbed the nearest file. “I’ll go, right now!” she blurts, and scurries away.
A narrow escape.
It’s probably for the best, since there’s no way I could focus on the meeting with her sitting right there in the room. I finally dismiss everyone, and turn to my schedule, when there’s a light tap at the door.
It’s Olivia.
I relax. “Hey,” I greet her. “What brings you all the way to midtown? I thought you fainted if you came below fifty-ninth.”
“Very funny,” she smiles. “You know all the best shopping is in SoHo.”
“My mistake.”
She collapses onto the couch and looks around. “When will you soften this place up?” she asks, sighing. “It looks like a serial killer works here.”
“Good. They can look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair,” I say, quoting an old poet.
Olivia shakes her head, smiling. I’ve known her almost my whole life, we grew up together, running in and out of the old Sterling Cross offices that our parents built. We even dated briefly, back when we were too young to know any better, but now we’ve fallen into a comfortable friendship.
She may own half of Sterling Cross, but she’s more of a silent partner. She lets me deal with all the hands-on, day-to-day business.
And the hard decisions.
Today, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a wrapped gift. “I was on my way to a lunch date, but I found this earlier. I wanted you to have it.”
I unwrap it curiously.
It’s an old photograph of our parents: all four of them, outside the flagship store. It was taken when they were probably about our age, before the two of us were born. Our parents had been the best of friends—they did everything together, so it only makes sense that they died together.
The plane crash, on their way to visit the Paris store, was a shock. No survivors. And it’d thrown Olivia and me into something we hadn’t been prepared for.
“It’s for the anniversary,” she says softly.
Right. The anniversary. Seventy-five years of Sterling Cross… We have a whole collection planned. Parties, galas, all to highlight the enduring success and timeless quality of the brand.
But what we don’t say, is that it’s a sadder anniversary for us, too. Five years since the plane crash that changed everything.
I set the photo down, staring into the eyes of my father. He looks so damn sure of himself. I wish I could say the same. “Thank you for this.”
“I can’t believe it…” she looks around. “Seventy-five years. It feels like the end of an era.”
“The beginning of a new one,” I correct her.
“Maybe…” She pauses. “Unless you’ve thought any more about the offer.”
I frown.
“From Sebastian Wolfe,” she adds.
I scowl. “I told you, selling is not an option.”