Cherish Hard
Page 48

“I chose to go into teaching for a reason, Mother,” Ísa said for the umpteenth time. “I chose to make my living with poetry and novels and the written word for a reason.”
Jacqueline held her gaze. “We have an agreement. For the summer you’re mine.”
“Yes,” Ísa said, “about that. What’s this I hear about Harlow being put through a different internship program than usual?”
Setting down her pen, Jacqueline smiled that barracuda smile. “You say the boy has the balls for this kind of work—I’m giving him the chance to prove it. He’s going to be brought up through the entire business, and I’ll be getting reports from all the people he works under.”
While Ísa was glad her mother was giving Harlow a chance, it was an unfairly difficult one. “He’s still only seventeen,” she said. “You can’t judge him against standards set by grown adults.”
“You passed those standards,” Jacqueline said flatly. “When you were sixteen.”
Damn her teenage self, so eager for her mother’s approval.
Now she couldn’t say anything against Jacqueline’s plans for Harlow because the instant she did, she’d be confirming her mother’s doubts about her brother’s abilities. On the flip side, should Harlow pass the tests, he’d well and truly win Jacqueline’s approval and support. And that was all Harlow wanted.
“Why did you need to see me?” she asked, trusting Harlow and his skills.
Jacqueline’s mouth tightened. Waving Ísa over, she pointed to something on the computer screen to the right of her desk. “Look at this.”
The headline was impossible to miss: New Crafty Corners megastore in progress.
“I didn’t think the news was out.” Ísa skimmed through the article. “I wasn’t aware you’d made a final decision.”
“I haven’t.” Jacqueline’s tone was frigid.
Sucking in a breath, Ísa glanced at Jacqueline’s icily controlled face. “Someone leaked this information?”
A crisp nod from her mother. “Since I’m not sold on the idea anyway, it won’t do too much damage. I’ve been thinking we should locate it in a less busy area with plenty of parking and spin off a birthday-party package. There are a lot of parents like me and your father who have more important things to do than plan birthdays.”
Ísa glanced at her mother’s profile and saw that Jacqueline was, once again, frowning at the newspaper article onscreen. Powerfully intelligent as Jacqueline was, she didn’t seem to realize how deeply her words had once cut the child Ísa had been.
She’d spent every single one of her childhood birthdays without her parents. She’d never had a party while her parents were married, as neither Jacqueline nor Stefán had thought to instruct the staff to organize it.
Ísa had made damn sure Jacqueline showed her face at the parties Ísa had thrown for Catie. The last time Jacqueline said she couldn’t make it, when Catie was four, Ísa had relocated the party to Crafty Corners HQ and invited every single one of Catie’s preschool friends.
She’d also hired child entertainers who came with their own live band.
Jacqueline had learned her lesson very quickly.
“So,” she said with an inward grin at the memory of the look on Jacqueline’s face when confronted by twenty-seven excited tiny tots with fingers sticky from cookies and cake, “you’re not worried about this specific leak, you’re worried about who it is that’s doing the leaking?”
“I knew you’d understand,” Jacqueline said with a cool smile. “This leak won’t damage the business, but further disclosures might. I want you to track down the identity of the leaker.”
Ísa already had a lot on her plate but she didn’t demur, well aware Jacqueline was asking her because she knew Ísa would never betray the family. “How long have you had this mock-up out here on the easel?”
Glancing at it, Jacqueline frowned. “ At least two weeks. You know I like to have visual aids when I’m thinking on a project.”
“I’m going to talk to Annalisa, find out who’s been in your office during that time.” That shouldn’t be a tough task. Jacqueline’s office was accessible only by keycard, with any guests escorted in. Even the maintenance and cleaning staff came in during the morning, after Annalisa was already at her desk to supervise.
“The landscaping contract,” Jacqueline said without warning. “Sailor Bishop. He’s the only new contact I’ve had in here during the time since the concept’s been up on the easel.”
Ísa bristled. “No,” she said. “He’s got no reason to mess up his relationship with us.” More, he was a man with a strong code of honesty and honor—but she knew better than to base her argument on that.
Emotion never won with Jacqueline.
Tamping down her instinctive anger on his behalf, Ísa responded with cold, hard logic. “Whatever the reporter paid for this piece of information,” she pointed out, “it’ll have been peanuts in comparison to what Sailor will earn out of the Fast Organic stores in publicity alone.”
Jacqueline gave her a piercing look. “I fell for pretty eyes once,” she said. “Clive was very good at telling me what I wanted to hear.”
27
Fur-Lined Handcuffs and an Executive Desk (Oh My)
FOLDING HER ARMS, ÍSA HELD firm; she might have doubts about what she was doing with Sailor on a personal basis, but she had zero doubts about his integrity. “Do you know anybody at the paper you could call?”
“It’s that asshole Jim Mason at the helm,” Jacqueline responded. “He hates me because I wouldn’t sleep with him.” A snort. “As if Jacqueline Rain needs to sleep with a third-rate editor to get good press.”
Nope, no options there then.
“Leave this problem with me,” Ísa said. “And Mother”—Ísa paused until Jacqueline looked up—“don’t do anything against Sailor Bishop in the interim.”
“This is my company.”
“It is. But if you want me to take the reins on projects and issues, then you take your hands off them. I will not have my decisions second-guessed and micromanaged.”
Jacqueline’s lips curved. “Too sensitive, but also brilliant. You really are a chip off the old block. Have at it, Ísa. Succeed or fail, it’s on your shoulders.” Her next words were quiet. “Did you know your father used to read poetry?”
Ísa froze with her hand on the doorknob.
Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “What?” She’d never seen her father with a book of poetry in hand. But then, she’d seen little of her father while growing up and even less after he’d handed her over to Jacqueline when Ísa was thirteen. Not because Jacqueline particularly wanted custody, but because Stefán’s own mother had passed away, leaving no one who could look after Ísa.
Old grief made Ísa’s heart ache as she stood there, waiting for her mother’s response. Amma Kaja had thrown Ísa her first ever birthday party when Ísa was nine. She’d invited all the children in the remote but painfully beautiful Icelandic village where she lived and where Stefán had dumped Ísa after Jacqueline signed over custody—which Stefán had demanded in a fit of divorce-induced madness.