Valentine’s Day. A queasy feeling dimmed the excitement she usually felt walking through these red doors. Valentine’s Day revenues were critical in the first year of operation. The Red Doors sold merchandise that moved best during a holiday, and a romantic one like this should spike sales. Although it was still January, the normal after-Christmas slump should be long over and the Valentine’s Day upsurge well in progress. It wasn’t.
The Red Doors had opened in time for the Christmas season, and sales had been decent in November and December. The Valentine season was supposed to be even better. They’d had a minor jump, but not enough for Jamie to feel comfortable. If traffic didn’t pick up soon, she would no longer be a bona fide entrepreneur. She would be a bona fide bag lady.
She used her key to open the door. Yes, she could go in the back way and straight up to her office, but she loved the front entrance so much she couldn’t bear not to enjoy it every morning. Stepping into the entry and stomping the snow and slush off her boots, she pushed through the brass-trimmed revolving door.
A tantalizing aroma drifted from the coffee bar she and Faith had dubbed The Red Bean. This was her favorite moment of the day, before the lights came up to full power, before the customers arrived.
Standing just inside the revolving door and gazing up the red-carpeted winding staircase to the mezzanine, she thought what a fantastic job Faith had done in designing this store so it appealed to both men and women. With dark wood and soft leather, Faith had given the coffee bar and computer kiosks on the main floor a masculine look.
But the mezzanine, accessed by the staircase or a glass-and-brass elevator, was totally feminine. Each boutique had its own unique character. On the right, Sheer Delights oozed sensuality, the display windows piled with silk pillows and lingerie draped over antique privacy screens. This month the theme obviously was red.
The middle store, The Diamond Mine, was Faith’s baby, and it glittered and gleamed like an heiress at a fancy-dress ball. The windows were empty now, but in an hour they’d be filled with jewelry that made Jamie gasp in wonder. Each piece was showcased on black velvet under high-intensity lights. Breathtaking.
Faith’s latest brainstorm involved bringing in a novelty gem to display. She hoped the impressive Valentino diamond would attract more people into the store and put them in the mood to buy fabulous rocks. She’d also come up with a “wish list” concept, where women’s gift preferences would be recorded in a databank that husbands and boyfriends could call up on the computer.
The “wish list” concept would be implemented in all three boutiques, but Jamie wondered if that would be enough to boost revenues in Heaven Scent. Custom fragrances made with essential oils had been a major gift item during Christmas, but so far the same rush hadn’t taken place for Valentine’s Day. Heaven Scent looked like a garden, with potted flowers blooming throughout the space. Even the boutique name was spelled out in stylized leaves and flowers created in hammered brass.
Jamie couldn’t understand how people could come into The Red Doors and not buy something fragrant to take home. Dev said that people didn’t buy perfume in the winter because their noses were too stuffed up to be able to smell anything.
And speaking of the man who made her heart go pitter-pat, he sat at his usual table in The Red Bean, his dark hair tousled from the wind. He was drinking coffee with Faith and Dixie Merriweather, the fifty-something woman Jamie and Faith had hired to oversee sales in all three boutiques, although she paid particular attention to Sheer Delights. From her bleached-blond hair to her colorful clothes, she brought a spark to the operation that everyone depended on.
Dixie had been one of Faith’s contacts, a bartender at a restaurant Faith liked. Faith’s instincts about hiring her had been right on. Jamie had fallen in love with Dixie from the minute the woman had opened her mouth and all those long Southern vowels had spilled out. Even better, she had a wicked sense of humor.
Dixie had been a widow for many years, and said she wasn’t in the mood to train another man, but Jamie wondered about that line. Jamie told people all the time that she wasn’t interested in a boyfriend right now. She had the perfect excuse—working to make this business a success—but if a certain Dev Sherman crooked his finger, she’d find the time for canoodling. In a heartbeat.
Dixie, Faith, Jamie and Dev often gathered for an early morning cup of coffee before The Red Doors opened. Then Dev would go upstairs to his office at Sherman Investments. Jamie counted herself lucky to see Dev first thing nearly every workday morning, but she didn’t think it meant much to him. He simply loved the coffee.
