Page 75 of Token

Mrs. Hanson-Gertz remained stone-faced as she rose from the chair and huffed, “Well, this was a waste of time.”

Kennedy quickly followed suit, towering over the older woman. “I wouldn’t call our meeting time wasted.” Although, she could think of a dozen other things she could be doing right now and a hundred she’d rather be doing, like running the New York City Marathon in ninety-degree heat. Neither she nor her hair could survive that.

“I don’t imagine you would,” the older woman replied, the insult hardly veiled.

The Hanson employees owed her for helping to remove the detestable woman from her position.

You’re welcome. No need to hold a parade in my honor.

Before Kennedy could blink, Mrs. Hanson-Gertz was at the door, clearly eager to leave.

“Mrs. Hanson,” she called before the heiress breached the threshold. “Can I ask you a question?”

After a beat, the woman reluctantly inclined her head in a nod and a disdainful sniff.

“Would I have been allowed into any of your stores?”

Mrs. Hanson-Gertz visibly stiffened in obvious affront. But a moment later, she ran a critical gaze over Kennedy, taking in her formfitting dress, her eyes lingering absently on the bell sleeves. Then she looked Kennedy square in the eye. “I honestly don’t know,” she intoned, obnoxiously overbearing to the end.

Kennedy couldn’t fault her for her honesty. “Which I believe proves my point. That it’s time for you to step down. And I think you have too much pride to allow the board to fire you.”

“We’ll see about that.” And with those words, she was gone.

Kennedy could only count her blessings that she dealt with more Roger O’Briens than she did Margaret Hanson-Gertzes. And she hoped it stayed that way.

20

Less than ten hours after the wretched woman marched herself out of Token’s doors, Hanson & Co. released a statement that Margaret Hanson-Gertz would immediately be stepping down as CEO and president.

The news hit social media while Kennedy, Aurora, Sahara, and April—the performer’s twenty-eight-year-old designer—were enjoying appetizers and their first round of cocktails. The women were the sole occupants of the VIP section in a small club Sahara liked to frequent. Its intimacy, celebrity-indifferent clientele, and staff discretion made it the perfect venue for their girls’ night out.

By their second round of drinks, conversation had moved on from whether Mrs. Hanson-Gertz was experiencing karma or her just deserts, to the rights and wrongs of nepotism. Sahara’s cousin was looking for a job. Unfortunately, he wasn’t qualified for much, so if she hired him, she would be taking a chance.

“Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with nepotismper se. And it’s not as if everyone else doesn’t do it,” April said, as someone whose sister’s modeling career helped pave the way to her own.

“I’m not saying your sister being a model wasn’t helpful, but you would have gotten representation without her,” Sahara insisted, eliciting sounds of agreement all around.

The biracial, green-eyed beauty was smart as well as ambitious. She’d started her design company after graduating with a master of fine arts degree in fashion design. Last year, business had grown enough for her to hire another designer. With her new contract with Sahara and ECO Apparel, she planned to hire another.

Aurora popped a glazed meatball into her mouth, instantly moaning her appreciation as she chewed.

“It sounds like you’re going to need to book a room for you and your meatballs,”Kennedy joked.

Laughter and giggling ensued, a refreshing change from their previous conversation.

Having a famous friend did have its perks. She could hang out with a bunch of women, comfy in overstuffed chairs while listening to music at a volume that didn’t impede conversation. The best was being able to enjoy herself without random men deciding she would be the lucky recipient of their unwanted attention for the night. It was amazing what a difference it made to be able to have a relaxing evening out with just the girls.

“Are you dating anyone?” April asked, directing the question to Aurora. “All that moaning means you’re not gettingitenough or you’re gettingittoo much. Which one is it?”

The question caused Aurora to nearly choke on the crab-stuffed mushroom she’d just put in her mouth.

Kennedy reached over and patted her on the back. “I don’t know how to perform the Heimlich maneuver, so please don’t get that thing stuck in your throat.”

Aurora grabbed an untouched glass of water and swallowed a mouthful before she was able to speak. “I think it went down the wrong pipe,” she croaked, tears filling her eyes. Turning her gaze to April, she said, “Warn a girl when you’re about to ask her if she’s having non-self-induced orgasms.”

The entire table erupted into peals of laughter.

Sahara clucked her tongue in mock sympathy. “I’m sorry, doll. You should have said something to me. But no worries—I know just the man who can take care of that. And before you go getting the wrong idea, let me first say that there was nothing going on between me and Grant on the set. He was the perfect British gentleman, but I did hear things. Very good things. Loves giving as much as he loves receiving, which isn’t always the case. A lot of guys can be selfish that way.”

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