Winning Whitney, page 23
part #3 of Alaska Blizzard Series
“There you are.” Gage came into the locker room holding something in his hand. “Did you hear?”
“Unless it has to do with how to get dog piss out of the carpet, I haven’t heard shit.” Jake was too tired to give a damn about anything this morning.
Gage didn’t miss a beat. “Whitney’s stalker tried to break into her grandmother’s house last night.”
“What?” Jake snapped out of his funk immediately, his eyes narrowing. “Did that S.O.B. hurt her?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t have many details, but there was an attempted break-in at the Ravenworth estate in a suburb of Dallas. So far, I haven’t been able to reach her.”
Jake grabbed his phone and dialed Whitney’s number. It rang one, twice, three times… he was about to hang up and call Hailey when her soft voice came on the line.
“Jack?”
“Are you okay?” he demanded, ignoring the smirk on Gage’s face.
“It was a long night,” she admitted. Her voice sounded hoarse, as if she’d been crying.
“Have you been crying?”
She sniffed. “Not anymore. Just really tired. We only left the police station thirty minutes ago.”
“Where are you?”
“In the car, heading back to Gran’s. Dennis is in jail.”
“You’re pressing charges, right?”
“Gran is, yes.”
“I almost had a heart attack when I heard.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, okay. I just… You know, that guy sounds dangerous.”
“I was…scared.”
“I’m sorry, babe. You grandmother has security, right?”
“Yes. That’s the reason they caught him.”
“Don’t let your guard down, though. If he gets out on bail, he’s crazy enough to go after you.”
She made a sound that was a cross between a cough and a sniffle and he hesitated. “Whitney?”
“Yes. I’m here. Listen, I’m really tired. I need to get a few hours’ sleep.”
“I, yeah, okay. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks for thinking of me, but it’s not your job to take care of me anymore. Be well.”
He stared at the phone and stuffed it back in his bag. “Guy’s in jail. Fuck. Can we do something to stop him from getting released on bail?”
“I don’t think the legal system works that way, but I’ll try to get a man out there to go to the arraignment. If he gets out he can follow him and make sure he doesn’t go near her.”
“Thanks.” Jake sank onto the bench, his jaw working in irritation.
“You okay?”
“My girl is alone in fucking Dallas with some piece of shit after her and we’re fighting about… I don’t even know what we’re fighting about!”
Gage handed him an envelope. “I hear the stomach flu is going around. That must be what’s upsetting you.” He turned and walked out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The last place Whitney wanted to be on her birthday was in a boardroom with a bunch of stodgy old men, but her father had thrown a fit when he’d discovered what she wanted in her contract in order to sign. Nothing had been accomplished and they’d finally decided to call it a day. Then Dennis had shown up at the house and wreaked havoc so they’d had to delay the follow-up meeting. At least this had given her time to study the financial reports her grandmother had printed out for her and now she was prepared to fight for her future—on her own terms.
Walking into the boardroom she smiled at friendly faces and froze when she saw her mother. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Delilah Ravenworth in three years but now she approached her obligingly, leaning down to air kiss her cheeks.
“Hello, Mother.”
“You look well, Whitney.” Delilah had a Bloody Mary in her hand, but her eyes were alert, no sign that she was drunk or hungover, which was surprising.
“Thank you. It’s good to see you.”
“I hope you’ll come to the house.”
“I don’t know how long I’m staying, but I’ll do my best.” Whitney turned and took the seat next to her grandmother, who sat at the head of the table.
Lillian called the meeting to order and looked around the room pointedly. “We’re here today to discuss voting on Whitney’s contract. As we’ve established, Raven Cosmetics does better with her face on the ads and marketing materials. Though the company operates in the red, profits have declined the past two years and we believe part of the problem is not having Whitney involved.”
“She’s not going to be the CEO,” Canyon spoke up, leaning back in his chair. “She’s a child with no experience in business.”
“She’s not a child,” Lillian responded. “She’s twenty-five and has a degree from Harvard. She’s worked at my side in an unofficial capacity since she was five years old, knows the product line like the back of her hand, and is extremely popular with both the public and our shareholders. Allowing her the opportunity to work her way up the ladder is not just her birthright, but expected by many.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“What business experience, exactly, did Brett have when you installed him as Vice President?” Lillian asked.
Canyon’s face reddened slightly. “He’s my son and heir—how else was he to learn?”
“Whitney isn’t your heir?” Lillian and her son locked eyes for a long, uncomfortable minute before one of the board members cleared his throat.
“I’d like to hear from Whitney,” the man said. “Let her tell us her thoughts and plans.”
“Of course.” Whitney stood. She always did better when she could move, getting close to people and giving them personal attention. “After reviewing the financials for the last four quarters, I think—”
“You reviewed the financials?” Brett interrupted. “What qualifies you to do that?”
