The idea seemed out-of-date to her, but she’d once done a campaign for bubble gum that changed colors the longer a kid chewed it. The actual product was irrelevant. “It’s a safe.”
“Safe from what?” Calla asked.
Without success, Victoria fought the blush—a blush—creeping across her face. “Not safe from anything. A safe.”
Her friends exchanged another one of those looks just before Shelby tapped her pen against her lips. “One of those big, heavy, metal things you store valuables in?”
Victoria flexed her hands on the steering wheel. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s …” Shelby began.
“Innovative,” Calla finished.
“Oh, please stop,” Victoria said. “It’s on the left side of nutty. But with banks failing and consumer confidence in traditional investments falling, it might strike a chord.”
“Better than burying your cash in the backyard,” Calla said.
Shelby nodded. “Especially since I don’t have a backyard.”
“Supposedly, this one’s got a state-of-the-art computer chip that makes the dial and tumbler thing passé,” Victoria said, aware the simpleness of the product was going to be the biggest challenge to overcome. “Regardless, Richard’s going to invest a lot of money to convince people this is a must-have electronic gadget.”
“Invest with you,” Calla said a little too brightly.
“Yeah.” Victoria got on I-495 and headed east. An old-school product with a futuristic upgrade? This was exactly the campaign that might, just might, outpace her mother’s crazy-at-the-time idea of investing in websites to promote things. “’Cause I deserve it. Don’t I?”
JARED MCKENNA WIPED SWEAT OFF his brow as he tied the fourth and last Jet Ski to the Rutherford estate’s dock.
Despite the privileged puffballs he’d be entertaining all weekend, the hard work was relished and the view appreciated. A few cottony clouds hovered in the broad blue sky. Whitecaps dotted the blue-green Atlantic and looked like a welcome respite from the oppressive heat enveloping the city and coast for weeks.
Originating from Montana, Jared wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the humidity of the East, but a breeze kicked up, cooling his face. The Jet Skis bobbed merrily in the sea, and he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
Though the warmth of the sun called, he figured he’d better check in with everybody at the house.
He walked up the dock and along the sidewalk to the back door and found Marion Keegan, the housekeeper, bustling around the kitchen. “How’s the prettiest lady in New York?”
Her pale face turned red. “You’re a devil,” she said in a musical Irish accent.
He grinned. “I try, Mrs. K, I try.”
She straightened an already perfect bowl of fruit that was sitting on the center island, then pulled a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and poured him a glass. “We have a real chef coming for the weekend.”
Noting her awed tone, Jared leaned against the counter. “Do we?”
“Sometimes Lenny’s cousin comes in to help with the cookin’—he works at some chain restaurant in the city.”
“Lenny?”
“Mrs. Rutherford’s chauffeur. More usual, it’s me making chicken salad.” She paused and sighed. “Or Master Richard fires the grill.”
Since Jared had worked for Rose Rutherford several times in the past, he’d gotten a healthy, but not always pleasant, dose of her son, Richard. Wanting to be called “master” while not being one in any way described him entirely. Richard had started Rutherford Securities with his family’s money and influence, and at least had the sense to hire people who knew what they were doing. While he’d been busy decorating his office and having power lunches with his country club golfing buddies, the company became a success—heaven knew how.
He’d be eaten alive by a slow-moving, milk-producing cow on any ranch worth a damn.
“Those nights we wind up ordering from a restaurant in town,” Mrs. K finished.
“But not this weekend.”
“No.” Her expression brightened. “Shelby’s a caterer in the city, and her supplier brought the most wonderful ingredients. I can’t wait to see what she does with them.”
“It’ll be a barn burner, I’m sure.”
Mrs. K swatted his arm. “Oh, go on with ya, Jared dear, I think Mrs. Rutherford was aiming for something more sophisticated. She made it clear she wants the good silver, crystal and china set out each night.”
“Uh-huh.” Based on the range of high-energy activities he’d been hired to pull off, he thought the guests would be lucky to sit upright at the end of the day, much less enjoy elegant entrées prepared by a city chef. “So this is an adventure weekend for gourmets?”
“You know Master Richard. He likes his appearances.”
So why hadn’t the Rutherfords plopped a captain at the wheel of their yacht and taken their guests for cocktail-filled rides along the coast?
Because Richard was determined to prove his manhood.
Jared just hoped his insurance rider would cover accident by arrogance.
“I expect gourmets will be all over,” Mrs. K said, continuing her unnecessary straightening of the kitchen knickknacks. “The chef’s a friend of Victoria Holmes.” She raised her blond-going-gray eyebrows. “Quite the family.”
Jared knew the influential Holmes crowd. At the direction of Victoria’s mother, Joanne Holmes, and the family’s charity foundation staff, he’d once put on a ranch fantasy weekend for a group of their benefactors. Finding the lady cold and distant, he’d put all his effort into giving the city-born teens the country experience of a lifetime.
Despite dealing with the occasional difficult client, however, he loved his business—though he didn’t have to work at all. He had assets as solid as his weekend employers’.
But Mrs. K couldn’t know about that.
No one save his accountant, his office manager and his immediate family knew he didn’t just work at Flaming Arrow Adventure Tours, he owned it.
He’d come to the Rutherford estate for the house party because he genuinely liked Rose, and organizing wild weekends for high-powered executives was as good a challenge as any.
Fighting frustration with city people who looked down on those who worked with their hands had simply become part of the job. His hands, as well as his father’s and grandfather’s, had made them millionaires many times over. Hard work made the results all the more satisfying.
Maybe that was why Richard annoyed him so much. He always seemed determined to take the easy route.
“Where
