by Lara Hunter
“Thank you,” she said. “You don’t clean up too badly yourself, little brother.” She picked her purse up off the couch. “Well, shall we be going?”
~ ~ ~
The three of us rode together in a limousine to the event. We sipped champagne and laughed together on the ride over. Harvey was a little tense about the evening ahead, but overall, the mood among us was one of relief, and of celebration. We’d actually made it through this ridiculous experiment, and, somehow, it had actually worked.
The gala was taking place at a luxury hotel downtown. The limousine pulled to the curb, and Ted came around to open the door for us. Susan stepped out first. Beyond her, I could see what seemed like hundreds of cameras flashing in irregular succession. I felt a little rush of adrenaline as I realized that Harvey hadn’t been kidding about how much press would be at the event. I took a few deep breaths, remembering that I’d done this before, and that there was nothing to be afraid of.
Harvey stepped out of the car next and extended a hand to me. I stepped out, a big smile on my face, cameras firing all around us. We walked in together, my hand in his.
Once inside, I saw that there were many reporters inside too, circulating with conspicuous press badges and more huge cameras. I tried to pretend they weren’t there, only looking at them when they stopped us to ask for photographs. Harvey fielded some questions from them as well, about Jenson Pace’s history (yes, everyone was proud of how far the company had come), the Layton Steel deal (yes, we are exploring a mutually beneficial arrangement with the company, but can’t comment further), and his relationship with me (no answer, just a charming laugh and shake of the head). As always, I was in awe of how smoothly he handled them.
After a few minutes of questions, he held up his hands. “Alright, folks, that’s all for tonight. I’m going to go enjoy the evening with my lady here. Any further questions can be directed to my public relations manager.” On cue, a sharply-dressed brunette stepped forward. I recognized her as Lana Carter, one of the people who had spoken onstage at the first event I’d attended with Harvey. The reporters shifted their attention to her, and Harvey and I slipped away.
“How did you learn to do that?” I asked him in a low voice as we walked. “How are you so good with them?”
“You just have to convince them that you don’t care what they write,” he said. “It helps if you can convince yourself first.”
“But you do care,” I said.
“Only when I absolutely have to,” he said with a shrug.
We found our table, and Harvey introduced me to some of his associates that I hadn’t met before. The Laytons were seated with us as well. I noticed that Phil Mercer and his wife weren’t sitting with us. I glanced around and saw them at a table on the far end of the ballroom. Harvey noticed me looking.
“We don’t need to deal with him tonight,” he said in a low voice. His smile turned a bit wicked. “And I heard a rumor that he may be reassigned soon, to an office far away from here.”
“Hmm, funny how that happened,” I said.
Phil Mercer saw me looking and frowned. I looked away quickly.
After a few minutes of small talk at the table, the lights lowered, and voices hushed. A spotlight focused on the stage, and I was surprised to see Susan Pace walk onstage. She approached a clear glass podium and spoke into the microphone.
“Twenty-five years ago, my father, Geoffrey Pace, founded this company with his late partner, Joseph Jenson. Those two men started in a tiny storefront office. They shared a bathroom with the tax preparers next door, and had a single phone line between the two of them. Today, Jenson Pace is a worldwide name, a leader in innovation, employing thousands, and shaping the future of our nation and our world.”
The room applauded. Susan smiled and paused until the applause quieted.
“Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate what my father built, what my brother, Harvey Pace, continues to build. We are so proud and pleased to be where we are today, and we could not have done this without the faith and support of our partners, both within Jenson Pace, and in our community.”
More applause. Susan smiled graciously as Lana Carter came onstage and took over her spot at the podium.
“Thank you very much, Susan. That, of course, was Susan Pace, daughter of our late founder, Geoffrey Pace. Again, welcome, and thank you for being here tonight. Dinner will be served shortly, and our programming for the evening will follow.”
The lights came up after that, and the waiters approached with trays of food. Susan returned to our table a few minutes later, looking surprisingly flustered.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“I’m not a fan of public speaking,” she said. “Harvey’s good at that nonsense. I prefer a smaller room. Oh well, at least it’s over.” She drained a glass of champagne quickly and signaled to a passing waiter for more.
“I thought you did well,” I said.
“Thank you, Alice,” she said with a smile.
Dinner was delicious, and the conversation was pleasant and inconsequential. There seemed to be some mutual agreement that Harvey and the Laytons wouldn’t discuss their deal at the table tonight. Instead, we all talked about whether we might make it out on the yacht one more time this season, and where we’d be traveling for the holidays. It was a little uncomfortable chatting about these things when I knew that I would be gone in a week, but I must have covered my unease well. No one seemed to notice anything was off.
After dessert had been cleared away, Marie Layton glanced around.
“Do you think we have time to go freshen up before the program begins?” she asked.
