Chapter 17 #2
Business emails proved equally as frustrating.
Amanda’s deep dive into La Tempera’s financials cut another hole in his heart.
Based on the email recap, Lizzy was bleeding money, having overextended herself to buy the gallery a year ago.
Her financial trouble didn’t surprise him, given that Wickham was part of her life, but what did concern him was the amount of debt she carried.
It would take forever to get out from under water.
Based on what he’d seen of the gallery and its history in Tribeca established by Guy Bernard, it had all the right components for success but needed a strong business manager at the helm.
Lizzy was a creative, not a money girl, even if she had made a killing waitressing at Cavalleria and taking on other side jobs to sock away the money for her dream of schooling in Paris.
He also did not doubt that she was good at what she did in the gallery, given her exceptional talent and great eye.
The current exhibit, which netted a sizeable twenty-percent commission, showcased her discerning taste, and it pleased him to learn the gallery’s fine art mission statement.
What annoyed him was the niggling thought that he should help her.
Scrolling past another AP news article, he stopped on one that took him back in time.
The proverbial missed bullet. In hindsight, Lizzy had been right and for that alone, he owed her the millions of what would have been the worst investment in Pemberley history: recycled PET waste fashion, a fad now proving to be problematic in the green initiative.
Reading the first paragraph claiming ‘Greenware an Environmental Nightmare’ took him back to seven years earlier.
His least favorite aspect of his line of work was the shmooze; his father excelled at it, but he did not.
He hated bullshitting, hated putting on a show to sell people on him or Pemberley Capital.
He shouldn’t have to. In his opinion, it demonstrated a lack of confidence and disingenuity.
His business and financial acumen and delivered results should be enough, but here he sat in one of Manhattan’s swankiest Italian restaurants, discussing a potential offer to an upstart his father thought could use his expertise.
Further, he wasn’t so na?ve as to see that the mission before him was payback for “pissing away a productive day at the office for a wasted lunch, playing around at your mother’s silly art class. ”
Cliff Giles, a suave, talkative clothing designer in his fifties, sat across from Darcy, bragging about how he climbed Mount Kosciuszko at the age of twenty and his dreams to turn discarded plastic bottles into one of the hottest style and eco-friendly trends in history.
He wanted to laugh in the guy’s face. C’mon, plastic bottles into fiber?
Admittedly, Darcy had no fashion sense or knowledge about rPET, but Pemberley had the cash and the right team to crunch the numbers and R.o.R on this one.
Sustainability was the hot-off-the-press trigger word everyone was spewing, so, maybe it was an unconventional avenue worth pursuing but did the trend have longevity to make it worth the investment?
He’d research the forecasts and profitability margins, then determine if it was valuable enough to spend the company’s time and money.
But, in the first ten minutes of acquaintance, it became clear that the brainchild of Zero hadn’t done his own deep dive.
Sure, he had a vision to take recycling to the next level.
Most great companies began with a seed, but the guy’s name brand wasn’t Armani or even Levi’s.
Failed fashion fads from a nonentity could leave Pemberley on the hook.
“So, you see, I absolutely need Pemberley Capital to be the first out of the gate with this,” he said, standing beside the bar as they waited for their table in the reserved room.
“How much are you forecasting to complete your vision?”
The guy grinned. “Sustainable textiles aren’t cheap. I’m looking at multi-tiered processing in Sri Lanka. To do it right, I’m seeking a solid investment of three point five million.”
Taking a drink, he considered his father’s enthusiasm over the project, but it didn’t sit right with him.
The hostess signaled them to a quiet table where only four other tables occupied the anteroom.
“I hear wonderful things about this place,” Giles said. “I’ve been dying to come, but the six-month wait list is insane!”
“The Darcy name has sway,” he admitted.
“Then, I think I’m going to enjoy entering a relationship with the Darcy family. I’m looking forward to all the perks that come with our collaboration.”
“That’s good to hear. My father speaks highly of your idea and is eager to have the Pemberley team do the research. I believe you gave him a sample garment for my mother?”
