Robert's Rules: A novel

By Kristi Garrett

Every family has its secrets. But hers could destroy everything he's built.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Acumena Press
• Release date: Mar 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781733736428

Kristi Garrett

Kristi Garrett discovered the wonder of reading while growing up without a television in Athens, Greece. As the Nancy Drew and Bobbsey Twins volumes piled up, she open a used bookstore at the American Club pool, launching a lifetime of serial entrepreneurialism. Reading led naturally enough into writing, and by middle school she was publishing in the school creative writing journal. Kristi has a degree in journalism from California State University, Sacramento, and has been a staff writer for the Los Angeles Times and Sacramento Bee newspapers, as well as the California School Boards Association and Sacramento State. She lives in Sacramento, California with Fred, her husband of more than forty years. The couple has two grown daughters and one grandson. The author's website is https://kristigarrett.com.

Book preview

ROBERT’S RULES

a novel by

Kristi Garrett

Robert’s Rules © 2020 by Kristi Garrett

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Acumena Press

kristigarrett.com/acumena

First Edition

Cover design by Mariah Sinclair.

Robert’s Rules / Garrett, Kristi.—1st Ed.

ISBN 978-1-7337364-0-4 (hardback)

ISBN 978-1-7337364-1-1 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7337364-2-8 (e-book)

To the Tribe

Acknowledgments

I owe many, many thanks to the entire Story Grid Tribe, particularly the creator of Story Grid, Shawn Coyne, and Tim Grahl, whose flagship Story Grid podcast started a life-changing creative journey. I salute Story Grid Certified Editor Rachelle Ramirez, whose patient advice and encouragement over the past three years have gotten me to publication. I’d also be remiss not to mention Story Grid Certified Editors Kim Kessler, Valerie Francis, Leslie Watts, Anne Hawley and Jarie Bolander, whose Story Grid Editors Roundtable podcast was instrumental in helping me formulate a better story. Although Robert’s Rules is far from perfect, it’s certainly better than it would have been without the Tribe’s help.

Kudos to talented cover designer Mariah Sinclair, who brought my vision to life.

Beta readers Melissa Holland, Jean Gonsier-Gerdin and Lisa Romero offered valuable feedback on early drafts. Their encouragement, along with the support of Sacramento State colleagues Rose Borunda, Tina Weekley, Pia Wong, and Susi Barraza, kept me going through the darkest hours of revising again and again.

To my husband, Fred, who kept urging me to finish my book, thank you for your confidence and support. And to my No. 1 fan and sounding board, my daughter Mindi—you’re the best. May there be many more tapas-and-wine sessions to hash out story lines in our future.

CHAPTER 1

May 24, 1998

The Stowe estate rose like a Tuscan village on a ridge in the Malibu Hills. It was a place where the power brokers launched ideas that would revolutionize lives. A place Robert Spencer was destined for.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, waiting for the line of Cadillacs, Mercedes-Benzes and BMWs to clear the circular drive ahead of them. A valet finally approached to take his Mercury away.

He wrapped Margaret’s hand around his arm and they joined the couples ascending the steps, strains of a jazz quartet floating down to meet them. As Robert pressed Margaret into the expansive foyer, he was irked to find they’d arrived after most of the California gentry had already staked out the best vantage points.

Gentlemen in custom-made tuxedos were still sipping pre-dinner martinis, women of striking appearance at their side. The musicians clustered near the grand piano, set up tonight in front of the tall stone fireplace that remained unlit on this balmy evening. Roving waiters circled the room with trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. A group of twenty-something blondes turned to inspect Margaret.

Let’s lose this, Robert said as he slipped Margaret’s glittering evening jacket from her shoulders to reveal a plunging back that settled at the curve of her spine. An expensive selection, but it was an investment.

I wish you’d let me keep it, she said, shivering. I feel so exposed.

Nonsense, he whispered in her ear. You look perfect.

Robert handed the jacket to a valet and restored Margaret’s hand to its place on his arm. The diamonds in the tennis bracelet he’d presented her earlier in the evening glittered their rainbow colors in the soft chandelier light. He was glad he hadn’t gone cheap. Margaret’s overall impression, with the dress and the diamonds, was just right. Her soft brown hair was swept into a loose updo, a stray strand spilling down onto her neck.

