So Close, page 29
“I thought it might be a gift,” I posit cautiously. “Like the flowers.”
He waves the suggestion off with a careless wave of his hand. “She would’ve already been in this room telling us about it. No, there’s a war chest out there, Witte, and I’ve finally got her feeling safe enough to reveal it.”
I don’t understand his conclusion or his reaction. The fierce glee. It’s almost like … avarice, which makes no sense. Neither does his trust that she would disclose a gift from Laska when he suspects and knows of innumerable other deceptions on her part.
I’ve been mindful of my role in supporting Mr Black’s introduction to making decisions and assuming command. Tutoring him in all aspects of living among the moneyed elite of this great city is a primary facet of my contract.
Yet I decide at that moment to selectively throttle the flow of information regarding the situation with Lily. After all, another facet of my work is to ensure Mr Black’s safety. I will do so despite him, if necessary.
Straightening in his chair, he starts sifting through the mail. “Keep me informed, Witte.”
“Of course.” I stand, dismissed. “By the way, Mr Landon has made multiple attempts to reach you, including visiting here. When he called me, I suggested he try your mobile, but he said he hasn’t been able to reach you. He sounded quite perturbed and asked about Mrs Black.”
“He’s left me a few voicemails. I knew my mother would approach him eventually, so I didn’t ask her not to. She would’ve reached out to him earlier.” He crumples an invitation to a political fundraising dinner into a ball and tosses it neatly through the basketball hoop over the dustbin. “What did you say?”
“Since it was apparent he hadn’t learned of Mrs Black through you, I avoided confirming or denying anything about her and advised him to direct questions about your personal life to you.”
“You’re the best, Witte. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He exhales harshly and nods. “Keep telling him that for now.”
I don’t know why my employer avoided communicating with his closest friend. Is it because Mr Landon once dated Lily? Is it jealousy or evasion?
“There’s something else …”
“Damn it.” He rocks back in his chair. “Remind me why we left the beach to return to this crap?”
With an arch of my brow, he sighs and looks chastened. I continue. “Ms Erika Ferrari has enquired after you at the lobby desk on two occasions. I asked Julian to inform me if she attempted to contact you at work, and she has, twice.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. It isn’t the first time a woman has pursued him after a night together. In the past, he showed a cruel disregard for the perceived irritations, and I’ve always been the one to handle the subsequent awkward interactions. His feelings for Lily have, perhaps, made him somewhat more considerate.
“I don’t even know how to reach her,” he says grimly, “or what I’d say to her if I did. No, that’s not true. I need to apologize. My wife set me straight on that point.”
“Did she? Yes, that would be in character for her. She views womanhood as a battle requiring armament and vigilance.”
“Her mother raised her that way, and I’ve provided the perfect example of why she was right to do so. I can’t stand cheaters. I wouldn’t even reach out to Lily until Ryan was serious about Angela, and now I’ve got to tell a woman I took to bed that I was married at the time – and still am – and would appreciate it if she doesn’t bother my wife or me again.”
“Your situation is novel. The truth is all you can give.”
He laughs without humour. “I don’t even have that, do I?”
“I’ll let you know if she attempts further contact. And I’ll instruct reception and Julian to note her contact information.”
I exit and head back to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. I pause on the living room’s threshold when I find one of the maids, Lacy, studying a framed photo. She starts guiltily when she notices me. “Witte, you scared me.”
“My apologies. You were engrossed.” I step down into the sunken living room after noticing photos now strategically placed around the space. One graces an end table, and a few others sit among the items on the bookshelves flanking the fireplace.
“She just put these out,” she says unnecessarily.
The frames are a selection of sterling silver, shagreen and precious wood; each positioned to blend tastefully with the decor and other decorative items around their placements. I think of Mrs Black’s deliveries and realize that some must have been the frames, then marvel that her memory of the penthouse was so precise.
