Читать книгу Nothing But The Best - Kristin Hardy, Kristin Hardy - Страница 11

MORNING CAME far too quickly for Cilla’s taste. Her father was of the lark persuasion and assumed everyone else was happy starting at seven-thirty. Of course, as president, CEO and chief shareholder of Danforth, she supposed he was entitled to think whatever he liked. What she thought, as she found a seat, was that nine o’clock would have been far more popular.

The conference room was furnished in dark wood and jewel-toned linens. No spectacular views here. The focus now was on work. The Danforth groups sat around an open rectangle of tables, a briefing book before each person. Pitchers of water and dishes of candy sat at intervals on the dark green table coverings. To one side, a breakfast buffet groaned with eggs and bacon and fruit, but at this hour Cilla couldn’t even think about it. All she wanted was coffee and consciousness.

Luckily, nothing on the early-morning agenda required any preparation from her, so she was able to merely absorb caffeine until she was marginally awake. Then Rand walked in and sat next to her. Butterflies fluttered around in her stomach even as she gave him a professional smile and nod. No way was she going to risk shaking hands.

She turned to the manager on her other side, chatting casually until her father brought the meeting to order. That should do it, she thought as the various department heads began reporting on the new business ventures, submitting to merciless grillings by her father and the board. Cilla didn’t bother to open her briefing book. She’d studied all the material ahead of time. Be prepared was one of her father’s mottos, and she’d taken it very much to heart.

It was interesting to watch Rand as he found himself on the hot seat, summarizing his work on the Milan store and the European expansion in general. Danforth had sunk a fair chunk of change into the venture, and the responsibility sat squarely on Rand’s shoulders. Still, he seemed to be at ease, even enjoying himself. Of course, through a combination of luck and skill, his news was rosy, which always simplified things.

His suit today was camel colored with a white shirt and a tie of pale gold patterned with gray. “We’re planning the grand opening of the Milan store in two weeks.” Rand looked around the room, focusing on her father. “The returns from the first month are strong. I think we’ve got a winner.”

“What comes next?” The present never counted so much to her father as the future. Being two steps ahead was the only way to compete.

“I’m in negotiations on properties in London and Zurich, and investigating Berlin.”

“Why not Paris?” her father demanded. “That was the initial plan.”

It didn’t faze Rand. “After my preliminary investigations, I reconsidered, as I reported in my February 5 memo. I think we should take the easy pickings first. Paris is a very competitive market. Let’s get the other properties rolling. We can perfect our marketing and stock for the European clientele, build buzz so that we’ve got more bounce when we go into Paris.”

Smooth, Cilla thought, very smooth. There were nods and mutterings of agreement from around the room, and they moved on.

“One last item to cover in business development,” her father announced. “Our boutique venture on Melrose Avenue, Danforth Annex.”

And Sam Danforth didn’t look happy about it. “Let’s dispense with this one quickly and move on to strategic planning. As most of you know, Stewart Law put this one together, he has since resigned.”

Poor Stewart, Cilla thought sympathetically. She might not have agreed with his execution, but there was no doubt he’d put everything he had into making the store work.

“If you’ll look in your briefing books,” her father continued, “you’ll see the financials for the first year of operation.”

Paper rustled as people turned to the appropriate page. Someone whistled. Cilla didn’t even bother to look. She knew the numbers by heart.

“Off plan is one thing. This is a complete failure,” Danforth pronounced. “Unfortunately, it’s still our problem. The question is, what do we do?”

Cilla felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. This was it. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. She’d done her research. As soon as she saw the opening, she was going to dive for it.

“You going to bring in a tiger team?” one of the board members asked.

Danforth shook his head. “I don’t see the point. The concept doesn’t work. I plan to close it and cut our losses. The market in L.A. clearly won’t support more than one Danforth store.”

Close down a property on Melrose? Cilla stared at her father. It was sheer lunacy. “If you give up the space, you’ll be compounding one strategic error with another,” she heard herself saying calmly.

Around the room, heads turned, first to her, then to her father. Danforth wasn’t at the head of the table—with the arrangement, there wasn’t any such thing—but he was the one everybody looked to, even so. And by his reaction, he wasn’t amused. “I’m looking at a strategic error of about seven million dollars. How is breaking a lease going to compound that?”

“Giving up an opportunity to make money is just as bad as losing capital, and if you walk away from Danforth Annex, that’s just what you’ll be doing.”

“We don’t just need a modest sales increase at this store,” he said impatiently. “It has to completely reverse, and I don’t see a way to do that. We need to recognize that the Danforth concept is not working there and go on.”

“Exactly.” It was just the opening she needed. “The Danforth concept hasn’t worked there because the people who come to Melrose are not the same people who shop at the Rodeo Drive store.”

“If we’re not looking at a clientele with the money to support the boutique, then we should pull out,” Bernard Fox put in.

Cilla shook her head. “It’s not a question of money. The people who shop upper Melrose have plenty of it, but they’re not looking for their mother’s store. Even if they like the clothes, they’ll go elsewhere. Danforth appeals to a certain—” she searched for a diplomatic term “—conservatively stylish client. They want beautiful clothing, but nothing too edgy, and they want to buy it in a quiet, luxurious environment. That won’t work for Danforth Annex.”

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me what will work?” Her father’s voice was dry.

