Nothing But The Best. Kristin Hardy
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.”
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