The Second Chance Plan Page 16

  Bryan placed his hand gently on mine. “Hey.”

  My agitation started to fade with his touch.

  “You know, Kat. I happen to know this guy who runs a similar business. Makes gift items. Some handcrafted, some machine-assisted. The products get rave reviews, and the business is growing like crazy. He knows how to manufacture something at scale and make sure it’s still beautiful and has a personal touch. Perhaps I could see if he’d be willing to accommodate your new line of necklaces at his factory?”

  I looked at him, wide-eyed and open-jawed. “You’d do that? How much would it cost me?”

  He laughed. “First of all, of course I’d do it. Second, don’t worry about the cost.”

  “You can’t just give me something for free because . . .” I let my voice trail off.

  “Because? Because we’re back to not seeing each other for another four weeks after we land in”—he looked at his watch—“three hours?”

  “Not that.”

  He put the tip of his index finger on the star trinket and pushed the star aside. He moved the other charms too. Then he pushed the mini skeleton key to the center of the chain.

  “Not for free. I have a proposition for you.”

  He told me his idea.

  I nodded appreciatively. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Bryan grabbed my suitcases from the luggage carousel.

  “So, I’ll see you in a month.”

  “So, this is it.”

  We’d decided not to share a car back into Manhattan. That would be too tempting. He reached out to give me a hug, and I moved in close to him, lingering in the crook of his neck, wishing I could smother him in kisses and go home with him and do more than kiss. Do everything, again and again, all night long. Then, I spotted someone I knew at the next carousel. A dapper man. A sharp-dressed woman. Waiting for luggage.

  No way.

  There was no way my professor and his wife were here at the same time. But she’d said they were going on a trip. Theirs was an international flight as well.

  Bryan wrapped me in a warm embrace, but I didn’t feel reassured. I’d gone too far, and I knew it. I could see my world crashing around me, all the things I’d worked hard for breaking into pieces at my feet. I wasn’t supposed to get caught.

  No hanky-panky or else an F.

  Then, the professor turned, and he wasn’t my professor after all. He was just a man who looked like him.

  I relaxed momentarily.

  But later that night, as I worked on my designs for Claire using the curved-nose pliers on a key, I didn’t feel like I’d just returned home from a romantic trip to Paris. I didn’t feel like I was such a smart businesswoman. I felt like someone trying to get away with trickery. Someone trying to pull the wool over shareholders’ eyes, to fool the public, to get off scot-free.

  Like a liar.

  That’s precisely who I was now.

  But that wasn’t me. That wasn’t who I wanted to be.

  I had a choice. I had my future in front of me. It had to be a future I could live with. I had to be the me I could live with.

  My stomach twisted into knots, and I took a deep breath as I knocked on my professor’s door. It was open, and he was waiting for me. I’d called earlier to request the meeting to ensure I wouldn’t back down before I arrived.

  He gestured for me to come in. My boots clacked loudly on the tiled floor of the office.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Harper. Good to see you. I trust you had a productive time in Paris?”

  “I did. It was a great trip.”

  “Fantastic. And how is everything going this semester with Made Here? We only have a few more weeks left, but the reports have been good. I’m pleased.”

  I gathered up all my courage. My shoulders rose and fell, and then I began. “I wanted to let you know that during the course of the semester and my time at Made Here, I have fallen in love with Bryan Leighton. Well, I suppose you could say I’ve fallen deeper in love, because I was already in love with him five years ago and never stopped.”

  Professor Oliver looked at me quizzically and narrowed his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  I steeled myself to say the words without tripping on them. I was clinical and businesslike as I laid my confession bare. “I was involved with him when I was younger, and I’m also involved with him now. I could tell you that we tried to stop. That we tried to wait until the mentorship was over. I could tell you how important this class is to me. I could tell you how badly I want to graduate. I could tell you how much Bryan values his company’s relationship with the school. Those would all be true. But what’s also true is that I broke your rule about being involved with my mentor. And because of that, I don’t think he should be my mentor anymore.”

  He nodded several times with pursed lips that formed a scowl. “I see.”

  He picked up a pencil from his desk and began twirling it. Thumb to forefinger. Thumb to forefinger. After several perfectly executed twirls, he put the pencil down and looked at me.

  “It would seem you have a problem, then, Ms. Harper. You no longer have a mentor. Without a mentor, you cannot pass this class. Without this class, you cannot graduate.”

  Claire adored my designs. They exceeded her expectations, she declared over espresso and chocolate biscuits. But her admiration was a Pyrrhic victory. She’d detailed the conditions of her investment, and I’d made a conscious choice to violate them. I wouldn’t be able to finish my degree, and that broke the deal.

  She held up the slim silver chain with the vintage key on it, shaking her head with pride. We were at a café on the Upper East Side. “This? Yes. I can tell you right now Elizabeth’s will carry it.”

  I gave her a curious look. How could she make such a guarantee? But it didn’t matter. She could say all she wanted about Elizabeth’s, but she’d be taking it all back when I broke the news.

  “I’m glad you like it. Really, truly, I am. But there’s a problem,” I said, and then told her everything, including how her husband had the no hanky-panky warning posted on his website.

