The Brightest Star - Fern Michaels Page 0,70

say a word. But when he did, it was more than obvious he wasn’t pleased.

“That’s that man you’re going out to interview. The global thing.”

“Yes, it is. It’s called Globalgoods.com, with most deliveries next day. You just can’t beat it, Dad. I know how you feel, but this is the future. The future of your grandchildren, if I have any. This will be a way of life for them. It is now, for me, at least in a sense. I do all of my work via Internet, e-mail, you know that.”

He nodded.

“Mom?”

“Dear, you know how your father feels.”

“Ilene, I can speak for myself. Lauren, I don’t like it, and I can’t change who I am. I grew up in the retail business. I saw my father and grandfather working long and hard, and you know they were both—rather, Dad is still—financially sound. I just don’t get how people can buy something they can’t see, touch, or smell. I’m sorry, Lauren. I’ve got a lot of work to do. Someone didn’t dust and polish the shelves like I asked them to. Ilene, I’m going in early. Lauren, can you drop your mother off?” Back to his moody self again.

“Sure,” she said. “Pops, wait.”

He stopped, turned to look at her. “Let’s just agree to disagree on this topic. Deal?” She held out her hand to shake on it, something they used to do but hadn’t done in years.

Slowly, he reached out, took her hand in his, and gave it a good squeeze and shake.

“Deal, Buttercup.”

Chapter 17

Lauren dropped her mother off at Razzle Dazzle, then returned home. She still had a few things to prepare before leaving. She checked her luggage three times, making sure she had packed her most professional, high-end clothes. She’d washed her hair, dried it, then used a flat iron to smooth it. It hung to her waist, but she decided to take Angela’s advice and do her best to look all grown-up. She styled her hair in a French twist, using a diamond-studded barrette to secure it. Diamond earrings, and, of course, she wore her Rolex. She added two platinum necklaces, each dotted with more diamonds.

She chose to wear a sleek, figure-flattering, black Chanel suit she’d spent her first book advance on, and a pair of glossy black Christian Louboutin stiletto heels, nearly vertical to add height; the iconic red sole popped beneath the shoes’ graceful curves. She’d taken time with her makeup, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she was confident she looked like an adult.

Her luggage was packed, her laptop was in the black Chloé Vick leather tote that had cost a small fortune, and she had taken out her favorite Chloé red-leather handbag, which had also put a huge dent in her checking account when she bought it. All in all, she guessed that her outfit and accessories were close to the $25,000 mark. Her mother would croak, but this was the best of her best. She wasn’t one for trendy pieces. She spent her hard-earned money on quality, timeless pieces that would last a lifetime.

She glanced at the time, hoping she would get the call soon, as she was afraid to sit. She did not want to appear less than perfect when she boarded Mr. Giampalo’s private jet. She’d even arranged for the local taxi to drive her to the airport. Her old Honda did not match her outfit, but it had been a classic in its day.

Glancing in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. She’d gone to great lengths with her makeup. Soft brown shadow in the crease, winged black eyeliner, and, of course, her usual deep black mascara. She’d lightly contoured, added a sheer touch of highlight to her cheekbones. A creamy blush gave her a hint of fresh pink color, like she’d been out in the cold. She completed the look with red lipstick. Not too bad, she thought, for an old “girl.” She doubted that Mr. Giampalo would look at her and think of a girl. No, she looked exactly the way she wanted to look. Like a professional businesswoman who knew who she was and where she was going.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she grabbed it from her tote bag. “Hello,” she said, sounding out of breath.

“The plane will touch down in twenty-seven minutes. You ready to go?” Angela asked.

“I’m on my way,” she said, then hung up. She speed-dialed the taxi and waited inside until she saw the white Lincoln winding its way down the