The Invitation

I couldn’t get over the letter in my hands.

Ten days had passed since my presentation at Rothschild Investments. Like I’d promised, I’d left the sample kit behind for Hudson. The following day, Olivia had called to let me know she made sure he completed everything, and she messaged me over his ratings and completed survey. When the package arrived, I was floored to find it also included a ton of gorgeous graphics Olivia had gotten her marketing department to mock up. She’d even created a few catchy taglines I thought would be perfect on the outside of the custom boxes I still needed to have made.

I’d called to thank her, and we spent almost two hours on the phone talking about all of our ideas. We’d also talked a half a dozen times since then. Her excitement was palpable, but after the last few letdowns I’d suffered with my financing, I was trying not to get my hopes up again—though Olivia made it impossible.

When we’d spoken two days ago, she told me she’d received the perfume I’d created for Hudson. He’d been traveling for business, but she’d placed it on his chair and left him a note, so he’d see it as soon as he returned. Her husband’s father had to have emergency heart surgery, so Olivia was leaving for California for a week, but she’d said she wanted to get together when she got back.

I’d honestly been lulled into thinking Rothschild Investments was a done deal, which was why the letter I’d just read for the second time still shocked me.

Dear Ms. Bardot,

Thank you very much for your interest in working with Rothschild Investments. While your product was impressive, we regretfully must advise you that we will not be able to extend an offer at this time. We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.

Sincerely yours,

Hudson Rothschild

Disappointment was an understatement for what I felt. Again.

Still shocked, I reread the letter once more. I didn’t want to call Olivia and ask what had happened since she was dealing with her father-in-law’s health. Besides, Hudson had been the one to sign the letter, and if I had to wait a full week until she got back, I’d climb the walls. So I decided to call Hudson directly. I needed to at least find out what had made them change their minds, because I knew for certain it wasn’t the perfume I’d created for him.

My fingers shook as I punched in his number on my cell. The cheery receptionist answered on the first ring.

“Good afternoon. Rothschild Investments. How may I direct your call?”

“Hi. May I speak to Hudson Rothschild, please?”

“Let me put you through to see if he’s available.”

I held for a minute until a voice I recognized as Helena, his assistant, answered. I’d met her on the two occasions I’d visited the office. She’d been super friendly and loved the idea of Signature Scent.

“Hi, Helena. This is Stella Bardot. Is it possible to speak to Hudson?”

“Hi, Stella. He just came back from a meeting. I think he has a lull in his schedule, but let me double-check if he’s available.”

She came back on the line thirty seconds later. Her voice wasn’t as upbeat.

“I’m…sorry, Stella. He’s on another line. Can I have him call you back?”

Something told me he wasn’t on the phone, and he’d told her to blow me off. But I was upset, so that could have just been my paranoia.

“Yes, of course.”

I left her my business phone number and waited patiently. But no return call came. So the following afternoon, I called and again got Helena. This time when she told me Hudson was unavailable, I blew out a frustrated breath.

“Would you let him know I just need two minutes of his time? I’m sure he’s very busy, but it won’t take long.”

“Sure, I’ll let him know. Is everything okay?”

“Not really.” I sighed. “I received the letter he sent me declining to invest in Signature Scent, and I wanted to ask him the reason. The letter didn’t say, and if nothing else, I want to learn from it.”

“Oh wow. I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware.”

That was interesting. I would’ve expected his assistant to be the one who’d typed it up. “I don’t want to be a pain. I’d just like a few minutes of his time.”

“I’ll pass along the message. And I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Stella. I was really looking forward to this one.”

“Thanks, Helena.”

That day, I tried to keep myself busy. But I checked my phone a dozen or more times. By six that evening, I’d all but given up hope—until my phone rang while I was out for a run. I wiped my hands on my shorts and answered, panting.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Stella. It’s Helena.”

“Hi, Helena.”

“I’m sorry Hudson didn’t call you back. He was, uh, busy today. I passed along your message, and he told me to let you know the reason he decided not to go forward with the investment was because he didn’t care for the sample he received. It made him uncertain of the product, I guess.”