“My degree in International Finance,” she responded lightly. “Anyway, our biggest decline is with our most expensive product, which is the 24-Karat Moisturizer. At a price point of three hundred and ninety-five dollars, we’ve limited ourselves to the most elite shopper and—”
“That’s our market, for fuck’s sake,” Canyon said, rolling his eyes. “We cater to spoiled, rich women who think having flecks of gold in their moisturizer is going to give them the fountain of youth.”
Whitney fixed him with her most polite smile. “Well, yes, that’s who we cater to, but customers don’t buy our products looking for the fountain of youth. They buy them hoping to make the most of their facelifts and other more expensive treatments. But sales of that product dipped eighteen percent in the last year while sales of our seventy-dollar exfoliating eyelid primer shot up.”
“We know the numbers, Whit,” Brett drawled sarcastically. “Get to the point.”
“In the last six years I’ve spent a lot of time with women in all stages of life, with disparate income levels. Let me give you some cold, hard numbers from the real world. There were more strippers I met who used the 24-Karat Moisturizer than co-eds at Harvard or the wives of millionaire professional athletes. While the richest women I know are content to use some of our most popular products like the eyelid primer, they’re not impressed by moisturizer with flecks of gold in it—they own plenty of jewelry. What they’re looking for are products with proven track records—again, like the eyelid primer—and products that work. While our moisturizer is excellent, it’s not worth four hundred dollars.”
There were some gasps around the room but she continued without hesitation. “For the women of the one percent, buying moisturizer with gold in it is fantastic, but we want a good portion of the other ninety-nine percent to buy our products as well. So I have several suggestions. The first is creating smaller sizes. For the broke nanny who wants to splurge once in a while, a one-ounce version of the eyelid primer. The price will be 60% of that of the full-size version, but only half the size, compensating for the cost of the container but offering a more affordable option for women who want to use our products but can’t.”
“Our products aren’t made for welfare recipients,” Canyon quipped, laughing briefly until he noticed no one else was.
“A woman on welfare isn’t buying a forty-dollar eyelid primer,” Whitney responded. “That’s not whom I’m trying to target.” She outlined a few more ideas, noting the looks of interest from several of the board members.
“You’ve been waiting tables and changing diapers, for fuck’s sake,” Brett called out. “What makes you think your ideas are even feasible? You don’t know anything about how this company works.”
“Is that true, dear?” The oldest member of the board, an octogenarian named Jeffrey Romig, blinked cataract-muddied eyes in her direction.
“It is, but I’m not ashamed of what I’ve been doing. Tell me, Mr. Romig—what was your favorite story to tell me every year at the company holiday party?”
The older man smiled fondly. “About my oranges.”
“That’s right. You grew up poor, and your biggest excitement each year at Christmas was the orange you found in your stocking. You also started in the mailroom of a local business, worked your way up to management, went back to school to get your degree and wound up the youngest CEO in the history of the company.”
“That I did.”
“Did your humble beginnings impact your success?”
“Certainly not.”
She smiled and turned to another man. “Mr. Davenport.”
“Hello, Whitney.” Dennis Davenport’s daughter, Katherine, and Whitney had been good friends in high school.
“Would you say you’re wealthy?”
He chuckled. “I would.”
“Have you always been wealthy?”
“I have.”
“Who paid for your children to go to college?”
He shook his head. “You’re an impressive young woman, Whitney, but as you know, all three of my children paid their own way through college.”
“You can afford anything you want. Why would you make your children pay for college?”
“Because I wanted them to understand the value of money.”
“Did you give your children positions of power here at Raven?”
He coughed. “No. Tyler and Mike worked summers in the mailroom. After law school Tyler went to work for a prestigious Dallas firm and Mike’s in the military.”
“And Katherine?”
“Katherine met her husband in college and married right after graduation. She now works in our H.R. department, but she and Roy paid off her student loans, not me.”
“She turned twenty-five a few weeks ago. Did she get her inheritance?”
“She did. Our agreement was that they would receive their money when they paid off their student loans.”
She turned to the others. “I wanted to take a few years to work for a living. Yes, I waited tables at a strip club, but that afforded me the ability to pay my bills and an unexpected opportunity to meet women who are passionate about skincare but don’t necessarily come from money. And being a nanny is one of the most fulfilling things I’ve ever done. Not to mention the contacts and friendships I’ve made since the family I work for is part of the Alaska Blizzard hockey team organization.”
She saw looks of confusion on a few faces, anger on her father and brother’s faces, pride in her mother’s and grandmother’s eyes, and best of all, interest from the rest.
“I don’t expect to be the CEO,” she continued slowly. “I just want a chance to learn the ropes over the next few years as I represent the company as the face of the products. Knowing my father and brother, and probably a few others, are against allowing me to have any position of power, I want it in my contract. If that’s not acceptable, then we’re done here. I can model anywhere, and my grandmother can verify I already have several offers on the table.”
People began speaking all at once and Whitney patiently answered each question, remaining calm and professional. Her grandmother didn’t say a word, sitting back and watching while Whitney held her own.
“This has to be brought to a vote,” Lillian said after the question and answer session had been going on over an hour.
