“I thought women were more interested these days in discovering how high they can climb on the corporate ladder.”
“We are, but unlike men, we’re learning early that we can’t define ourselves by our success or lack of it at work. We want more from life than that, and we have more to give than that.”
Cole frowned in confusion. “Are you implying that career-oriented women make up a significant part of your magazine’s readership?”
She nodded, clearly enjoying his misguided notions. “The demographics are going to surprise you. Based on our market surveys, sixty-five percent of our readers are college-educated women who have, or have had, successful careers. There’s been a growing trend among American career women to postpone having children until they’re in their thirties, then to take a hiatus and stay home during their children’s formative years. Once they stay home, they throw themselves into raising children with the same dedication and zeal they brought to their former careers. They’re high achievers, used to taking charge and making a difference. Some of them worked in creative areas, others in business and finance. They bring all that creative and organizational ability with them to their new roles, except they don’t have any outlet for it—other than their homes. They start looking at ways to improve on their homes, to personalize them, and make them more functional or more beautiful. Their need for self-expression combines with a natural desire to conserve money, and presto—they discover Foster’s Beautiful Living. And through us, they discover themselves.”
“That’s a pretty tall order for one magazine,” Cole said, annoyed with himself for noticing how beautifully she spoke. And moved. And looked.
“Foster Enterprises does much more than publish a monthly magazine. We also publish coffee-table books and market a line of environment-friendly, all-natural cleaning products. We also market do-it-yourself ‘kits’—those usually are created either by my grandfather or under his supervision. We started out doing seasonal television specials around the holidays on CBS, and the ratings were so high that CBS wanted to sign us to an exclusive contract for six specials a year. I turned it down because I think we’re better off financially, and from an exposure standpoint, doing a weekly program and syndicating it. Our production costs are relatively low, so CBS’s offer to underwrite them in return for an exclusive contract didn’t appeal as much to me as it would to someone with a more costly show, such as a sitcom or even a talk show.”
“It sounds like you’ve got it made.”
“That’s how it sounds, but that’s not how it is. The truth is, we’re under tremendous pressure all the time, not only because competitors have been springing up everywhere, trying to carve out a piece of our reputation and our profits for themselves, but because the public seems to hold us to higher standards than our competition, and we have to live up to that. The pressure is intense to constantly come up with newer and better ideas for every issue, every book, every television program than we’ve done before. We have to look better, be fresher, and offer more than everyone else. That was a lot easier to do before, when we were virtually the only game in town, than it is now. We’ve actually fired two ‘spies’ who were planted by competitors.”
Cole stared at her in shock. “Somehow, I always associate corporate spying with the areas of electronics or defense.”
“I know, so did I—until that happened. The other problem is our public image,” Diana said, bringing up Dan without actually referring to him, “and keeping that intact can be a public relations nightmare, not just for me, but for all of us. We have to be careful about everything we say and do, no matter where we are or who we’re with.”
“All of you?” Cole repeated. “I thought you had the biggest problem in that area because you’re primarily identified with the magazine.”
“I gave you that impression in the living room, but it wasn’t completely accurate. We’re all identified with it. The thing that made Foster’s Beautiful Living unique from the very beginning is that it was, and is, a family endeavor, and the public has always been attracted by that So, unfortunately, has the press, which means we can’t even disagree on some minor point when we’re filming a program without later reading in some gossip column that ‘There’s trouble in the Foster paradise’ or some other idiotic catchphrase.
“My mother writes a column for the magazine that’s one of its most popular features. In it, she reminisces about her girlhood recollections of holidays at her grandparents’ homes, the things her mother taught her, and jokes about some of her fears when she gave early parties. She tells stories about Grandma and Grandpa and Corey and me when we were young. All of us have appeared in the photo layouts from time to time, and our readership has come to feel that they know us. The public who buys our magazine, regards all of us as friends. When Corey married Spence, handmade congratulatory cards arrived by the truckload. When the twins were born, readers sent thousands of baby gifts, all handmade. We ended up featuring some of them in a baby issue. When Grandpa broke his leg, more gifts and get-well cards arrived. To the public, we have to remain one big, happy family, living the good life that we expound upon in our issues.”
While he listened, Cole was reassessing the extent of her achievements. It truly bothered him that someone who’d accomplished what she had, with very little help, and not much money behind her, thought so little of her accomplishments.
Cole moved forward and braced his hand on the tree trunk above her head. “Tell me something,” he said sternly. “Why do you think your mistakes are so enormous that they override your incredible success? In the living room, you downplayed all your own talent and achievements and made your successes seem like nothing more than dumb luck.”
She flinched and looked away. “You don’t realize how damaging my mistakes have been, or how many I’ve made.”
“Tell me what they were and let me be the judge of that. I promise to be impartial.”
Diana was glad of the opportunity to spend time with him, getting reacquainted, but she wished he weren’t so insistent about this topic. With a reluctant sigh, she leaned her shoulders against the trunk and gave in. “You got the gist of it in there. I passed up some wonderful opportunities over the years because I didn’t want to take a chance—I was afraid of growing too fast.”