Clasping my hands behind my back, I study the images. All are of Mr and Mrs Black together in moments of intimate joy and love. All are revelatory of a couple mutually enthralled, and – most peculiarly – all are recent. None are earlier photos relocated from the beach house, where he keeps the preponderance of their visual history.
The room has utterly changed. With these few thoughtful additions, the space is now warm, personal and inviting. It feels like a home.
I understand why Lacy is captivated. We both stand motionless, astonished by the man revealed in the photos. I’ve never seen my employer look so well, so alive. His stunning transformation is almost enough to make me want to be as wilfully blind as he is choosing to be.
I’ve wished for his happiness for so long. It tears at me that he’s found it with a woman who broke his heart and has endangered his life. That I like her is even more divisive.
Still, there’s one disturbing detail he hasn’t yet revisited, although I can’t imagine he’s forgotten it: Lily recognized him when she saw him on the street.
His wife knew him, remembered him. And yet she hadn’t come home.
44
AMY
The instant the chilled vodka hits the bottom of my empty tummy it’s like an orgasm. My eyes close, my breath catches, my toes curl in my heels. I hear the piped music beneath the dozens of conversations. The scents of garlic and basil, oregano and thyme fade. I moan as the alcohol hits my bloodstream with tendrils of dreamy heat. For a far too brief moment, I’m in a perfectly happy place.
“That good, huh?”
Opening my eyes, I look at the bartender, who’s grinning and leaning on the bar in a way that makes the barrier somewhat pointless. It’s not the best vodka martini I’ve ever had. Too much vermouth and stingy with the olives. Still, he’s cute and flirting, so I smile back. “So good, I’ll take another.”
“Rough day?” he asks as he flips the emptied shaker in the air and catches it deftly.
“The worst,” I lie with feeling because I know the rules. One martini after work is no problem; two is either a rough day or a celebration. Three martinis is the point when the bartender’s smile loses its luster, and four martinis is when they stop smiling altogether and ask if you’d like them to call a cab to take you home.
I realize I may get to three tonight, considering why I’m in the restaurant.
“Coming right up,” he says with a wink. His gaze shifts to a point over my shoulder, and I watch his brows raise, and his lips circle to form a low whistle. His smile widens enough to reveal a small dimple, and the appreciative look he gave me kicks up a notch for the new arrival.
My back stiffens just before the expected hand rests lightly on my shoulder.
“Hey. Sorry, I’m late,” Lily says in her breathy, girly voice that reminds me of Jennifer Tilly. “Traffic was nuts.”
I turn my head as she steps into my field of vision. She’s wearing a black mini slip dress and a gorgeous sapphire blue kimono with metallic floral embroidery. A single strand of pearls hangs from her neck to her hips, with a knot below her breasts.
She holds out her arms, expecting a hug, and the adrenaline of fear spurts palpably in my chest. I’m awkward sliding off the barstool, almost stumbling into her. Her embrace is strong and more prolonged than perfunctory, but she still ends up being the one to let go first. I hate her for that. I hate her for how the bartender looked at her and because she’s glowing from being thoroughly reacquainted with the joys of Kane’s exceptional cock. Haven’t I seen that morning-after radiance on enough of his discards to recognize it?
Does Lily remember all the lurid details I told her while she was unconscious?
“You look great!” she exclaims, raking me with a friendly head-to-toe glance. “I love your jacket.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t know I’d be meeting Lily for a drink after work, so I didn’t dress for the occasion. While she’s in happy hour attire, I’m wearing slacks and a blazer. Luckily, my outfit is one of Tovah’s picks, and Lily’s not the only one who complimented the cropped green velvet blazer.
“I love your kimono,” I tell her because I grudgingly do and am expected to say something nice back.
“Oh, thank you. Me, too. It was my mother’s.” She hangs her purse on the hook beneath the bar.