They passed the circle of young blondes, all of whom were staring unabashed. The chairman’s daughter leaned in to whisper to the others, and set off a fury of giggling.

Robert scowled at them and guided Margaret onward. Clusters of work colleagues stood nearby, but not anyone who really mattered, and certainly not the ones Robert was looking for.

Practically our whole house could fit inside this room, Margaret said as she scanned the tall ceiling. It looks like Versailles in here.

Only the best for the Stowes. Robert pointed out the collection of American Impressionists on each of the walls: colorful landscapes and outdoor party scenes, blurred as if in a dream. In one, a woman gathered what looked to be lilacs. He inspected the brush strokes and the signature in the corner.

Here’s the Childe Hassam that Conrad was so excited about, he said, pausing to scan the room. You know, we really should start going to auctions.

From this vantage point he could see all the guests multiplied in the floor-to-ceiling mirror at one end of the cavernous room. There were about two dozen, gathered in groups of four or five, the buzz of their conversations laying a base line to the music. It was the hum of power.

This is the life, eh?

It’s okay, said Margaret. If you like this sort of thing.

Who wouldn’t?

Conrad Stowe, the CEO of Caldicon Medical, stood in front of the two-story plate glass windows that looked out over the pool area. The last time Robert had been here, the deck had been crowded with businessmen greasing the wheels of commerce over highballs. Tonight, everyone was inside, leaving a clear view of the lights sparkling on the water.

Robert approached and held out his hand.

Congratulations on your retirement, Conrad. But I must say you’ll be missed. You’ve made Caldicon a force to be reckoned with.

Conrad shook Robert’s hand, his eyes drifting to scan Margaret’s Versace silhouette.

This must be your wife?

Yes, this is my Margaret. Robert pushed her forward.

Conrad performed a slight bow. A pleasure. I’m sure Lillian would love to meet you. Be sure to introduce her, won’t you, Robert?

He agreed and, that task done, accepted two glasses of champagne from a roving waiter. They dropped back to a position near the baby grand, where the quartet was playing All of Me. Robert took a deep breath and savored a sip of the wine. He’d never tasted such a smooth champagne, nothing like his usual brand. He made a mental note to ask the waiter.

A burst of laughter came from across the room. Stan Carter was delivering one of his outlandish stories to several of the company’s major donors. His hands made a grand gesture, ending with a look of surprise. The group erupted once again.

Let’s see if we can find Mrs. Stowe. Robert disposed of their glasses and paraded Margaret past Stan’s audience, stopping with her daring décolletage in view. The men stopped listening to Stan’s story and gawked, lips curving in appreciation. Stan turned to see where their attention had gone.

That ought to do it, Robert said, and headed toward the hors d’oeuvres table, where Lillian Stowe was overseeing a group of the wives. The hostess, elegant in her floor-length sapphire gown, broke away and presented a diamond-clad hand.

Robert, how good of you to come. She examined Margaret over the tip of her nose. And this is your wife? How lovely.

For a moment it looked like Meg was about to curtsy. Robert took her elbow, but Lillian had already begun herding the women toward the foyer.

Please do join us for a tour of the house, won’t you, dear?

Margaret scurried after the glittering entourage and Robert moved toward the living room. Instantly, one of the blondes appeared at his elbow.

Don’t you look scrumptious, she purred, running her fingers up and down his lapels.

Hello, Heather.

She smoothed a piece of hair above his ears. I just love a touch of gray. It’s so distinguished.

Where’s Stan?

Oh, around somewhere.

Isn’t he going to be looking for you?

What do I care? We’re not married.

Heather prattled, something about the hostess, as she rearranged her hair and checked her firm rear end in the mirror. Robert slid a hand into his pocket. His new tuxedo did hang nicely.

Stowe, freed from the receiving line, approached and handed Robert a martini. Walk with me, Robert.

The men made their way to the patio and looked out over the waterfall cascading into the pool. Lights shifting from aqua to green to fuchsia illuminated the water. Flames sprang from the fire pits in the conversation areas where some of the guests had wandered.

You’ve got a beautiful home, Conrad.

Fruits of my labors. The host sipped his drink and faced Robert.

Do you see yourself with a place like this, Robert?

One day. Absolutely.

Maybe that day isn’t so far off.

