Page 3 of Mane Rival in Store by Milly Taiden

“He described her inventory for forty-five minutes on the phone. To his sister. In Stockholm. At eleven o’clock at night.”

“Forty-five minutes is a long time to describe an inventory you don’t care about.”

Another silence. Astrid’s pale eyes narrowed — not with hostility, but with slow, reluctant recognition from someone who’d spent sixty years reading people and had arrived at the same conclusion Gerri had reached in under sixty seconds.

“He mentioned her window display. He mentioned her signage. He mentioned her — and I quote — ‘aggressive curation philosophy.’” Astrid took a deliberate sip of champagne. “Then he mentioned her smile. Once. In passing. And changed the subject immediately.”

“Mmm.” Gerri’s favorite sound. The sound of a match catching.

“My husband thinks I’m overreacting.” A trace of heat beneath the frost — affection, exasperation, the particular blend that only decades of marriage produced. “Erik believes Rune will figure it out on his own. Erik also took four years to propose to me, so I have limited faith in his assessment of romantic timelines.”

Gerri laughed. A real laugh, loud enough to turn heads in the gallery. “I like your husband already.”

“Everyone likes Erik. That’s his entire problem.” But Astrid’s mouth curved — the faintest upward movement, which on this woman was the equivalent of a standing ovation. “Can you help?”

“I don’t help.” Gerri straightened the cookie tray with the focus of a surgeon arranging instruments. “I create conditions. Fertile soil. Proximity. Opportunity. The rest is between your son and whatever woman is brave enough to love a lion who hides behind his mane.”

“She sells villain-themed lipstick.”

“Then she’s already comfortable with complicated characters.” Gerri winked. “Tell me more about the storefront situation. Who arranged the lease?”

Astrid’s expression shifted — infinitesimally, but Gerri caught it. The ghost of satisfaction. A look that said she’d already moved a piece on the board and was waiting to see if her opponent would notice.

“I may have... mentioned the availability to a real estate contact. Who mentioned it to a commercial broker. Who happened to represent the young woman’s expansion search.” Astrid examined her champagne. “Coincidences happen in real estate.”

Gerri stared at her. Oh, I’m going to enjoy this one.

“Astrid. I think we’re going to be friends.”

“I don’t have friends.” The delivery was ice-dry. “I have allies.”

“Even better.”

Gerri was on her third cookie and second lap of the gallery when Vivienne Coleman intercepted her near the emergency exit.

If Astrid Sterling was a glacier, Vivienne Coleman was a courtroom — elegant, precise, and designed to make you confess to things you hadn’t done yet.

She was five-eight, striking, with deep brown skin and silver-streaked black hair swept into a sleek chignon that meant she’d come straight from Columbia. Dark eyes that could light a room or freeze a witness mid-syllable. She wore a structured navy sheath dress, her mother’s pearl earrings, and the particular expression of a law professor who had identified a problem and was about to cross-examine it into submission.

“Gerri.” The voice carried a cadence built for winning arguments that changed outcomes. “We need to discuss the timeline.”

“The timeline.” Gerri leaned against the wall. “Not a request?”

“Requests can be denied. Timelines require coordination.” Vivienne’s mouth didn’t quite smile, but her eyes did. “My daughter, Lark, has signed the SoHo lease.”

“I’m familiar with Villainette. The villain lifestyle brand. Impressive concept.”

“Lark is impressive. She’s also warm, funny, generous, and entirely too forgiving of men who don’t deserve her time.” The temperature in Vivienne’s voice dropped by several degrees. “The last man she trusted with proximity to her business tried to destroy it when she left him. His name was Fallon Creed. Venture capitalist. Charming on the surface, vindictive underneath. He used financial leverage to sabotage her third location’s lease after she ended the relationship.”

“And she recovered.”

“She recovered because she’s a Coleman. We don’t stay down.” Pride — fierce, maternal, the kind that built dynasties. “But the experience left marks. She keeps romance and business in separate universes now. Any man who holds power over her professional world is automatically disqualified from her personal one.”

Gerri processed this with the focused attention she reserved for wound profiles. The wound mattered more than the résumé. The wound was where the match had to fit. “And the man next door runs a retail empire that controls significant distribution channels her stores depend on.”

Vivienne’s brow arched. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I did my homework before the invitation went out. Sterling & Mane distributes to half the specialty retailers on the East Coast. Villainette uses three of their consignment channels.” Gerri selected a cookie. “Your daughter is about to open a flagship next to a man whose company she’s professionally entangled with. That’s not a coincidence. That’s a Vivienne Coleman litigation strategy.”