“It’s the least I can do. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the quality and fashionable classic lines.”
Picking up the menu, he tried to hide his irritability, hating to be in this position. Either this wasn’t going to go as his father had hoped, and he would have to face the fallout for single-handedly losing the client, or he’d plunge Pemberley into the toilet. Either way he was screwed.
“Hi! Welcome to Cavalleria. I’m Lizzy, your server tonight,” the waitress said.
He lowered the menu, ready to order a bottle of wine but suddenly drew a blank at the attractive brunette wearing a black vest, skirt, and red tie. “You?” he said.
“You!” she replied with a million-watt smile. “The nude model from my anatomy class this afternoon.”
Embarrassed, he looked over at the astonished expression on Giles’ face.
“I ... I wasn’t nude! I swear! My mother is the art professor ... she made me,” he attempted to laugh off.
Lizzy laughed, and what a laugh! “I’m just teasing. He wasn’t nude―maybe next time, though.” She bit the corner of her lip.
“I ... um ... how about a bottle of 2006 Chateau Mouton, Bordeaux?” he blurted, feeling the burn on his cheeks.
“Very good choice.” Then, to his horror—or maybe delight—he was too mortified to ponder it, Lizzy winked at him before walking away.
Covertly, he watched her, which became a habit for the entire dinner. Everything about the girl undid him, and damn if she didn’t look so enticing wearing the suit and tie. He could spend hours imagining her wearing the tie and nothing else.
Ninety minutes later, over dessert, Giles prodded. “So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?”
“To be honest with you, Cliff, I’m not sure about the trend’s endurance.
Yes, recycling is an environmental necessity but as a fashion statement?
You have a big, noble dream, and we admire ambitious entrepreneurs who think outside the box, but I just don’t know that Pemberley is looking to invest in ecological initiatives at this time.
” He glanced at Lizzy standing near the bar.
“I’ll tell you what ... maybe it’s the vintage or I’m just feeling generous, but I’m going to hedge my bets.
” He signaled the object of his interest. “Let’s ask a female consumer who has no financial skin in the scheme. ”
“How is the cheesecake, gentlemen?” she asked with a broad smile.
“Delicious,” he replied thinking more about her sultry lips as the dessert. “Lizzy, we have an unconventional question for you.”
“It’ll cost you.” Her pink mouth twisted.
“Whatever the price,” he said with a smile.
“Miss, would you purchase a quality garment made from superior woven recycled fibers from a planet-focused family business committed to sustainability and value?” Giles asked.
“Fibers made from plastic,” Darcy added.
“You mean like polyester?”
“Exactly like polyester, only woven with recycled plastic bottles,” he said.
“That’s sorta ew-ish.” She crinkled her nose, then graciously smiled. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m the right person to ask about this.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“Because it’s none of my business.”
“As a consumer, it is your business, and ... I value your opinion. Go ahead, tell us what you think of the idea,” Darcy encouraged.
“Okay, well, since you’re twisting my arm, and I am here to serve your dining needs .
.. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings but isn’t recycled plastic still plastic no matter what it’s recycled into?
Call me crazy, but at some point, it’s still going to end up in a landfill, forever.
I think there is, like, a polyester cemetery in a desert somewhere. ”
“Um, I’m not sure about that,” the potential client said. “But greenware is sustainability at its finest. Recycle, reuse, respect our environment’s natural resources,” Giles tried to sell.
Although her smile never wavered, she gave the guy a once-over, brightly—and logically—responding.
“I guess, then, my hard-earned money will end up buying an unbreathable, unsustainable, and in a month, an out-of-style garment that’ll end up polluting the planet.
Where I come from that is considered the antithesis of respecting the land. ”
“But, that aside, would you wear finely woven fabrics born from recycled plastic?” Giles pressed.
“Probably not. I’m not a synthetic girl.”
Internally he grinned, loving how her mind worked. Lizzy was brilliant and probably saved Pemberley millions of dollars in that one statement.
