When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,103
see that?
He barely tasted his food, a filet topped with some kind of shrimp thing. As Liv and Brittany chatted away, he mainly talked to Henri’s husband, Jules, an interesting guy who was a big soccer fan. Still, he wanted Liv’s attention for himself.
Between dinner and dessert, the room darkened to show a video of the student music program. Olivia whispered something to Brittany about the ladies’ room and excused herself.
He didn’t realize he was staring after her until he caught Brittany’s sympathetic smile. “You shouldn’t have let that one get away,” she whispered.
He wouldn’t tell her it was the other way around.
* * *
Olivia hadn’t intended to duck out on the after-school music program video, but her drunken binge two nights ago had temporarily soured her on alcohol, and she’d drunk one too many glasses of water. She entered the ladies’ room to find Mariel Marchand washing her hands at the sink. Mariel gave her a cool nod in the mirror. “You look lovely tonight, Olivia.”
Mariel didn’t. Although she wore her black gown and glittering jewelry with all the elegance of a true Frenchwoman, her skin looked sallow, and she seemed tired.
“Thank you. And your gown is beautiful,” Olivia replied honestly.
“Chanel.” The word was sad, almost bitter, as if she were reciting her state of mind instead of the luxury designer’s name. “I suppose you’ve heard by now that Henri’s campaign was a rousing success. Hideously expensive, of course, but sales of Marchand products doubled. A triumph for him.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
“Henri did not say anything to you?” She snatched up a towel. “He has always been so much a better person than I am.”
Olivia refrained from agreeing.
“Lucien raised us both on the Marchand tradition, but it seems Henri was smarter than me.”
Olivia sidestepped. “I’m happy the campaign is doing so well, but I know this must be a challenging time for you.”
“I am an ambitious woman, something you understand.” She dried her hands on the towel as if she were scrubbing them. “The press release goes out tomorrow. Lucien Marchand is retiring in September, and Henri is taking over as president and CEO while I continue my role as chief financial officer.”
“I see.”
“My career is everything to me. You understand. You’re just like me. Our careers are our lives. Women with husbands and children”—she spoke the words as if they were frivolities—“allow themselves to be distracted from their goals, but not us. We do not lose sight of what we want.”
Olivia didn’t like being put in the same category as Mariel. “You’re a bright woman, Mariel. I’m sure you’ll adapt.”
“I don’t want to adapt!” She balled her towel and threw it in the trash. “I want to lead!” The door closed behind her.
Successful people had to be able to adapt, Olivia thought. Throughout her career, she’d learned to be flexible—to new directors, different staging, a variety of teachers. She was good at adapting, something she hadn’t thought much about until this very moment.
She finished in the restroom and stepped into the empty hallway. Music from the video played in the background, and the lights seemed dimmer than when she’d entered.
As she turned into the corridor leading back to the Grand Foyer, she wished she didn’t have to return to the table. If only she could go home now. If only—
Something seized her from behind. Before she could scream, a rough hand clamped over her mouth.
20
It happened so quickly. An arm dragged her from behind around one corner and another into a deserted corridor that led to the building’s maintenance area and from there into a storage closet. He was big and strong, and his hand across her mouth muffled her screams. The closet door slammed shut, closing them both inside with the scent of chemical fumes and rubber.
Her gown hobbled her legs as she attempted to kick out. He pinned her face-forward to the wall with his body, her neck pulled back at an awkward angle as he kept his hand clasped over her mouth.
His knee jabbed into her back to hold her in place, turned away from him. The sound of his breathing rasped in her ears. He grabbed for her fingers. Pulled at her rings. She struggled to breathe as she heard them hit the floor. The poison ring fit more tightly and wouldn’t come off. He moved to her Egyptian cuff, scraping her wrist as he yanked it free. He reached for a necklace, but she wasn’t wearing one.