“Oh, I see.” That was complete bullshit. Because I’d made him the same scent I’d been wearing the night of Olivia’s wedding. And he’d told me twice how good I smelled. A few weeks ago, I’d been ready to give up and accept putting everything on hold for a long time. But I no longer felt ready to accept defeat. All of my planning talks with Olivia had gotten me too pumped up to let it go so easily this time. I wanted to give it one last-ditch attempt since I knew he was lying about the reason.

“Do you think it would be possible to make an appointment to speak to Hudson in person?”

Helena’s voice lowered. It sounded like she might be cupping the receiver so no one would hear. “I don’t want to get in trouble, but I’ll be honest, I think if I ask him, he’s going to say no.”

I sighed. “Okay, thanks, Helena. I get what you’re saying.”

“But…I’ve worked for Hudson for a long time now. His bark is much worse than his bite. Now, if you were to just show up… He might not have a choice. And he does respect people who fight hard for what they want.”

I smiled sadly. “Thanks, Helena. I appreciate the advice. I’ll give it some thought.”

The next morning I arrived at Rothschild Investments at 8AM. “Hi. Is Hudson Rothschild in?”

The receptionist smiled. “He is. Do you have an appointment?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t. But I only need two minutes of his time. Would it be possible to get in to see him?”

“Let me see. What’s your name, and what is this in reference to?”

“Stella Bardot, and it’s in reference to Signature Scent.”

She picked up the phone, and I listened to one side of the conversation.

“Hi, Mr. Rothschild. I have Stella Bardot here to see you regarding Signature Scent. She doesn’t have an appoint—”

He’d definitely cut her off. I heard the boom of his deep voice through her headset, though I couldn’t make out what he was saying. But when her face fell, I knew it wasn’t a good sign.

“Umm…okay…would you like me to tell her that?” A pause and then she raised her eyes to meet mine. “Okay. Thank you.”

She clicked a button on her keyboard and gave me a discouraging smile. “Mr. Rothschild said, ‘If you have nothing better to do with your time, take a seat.’ If he finds a spare two minutes in his busy day, he’ll see you.” She grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine—don’t shoot the messenger and all.”

She motioned to the waiting area. “Would you like me to get you some coffee while you wait?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay. I’m Ruby. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

“Thanks, Ruby.”

I sat down on the couch and took out my phone to catch up on emails. My instinct told me I was going to be sitting here for a while. I had a feeling Hudson would enjoy making me wait.

And I wasn’t wrong.

Three hours later, the receptionist came out from behind the desk and walked over to me.

“I just wanted to let you know, I called back and reminded him, to make sure he hadn’t forgotten you.”

I smirked. “And how did that go?”

She laughed and looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was around. “He was sort of snippy.”

“I bet. But it’s okay.” I waved to the glass coffee table in front of me. “At least you have all these great magazines.”

By five o’clock, I figured he was going to make me stalk him on his way out of the office, just to be a jerk. While I’d debated leaving after the first hour or two this morning, I now had so much time invested, there was no way I was giving in. I popped in my earbuds, settled back into the couch, and turned on some classical music to relax. I was going to outlast Hudson if it killed me. But at 5:30, the receptionist came back over.

She frowned. “I’m getting ready to leave, so I called back to Mr. Rothschild again. He said to let you know it turned out he didn’t have two minutes to spare today.”

What a bastard. That had been his game plan all along—make me waste the entire day. Well, lucky for me, I had no job and no place to go. So rather than get upset, I decided to dig in. I stood and lifted my pocketbook to my shoulder.

“Could you let Mr. Rothschild know I’ll be back again tomorrow? Perhaps he’ll be able to spare the two minutes then.”

The receptionist’s eyebrows jumped, yet she smiled. “Sure thing.”

The following day I came more prepared. I brought my laptop, some snacks, a charger for my cell, and my to-do list. When the morning went by again, and Hudson still couldn’t find a couple of minutes to speak to me, at least I’d knocked off a bunch of things from my list and cleaned out my emails—two things that were long overdue.

In the afternoon, I updated my resume and uploaded more than a thousand pictures from my phone to a storage website and organized them. I then spent an hour and a half online planning a dream vacation I could never afford—picking out luxury hotels and a private, captained sailboat to get me between the Greek Islands I wanted to explore. Again at 5:30, the receptionist came over.

