Chances Are Read Online Free Page B

of New Orleans."
    "Yes." Veronique shifted in her seat. He was barking out her statistics like a drill sergeant.
    "You were promoted to head of the Canal Street display department eighteen months ago."
    "Yes." Her eyes swept over him, then crinkled at the corners. He obviously wanted their dealings to be strictly business. Well, there was nothing she liked better than crossing boundary lines. "Brandon?"
    He lifted his gaze from the file to meet hers. "Yes?"
    "How are you?" she asked softly.
    He stared at her for a moment, then murmured, "Over the worst of it."
    "I'm glad."
    Several seconds ticked by before Brandon realized he was still staring at her. When he did, he silently swore and looked back down at the file in front of him. "Now, about your department. Overall I'm pleased with your performance. However, there are some problems. The main windows, mannequins and the large displays like the one you were working on this morning look terrific."
    She knew what was coming. She beat him to it. "But the counter and fixture-top displays are a mess."
    "Exactly." Brandon leaned back in his chair. "As are the departmental mannequins and minor windows along the side entrances. They look as if they were thrown together or done by the salespeople."
    Veronique sighed and stood up. She walked to the picture window and looked out at Canal Street. After a moment, she turned back to him. "I'm aware of every aspect of this store's look. I cringe when I see some of the sloppy, mishmash arrangements that are passing for displays." She toyed with the end of her braid. "And yes, some of them are put together by the salespeople."
    "Yet you let it continue."
    Veronique's spine stiffened, and she shot him an annoyed glance. It really was a shame he was so damn handsome. "If you'd done your homework—" she gestured toward the file "—you'd know that your father cut the display budget every year for the last three. We've gone from six full-time artists, to four, to two. Chip and I are barely keeping up. We make sure the areas that are most visible are done well. There's been no money for new props or fixtures, and the old ones—" she held her hands out, palms up "—are beginning to look old."
    "You sound frustrated," he murmured.
    "I am frustrated. I hate to see the look of the store going downhill. And I hate being associated with sloppy work."
    "Yet you haven't quit. From what I've seen, you're good. Why haven't you looked elsewhere?"
    She slipped her hands into her pockets, her expression thoughtful. "Because, despite your father's insanity, this is a great store to work for. The other day you called this the finest store in the South, and you were right. I could move over to Macy's or Saks, but there the display department would always be a stepchild to the New York and Los Angeles display areas." She turned and pinned him with a direct look. "What's all this leading to?"
    The room was quiet but for the creaking of the chair as Brandon leaned forward. He admired her forthright approach and appreciated her honesty. "I'd like your opinion of the display department—where you think it should go and what you think needs changing."
    "All right." Veronique nodded, not bothering to conceal her excitement. She'd waited a long time for the chance to present her ideas and for the possibility to put her mark on this store. "I'm going to be honest. We look dated. Five years ago we looked good—lush, rich, elegant. But in five years our buying public has become visually more sophisticated. Like the addict who keeps looking for a better high, the public needs something new, something different to get their attention. In five years we've gone from elegant to stodgy, lush to slightly shabby."
    Brandon toyed with a pencil. "What do you suggest?"
    "Rock 'n' roll," Veronique said crisply. His eyes met hers, and he arched his eyebrows in question. She had his attention now. "Fun, cutting edge, lots of color." She began to pace. "We'd need new fixtures and new