  She cackled when she heard that. “I had no idea. Really? It says no hanky-panky?”

  I grabbed my phone and tapped in his URL, showing her the screen.

  She laughed even harder. “He’s one to talk.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was his student. He’s such a hypocrite.”

  “Really?”

  Even as my future with her circled the drain, I couldn’t help but join her in peals of laughter that echoed around the café. The couple at the table next to us peered over.

  “You were his student?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t even his protégé. I was his actual student fifteen years ago when I went to NYU and he was teaching management skills. Some management skills. He fell in love with his student while he was teaching her. For him to post that about no hanky-panky is incredibly amusing. But those are his rules. And I respect them. And you must abide.”

  I nodded, a heaviness in my chest. I would have liked doing business with her, but I would have to go it alone. I’d have to start over in my quest to help my parents. I pushed my chair away from the table, stood up, and offered her a hand to shake.

  She waved me off. “This is what you’ve learned at business school? This is what you’ve learned from me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re just going to give up?”

  “You made your stipulations pretty clear, Mrs. Oliver. And I respect them. I am so, so grateful that you were willing to take a chance on me and my work, but I let you down. I’m not going to be able to finish this class. Or work with you.”

  She pointed to my chair. “Sit back down.”

  Her voice was commanding, imperious, even. I immediately followed her order.

  “In business school, did you learn that there is more than one way to solve a business problem?”

  “Sure.”

  “And would you say you have
a business problem?”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  “Then, think about another way around this. Think about what you need, truly need, to finish your experiential learning class.”

  I needed a rewind button. Better tunnel vision. Self-restraint.

  She kept speaking. “You need a mentor.” She waved a bejeweled hand airily. I bet she could cut a glass door off in seconds with the size of that ring.

  “But that’s the problem, Mrs. Oliver. I don’t have a mentor anymore.”

  She gestured to herself. “Am I chopped liver?”

  I flinched in surprise. “What?” It came out like a stutter.

  “I’d like to think I’ve been somewhat instrumental in your hands-on business learning this semester.”

  I leaned forward, still not sure if she was truly serious, or if I could even pull this off. The class called for us to be paired with business leaders who ran actual companies. She seemed more of a benefactor, a generous angel investor. “You would do that, Mrs. Oliver? I mean, Claire.”

  She took a sip of her espresso. “You can call me Claire. But I have another name as well. I don’t go by it often, and I don’t really let many people know my other name. But the reason I am sure we can get these designs into Elizabeth’s stores is because I am Elizabeth Mortimer, and as the head of Elizabeth’s, I would be delighted to finish out the semester as your mentor.”

  Fairy godmother, I’d say.

  I raced back to NYU. The cab pulled up to the curb, and I thrust several dollars into the driver’s hand and pushed hard on the door. I ran up the marble steps to Professor Oliver’s office. He still had office hours now and was finishing up with another student.

  I paced as I waited for the guy to leave. I reviewed my speech in my head, still marveling that Claire Oliver was Elizabeth Mortimer, head of the luxury department store chain that wanted to carry my designs. There was only one obstacle in the way—her husband.

  The other student left, and I rushed to the door, then knocked.

  “Hello again, Ms. Harper.”

  He gestured to the same chair I’d sat in hours ago.

  “If you’ve come to convince me to bend the rules, I should warn you, I’m not known for my mercy.” He spoke the last words with a smile on his face, but he was deadly serious. His kind manner could never be mistaken for leniency.

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Instead, I wanted to present a different solution. You said I needed a mentor to pass this class. Mentors are business leaders who are alumni. I don’t have one now, but I’ve been working closely this semester with a businesswoman named Elizabeth Mortimer. You might know her. She runs the Elizabeth’s stores. And via that relationship, I have gained two rounds of seed funding, an investment to fund design research, and a distribution deal in those department stores. Ms. Mortimer has guided me on design stylings, as well as offered insight into the best direction for my business.”

  “Elizabeth Mortimer, you say?” He seemed amused.

  “Yes. She is a very sharp businesswoman.”

  “So I’ve heard. And it sounds like she has indeed been influential in your growth and development, Ms. Harper. But part of the requirement for the class is that the protégés help the business leaders solve real-world business challenges. How have you done that?” His normally chipper voice was laced with skepticism.

  I thought of the conversation a few weeks ago when Claire, aka Elizabeth, had first presented the opportunity. “The Elizabeth’s stores need a jewelry line to focus their holiday marketing around. Elizabeth had been looking for a new style that would draw attention. She loved the designs I brought back from Paris. I’ve also been able to line up a manufacturing partner to have them produced in time. It’ll be a fast turnaround, but we can pull it off, and with her marketing and with my manufacturer’s savvy, I think we will have not only solved the business problems, but also provided an answer to the age-old question at holiday time: ‘What do I buy for the woman I love?’”

  Professor Oliver pursed his lips and nodded a few times. “And Ms. Mortimer is open to this?”

  I found it odd that we were discussing Ms. Mortimer as if she were not his wife. I supposed that was in keeping with her veiled identity though. She wanted to be both Mrs. Claire Oliver and Ms. Elizabeth Mortimer.