“Oh, I think so,” Susan said. “They aren’t supposed to start for another ten minutes.” She picked up her purse and started to stand.
Suddenly, there was a sound of microphone feedback over the sound system. Everyone at the table winced. The feedback stopped a moment later, replaced by a familiar voice.
“Your attention please, everyone!” the voice said urgently.
“Oh no,” I said, as the blood drained from my face.
Rose.
Harvey saw the look on my face and put a hand on my arm.
“What’s wrong, Alice?” he asked.
“I have to stop her,” I said, starting to stand. But it was too late.
All the eyes in the room were locked on Rose, who stood at the podium onstage. She was dressed like one of the wait staff. Her hair was pulled back tightly from her face.
Of course she wasn’t going to let this go, I thought. How had I ever thought she would?
“The woman you see with Harvey Pace tonight,” Rose said, her voice shaking just a bit. “Her name is NOT Alice Clarke. It’s Alice Brennan. And she’s not his girlfriend, she’s an actress. She’s here because he hired her to be here, to pretend to be someone else, and to pretend to be his girlfriend. He’s lying! He’s lying to all of you—”
Her tirade cut off suddenly as two security guards in black windbreakers pulled her away from the microphone.
I looked at Harvey. His face was white. Beside him, Susan stared at me in shock, her hand over her mouth. Across the table, the Laytons were looking at Harvey and me incredulously.
Harvey was frozen in place for a moment, but only for a moment. He took me by the arm, and guided me quickly toward the exit. I hurried to keep up with him. We passed by Phil Mercer’s table as we went; his satisfied expression turned my stomach.
Harvey and I were fast, but the reporters were faster.
“Is it true? Is Alice Clarke your real name?”
“Are you working for Harvey Pace?”
“Is your relationship real, Alice? Alice?”
Harvey brushed by them without answering, but one of them grabbed my arm.
“Alice! Did Harvey hire you? Alice! Alice! Are you a prostitute?”
It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react. One moment, Harvey was pulling me through a crowd of people with cameras and tape recorders. The next
moment, he was driving his fist into the face of the reporter who’d asked that last question. The reporter was knocked flat, and the others took advantage of the interruption and surrounded us. Harvey’s eyes met mine for a long moment. Camera flashes fired around us like machine guns.
Then we were moving again. Mick was there, pushing the reporters aside roughly, making a path for us to the door, and then the street, where the limousine was waiting. We ducked inside. Mick rode up front with Ted, leaving me alone in the car with Harvey.
For a minute, the only sound in the car was the heavy sound of our breathing. Finally, he spoke. His voice was surprisingly calm, but there was something dangerous beneath it.
“Who was that, Alice?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Alice. Who?”
“It was my sister, Rose,” I said.
He looked at me incredulously.
“You… You did this?” he asked. “Why? Why, Alice?” He grabbed my shoulder and forced me to look at him.
I shook my head as tears started to fall down my cheeks.
“I didn’t want to,” I said. “I told her. I told her not to.”
“But why?”
“Western Trust,” I said. “When I was still a kid, they foreclosed on our house. That was because of Jenson Pace. It was because of you. My parents lost everything, Harvey. We all did.”
Harvey let go of me and turned away.
“Jesus,” he said, shaking his head. “How did we not know this? We should have known this.” He stared out the window as the city flew by. “Was this your plan all along, Alice?”
I shook my head. “I… At the beginning, yes, I planned this. But I changed my mind. I told her we couldn’t. But… Rose was so angry, Harvey. You don’t understand how it was for us, losing our home. You don’t know what it’s like to be poor like that.”
“You think that makes this okay, Alice?” he said, his voice rising as he turned back to me, his expression full of rage. “Because my family had more money than yours?”
“I just want you to understand—”
“What I understand is that I trusted you,” he said. “I even thought I…” he trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. I was an idiot. God, I was such an idiot.”
“Harvey, please,” I pleaded.
“Just stop, Alice,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to hear anymore. I… I can’t hear anymore.”
I sank back in my seat. We rode the rest of the way home in silence. When we arrived at my building, there were three men in suits waiting on the sidewalk.
“Are they more reporters?” I asked, alarmed.
“No,” Harvey said. “Security.” He opened the door and stepped out. I got out after him.
Mick had already gotten out and was talking to the other men in a low voice.
“Wait here,” Harvey said sternly. He went to talk to Mick and the other men. A moment later, he came back.
“Stay here tonight,” he said. “I’m going to leave two men here, one will be stationed at your door and one in the lobby. They’ll keep the press away. Tomorrow, they’ll help you move home. I’d tell you not to talk to the press, but a hell of a lot of good that’s done me.”
“Harvey—”
He cut me off.
“We’re done here, Alice,” he said, his voice cold. “You got what you wanted. You won. Now just get the hell out of my life.”
He climbed into the limousine without looking back. As I watched the car drive away, the strength drained from my limbs.