Lizzy shrugged. “But, what do I know? Plastic is in everything these days. Personally, I’m all in for wearing natural resources like cotton and wool. I like my Wrangler’s stretch-free. All of which will biodegrade in time, but that’s just me. Some girls may not mind wearing petroleum.”
Giles’s face fell, clearly not expecting “a pretty waitress/art student” to pull the rug out from under the two million his father was willing to hand over for a noble experiment bound to go tits-up in a few years.
“That suit you’re wearing is probably eighty percent acrylic or nylon,” Giles countered.
“I’m sure it is, but my attire is a condition of my employment, and I didn’t purchase it.” She beamed. “Cavalleria never claimed to be sustainable or environmentally friendly.”
“There you have it, Cliff. Thanks, Lizzy.”
“Sure, don’t forget, you owe me, Mr. Darcy.” She covertly winked.
Five hours later, he stood outside Cavalleria at one in the morning, not-so-patiently waiting for the remaining employees to close up.
He tried not to pace the sidewalk, but he was nervous and a little bit panicked, thinking he had insulted Lizzy by putting her on the spot like that.
In truth, he had been looking for any excuse to talk to her when dining, and Giles had given him the perfect opportunity.
She emerged from the restaurant, and he suddenly stopped pacing. Their eyes locked. Her grin lit the night when she recognized him.
“Howdy,” she said brightly.
“Hiya.”
“You didn’t have to tip me that much, especially after I outted you as a model,” she joked, looking so adorable in a blue jean skirt and those damn cowboy boots he fell in love with earlier in the day.
“Yeah, I did. Your frank opinion kept me from making a bad business deal that would have cost my father’s company millions.”
She chuckled. “I doubt it. You seem like a pretty bright guy. You would’ve figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“In general, I’m an optimist when it comes to people.
They’re mostly good, but anyone touting sustainability and ecological protection while profiting from it by making cheap chemical clothes probably made through slave wages in some Third World Country, isn’t very ethical. Water bottles?” She rolled her eyes.
“You’re astute. I admit I didn’t consider that.” He swallowed hard. “Um, I’m sorta a greenhorn to deal making, so I guess I should have tipped you even more for your sage wisdom.” His heart raced.
“Oh, I think five hundred was sufficient for my ‘sage wisdom’ but, if you insist, then walk me to the subway and I’ll call us even.”
“No way. I wouldn’t feel right about it; My mother would kill me.”
“Then call me a cab.”
“Can’t do it. It’s just not safe at this hour.”
“I have pepper spray, and my boots are lethal.”
He strolled to his Mustang illegally parked at the curb, then opened the passenger door for her. “I’d like to drive you home if that’s okay?”
“All the way to Queens?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, Lizzy.”
She sauntered toward him with a saucy smile, their gaze at the others unbroken. “I expect your hands to remain on the wheel at all times.”
“It would be ungentlemanly to do otherwise.”
“And, I won’t be asking you up for a nightcap or ... anything else.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“I won’t kiss you goodnight at my front door.”
“I won’t offer one.”
“Then why take me home? What’s in it for you besides ensuring my safety and appeasing your mother?”
“Honestly? I want to get to know you.”
She grinned, then sat; one long leg followed the other into the car. Looking up at him with that amazing sparkle in her eyes, she challenged, “Well then, it looks like we have a deal, cowboy. Can this pony kick up some dust?”
“Absolutely, but I’m no cowboy, Lizzy. I’m just an ordinary guy.”
“You are no ordinary guy, William Darcy.”
And she was no ordinary girl.
And that kiss she said she wouldn’t give when they arrived at her apartment?
Boldly she’d leaned over the console, breathing, “I may have said no kiss at the front door, but I never said anything about kissing in your car,” then seductively planted a delicious open-mouthed kiss on his lips, lingering there long enough to make his pants uncomfortably tight and his heart skip a beat.
It rocked his world!
She was the one.