  “Yes. She would be willing to step in officially as my mentor for the rest of the term. I will have had Bryan Leighton for the first few months, and Ms. Mortimer to finish out the term. And to be quite honest, that seems rather fitting for my business. Both have helped me tremendously to grow and expand My Favorite Mistakes. And I have, in turn, helped both of their businesses, as you know from the reports.”

  He removed his glasses, picked up a white cloth from his desk, and cleaned the lenses. When the glasses were free of fingerprints, he put them back on. “Ms. Harper, has anyone ever told you that you’re not too shabby at negotiation?” He cracked a grin and extended his hand. “Welcome back. I trust there will be no hanky-panky with Ms. Mortimer as you finish out the term?”

  “None, sir.”

  “Good. I do have a suggestion now for your business. Perhaps it’s time to move beyond the name My Favorite Mistakes, since your business is moving beyond that idea.”

  “What do you think would be a good name?”

  “Seeing as I suspect you have a rather bright future in front of you as a jewelry designer, I would suggest a simple name. I would suggest your name. That is what all the fashion icons do. I think your customers will soon want to give, and to wear, Kat Harper necklaces.”

  I smiled. “It has a nice ring to it.”

  Epilogue

  Bryan

  * * *

  Present Day

  * * *

  “Close your eyes.”

  I pressed my palms over her eyes as we reached the block with her parents’ store.

  “Maybe you’d like to blindfold me?” she teased. And that was not a bad idea.

  “I’ll do that later, don’t you worry,” I said.

  “Oh, I wasn’t worried.”

  “Just keep them closed.”

  “I can’t see a thing. Don’t let me trip,” she said.

  “I won’t.” I would never let anything happen to my Kat. I was so damn lucky to have her back. To have her be mine at last. Part of me couldn’t believe I’d been so foolish to give her up, but I also knew I had to. I knew we’d never have worked then. But now? We worked so damn well.

  And I knew it was meant to be.

  I guided her along the sidewalk. The sea air reminded me of long, lazy summer days here in Mystic five years ago. It reminded me of summer nights spent falling in love. Right now, with the start of December upon us, the air smelled of pine and freshly falling snow. A few flakes drifted from the darkening afternoon sky, promising a night by a warm fire and blankets of white in the morning.

  Kat graduated two days ago. There was little fanfare—she simply finished her exams, checked her grades online, and verified that she had, in fact, attained her MBA.

  I wasn’t the first person she told. First, she’d called Claire—Kat said she now thought of her as a superhero with a secret identity.

  Kat’s necklaces were faring well the first week in Claire’s stores. The My Favorite Mistakes line was still selling online and in boutiques, but the Elizabeth’s customers favored her simpler styles. Rather than a star, a key, and a sunburst jammed on one necklace, they were opting for single pendants and embracing the European look of the charms, fresh from the markets of Paris. Of course, there were shoppers with quirkier tastes, and for those, the cat and dog charms appealed. Still others liked the cameos and brooches.

  “Be charmed with a Kat Harper necklace.”

  That was the new tagline.

  I was so proud of her. Her business was growing, and in a few weeks, she planned to pay off her parents’ loan from the revenue.

  “Almost there.”

  She held her hands over mine
, purple mittens looking so damn adorable on her. We passed the café. The bell on the door jingled when someone came out, and the telltale scent of coffee trailed behind.

  “Here we are,” I said, taking my hands off her eyes.

  She stumbled at the sight, and I grabbed her elbow to keep her from slipping. Then I watched with satisfaction as she took in the view.

  Mystic Landing hadn’t only been transformed for the holidays—it had been totally transformed. A makeover and a face-lift. There was a new sign made out of brushed metal, window displays that married a sleek and retro design, and a glass door that had been spruced up, with the name of the store painted in Kat’s favorite color—purple.

  I held open the door, smiling as I watched her wander inside, mesmerized by the changes, her eyes the size of saucers. The old beige Berber rug had been replaced by a warm cranberry carpet. The standard wooden shelves and displays had been removed, and instead, the frames and mugs, the books and cards, the vases and other gifts for sale were displayed on high and low wooden tables, some modern, some antique. The perfect mix of old rustic charm that had made this place a centerpiece of the town for many years carried over and a new twist to send the store into the future.

  The kitschier items had been banished. In their place were classier wares: small pitchers in brushed metal, a cute pink pot for making sauces, wineglasses with clever patterns on them.

  My favorite display was the his-and-hers gift set, courtesy of Made Here and Kat Harper—a vintage key necklace coupled with a set of cuff links fashioned from the padlocks kept in storage from the lover’s bridge in Paris.

  Kat and I were a good pair at a lot of things, including business partnerships. The chance to market this line of gifts together was my proposition—that was all I wanted when I said she could make her necklaces at my factory, knowing it was too good an offer to pass up.

  Her parents waved to her, but neither one of them rushed over. They were too busy ringing up customers, and I knew that that made Kat unbelievably happy. I’d always had a hunch that there was another solution to the store’s woes.