“It only increased the desirability of my guest list,” the distinguished Frenchman said in a wry tone. “Like you or hate you, they all want to meet you.”
Jared caught the disapproval the Frenchman lobbed him loud and clear. “It was a personal joke that should never have been made public,” he asserted.
“But it was,” Davide drawled. “And now you’ve alienated fifty percent of the population.”
Tension tightened his jaw. “It will blow over.”
Gagnon’s eyes glinted. “That’s what Richard Braydon thought when his comments about the French were broadcast on YouTube.” His gaze was deliberate. “It destroyed his business.”
A fist reached in and wrapped itself around his heart. Gagnon could not have missed the business stories depicting him teetering on a high-wire when it came to retaining control of his company. His radical push in a direction few dared to go. The Frenchman’s deal would push him over the edge one way or another, and Davide knew it.
“It will blow over,” Jared reiterated harshly. “And when you see what we have in our marketing plan, you will not have any doubts, I promise you.”
The other man inclined his head. “I expect brilliance from you, Stone. It’s the wild cards you throw my way I’m not so sure about.”
Jared gritted his teeth as Gagnon blew off the conversation and turned to introduce them around. Turned to introduce Bailey around, if he were to be accurate. With himself in Davide’s bad books, she apparently was a more enticing draw.
He spent the rest of the cocktail hour deflecting conversation of his manifesto, which truly seemed to have struck a global note. Heartily sick of it and inordinately annoyed with himself, he was then seated next to Gagnon’s daughter, Micheline, for dinner. Whether a joke or penance on Davide’s part, Jared thought he’d died and gone to hell by the main course. Micheline had not let up over the soup and appetizers about how damaging his effort “to be cute” was to women. How much it denigrated everything she’d worked for.
By the time the Cornish hens came, he would have laid down on the floor and allowed her to stick needles in every part of him if she would have stopped. Just stopped.
Bailey, of course, had been placed beside Davide. She spent the evening chatting away to him in that perfect French he didn’t understand so he couldn’t follow their conversation. Apparently, she had lost her nerves.
Micheline glanced over at her father and Bailey, her thin mouth curving in a cynical smile. “She was a brilliant stroke of strategy on your part, Jared, no doubt about it. You know Daddy can’t resist a beautiful blonde.”
“She’s extremely smart,” Jared muttered. And annoying. He needed to be in on that conversation. But it didn’t happen. Dessert stretched into liqueurs and no one moved. Finally, the French singer took the stage on the terrace, the band backing her up, and Jared seized the opportunity to grab his CMO.
“Care for a dance?” he requested on a slightly belligerent note, holding out his hand.
She nodded and excused herself from Davide’s side. Jared’s long strides ate up the distance to the dance floor set up on a corner of the balcony. He slid an arm around Bailey’s waist, laced his fingers through hers and pulled her to him.
“When were you planning on including me in your little party?”
She absorbed that, absorbed his frustration, then sighed. “You told me to work him, Jared. That’s what I’m doing.”
“Awfully well.”
She sealed her bottom lip over her top.
“When were you going to tell me you spoke French?”
“That was also on my résumé,” she said pointedly. “Along with the fact that I speak Spanish and Italian.”
“I have a feeling that résumé of yours isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on,” he said darkly, inhaling that trademark floral scent of hers. Trying to ignore what she’d look like stripped of that dress, what his psyche had been working on all evening. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? Just so I have a heads-up.”
Her perfectly arched brows came together. “I know it must be disconcerting that Davide’s being a bit cool with you, but you can’t blame me for that.”
“I’m not blaming you, I’m wondering who you are. You whip out this perfect French I didn’t know you speak then you’re off talking about Plato over dinner.”
“I studied that in college. He’s Davide’s favorite philosopher.”
“Of course he is. He’s also clearly besotted with you.”
Her calm look hardened until she was matching him stare for stare. “I am using my brain, Jared. Something the women you consort with likely don’t do. I can understand why you would find that hard to appreciate.”
“I appreciate your brain.”
“Right.” She echoed his skepticism. “He’s revealing a lot. I’m getting some good insight into how his brain works. I’ve run some ideas by him and—”
“You’ve run some ideas by him?” Fury twisted his insides. “I don’t want you running ideas by him, I want you sticking to the script.”
Her lips pressed together. “He liked them. Loved them, in fact.”
He kept a leash on himself as the urge to explode like an overdue volcano rolled over him. “Which ideas are we talking about? The ones in our presentation or your rogue thoughts?”
Hot color dusted her cheeks. “One of mine—the one about the kiosks in the yoga studios…”
He uttered a curse. “That is not in our plan. It is nowhere in our plan, nor is it going to be. You need to put a leash on yourself.”
She lifted her chin, her blue eyes a stormy gray. “He loved the idea, Jared. He said it was exactly where his head was at. So maybe you need to open your mind. Use your imagination.”
“I am using my imagination,” he came back shortly, his gaze sliding over the dress, the curves every man in the room hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of all night. “And I don’t like where it’s taking me.”
She swallowed, a visible big gulp. “Do not do that. We are negotiating a business deal here, remember? Focus.”
“I am focusing,” he countered silkily. “Like every other male at this party, you have my complete attention in that dress. Now what are you going to do with it?”
Her eyes widened. Fire arced between them, swift and strong. It made his blood tattoo through his veins in a triumphant march. Sent heat lancing through his body. Bailey stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights for a long moment. Then she blinked and stepped out of his arms.
“Walk away,” she said softly. “You know the magazines are right about you, Jared. You’re the one who needs a leash. You are out of control. You have lost your focus. You might think about getting it back. Think about what’s actually going to win this rather than your own ego.”
He stood there, hands clenched by his sides with the need to strangle her. She started off, then turned back with a final, parting shot.
“Green is only a peripheral strategy for Davide. He recognizes the importance to consumers, but he also knows they aren’t willing to pay a premium for it. It’s the price of entry.”
She left before he could say anything. Wound her way back through the crowd. And he wondered if she was right. Was he out of control? Had he lost the thread? Because all he’d ever wanted to do was build a company that created great products. That made the impossible possible. But now that he’d done that, now that he was close to the pinnacle of success, he was doing everything but. He was glad-handing politicians, massaging a board’s ego, weighing in on a marketing strategy he shouldn’t have to worry about. About as far from the business of inspiration as you could get.
It was making him crazy.
He acknowledged one more thing before he bit out a curse and followed Bailey through the crowd. The yoga kiosk idea was brilliant. He’d thought that when she’d mentioned it, but final rehearsals weren’t any time to be going off script.
Hell. He’d told Sam this would happen. He should have listened to his instincts.
* * *
Bailey spent the rest of the evening trying to manage the thundercloud that was Jared. She had the distinct feeling Davide Gagnon was administering a slap on the hand to her boss by giving him the cold shoulder, because there was no doubt that he respected Jared immensely.
She felt as if she was doing damage control on all sides. She also felt that she was the missing piece of the puzzle. The link between Jared’s brilliance and Davide’s creative side. Davide loved her ideas. He thought they were grassroots, buzz-inducing genius. And it made her feel just this side of cocky as she stood at the two men’s sides for a last brandy as the crowd dwindled on the star-strewn terrace.
She felt empowered.
“My son, Alexander, has been delayed until tomorrow night,” Davide updated them, pointing his glass at Jared. “Since he will be assuming the mantle at Maison upon my retirement next year, I want him to take the lead on this partnership decision. Why don’t you enjoy the day tomorrow, meet Alexander at dinner and we can hear the presentation on Sunday?”