had instilled in her, and smoothed the designer suit that hugged her thin, five-foot-nine-inch frame. She tried to smile.
Nothing happened.
Her eyes were blinking rapidly, a sign of her distress. This would not do. Lillian expected a placid pool, no matter what sort of emotions raged underneath. Emotional displays were for lesser people. The face you presented to the world must be...flawless.
Ophelia slid her eyes closed, willing a neatness of composure. When she opened them again, the hunted look was still evident.
She prayed her mother would not notice.
Knowing she had wasted precious seconds on this perusal, she hurried toward the glass doors and greeted Tamara, her mother’s assistant.
“You can go on in, Ophelia,” Tamara offered. The other woman’s tone sounded almost pitying.
Ophelia swallowed as she approached her mother’s door and knocked briefly before sticking her head inside.
“Ms. Reid? You wanted to see me?”
Lillian Reid had strict rules about how her daughter addressed her. While “Mother” was appropriate at family events and in the privacy of the home, when in the office or among business associates, only Ms. Reid would do.
“Ophelia. Come in.” Lillian made a pointed show of studying her wristwatch, though she made no remark on the length of time it had taken Ophelia to reach the top floor.
Ophelia remained composed as she crossed the room and waited behind the Parisian leather chairs reserved for those summoned to sit across the desk from Lillian. She knew better than to sit immediately. Lillian enjoyed issuing commands, even ones so small as when you might seat yourself.
Lillian lifted her gaze from her watch, looked at her daughter and after a pause, gestured toward one of the chairs.
“You may take a seat.”
Ophelia gracefully brushed a hand beneath her skirt as she did. She folded one leg over the other, her spine straight and several inches away from the seat’s back. Just as she had been taught.
She did not speak, knowing Lillian preferred to take the lead in such meetings. Her mother took longer than usual, however, to voice her wishes, and so Ophelia did her best not to fidget, not even to shift her weight from one side of the chair to the other.
Lillian Reid stared down at her desk for an inordinate length of time, her eyes sharply assessing the spotless surface. The silence lingered for so long that Ophelia felt an unusual concern rise within her.
Swallowing, she broke the rules with a soft murmur. “Mother?”
It was the wrong move. Lillian’s hawklike gaze shot upward and caught her in its sights.
“Ms. Reid,” she firmly declared.
Ophelia dropped her head in shame. “I apologize, Ms. Reid.”
Her poise proved flawless in nearly every situation she found herself thrust into, but one moment beneath her mother’s—Ms. Reid’s—sharp stare, and she felt reduced to a humiliated child.
Though she ignored the apology, the exchange at least shook Lillian from her silent reverie. She smoothed her short, faded blond hair, a display of tension from her that Ophelia rarely witnessed, and then folded her neatly manicured hands before her.
“We have a situation,” she announced, her voice matter-of-fact.
Not trusting herself to speak further, Ophelia waited for her mother to continue.
“I have just come from a meeting with Bianca Towers.”
Ophelia prepared herself for potentially bad news. Bianca Towers was the heiress of an internationally renowned resort chain. With the recent passing of her uncle, the young socialite now possessed sole command of the Towers business and fortune.
Her reputation as a flighty party girl had caused a drop in revenue for the Towers name once she came into the seat of power, and Bianca seemed anything but happy about it.
Towers Resorts International had been employing Reid Recruiting Agency for years as their main source to fill top positions within their company. As one of Reid Recruiting’s most lucrative accounts, it remained imperative they keep Bianca Towers on good terms.
This was no easy task considering the temperamental, impulsive nature of the twenty-five-year-old socialite. And if anything put Lillian Reid in a bad mood, it was schmoozing the rich.
“She wants to turn the company’s image around and restore its reputation as one of the chief international resort chains.”
Ophelia remained silent, letting her mother continue at her own leisure.
“She wishes to launch a major PR campaign to draw in a diverse clientele—something that holds universal appeal.”
Ophelia tentatively cleared her throat. “She seems...ambitious.” Ophelia wouldn’t have thought that from what she’d read of the girl.
Lillian Reid did not comment on the observation. Instead, she continued, “Miss Towers believes there is only one way to make this happen.”
Ophelia braced herself. Lillian rested her eyes on her daughter’s. “She wants Dane Montgomery to head the creative marketing division and lead the campaign.”
Ophelia swallowed. “He’s retired.”
Lillian rolled her eyes, and Ophelia berated herself for having pointed out the obvious.
“He’s the best.” From Lillian’s tone, it was clear she was mocking the very words Bianca must have spoken in Dane’s regard.
“Where is he?” Ophelia asked.
“Hawaii, if what the trades said three years ago still holds true. He gave everything up to—” she waved her hand dismissively “—grow fruit on an island or some such dull venture.”
Ophelia processed this. “So, Bianca wants us to recruit Dane Montgomery for her?”
Lillian nodded. Ophelia hesitated, loath to ask the next question.
“And...if we can’t?”
Her mother’s piercing stare sliced into her once more. “She pulls the entire Towers Resorts International account.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. “What? Everything?”
The same clipped nod.
“But that would mean—”
“Cutbacks. Layoffs.” Lillian shuddered as she uttered the dire word, “Downsizing. These actions will be interpreted as weakness, and more clients will follow in Bianca’s wake.”
“We can’t let that happen.”
For the first time in ages, Lillian bestowed a rare smile of approval upon her daughter.
“No. We cannot.”
