"Shame to hear someone so lovely say that," Stan said.
"Why didn't you do it this time?" I asked.
Stan straightened his tie. "Time to pass the torch, let the younger generation take over. Besides, I really do think that you and Rainer would make a great team. You should give him a chance."
"I will. Today, at the meeting. If he isn't there, then he's missed his chance," I said.
Stan grinned. "Good. Make him earn it."
I reached around him and ignored his wider grin as I brushed past him. "Speaking of the meeting, I don't want to be late."
Stan plucked the stack of reports out of my arms and carried them for me. "Why not be late for once? You're the project leader. Make them all wait."
Amy glanced up as we walked out of my office. She smiled at me and jumped right up. "Is there anything I should do, Ms. Nichols?"
"Have you read the binder yet, Amy?" I asked.
"Uh, no. I guess I can do that," Amy said.
Stan winked at my temporary assistant. "Be good to yourself, Amy. Listen to Ms. Nichols. You let her train you and the sky’s the limit around here."
"If I still have a job in an hour," I said.
Stan laughed. "You really think that's the way this meeting is going to go?"
"Why? Do you know something? Tell me what you know." I followed Stan so closely we bumped into each other when he stopped.
"I don't need to tell you anything," Stan said. "Did you create the best product you and your team could make? Yes. Did you listen to all the beta-testers and make sure everything was right? Yes. Then you have nothing to worry about."
"That's easy for you to say." I tried to pry my reports out of his arms, but Stan held them hostage. "I wouldn't worry either if I had the entire Eastman fortune to back me up."
"Just say the word, and it's yours," Stan said.
I swatted his shoulder. "Stop. I have to get to this meeting. What kind of mentor keeps his prodigy from the most important meeting of her year?"
Stan gave a melodramatic sigh. "And here I thought my party was going to be the most important meeting of your year."
My insides froze. "What party? Why?"
Stanislas Eastman lived in one of the most iconic and coveted mansions in Mill Valley. His parties were legendary, partly because he only threw one once in a blue moon, and always for a reason. The last party had been to celebrate his surviving a heart attack. They always had a grim theme to contrast with the sparkling opulence.
"Don't worry about that now. Just take your invitation, otherwise you'll never get past the gates," Stan said. He nodded to his suit coat pocket.
I frowned at him, knowing he was up to no good. As soon as I reached into his pocket and felt the heavy, embossed card stock, Stan laughed and sprang away as if I'd tickled him. I snatched the black envelope out of his pocket and held out my hands for my reports. He handed them over, gave me an irresistible wink, and headed off to the elevators.
"Good luck," he called over his shoulder.
I felt lucky, as if Stan's charmed life was rubbing off on me, until I reached the corner. I had to remember that a few important details separated my chances from Stan's. First off, he was raised with silver spoons, the best schools, and a path to success paved just for him. That, and he was a male executive in what was still a man's world.
Maybe the party was for me with its gothic black invitations and ominous flare. GroGreen had cost too much to produce, and I was being fired. I was sure of it. I started to race along the hallway.
Of course, it was Stan's sense of humor I was dealing with. The funeral-style invitation could contain hearty congratulations for all I knew. Maybe I had cause to celebrate, and my mentor wanted to toast my success.
I slowed down when I saw James Berger leaning in the door of the conference room. He was trading jokes and barbs with someone inside, and his loud laughter echoed down the hall. I could hear others chuckling as well, though I didn't know how they found him funny. James' suits were always too shiny, his style too flashy, and his stories too over-the-top. He spent money like he hated it and it showed through his desperate attempts to seem worldly as well as wealthy.
Wealthy was a word for Stanislas Eastman. It implied an air of elegance and charm. James Berger was just rich. His name was synonymous with glitzy parties and ridiculous wastes of money.
Whatever teasing exchange he'd started, James ended with a gesture that combined the thumbs up and the middle finger. As soon as he stepped beyond the door, I saw his expression drop. He looked tired and unhappy.