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“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Bianca asked, exasperated.
In the showroom, with Papillion’s most expensive pieces displayed
before me and Bianca offering me everything, I was at a loss to explain why
it wasn’t enough.
“You’ll have full creative control,” she reiterated. “If it’s money you’re
after, just say it.”
The brand had completely lost its reputation for innovation. Profits
flowed from discounters and licensing, but it had plateaued before taking a
nosedive last quarter. I had to give my stepmother credit for not only seeing
the writing on the wall, but for swallowing her pride and coming to me for
help.
“It’s not money.”
“What is it then?” She sat across from me. “Shares? If you want me
gone, you can put that out of your mind.”
I didn’t want her out. She knew the business, and despite everything—
or because of everything—I trusted her. If Logan and I had gone through
with the buyout, I would have been stuck without a partner who knew the
company like she did.
She wanted to make me president of design. Creative direction put back
in the hands of a Papillion, with no responsibility for the cheaper side of the
business. She wasn’t just willing to give it all to me, she was eager, and I
could have gotten her to agree to anything.
“I’m not in a place to negotiate this right now,” I said.
“When will you be?” The impatience in her voice was lined with
control, and the seams were ripping.