Page 77 of Loaded

“Formycompany, which I built from the ground up practically alone, you wanted to slap a women’s line on from the moment you joined the team. And you hounded me to just come up with something, anything, as long as it wastop of the line. My name, Sacrifice Nothing, would sell whatever it was, you insisted.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the dozen plates of tuna and salmon tartare have arrived. I nod at Bea, and she starts setting them in front of people.

“You may be seeing now that for wealthy people, for a luxury brand, having something be top of the line isn’t enough. The kind of people who pay top dollar want something that’s just rightfor them. So when I pitched a better idea, thebestidea, that we should meet with a curated list of designers and as part of our label, offer aservice in which we find them the very best itemsfor them, and offer it only for someone related to our existing customers, you leapt at the idea.” I make eye contact with each one of them, slowly. “But I was inspired to do that right here, by this woman.” I point at Bea.

She freezes.

“You wanted everyone to be offered only salmon tartare, which would have been a terrible idea. A lot of this fine food is going to go to waste today, unnecessarily. Bea gave me a better idea, and now you want me to dump her because she’shonest.”

“That’s not why,” Mr. Dressel says, poking at his salmon tartare with a sour face. “It’s because, while at a party with you, she slandered your company and its customers.”

“Slander is saying something false.” I arch one eyebrow. “She gave her opinion, which stung because it was mostly true.”

“You should be as upset as we are,” Mr. Jimenez says. “She said people who buy from your brand have holes in their soul. You’ll look pretty stupid if you keep dating her.”

“I think I’d look pretty stupid for dumping someone I really like just because she disagreed with me.” I frown. “If one of you made an error, should I just eliminate you immediately?”

“You can’t fire us,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “We’re the board.”

I roll my eyes. “What if an employee makes a mistake? Is that your only solution? Elimination?”

“But she isn’t an employee, and you didn’t even know her three weeks ago,” Mr. Dressel says.

I wish I could fire him. He’d already be gone. “I’mgoing to recommend we table further discussion of this until you’ve told me how our plans are going for the women’s line.”

That gets them moving, at least. My design team came up with a list of labels we should talk to about joining our new initiative. I’ve talked to a few on the phone—broad strokes—but it takes the better part of an hour to work out which ones we think we should work with and why.

“You’ll be pretty busy meeting with all of them,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “I doubt you’ll even have time to date.”

“You’d be surprised how good I am at multitasking.” I glare at her.

By the end of the meal, they still seem pretty upset, but it’s only been two days. “I think we should all do our work this week,” I say. “We can revisit this issue next week.”

“You’re hoping it’ll blow over and then it won’t be an issue,” Mr. Dressel says.

“It would be nice.”

“I guess,” Mr. Jimenez says. “We can see whether it blows over, but if this worsens, or worse, lingers.” He shakes his head.

“I agree,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “We can postpone this conversation for a week if you insist. But the conversation must be had unless this miraculously disappears.”

I’m sure it will disappear. It’s not as if anyone has any reason to focus on a tiny little blip like this. This time, when I pay, Bea’s nowhere to be found. Surely she heard enough of our conversation to be convinced that I don’t mean to give up.

“Looking for someone?” The manager raises one eyebrow. “Someone small with dark hair, maybe?”

“Where did she go?”

“I did tell her she can wait on this table and be done for the day each Tuesday,” he says. “But last time. . .”

“Last time?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m sure she’ll pop up.”

Only, I don’t see her on my way out, either. I’m just fishing my phone out to call her in the parking lot when I see her, peering at a grey SUV. “Bea?”

She jumps like she’s been caught picking her nose at a fancy dinner. “Easton?”

“What are you doing?”

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