“Good news. I think…”

“Oh?”

“I just called back and told him I was leaving and you were still here.” She shrugged. “He didn’t tell me to ask you to leave.”

I chuckled because I’d clearly lost my mind now. “So I should wait?”

She pointed to the glass doors. “He has to walk out that door sometime…”

I nodded. “Okay. Have a good night, Ruby.”

“You, too, Stella. Hopefully I won’t see you sitting here tomorrow.”

I smiled. “I hope not, too.”

By 6:45, I’d watched most of the staff at Rothschild Investments leave, and a cleaning crew walked in and started to vacuum around me. I’d taken a break from dream vacation planning to text with Fisher for a while. When I was done, I again opened my laptop and went back to vacay-planning mode. Mykonos was the last island I still needed to find the perfect hotel on. As I sifted through photos of the incredible scenery, trying to decide if I wanted to be on the north or south side of the island, I must’ve become engrossed in what I was doing.

Suddenly, a deep voice scared the crap out of me, and I jumped from my seat. My laptop went flying to the floor, and my hand flew to my chest. “You scared me to death.”

Hudson shook his head. “I should’ve just walked out the door. You wouldn’t have even noticed.” He bent and picked up my laptop, which luckily was still illuminated and not broken. Looking at the screen, he said, “Going on a vacation to the Greek islands? Good business plan. Have fun at…” He squinted. “The Royal Myconian. Looks expensive.”

I snatched my laptop from his hands. “I’m dream vacation planning, not actually going.”

Though he didn’t quite smile, I could’ve sworn the corner of his lip twitched. Hudson pushed up the sleeve of his suit jacket, revealing a big, chunky watch. While I felt like punching the arrogant bastard for making me sit here for two days, I couldn’t help but notice how sexy the damn watch looked on his masculine wrist. Shaking my head, I tamped down that feeling.

“Two minutes,” Hudson said, folding his arms across his chest. “Go.”

For the next hundred-and-twenty seconds, I rambled on—telling him I wanted to know the real reason he’d decided to decline investing, because it couldn’t possibly be that he didn’t like the scent I’d created. I even told him it was the same one he’d told me twice that he liked—once at Olivia’s wedding and then again at his office when I’d come to pick up my cell phone. Then, for some insane reason, I started going into detail about the samples he’d rated and the chemicals I’d used… Somehow my diatribe morphed into a science lesson. I don’t think I took a breath or used any punctuation during the entire two minutes I speed-talked.

When I finally shut up, Hudson stared at me. “Are you finished?”

“I guess so.”

He gave a curt nod. “Have a good evening.” Then he turned and walked toward the door.

I blinked a few times, sure he couldn’t possibly be just leaving. But when he got to the door and pushed it open, it became apparent that was exactly what the jerk was doing. So I yelled after him. “Where are you going? I’ve been waiting for two days to have this conversation.”

With his hand on the door, he didn’t look back as he spoke. “You asked for two minutes. I gave them to you. The cleaning people will lock up after you leave.”

If any evening deserved wine, it was this one.

Fisher had worked late tonight, but he’d been the lucky recipient of my rant earlier while I angry-marched from Rothschild Investments to the subway station. So he knew what he was walking into when he let himself into my apartment.

“Honey, I’m home!”

He held a large bottle of merlot in one hand and a flower he’d definitely just ripped out of our neighboring building’s planter in the other—the bottom still had a root and dirt dangling.

I forced my sullen face to attempt a smile. “Hey.”

“I passed a mounted police officer whose horse didn’t have as long of a face as you do.” Fisher kissed me on the forehead and pointed to the flower. “What do you think? The red vase or the clear?”

I sighed overdramatically. “I think that thing needs dirt more than a vase.”

Fisher tapped my nose with his pointer finger. “The red one it is.” He went to the closet and took out a vase meant for a giant bouquet, not one sad flower, then filled it with water from the kitchen sink and stuck the stem in. “I think you should call Olivia.”

I drank the wine already in my glass. “I don’t want to bother her. And what’s the point? She told me herself that Hudson was in charge of the division. Plus, she’s already been so generous to me. I don’t want to make her feel bad.”

