to affect him. To make him soft and maudlin and weak.
No one did.
“Henri’s a comanager with Colette. French. Dramatic and a little emotional at times, but very, very good. He and Colette oversee all the dessert production for the Renaissance, and manage Doux Rêves during its operating hours,” said Masters. “You have to be careful with Henri, though,” he warned. “He likes to believe everything is his idea. Colette’s the only one who can make him feel like he’s in charge while implementing ideas he didn’t generate.”
“Is that so?” Stephen asked in a cool voice.
“Yes. Colette’s a genius at navigating his moods, so if you need to make changes to Doux Rêves or the dessert menus, she’s the one I’d talk to first. Get her on your side, and Henri will follow without complaint. Force any changes on Henri without Colette easing the way ahead of you, and you could have a nightmare on your hands.” Masters clucked his tongue while shaking his big, gray head. “And, let me tell you, a French chef in a bad mood is impossible to work with.”
“I know how to handle bad moods,” Stephen said dryly. Decades of battle with a family who hated him had honed his negotiating skills to a razor-sharp edge. He had no trouble determining an opponent’s greatest weakness and then exploiting it if it meant the bottom line benefited. And, since any hotel’s success hinged on a seamless integration of comfort, service and quality food, he’d gain Colette’s support whether she wished to grant it or not.
He wouldn’t allow their shared history to compromise his investment. She’d be on board by week’s end or there’d be hell to pay.
“Thank you so much for coming out on your day off,” Colette said as she slipped on wedge sandals, adjusted the skirt of her emerald sleeveless dress, and then slung her purse over her shoulder. “My boss doesn’t call meetings very often, but when he does, I have to attend.”
“I understand, and it’s no problem.” Janet, a sweet woman in her sixties who’d nannied Emma from birth, scanned the kitchen for her young charge. “Where is the little scamp, anyway?”
“Changing her clothes.” Colette’s mouth hitched in a half-smile as they exchanged a commiserating glance. “Again.”
“Janet!” squealed four-year-old Emma as she galloped into the kitchen to give her nanny a hug. “You’re here!”
“I sure am, honey.” Janet pressed Emma back and scanned her newest wardrobe change. “My, aren’t you looking pretty this afternoon?” she observed, beaming at Emma’s colorful combination of glittery princess attire and pink tennis shoes.
Emma grinned back, reaching to adjust her plastic tiara.
“An’ I’m wearing a crown, too.”
“I see. Are you Snow White today?” Janet teased as she reached to ruffle Emma’s golden girls. “Or the Little Mermaid?”
“I’m Cinderella, silly!” Emma cocked her head and then lifted her tulle skirt out from her sides. “See? My dress is blue!”
“Land’s sake alive, you’re right,” confessed Janet in feigned chagrin as she bent to squint at Emma’s dress. “It’s a good thing I’ve got such a smart girl to remind me of my colors!”
Colette’s heart pinched as she watched her daughter giggle and then spin an artless Cinderella twirl. Emma was growing up so fast that missing even one additional minute of her precious childhood made Colette wish anew for a fairy godmother of her own. Not that she’d entertain thoughts of fairytale endings ever again. Not when duty and employment and reality called.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Colette said as she squatted down and hauled Emma into a hug. “Momma has a meeting at work, but I’ll be done before you know it, and then we’ll go to the park, okay?”
“'Kay,” said Emma as she squirmed free and skipped back to Janet’s side. “Love you!”
Thirty five minutes and two frenetic subway transfers later, Emma checked her watch as she pressed against the interminably slow revolving door of the Renaissance Hotel. The meeting had started four minutes ago and she hated being late.
When she neared the open convention room doors, she could hear Bill Masters’ sonorous voice filling the room with its typical warmth and enthusiasm. Spotting her best friend Henri, she ducked into the chair he’d saved her in one of the back rows. “Hey,” she whispered. “Did I miss anything?”
“Oui,” he whispered back, his eyes wide and his face pale. “Very big news you miss. Énorme.”
A frisson of alarm sent ice down her spine. “What is it?”
He shushed her with a wave of his narrow hand.
“Tell me!”
Henri tipped his head toward