Today, however, even the excellent coffee didn’t seem to be lifting anyone’s mood. Their expressions were grim as they studied something they’d found in the Tribune.
Faith glanced up and saw Jamie. “Good. You’re here. You’d better come and take a look at this.”
“Okay.” Jamie unwrapped her scarf and flipped back her hood as she wound her way through the groupings of leather chairs and chunky wooden tables. She combed her short red hair with her fingers, but doubted anything she did to it would matter to Dev. She assumed he liked long hair, as did most men. Faith had gorgeous long hair, but Jamie’s had so much natural curl that if she let it grow she’d look like Little Orphan Annie.
Dev reached out and snagged a chair from the next table and pulled it over beside him. “Maybe we shouldn’t let Jamie see this until she’s had her caffeine.”
“A double espresso won’t prepare her for this piece of Shinola,” Dixie said.
Jamie stuck her purse under her chair and slipped out of her coat as she sat. Dev, raised as a gentleman, helped her with the coat. The casual way he managed it reminded her that, from his standpoint, there were no sparks. A guy with lust on his mind would allow his hand to linger, maybe only for a nanosecond, but Jamie would feel that pause. With Dev, there was no pause.
As for Jamie, sitting next to Dev always changed the rate of her breathing. She had to adjust to his thigh brushing hers—ooh—and his aftershave tempting her—aah—before she could turn her attention to the full-page ad Dixie had shoved in front of her.
And she still could barely focus, with such a hunk-a-munk right there beside her. Dev always smelled so sexy. After aromatherapy had become her hobby and she’d studied pheromones, she’d understood why. From her standpoint, he was mate material. It didn’t seem to work in reverse, though. She’d never caught him breathing deeply and sighing around her.
She finally forced herself to concentrate on the Tribune ad that had upset everyone. Large type across the top of the page read Guys! Take The Guesswork Out Of Gifts For Her! A few cheesy graphics of women in lingerie followed, then came the words “Stumped for the perfect Valentine’s Day gift? Hate to shop in lingerie stores? Let our software help you choose her soft wear!”
As rage slowly replaced her dreamy state, Jamie scanned the rest of the ad for a name and address. The place was called The Gift Program and it was about six blocks away. Almost close enough for lobbing a hand grenade. Someone had stolen her brilliant idea. “Talk about solid-brass cojones.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dixie said. “Think you could hack your way into their database and give them a nasty virus?”
“I’m thinking legal action.” Faith tapped at the paper with one manicured fingernail. “They can’t get away with this, can they, Dev?”
“I’m pretty sure they can,” Dev said. “It’s hard to claim ownership of a general concept like this. Go ahead and ask Dad’s lawyers if you want, but I’ll bet they’ll tell you to ignore it.”
“How are we supposed to ignore it?” Dixie asked. “We’ve been screwed without being kissed!”
Alfred Willis, the distinguished-looking widower they’d hired to run The Red Bean, set an espresso down next to Jamie. He’d made a point of knowing what each of them liked and always brought it over whenever they appeared in his territory. The tinge of red on his ears meant he’d heard Dixie’s last remark.
Dixie might have said it partly to get a rise out of him. Because he was so formal in his bearing, everyone except Dixie called him Mr. Willis. She insisted on using his first name and seemed to enjoy knocking him off-kilter.
Jamie took pity on him and gave him a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Willis. I can really use this today. Did you notice that we have competition?”
He gave the ad a disdainful glance. “I wouldn’t trouble myself with that lot.”
“You wouldn’t?” Listening to his Britspeak always made her feel more civilized. “Why not?”
He waved a hand at the ad. “It’s obviously an inferior establishment. The Red Doors’s clientele wouldn’t dream of popping in there. Now, may I offer anyone a bit more coffee?”
“Thanks, but I have to get up to my office,” Dev said.
“I think we all do,” Faith said, but she made no move to leave.
“Then perhaps I’ll check on a bagel delivery that seems to have gone missing.” Mr. Willis headed back toward the counter area.
“He has a point about the new store,” Dev said after he left. “They may be copycats, but from the looks of this ad, they’re underfunded copycats, so you may just have to outlast them. And if the store looks as cheap as this ad, customers won’t enjoy going there.”