“Absolutely not,” Canyon said, standing up. “I’ve entertained this ridiculousness because Whitney is my daughter, but we’re not giving her a contract with these types of stipulations.”
“I second that,” Brett spoke up.
“Sit down, Canyon,” Mr. Romig said with a bored wave of his hand. “Your daughter is an intelligent, thoughtful young woman and I, for one, vote yes. I think she’ll be a huge asset to the company in coming years.”
“Senile old man,” Brett muttered.
“Shut up, Brett,” Delilah snapped.
It was the first time Whitney had ever heard her mother raise her voice to him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sitting at the table with her mother, grandmother, her friend Katherine, and the head of P.R. for Raven Cosmetics, Skylar Mathieson, Whitney tried to find enthusiasm for the celebration. She’d gotten her contract and her grandmother had planned an elegant evening at one of Dallas’s finest restaurants to celebrate her birthday. Her father, Brett, and Taira had been invited but they’d declined after the vote went her way, so she sipped a glass of prosecco as her mother and Katherine caught up on all the news. Lillian occasionally glanced in Whitney’s direction, but she merely smiled and pretended to be listening to Katherine’s stories about her husband and newborn son.
“You’re not behaving like a woman who just earned not only a lucrative professional contract, but will be receiving a hefty inheritance as well,” Katherine said, looking at her old friend questioningly.
“Money can’t buy you love,” Whitney responded with a sad smile. “And all of this has cost me that.”
“A hockey player?” Delilah wrinkled her delicate nose. “Does he have his teeth?”
“He does.” Whitney pulled out her phone and found one of the red-carpet photographs from the engagement party. “This was us at my friend’s engagement party.”
Katherine smiled, her eyes widening. “Holy shit, he’s hot!”
“Oh my, he’s extremely…built,” Delilah murmured. “But perhaps he’s not the right man for you, Whitney. I mean, what do we know about him?”
“Everything,” Lillian said primly. “Do you think I allowed her to get involved with a man I didn’t approve of?”
Whitney made a face but was smiling.
“But how will you be together if you’re working for Raven and he’s playing in Alaska?” Katherine asked.
“Well, he’s not speaking to me right now.” Whitney sighed. “But if we’d stayed together, I have a lot of flexibility. The hockey schedule comes out over the summer, so I could schedule my photo shoots and appearances to coincide with his road trips. We wouldn’t be together when he’s traveling anyway, so it could have worked out. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter now.”
“There’s no chance of fixing things?” Skylar asked sympathetically.
“I don’t think so. He was furious at me for not telling him who I was and then he thinks I lied to him about planning to come to Dallas after my trip to California, so our last conversation was pretty final.”
“Nothing is ever final,” Lillian murmured with a faint smile.
“Theo’s still single,” Delilah said hopefully.
Whitney shook her head. “Never going to happen, Mom.”
“I think he’s in the closet,” Katherine stage-whispered.
“Really?” Delilah gaped at her.
“Why else has he stayed single all these years? He doesn’t even date and he knows Whitney isn’t interested in him. Poor guy, I feel bad for him. His family would have a cow if they thought he was gay.”
“Small-minded people are not our concern,” Lillian said.
They talked and laughed through a wonderful meal and when the plates were cleared, Whitney excused herself to the ladies’ room. She used the facilities, washed her hands and fixed her lipstick. She had a feeling there would be a multitude of pictures since her grandmother had probably arranged for a cake or something, which she wasn’t looking forward to.
She’d just stepped out of the bathroom when someone grabbed her from behind, wrapping a too-tight arm around her waist and covering her mouth with his hand.
“Hey, Whitney.” Dennis’s voice was harsh in her ear. “Miss me?”
* * *
Jake wiped his hands on the slacks of his suit and walked into the restaurant. He gave his name to the maitre’d, who pointed out the table to him. He walked in that direction slowly, unsure what he was going to say or do. He recognized Lillian Ravenworth immediately, and the beautiful middle-aged woman beside her had to be Whitney’s mother, they looked so much alike. He didn’t know who the other two women were, but Whitney wasn’t there and he looked around in confusion before approaching them.
“Good evening, ladies. I’m Jackson Carruthers.”
“Be still my heart,” a pretty brunette about Whitney’s age said, her eyes widening as she made no attempt to hide her appraisal of him.
“Jackson.” Lillian Ravenworth held out her hand and introduced herself. “I’m so happy you accepted my invitation.”
“Thank you for inviting me. Whitney and I have had our wires crossed for a couple of weeks now and… I want to see her. Where is she?”
“Powdering her nose,” the brunette said, holding out her had. “Katherine Davenport-Ventura. Whitney and I went to high school together.”
Jake shook her hand and then met Whitney’s mother and a PR woman for Raven Cosmetics.
“The restrooms are over there,” Katherine said, her eyes twinkling. “You and Whitney might want a private reunion.”
Jake smiled back. “Privacy might be good since she probably just wants to slap me.”
