Pleasure My Lustful Heart: A Romance Novella (3 page)

"Not really. No, he didn't." Good, I thought, he brought it up. Now I don't have to.

"Let me tell you what I have in mind," he said. "Your father didn't recognize what a terrific opportunity it is for the Porteous company. Maybe I can convince you."

And maybe you can't, I thought. Bad start,
Gregg Monsell. Shows a lack of respect for Pa. But here I was, and what the hell. "I'm listening," I said.

"Good," he said. "Look, let's get together and discuss this."

"Why don't you just explain it to me now, on the phone?"

"This should really be a face-to-face thing. We should get to know each other. Can't do that on the phone. I want to convince you, because it's a smart idea, and you're the one
to sell it to your father."

"
That's not part of my job description," I said. It wasn't a terribly witty comeback, but it was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment. I could hear him chuckle, anyway. Was he patronizing me again? "But all right," I said. "I think it's best if I come to your office. What would be a good — "

"I have a better idea," he said. "Let's discuss this over dinner tonight. It's more pleasant than meeting in my office, which is a mess, anyway."

"I'd rather not. I just don't have time for a dinner meeting."

"Come on, Kit. You have to eat dinner someplace, and I do too, so let's go together. It'll be quiet. The phone won't keep ringing. We can have ourselves a chat, and you can ask me anything you want. I know a terrific new restaurant just off route 80. Do you
like Italian food? They make sensational braciola. You know braciola?"

Yes, I know what
braciola is, I thought. Do you think I've been living under a rock? I don't want to spend a whole dinner listening to this blowhard. "I really can't, Gregg," I said.

"Boy, you're tough," he said. "Well, then, how about we just meet for a drink? One drink, that's all. I tell you my idea, and then you leave. You have time for
that don't you. Come on, I know you do."

This guy just won't quit. He's not used to having women say no to him. I
don't  want to have a drink with Gregg Monsell, but on the other hand, I do want to hear his idea. Porteous Limited needs ideas. "I'll meet you for a drink. But just a drink. Then I have to go."

"Understood," he said. He told me the new restaurant was called
Andiamo, about halfway between the two plants — a 20 mile drive for each of us. We agreed to meet in the lounge at 6:30.

I thought as I hung up the
phone:  It took him less than five minutes to talk me into something I didn't want to do. I'll make sure that won't happen again.

CHAPTER 4

I got to my apartment at 5:30. I knew I looked like a factory worker, which I was, let's face it — jeans, denim shirt and sneakers. That's how Gregg had seen me in Pa's office, and I wanted to repair that image of me. I wasn't just the sewing supervisor. I was the boss's daughter. Dark gray slacks, a beige silk blouse, flats and my favorite blue blazer seemed just right for a drink with Mr. Monsell.

The cocktail lounge at
Andiamo was bustling and noisy, with young businesspeople three deep at the bar, and all the booths occupied. Clearly, this place had quickly become the in-spot for the business crowd, an after-work haven for twenty- and thirty-somethings. Not a place I would have chosen for a serious business meeting.

I scanned the crowd looking for
Gregg, but couldn't see him. I began to wonder if I was being stood up, when he arrived, working his way into the lounge from the dining room. "It's noisy in here, so I took a table in the dining room," he said. "It's early for the dinner trade, so it's quiet in there." I walked with him into the dining room, to a table set for dinner.

"Just for a drink," I said, as he pulled a chair out to seat me.

"Just a drink," he said. "And some talk."

There was an open bottle of wine on the table, and two wine glasses.
Gregg saw me looking at the bottle, and he said "It's a burgundy I like. I thought you might want to try it."

"
That's so thoughtful," I said, with just enough sarcasm for him to notice.

"But if you'
d rather have something else — "

Why had I started off putting him on the defensive, I asked myself. Is he just trying to be nice? Don't be a
smart-ass, Kit.  "No, no. I mean a glass of wine will be perfect," I said.

He smiled and poured the wine. In the muted light of the dining room, his chiseled features accentuated his rugged looks. He wore a
linen sport jacket, with a checkered button-down shirt, open at the neck. Gregg Monsell certainly knows how to dress, I thought. He lifted his glass. "To success and prosperity," he toasted.

I clinked glasses with him. "Hard to argue with that." I took a sip of the wine. It was luscious, full and mellow. It warmed me as it went down. "This is good."

"I told you," he said. "I come here because they have it on their wine list. I'll tell you what," He leaned across the table. "Let's get the business out of the way right now, and then we can talk about really important stuff."

"Like what?" I said.

"Like burgundy wine. Like the politics in Romania. Like who's the best shortstop in the National League. Like how to make a chocolate cake. Any or all of those things."

"All right," I said. "Let's talk business. Can we put the rest on the back burner, for now?"

"Only if you insist."

"I never insist. I suggest," I said. Hey, that's pretty good, I thought. And not really bitchy, is it?

"OK, here we go," he said. "Superior Apparel and Porteous Limited are in the same business. We both cut and sew. We assemble other companies' goods, and they market them under their own labels."

"They have the distribution," I said. "The big labels have outlet stores in every shopping mall."

"You're right. But they also make the markups at every level. We're the small guys in this business. We make a little bit, and the big guys make a lot. And now, even the little bit we make is shrinking. The cut-and-sew business is going to China and a hundred other places — more and more every season. Pretty soon it'll be all gone. I don't know about you, but I don't want to go down with the ship. The business is changing, and Superior Apparel has to change, too. I want us to survive."

"So what's your idea? I said.