I don’t have any of my mother’s clothes. I don’t think she even owns anything resembling an heirloom like the lustrous silk draping Lily. My dear sister-in-law has it all, everything. Yeah, she had an accident and lost a few whacky years she can laugh about at parties, but really … her life is fucking perfect.
“What’ll it be, gorgeous?” the bartender asks her as he sets my new martini next to my first one, which I’ve consumed only halfway. “You two are making my night. The genetics in your family make for a fine view.”
I wait for Lily to correct him and tell him we just look alike, but she simply thanks him and orders the same thing I’m having but better – filthy, with only a swish of vermouth and extra olives.
So... Witte lied about her being a teetotaler. Why? To ruin my gift idea so hers would be better?
With a tight smile, I add him to my shit list.
“You got it.” Winking at her, the bartender adds a rap of his knuckles and has no idea his tip is decreasing by the minute. Seriously, his martinis are shit.
Lily cants her body to face me. “How’d your day go?”
I shrug and take another drink. I force myself to take a sip instead of the gulp I want. I’m getting through each workday sticking to the detox, but by five o’clock, I can’t stand sobriety another damned minute. “It was work.”
Setting her elbow on the bar, she rests her jaw on her hand, looking elegant, relaxed and engrossed in anything I might say. If she only knew what’s on my mind …
“Would you mind telling me about it?” she goads. “Kane mentioned you had a social media management agency you folded into Baharan?”
“It didn’t fold. It got digested.” I stare at her, wondering what her angle is.
She looks to the bartender as he serves her drink, then he sets a votive candle between us. The Italian restaurant sits on the corner opposite the Crossfire and has floor-to-ceiling glass windows on three sides. During lunch, sunlight floods the space enough to require window shades, but night is falling and votives twinkle on every table. While Lily focuses on sampling her drink for the bartender, who waits for her approval, I take the opportunity to knock back the rest of my first martini and shove the glass away.
When she looks back at me over the rim of her glass, I’m chewing on my lone olive.
“Kane showed me the creative for the launch of ECRA+,” she says. “It’s really impressive.”
“Thanks.” I try not to sound irritated. What the hell does she know? “I think it’s run-of-the-mill. I’m working on something better right now.”
“What aren’t you happy with?” Lily genuinely seems interested.
“Everything. The colors, the imagery, the messaging. Packaging, science and Rosana and Eva’s flawless faces aren’t going to be enough to compete in a crowded celebrity beauty space, but that’s what they’re focusing on.” I’m relieved when the bartender clears my empty glass. It looks much better with just the one drink in front of me.
“So, how do you fix it?”
I push back my irritation with her incessant questions. I like talking about my work, even if I don’t like talking with her. And as far as I’m concerned, if I answer a bunch of questions, she’ll have to do the same.
“By showing the product at work, on everyone, highlighting dermatological conditions that show improvement. Vibrantly real, untouched photos and videos.” I take another sip. She’d be horrible as a brand ambassador. “It’s not reinventing the wheel, but it’s telling people what they want to know: the product isn’t just beautiful wrapping, and it’s not just worn by influencers they admire. The product is truly a good bang for the buck.”
Her smile is luminous. “I can’t wait to see it.”
I’ve drunk enough courage. “Why do you care?”
She leans into the bar. Her legs are crossed and canted to one side; with her short dress, they look a mile long. Skin that pale should be blinding, but she just looks beautiful, like she’s perpetually lit by moonlight.
“I think we could help each other.”
My brows shoot up. Unless she wants me as her stunt double for Kane’s mattress gymnastics, I can’t imagine anything she could offer that I’d want. “How so?”
“Has Kane ever told you what I do?”
I shake my head, which is more diplomatic than saying she’s a convenient vagina to fuck.
“I meet people. If I like them and they’ve got a dream I can monetize, I help them get started.”
“You’re an angel investor,” I drawl. Does she think I’m stupid?