“I’m never going to see him again,” I said to no one.
Mick touched my arm.
“Come on, Alice,” he said. “Time to get inside, before the bloodsuckers show up.” He pointed up the street, and I saw that two news vans were already pulling up to the curb. I let Mick lead me inside. I felt numb all over.
It was over. He was gone. And he’d been wrong – I hadn’t won. I’d lost. We all had.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For the first week after the gala, I could hardly leave my apartment because of the press. They waited on my doorstep, followed me, shouting questions, when I tried to leave to run errands. I ignored them as much as I could. I knew they’d move on eventually, but I had no idea how long it would take for that to happen.
At least I was back home, my real home, noisy pipes, drafty windows and all. Despite its relative lack of comfort compared to the place Harvey had given me, I was glad to be back. I needed this space back that was just mine, where I could just be me. I needed this space to try to figure out what being “me” meant. I wasn’t Alice Clarke, Harvey’s high class lover, but I didn’t feel like Alice Brennan, the starving but optimistic actress, either.
For one thing, I wasn’t starving anymore. Although I had forfeited the severance bonus by violating our contract, Harvey made no move to recoup the substantial amount of money he’d paid me during the assignment. He’d also had the clothes, and even some of the jewelry, that he’d purchased for me shipped to my home. I was confused and texted Mick to see if it had been a mistake. Mick had just sent back, “He just told us to get rid of them. Said he had no use for a bunch of women’s clothing.”
I’d left most of them in the boxes, piled in a corner of my bedroom. I couldn’t look at them, let alone put them on. I didn’t want to dress up as perfect English Alice, not ever again. The thought filled me with a sickening shame, brought me back to that moment when Harvey had looked at me and known that I was never worth trusting, let alone loving.
I tried not to think about it, because there was nothing I could do to change it. Whatever might have happened between Harvey and me would never happen now. Best not to even think about it.
The first thing I’d bought with the money in my account was a bottle of home hair dye. The box said “Fiery Amber,” and the finished result was garish and brassy, but at least I didn’t look like Harvey’s honey-blonde Alice anymore. My real color would grow back in eventually, and in the meantime, I was able to look in the mirror without shaking.
Harvey hadn’t pressed charges against Rose for what she’d done at the event. She’d been escorted off the property, and, once it had been determined that she wasn’t violent, was released. She’d tried to contact me several times since then, but I’d ignored her calls. As much as I could understand why she had done it, I just couldn’t forgive her, not yet. Before, she’d accused me of choosing Harvey over my family, but, in the end, she’d chosen revenge over me. She’d broken my trust, hurt my reputation and my career, and had made my life a living hell, at least for the time being.
I was still horrified at what had happened to Harvey. Photos of him and me were everywhere for the first couple of weeks after the gala. The headlines were nauseating: “The Billionaire’s Concubine,” “The Best Girlfriend Money Can Buy,” “Harvey’s Girl: Bought and Paid For.” They interviewed guests and staff from the event, and even some of my childhood friends they’d managed to track down. They pulled out and reprinted old pictures from our early events together, but the ones I saw the most often were the ones that had been snapped at that moment in the ballroom at the anniversary gala, after he’d punched the reporter. He and I are standing face to face; mine is streaked with tears, and his is full of disbelief and misery. That was the image that I saw every time I closed my eyes.
Harvey hadn’t been seen publicly since the event, and he hadn’t made any statement to the press. Once Rose had given them my name, they’d easily found my personal and professional information. My headshots and photos from the plays I’d done had been printed in tabloids and on blogs. They’d tracked down my phone number and called me constantly. I’d finally had the number changed, and I ignored their letters and email. Several tabloids and one television show had offered me money, a lot of money, to tell my story to them, but I never responded to their offer. I was never going to talk to them. They would have to make their own guesses. I’d hurt Harvey, and myself, enough.
So, for
the first couple of weeks, I was trapped in my apartment without much more to do than think. Looking for work was out of the question. I’d tentatively reached out to a couple of directors I’d worked with before, and they’d politely told me that they wanted people to attend their plays to see the performance, not to gawk at Harvey Pace’s hired lover. I tried to tell myself that, given a little time, the story would die down and be all but forgotten. I needed to believe that this whole mess hadn’t destroyed my career along with everything else. Only time would tell about all that, though.
One morning about two weeks after I’d moved back home, I got a text message. When I saw who had sent it, I couldn’t believe it. It was Susan Pace; she wanted me to meet her. She told me when and where, and instructed me to change cabs twice to get there. She didn’t say what she wanted.
I was confused, but I needed to hear what she had to say. I dressed in simple clothes and put on a hat and sunglasses, hoping it would be enough to keep people from recognizing me. Following her instructions, I changed cabs twice, and it took me over an hour to reach the bar she’d picked.