“I can’t believe that jerk asked you for your phone number and never called, then made you sit there for two days. This guy must get off on making you wait around for him. And here I had this gut feeling you two were going to wind up banging.”

I scoffed. “Me and Hudson? Are you crazy? The man obviously hates me.”

Fisher tugged at the knot of his tie as he walked to the couch where I sat wallowing.

“I watched you two together at the wedding. Even when he screwed with you and made you give that speech, there was a sparkle in his eye. There was real chemistry there.”

I finished off my wine. “Some chemistry leads to explosions. Trust me, I know.”

“But why ask you out and then never call?”

I shook my head. “To get even. Same reason he left me sitting in the lobby.”

For the next hour, Fisher and I drank wine. Because he was the bestest friend of all best friends, he let me repeat everything I’d told him on the phone earlier without complaining.

But the long day of sitting around and consuming too much alcohol eventually got to me, so when I yawned for a second time, he stood to go.

“I’ll let you get some rest. You have two days. Today was for being pissed off and drinking. Tomorrow is for wallowing. Thursday, we get back on the horse and figure out where to go from here. We’ll make this work.”

I didn’t want to be an even bigger downer and say I had no place left to go, except maybe the unemployment line. Fisher meant well. “Thanks for listening to me.”

“Anytime, my princess.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead before heading for the door. Grabbing his suit jacket from the kitchen, he said. “Almost forgot—you had mail in your box. You want it on the couch?”

“Nah. I’ll look at it tomorrow.”

He set it down on the kitchen counter. “Get some sleep, my Stella Bella.”

“Goodnight, Fisher.”

After he closed the door, I forced myself up and walked around my box-filled apartment, shutting off lights. In the kitchen, a thick manila envelope on the bottom of the mail pile caught my eye.

I know that logo…

But it can’t be…

Since I didn’t have my glasses on, I picked it up to eye it more closely.

Sure enough, the circle with the R entwined through it was exactly what I’d thought it was. What the hell would Rothschild Investments be sending me? Another go screw yourself letter? Maybe this time with an itemized bill for the food and drinks I’d had at Olivia’s wedding, along with an invoice for Hudson’s precious time?

I’d had enough torture for the day and probably should’ve just left it for the morning. But leaving well enough alone was never my forte. So I slipped my finger under the seal and sliced open the envelope. Inside was a cover letter written on the same letterhead as the one I’d received a few days ago. Underneath looked like a bunch of legal documents…Term Sheet, Investor’s Rights Agreement, Stock Purchase Agreement…

What the hell is all this?

Grabbing my glasses, I shuffled back to the cover letter to read.

Dear Ms. Bardot,

After careful reconsideration, Rothschild Investments is delighted to extend an offer of investment to your company, Signature Scent, LLC. The proposed structure, amounts, and terms can be found in the Term Sheet. Kindly go through the enclosed literature discussing the details of our proposal. As our offer affects the voting rights and your ownership stake within your company, we strongly suggest you have your attorney review all documentation prior to signing.

We are pleased to invite you to be part of the Rothschild Investments family and look forward to bringing your innovative product to market.

Sincerely yours,

Hudson Rothschild

Was this some sort of joke? Could what I had said during the two minutes he’d allotted me this afternoon have changed his mind, and he’d messengered over this letter? But how would a messenger have gotten into my locked mailbox?

Still feeling like there had to be some sort of mistake, I reread the cover letter before sifting through the documents. It seemed like a legitimate offer. Granted, I didn’t understand most of the legal mumbo jumbo, but it appeared that Rothschild Investments wanted to invest in Signature Scent in exchange for a forty-percent stake in the company. And the first line did say reconsideration and not consideration. I just couldn’t believe it. I’d actually changed his mind today? In the measly two minutes he’d allotted me before walking out?

I stood in the kitchen with my mouth hanging open—until I noticed the date on the top of the letter. It wasn’t today. It was dated three days ago. Grabbing the envelope I’d dropped on the table, I scanned the postmark. Sure enough, it had been mailed three days ago.

Which meant…

Hudson had sent this out before he let me sit in the waiting room for two days.

What the hell?