Cole gazed down at her upturned face, marveling that Diana seemed as genuine and unaffected now as she had been when she was sixteen, and almost wishing that she wasn’t. This marriage of theirs was not foolproof, and he didn’t want to succeed in what Penworth had failed to do—turn her into a cold cynic.
“I think,” she joked, “I’m seeing your grim look right now.”
“No,” he replied with a half-smile. “That was my impressed look again.” Before she could question him about its cause, he replied to her earlier comment. “Businesses fail all the time because someone lets their dreams outpace their financial resources. It’s much wiser to err on the side of conservatism.”
“I erred on the side of foolishness. The largest of my mistakes was waiting until two years ago to market our own line of gardening and crafts products. When we finally did that, they sold like we were giving them away.”
“You must have had reasons for waiting, reasons that seemed sound at the time,” Cole pointed out.
“I did. Basically, I was concerned about quality control and start-up and warehousing costs. When we finally launched the product line, it was a huge success, which means we lost a lot of revenue while I was dragging my feet.”
“That’s hindsight,” Cole scoffed.
Diana refused to be patronized. Crossing her arms over her chest, she countered tartly, “Would you have waited and deliberated while all the competition was getting a head start?”
At the beginning of the discussion Cole had promised to be truthful. He kept that promise. “No,” he admitted.
“There, you see? You have daring and foresight.”
“No, I don’t ‘see.’ There’s one major difference between my
circumstances and yours. When I started Unified Industries, I had sufficient money behind me and more available if I needed it.”
She brightened, but just a little. “I did other things I wish to heaven I could undo.”
“Like what?” Cole persisted, reacting to some inner need to give her honest consolation even though he knew he was prying.
“As I said in the living room, I practically gave away shares in our new company to raise money to get us started, and later to keep us going.”
Cole felt a sudden desire to reach out and touch her cheek, and when he answered her, his voice was unaccustomedly gentle. “I’m amazed that at twenty-two you could talk a bank into investing in your scheme, let alone round up individual investors.”
Diana shrugged. “The bank wasn’t taking much of a risk, because we put this house up as collateral.”
Refusing to let her denigrate her accomplishments, Cole said, “Really? Then how did you get private investors to put up their hard-earned cash on a high-risk, no-potential-profit deal?”
“Oh, that,” she said with a rueful laugh. “I packed up my briefcase with official business plans and projections and called on my father’s friends. They all thought we were probably going to fail, but they felt sorry for me, so they patted my head and gave me five thousand or ten thousand—figuring all along that they’d at least end up with a tax loss they could use to offset profits on their income taxes. In return for that, I gave them stock certificates in the new company.” She sighed and looked away. “In short, I gave away so many pieces of our business that when they were added up, we were down to fifty percent for ourselves.”
“Diana, did you have any other choice?”
“If I had dreamed how profitable and successful we’d be now—”
“I’m talking about before, when you were starting up,” he said sternly. “Did you have any other way to raise the money you needed?”
She hesitated and then shook her head. “None.”
“Then stop blaming yourself for not being psychic and give yourself credit for overcoming hundreds of hurdles all by yourself—hurdles that would eliminate all but the most gifted and flexible entrepreneurs!”
Diana gazed up at his stern, handsome face and realized he was completely serious. “Coming from you, that’s high praise indeed.”
He grinned then. “Just remember that. I can’t have my wife going around belittling her accomplishments. It might reflect badly on my judgment,” he joked, “and cause Unified’s stock to drop.”
“And Wall Street to collapse,” Diana put in, her spirits lifting crazily beneath the warmth of his sudden smile.
Chapter 35
STANDING AT THE KITCHEN SINK, where she was tearing red leaf lettuce into small pieces, Corey studied the couple in the backyard. She was so absorbed with the scene and its possibilities that she jumped when her husband came up behind her and put his arms around her waist. “Where is everyone?” Spence asked.
“I suggested they relax before dinner. Glenna and I have everything under control in here.”
“I tucked the girls into bed and gave them a kiss from Mommy. That’s where I’d like to be—” he whispered as he nuzzled the side of her neck, “—in bed. With you.”
Corey turned her face up for his kiss just as the housekeeper bustled into the kitchen, and they automatically moved apart like guilty teenagers. “Go ahead with what you were doing,” Glenna said. “Don’t let me interrupt. I’m just trying to get a six-course meal for seven people on the table.”
Scowling, Spence watched her bustle off. “Why does she always say something that makes me feel guilty?” Automatically, he picked up a knife and began slicing green peppers into thin strips. “She’s been doing that for fifteen years.”
Corey smothered a laugh, but her attention was on the scene beyond the window. “She does it because it works so well. You’re helping with the salad, aren’t you?” She handed him a clean dish towel. “If you tuck this into your waistband, you won’t get anything on you.”
The former star quarterback from Southern Methodist University eyed the towel askance. “Real men don’t wear aprons,” he joked.
“Think of it as a loincloth,” she suggested.
They worked in companionable silence for several moments, both of them watching the couple in the backyard. Diana was leaning against a palm tree and Cole was in front of her, with his hand on the trunk above her head. Whatever she was saying to him made him laugh. “When we were teenagers,” Corey said with a reminiscent smile, “I was so completely infatuated with you that I didn’t understand why all the other girls thought Cole Harrison was so incredibly sexy.”