Cilla grinned. “Of course. I’m your target demographic. I want a store with some energy, some fun. I want clothes that break the rules, clothes that aren’t for sedate lunches but for clubs, concerts, premieres.”

“What kind of a product line do you see Danforth Annex carrying?” asked Ruxton.

“A similar price range, but from edgier designers like Gaultier, Versace, the ones creating controversy. We also want the new designers who are just getting the buzz going. They won’t all sell immediately, but they’ll add to the draw of the store.” Her voice vibrated with enthusiasm. Oh, she knew just how it should go, and for once she was getting a chance to say so. “We’ll be the place for people to come to, to buy the cutting edge. The sexiest, the barest outfits that stars will wear to annual shows and parties so that word will get around.”

“It looks like we’ve already dumped a considerable sum into marketing,” Ruxton observed. “Even if we did revamp the store, we’d be hard-pressed to counteract the current impression. Rebranding takes an enormous amount of money.”

“Word of mouth will help, as a start. I can work my media contacts. Maybe we persuade a couple of the smaller designers to hold shows in the store.” Cilla paused. It wasn’t smart, but the temptation was too strong for her to resist. “There is one other angle that could really work for us.” She hesitated, then hurried on. “I’ve been working on a lingerie line, Cilla D. Very provocative and very luxurious. That ought to get us footage in all the magazines and the Times. Think of it, Danforth Annex as the launch of the Danforth heiress’s line.”

“We are not going to fund a vanity project for you,” Danforth thundered.

“It’s not a vanity project,” she flared, then modulated her voice. “It’s a publicity angle. I’m trying to tell you ways to make this work.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not appropriate.” His face got that closed expression that told her he’d stopped listening. “Danforth Annex was an attempt to broaden the Danforth brand. What you’re talking about is not the Danforth brand.”

“Sure it is,” said Rand, next to her. “Just as Forth’s is the Danforth brand downscaled for the mainstream. You want to catch your Danforth customer of twenty years from now, you hook them with Danforth Annex. Sooner or later, they’ll walk through the door and realize they’re too old for it, but by then you’ve got them. That’s when they start looking to the flagship store.”

Bernard Fox considered. “Do you think she’s right about the stock?”

“I wouldn’t push it as far as she’s proposing,” Rand answered, “but I agree that you’ve got a different clientele there that you’ve got to address if you want to succeed. We could carry over the elements of Danforth that work and bring in some fresh air to complement them.” He leaned back and propped one elbow on the back of his chair. “It’s the same approach we’ve taken in a different way with Danforth Milan, and that we’ll take for Danforth London. You’ve got to tailor the store to the customer, not expect the customer to follow the store.”

“Danforth has got to move into the twenty-first century or it’s not going to survive,” Cilla said passionately. “We’ve got to take chances. Isn’t that what you’ve always said?” she appealed to her father.

“We’ve already lost millions based on a chance we took. We can’t afford to repeat that.”

“We won’t,” she shot back. “I’ve done an analysis. I can make this work, I’m sure of it.” She was getting too emotional again, she knew it. With effort, she toned her voice down. “Look, you’re ready to shut it down. Why not try something different? I know the clientele, I know the market. Give me a chance. I can turn it around, I swear.” How had it turned from a business discussion to her once again pleading to be taken seriously, to be given a fraction of the respect accorded to Rand, for example?

Sam Danforth looked at his watch. “I think it’s time we took a break,” he said wearily. “Cilla, the board and I will discuss this and have an answer for you when we reconvene. Fifteen minutes, people.”

And that, she thought dejectedly, was very likely the end of that.

“NICE PITCH IN THERE,” Rand murmured.

They stood out in the foyer with the rest of the nonboard members, waiting for the doors to open. “For all the good it did,” Cilla said, hearing the whisper of bitterness in her words.

“You don’t know that,” he pointed out. “We’re going on half an hour, here, and they’re still in closed session. You should consider that a good sign.”

“What is my father thinking, talking about pulling out of Melrose Avenue?”

Rand smiled. “Scandalous.”

“Foolish,” she countered. “It’s a bad business decision. I don’t like seeing us make mistakes.” Why wouldn’t they listen to her, and why wouldn’t they give her a chance? “I wish—”

“What?”

There was something about those eyes, something she could get lost in. It wasn’t about sex now, it was about needing a friend. “Just once I wish he’d listen to me. He never takes what I say seriously, and because he doesn’t, the board doesn’t, either.” The familiar frustration welled up.

“Maybe it’s the way you say it.” Rand’s voice was mild.

She bristled. “Meaning I should sugarcoat it? Why should I have to? You can say what’s on your mind and people accept it. Why can’t I?”

“You can say whatever you like, but not if you’re looking to get what you want. To do that, you have to present things differently, same way I did with the Paris thing.” He shrugged. “They’re in business to make money. Show them the value proposition and they’ll listen.”

“I thought that was what I was doing.”

“But you brought your emotions into it. You made it personal, and when it’s personal, they can walk away. That’s the thing to remember, it’s not personal, it’s business.”

She looked at him, standing there in his beautiful suit, and sighed. “That’s what I want it to be, but it always winds up being personal for me because ultimately I’m still his daughter, and that’s how he treats me.”

“Maybe he’s having a hard time accepting that his little girl has grown up. Show him you have. Act like you would if you were reporting to someone who doesn’t know you from Adam. Show them how giving you what you want gets them what they want.”