“Yes. When you’re smart about who you choose to invest in, it’s very lucrative. Startups need help with their messaging and social advertising, as you know. I can refer those businesses to you, you’ll help them hone their brand and messaging, and that’ll be one less thing they have to worry about.”
My gaze narrows. “What’s in it for you?”
“A ten percent referral fee on their first-year spend.”
“Only ten percent?”
She smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Keep in mind, I’ll also be rewarded on the other side of the transaction by accelerated growth and increased profits for my investments.”
Her hair has grown since I first saw her weeks ago and now brushes the top of her shoulders. She’s wearing stunning chandelier earrings of sapphires and diamonds. The stones sparkle insanely, catching the light at the slightest movement.
“Don’t forget the trifecta.” I take another sip, my foot tapping on the rail that circles the bar. “Baharan would profit on those contracts, and you’d get a cut of that, too.”
Something about her smile dims, arousing my curiosity and making me happy.
“Yes,” she concedes reluctantly, “there’s that.”
I debate saying anything, but why not let the cat out of the bag? I’ve been struggling for days, weighing whether I want to start over from scratch. Staying within Baharan means my hard work and talent will enrich Kane and Lily. So, the decision is easy: I’m getting the hell out.
“Well,” I begin, “you’re the first to know: I’m leaving Baharan and starting a new company.”
Lily’s brows lift as if she’s surprised, but … she doesn’t seem surprised. “A new company. That’s a bold move.”
“Listen, I’m not leaving Baharan in the lurch. What they’ve got in the pipeline is fine, it’s just not great, and I’m going to fix it before I focus on new ventures.”
“Why abandon Social Creamery, though? All that work, the brand, the past clients.”
I run my finger along the lip of my glass, wondering if this is what she’s been fishing for all along: getting me to say aloud what an idiot I was when I signed those papers and effectively signed over my company. “Don’t you know how acquisitions work?”
She shrugs, and the kimono slips off one shoulder in a move so perfectly seductive I wonder if she’s practiced it. “Of course, but I’ve read your agreement with Baharan. I don’t see why you wouldn’t take advantage of your exit clause. No, that’s not true. I understand wanting a fresh start. I can’t imagine working with Aliyah has been pleasant.”
I straighten on the stool, forcing myself to loosen my grip on my glass before I snap the stem. “What are you talking about?”
Her smile fades, and her brow furrows. “Which part?”
I let go of the glass entirely because I feel like throwing the contents in her face. “The fucking exit clause part!”
The frown lifts into arched curves of surprise. “Amy, don’t you know the terms of your agreement with Baharan?” she asks, slowly and carefully, like I’m a bomb that might go off at any moment, which is exactly how I feel.
I look away. I’m unpleasantly surprised to see Hornsworth, that office-stealing asshole, having drinks with a woman too pretty for him. I look away, disgusted, and feel a jolt when I find Rogelio, Baharan’s Chief of Security. He’s having drinks at a table with a guy sporting the same military crew cut, possibly another Baharan employee, but I can’t tell. And one of the girls from Accounting is having dinner with three friends.
I rein in my temper. God forbid Aliyah hears reports of me losing it again publicly.
Taking another drink, followed by a deep breath, I reply, “It’s been a while. And at the time, I didn’t think I’d ever decide not to be part of the family business.”
Lily also takes a sip of her martini, as if there’s no reason to hurry with enlightening me.
“You have the option to reclaim the Social Creamery brand twenty-four months after execution if it no longer functions as a separate entity. It’s a unique clause, very interesting really, but advantageous for you. I assumed your legal team inserted it to protect you, or perhaps Darius saw to that?”
I feel the color drain from my face. The room spins like a merry-go-round. It’s like I’ve had those four martinis and am halfway through a fifth.
“Amy.” She sets her hand on my forearm. “Are you okay?”
With a jerk of my arm, I throw her hand off. I didn’t have a legal team; I had Darius. Why wouldn’t I trust my husband? “I’m fine!”
“Let me help you.”
