his perusal, it was her hands that he brought his gaze back to.
She forced herself not to clench them, knowing that the nails were broken from opening cartons and from mishaps with the bins. Meg wasn’t a vain person at all, but if she had ever had a body part that she might have been proud of, it was her hands. The rest of her was awkward, but her hands could be graceful. Now, of course, they looked hideous, but Etienne Gavard was studying them so intently that her fingertips started to tingle.
“So, this is your present,” he finally said. “I see. You want a useful job. That’s understandable. But you don’t think it would be…useful to go out on a limb and try to help me save your former colleagues’ jobs and keep them from losing all they have?”
Meg froze, her own concerns set aside. “Is that what’s going to happen?” She could barely whisper the words.
He held out his hands. “I’ve seen the work that Fieldman’s used to do. I know of Mary Fieldman. She was a powerhouse and a woman with talent and she also had an eye for talent in others. Her company did very good work right up until the day she died.”
“I know.” Meg couldn’t quite keep the pride and affection out of her voice. She missed Mary…every day.
“Edie said that Mary was…attached to you, that you had been there since you were sixteen and you were her favorite employee, that Mary consulted with you on decisions.”
Meg shook her head. “That Edie,” she said.
“It’s not true?”
She shrugged. “Yes, it’s true, but Mary didn’t really need my input. She always knew exactly what she wanted for Fieldman’s. She wanted quality, to sell a product that exuded exquisite class. She wanted the name Fieldman’s to mean something extraordinary to potential customers.”
“Have you seen what Fieldman’s has been selling—or trying to sell—lately?”
She hadn’t. “Edie mentioned that there had been a few changes, but no, I haven’t personally seen the product. She and I don’t discuss Fieldman’s, as a rule.”
Etienne reached in the pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a glossy brochure. He held it out to her.
Meg took it and flipped it open. Both eyebrows raised and she flipped another page. “Is this real? Are those actually wide-eyed urchins on that upholstery? Koala bears? Puppies with pink bows around their necks?”
The pained look on Etienne Gavard’s face said it all. “I understand that Alan Fieldman had his own ideas. He wanted to go in a different direction, capture a younger audience.”
Yes, well, Alan had always wanted to rebel against his mother. He’d fought hard and used people like Meg to make sure his mother had placed the company in his hands and not his brother’s. And he hadn’t known very much about young people even when he’d been a young person.
“Help me bring back the company, Meg,” Etienne Gavard said.
She looked up into his eyes and they were so blue, so compelling that she almost leaned forward.
“You don’t understand,” she said, forcing herself to take a step back instead of forward.
“Make me understand.”
“I didn’t walk away from Fieldman’s. I was fired for insubordination. It was a major scene. I made a lot of noise when I went. I fought. I yelled. I didn’t go quietly. Everyone was there.”
“I see.”
No, how could he see? He hadn’t been there to witness how ugly and demeaning it had been. How reminiscent of an earlier period of her life she had tried so hard to fight free of.
“So you see why I wouldn’t be a good candidate for the job you’re trying to fill.”
He slowly shook his head. “You said you fought. I need a fighter, Meg. I want one.”
Her throat began to close.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re saying or what I’m saying. I think I might have even thrown something at Alan.”
Was that a smile on the dratted man’s face? “Okay, we’ll work on that. No throwing things.”
“I…”
Suddenly it was all too much. Too soon. The plan she had tried to stick by, to move forward by living quietly and closing off a lot of doors, was going awry. Emotion, a desire for things she had set aside as unrealistic dreams, was trying to push at her. Meg blinked, trying to compose herself.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked suddenly. “I mean…look at you. You’re obviously well dressed, cultured, rich if you could afford to come all the way here and buy an entire company. Why would you do that? Why would you come all the way to America and throw your money away on what might well be a losing venture?”
It was a bold and nosy question for a potential employee to ask, but there was too much at stake here. She’d had doors slammed in her face too many times just when she’d seemed to be nearing her goal, and Etienne Gavard’s offer had come out of the blue and seemed too good to be true. She needed facts, truth, a sense that she wasn’t going to walk blindly into an incredibly stupid situation the way she had before.
So despite the rudeness and total impropriety of her question, she stood her ground. She watched as a fleeting look of pain darkened Etienne Gavard’s eyes before a mask came down and he shook his head. “I came here because…Let’s just say that money isn’t the issue. At least not for me. Salvaging companies is what I do. It’s a challenge, an occupation, and I’m good at it. I usually win.”
“But not always.”
“No, not always, Meg. And I’ll be honest. Even with your help, there’s a good chance I’ll lose this time.”
And Edie and all the others would lose their jobs, the little bit of security they had in their lives. That was so unfair, so totally, entirely wrong and frightening. And…there was another truth that she hadn’t dared to face.
If the company was going down because Alan had been running it—
She, like it or not, willingly or not, had been instrumental in Alan ending up as CEO. The thought was like a blow. She wanted to close her eyes, but that would be cowardly. Fieldman’s was failing. Good, innocent people would suffer if it failed.
Meg wanted to keep that tragedy from happening. If there was any chance at all that she could do something to help…but was that even possible? Could she help?
How could she not try to help? Edie was her best friend.
“How can you be sure I can make a difference?”
He shook his head. “I can’t. There are no guarantees in life. Ever.” Again, that fleeting look of pain crossed his face. He looked away and then back.
“But if we do nothing, I can tell you that Fieldman’s will most likely go under. We have to try to reverse things,” he told her. “People’s livelihoods really are at stake. So, what would