"It's simple. We get together, we design our own stuff, we manufacture it and put our own label on it, then wholesale it ourselves. We control it all. Whatever profit there is in our goods, we keep."

"And who do we sell it to?"

"Here's the best part," he said. He was talking faster now, caught up in his own story. "You know Clemsons? It's a string of department stores, very big in the south — the Carolinas, Georgia, Florida, Mississippi, Louisiana, all the way north to Virginia. Twenty-six stores — all well established, all profitable, with big ladies' wear departments. I went to college with their merchandising director, Les Higginson, and had dinner with him in Atlanta last week. He told me they've been talking about getting an exclusive line of casual wear. Higher end garments. Of course I jumped on it, told him Superior can give him exactly what he's looking for."

"Sounds good," I said. "If you can close the deal, why would you share it with
Porteous Limited? Just feeling generous?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Well, here's the thing. I'm going to be straight with you about this right from the beginning.
Clemsons is particular who they do business with. They don't want to make a deal, and then have the supplier go belly-up. They know about your company, and they're comfortable with it. They like well established companies with plenty of money in the bank. My company hasn't been around nearly as long as yours. And I'll admit to you right now that our financials aren't as strong as I'd like. In fact, Kit," he reached forward and touched my elbow, "Superior is doing business month to month. We have two more contracts in the shop to fill. Nothing booked after that. So you see , I'm — I'm eager to get this deal."

"And how does
Porteous fit into it? What do you want from us?"

"I want your good name, and your financial report. I want to merge the two companies. Then
Clemsons will be ready to make the deal."

We both sipped our wine, and it was quiet. Finally I said, "
I'll be straight, too. If Clemsons doesn't want to do business with Superior, then why should Porteous? You don't have reputation and you don't have money. Just what are you bringing to the party?" Atta girl.

"I'm bringing my friendship with Les Higginson," he said. "Plus I'm bringing myself.
And my track record. I don't fail."

I couldn't resist. "
I like modesty in a man."

He laughed. "I figure this is no time for me to act humble. I wouldn't cook up a plan like this if I thought I couldn't do it." He refilled our wine glasses. "What I want to know is: am I sitting here trying to impress the right person? Do you have a say in what
Porteous Limited does? Does your father listen to you, anyway? I know you're Sidney's only child, so I figure some day you'll be calling the shots. Tell me, Kit, am I right?”

Mister
Gregg Monsell has a big-time attitude problem, I thought. Here he is trying to sell me a wild idea, then asking me if what I think really matters, anyway. "You shouldn't have invested in a high-priced bottle of wine if you weren't sure I was worth it," I said. "I think it's only fair that I split the bill with you." Bitchy, but appropriate.

Now he looked pained. "
Come on, Kit, that's not what I mean," he said. "If it sounded out of line, then I'm sorry."

A waiter approached the table and set down a menu for each of us. I looked up at him and before I coul
d open my mouth to say no, Gregg told the waiter, "Just leave them."

The waiter smiled and
said, "Are you going to —" Gregg waved him away before he could finish.

"
I wonder why he seems to think we're going to have dinner," I said.

"I told him it was a possibility."

"An impossibility," I said. "I'm having tea with the queen."

"
I had hoped you'd change your mind."

"
Keep hoping, Captain Monsell," I said. "Or you might try wishing upon a star."

"Is it presumptuous of me to hope we'll get to know each other better? Because I'd like that."

"I'll take it up at the next board of directors meeting," I said. It was quite a flurry of smart-ass remarks, even for me. I pushed my chair back from the table. "You've told me your idea, and now I think I'll be off. I told my chauffeur to wait. "

"But there's more," he said. "I haven't told you about the terrific designer who's ready to join up with us. She did the whole
cruisewear line for Betsy Bailey. Her stuff has been flying off the racks, and she's a good friend of a friend." On and on he went, spinning a glorious fantasy that we could make a reality, he insisted, if only we joined forces.

The more
Gregg talked the more convinced I was that Pa was right about him. He was a hustler. What did Pa say — Gregg had been leering at me? Finally I had enough. I stood up. "Some other time," I said.

Gregg
stood to face me. "Are you mad at me? Don't be mad at me. Sit down and I'm going to order some braciola for us. I promise you, you'll be so glad you did. And another bottle of wine. You like the wine, right?" He raised his arm into the air and looked around for the waiter, then back to me.  "Look, I know I come on strong sometimes. All right, most of the time. I'm all pumped up about this idea of mine. And my heart's in the right place. Ask anybody who knows me."

Right, I thought. You mean like all the women you played games with before you left for the army? Who was he stringing along right now, I wondered.

He wouldn't stop. "Hey, if you don't have dinner with me what am I going to do with the braciola?"

"Just order for one," I said. "Waste not, want not."

"You're unhappy with me because I'm so pushy. Please, Kit. Let's start over, all right?

"I really have to go," I told him. I gave him an insincere smile. "Thanks for the wine." I turned to leave.

"Think about my idea. Will you do that? Seriously."

"I’m thinking about it
this very minute," I said. And what I'm thinking, I told myself, is that you're the last guy in the world I'd want to by my partner.

I walked out through the lounge, where the after-work crowd was talking and laughing. I couldn't help but admit that I didn't belong to that crowd, and never had. I was missing that period in my life. I was still an outsider, a hippie in a world of young executives. There was a time I took pride in being different, and pleased I wasn't just another of the boring mainstream crowd. Now I wasn't so certain anymore. As I walked through the noisy lounge, it was clear that they were h
aving a good time. And I wasn't.