Robert fixed his gaze on his boss. A twinkle, a smirk, appeared in Conrad’s eyes.

As your replacement, you mean?

Caldicon will need someone to take the company to the next level.

Robert lifted his chin. True.

You know Caldicon better than anyone. The transition would be seamless. And you’ve shown a knack for development. The right persona. Good instincts.

Robert stood tall. My track record with investors speaks for itself. I’m ready for this, Conrad. You won’t find anyone better.

Stowe downed the last of his martini. It’s the board’s decision, of course. But they’ve asked for my recommendation for an internal candidate. They’d like to have a new man in place for the gala.

Why the rush?

Lillian’s eager to get the next chapter started. She’s already got me on a boat in the Mediterranean. She’s taking no chances on me delaying my retirement. So the company will need a point man at the gala. Donors need a lot of hand-holding.

Robert leveled his gaze at his boss. You can count on me. You know that.

CEO is a package deal, though. Is your wife on board?

Robert pictured Margaret in Mrs. Stowe’s intimate company at this very minute. He hoped she didn’t say or do anything embarrassing. Like the time she picked up an antique Chinese vase in donor’s office looking for an imprint on the bottom.

Margaret is a wonderful hostess. Rest assured she’ll soon be every bit as accomplished as Lillian.

But in time for the gala?

Less than four weeks. It would be a stretch, but no reason Margaret should embarrass him. It was a good thing she was naturally quiet.

Of course. No problem at all.

All right. Let’s see how she does tonight.

We won’t let you down.

Robert returned inside to find Margaret cornered by Stan. He was so close their champagne glasses almost touched. Margaret was giggling and twirling the loose hair at the nape of her neck.

I see you’ve met my wife. Robert wedged himself between them.

Her escort had abandoned her, Stan said, keeping his eyes on Margaret. Such a beautiful woman should never be left alone.

Thank you. I’ve got things now.

Robert took Margaret’s arm and moved across the room.

Watch out for him. He’s a player, he said, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice. Now was no time for her to get moody.

He seemed nice.

People are not always what they seem, Margaret.

He looked her over and pointed to a smear of pâté on the front of her gown.

I’m sorry, Robert. He startled me, and I dropped my cracker.

Let’s get some soda water.

Robert found a discreet place next to the bar and stood guard while Margaret dabbed at the spot with soda. Dinner chimes sounded and the guests moved toward the dining room.

Margaret was creating a large wet spot where the smear had been.

Okay, you’ve got it. Robert grabbed the napkin and tossed it on a dish tray.

Listen, I’ve got news. Conrad is recommending me as the new CEO.

Margaret stopped fiddling with her dress.

Oh.

Aren’t you excited? He tipped her head up to look into her eyes. I need you with me on this.

"You need me, Robert?"

Indeed I do. A man can’t do this job on his own. Just look at the Stowes. They’re a team.

A team?

Yes, just like the Stowes.

Mm-hmm.

Margaret’s attention returned to smoothing her dress. It was time to go in and this discussion would have to wait. Robert inspected the water damage on the silk. His vision of their grand entrance into the dining room vanished.

Can you cover that? he said.

Should I get my jacket?

Not now. Just stand behind me. And for God’s sake, Margaret, be careful.

***

Meg took her seat between two strangers, Robert placed across the table out of earshot. She grabbed her napkin and covered the wet spot on her lap. At least it wouldn’t show during dinner. She shivered as a draft whispered at her exposed back.

The table was a marvel, set for twenty-four guests, with huge centerpieces of red roses in vases tall and slim enough to see the diners on the opposite side. Each place had four crystal glasses. It took Meg a minute to realize the linens were embroidered with the Stowe’s garishly entwined initials.

Lillian nodded to a butler in a penguin tux and servers swooped in with an orange soup. Everyone waited to eat until the hostess picked up her spoon and touched it to her lips. Meg dipped her spoon away, as Robert had taught her, and sipped. Butternut squash, perhaps with a bit of tarragon.

Meg caught Robert watching her and smiled for him, careful not to spill any soup as she ate. His eyebrows nodded toward the man on her right. But what did she have to talk with him about? She knew nothing about the surgical equipment business.

Margaret, is it? said the man. "I’m Nick Hollings. One of the VPs. I