“But now you do?”
Corey nodded. “I’d love to photograph him someday. He has a marvelous face—it’s all hard planes and tough angles.”
“He doesn’t look like GQ or Brooks Brothers material to me.
“Oh, he isn’t! There’s way too much raw masculinity about him for a men’s clothing model. There’s almost a . . . a predatory quality about him.”
She dropped a fistful of curly lettuce into the bowl and picked up some long, damp spinach leaves, shredding those as she continued thoughtfully. “I’d photograph him in a setting that suits his looks.”
Spence scowled out the window, piqued by Corey’s fascination and lavish praise of another man’s face. “What sort of setting?” he asked as he began slicing a red onion.
“I think I’d choose some sort of rugged terrain. A desert in the hot sun, maybe, with barren mountains in the background.”
Mountains without trees or snow struck Spence as ugly. He nodded agreeably. “That’d work. Suits him perfectly.”
Blithely unaware of the negative reason behind his affirmative comment, Corey stopped tearing spinach for a moment and continued studying her subject.
“Tell me something,” Spence challenged. “How would you hide his eyes?”
“Why would I want to hide his eyes?” she asked, looking over at her husband.
“Because they are as cold and hard as granite. I watched him in the living room this afternoon, and I don’t think there’s an ounce of warmth or feeling in him.”
“He does seem a lot harder than I remember him being,” Corey admitted, “but I don’t think he’s cold. Think of the way he bought her that necklace at the auction and made everybody think it was love at first sight for him. Now look at the two of them together out there. When I do that, I see Prince Charming who rushed forward at the ball to rescue Cinderella.”
In skeptical silence, Spence gazed out the window. Realizing his lack of response was disagreement, Corey said, “What do you see when you look at them?”
“I see Little Red Riding Hood smiling at the Big Bad Wolf.”
She laughed at the storybook images, but her smile faded as he continued, “Based on everything I’ve read and heard, I can tell you that the man you’re rhapsodizing about is probably the most unfeeling son of a bitch you’ve ever encountered, as well as being the most ruthless entrepreneur of this decade.”
Corey forgot the greens she was shredding. Although she wasn’t nearly as astute about the stock market as Spence was, she certainly kept up on national news. “I don’t understand why you would say that. Not long ago, it was all over the news that he’d ‘masterminded’ some sort of buyout of a computer company and they kept calling it ‘a major coup.’ They didn’t say he’d done anything illegal.”
“He bought Cushman Electronics, Corey,” Spence said flatly. “They called it a coup because, just before Harrison bought it, there were rumors all over Wall Street that Cushman’s new computer chip had problems in the testing phase, and Cushman’s stock plunged from twenty-eight dollars a share to fourteen dollars. As soon as it fell to fourteen dollars, Unified Industries moved in and Harrison got himself a company worth three hundred million dollars for half that much.”
“What’s wrong with that? Aren’t you supposed to buy stock when it’s low, in hopes it will go hi
gher?”
“Who do you think started the rumors? And guess who is said to own the independent testing facility that Cushman used to test their chip?”
Corey’s jaw dropped. “Has anyone proved that Cole’s people falsified test results or started the rumors?”
“If someone can prove either thing, he’ll go to jail.”
Corey felt a shiver of apprehension, but it was offset somehow by her memory of Cole at the Haywards’ stable, gently soothing a sick colt, and the way he seemed to soften now when he looked at Diana in the backyard. “Until someone proves it, it’s really nothing but an ugly rumor,” she announced.
“Rumors seem to follow him everywhere,” Spence pointed out sarcastically. “Whatever Harrison does, he always has some sort of intricate hidden agenda in mind. Last night,” he said, “he was in need of a suitable wife to pacify his uncle. He saw the perfect opportunity with Diana, so he played Sir Galahad at the auction—with the press there to record his performance—and while she was glowing with champagne and gratitude, he flew her to Nevada and married her—another ‘major coup’ for his record. In less than twelve hours, he coerced his way into this family, and now he’s driving all of us crazy trying to second-guess him.”
Corey smiled at the last part of what he’d said and started putting everything they’d sliced, shredded, or chopped into a beautiful wooden bowl, burnished from years of use. “Besides being handsome and sexy, Cole’s a billionaire, and he’s been seen with lots of beautiful women. Believe me, Spence, Cole didn’t have to go to all that trouble last night, just to get a beautiful wife.”
“Harrison didn’t just get himself a beautiful wife when he married Diana,” Spence scoffed bitterly. “Last night, Cole Harrison also accomplished the nearly impossible: he got himself a shiny new public image.”
“How?”
“When those pictures from last night hit the news, the public is going to believe Cole Harrison took one look at the woman Dan Penworth discarded—a woman who also happens to be one of America’s sweethearts—and in true fairy-tale style, he rescued their beautiful damsel in distress, showered her with jewels, whisked her off in his private jet, and married her that same night. By the end of this week, Cole Harrison will become the most noble, romantic hero of the decade.”