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sleep at night?”
    “Like a baby, Ms. McHale. A baby who knows that his investment is going to pay off. It’s one of the first things you learn in business school: know your competitors.”
    When I was first opening Trendy Tails, Ingrid told me that the first rule of business was to sell a quality product for a fair price. I liked her school of thought a whole lot better than Denford’s.
    “If you’re dead set on stealing my designs and so certain that you can do so with impunity, why are you bothering to tell me? Is this some sort of negotiation?”
    “No negotiation, I’m afraid. Look, I’m not completely heartless—”
    “Close enough.”
    He
tsk
ed at me. “Ms. McHale. I could have done exactly as you suggest and simply allowed you to findout about my business plans through regular channels, but I’m doing you the courtesy of giving you a little warning. You’ll probably turn a tidy profit over the course of the M-CFO’s convention, and what you
do
with that profit might depend on the future of your business. Do you want to reinvest it in your store and possibly waste it all, or do you want to hold back the profit so you can walk away from your business without going bankrupt?”
    I raised my chin a notch, hands balled into fists at my sides. “What makes you think your knockoffs will hurt my business? People recognize quality when they see it.”
    “They do, indeed. And they’ll pay for it, especially if they have money to burn. But I can offer them a product that is almost exactly the same, very high quality, at a fraction of the price, and even rich people like a good deal. For example, that product you are holding? In my online store, it will retail for eighteen dollars.”
    I studied the pajamas in my hand. He was correct that the quality was high. The seams were reinforced, the piping smooth, the snaps down the back lined up perfectly. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it had come from my own store, from my own hands. The big difference was that I had to sell the pajamas for twenty-five dollars in order to make a profit.
    “It’s all about mass manufacturing.” He pointed to my worktable, where the pattern pieces for my mostrecent creation were spread out, each piece of paper pinned to the back of a piece of fabric. “Your prices are incredibly high for what amounts to a novelty item, and still, given your in-house manufacturing, I imagine that your profit margins are slim. You can’t possibly afford to lower your prices to meet mine. Not without a huge infusion of capital that would allow you to follow my manufacturing strategy.”
    He smiled. “Even then, if people can buy the same product for the same price at two locations, they’re going to use the retailer who is most convenient. My Web sites get massive amounts of traffic, and visitors can purchase both the cute duds
and
all of their grooming supplies, gourmet food, and accessories like crates and bedding. I offer one-stop shopping. You do not.”
    I may not have had a degree in business, but I wasn’t an idiot. Everything Phillip Denford said made intuitive sense. I was turning a profit, but a small one. If he ate into my business even ten percent, it could push me into the red.
    Somewhere outside, a car honked, and Phillip leaned back to glance out Trendy Tails’ front window.
    “That would be for me.” He held out his hand for the pajamas, and I dropped them there, careful not to touch him. I was genuinely repulsed by the man.
    He paused in the doorway on his way out. “I will see you later at the show, Ms. McHale. For now, consider yourselfwarned.”

CHAPTER
    Four
    P hillip’s visit and the news he brought had thrown me for a vicious loop, a loop that required caffeine to settle, so I’d stopped for a latte on my way to the show. Between that stop and Wanda showing up nearly fifteen minutes after she’d promised to be there, I arrived at the ballroom a few minutes later than expected, fumbling into the room