by Ellie Rowe
I finally realize what my brain’s telling me.
Natalie.
She must have really gotten under my skin. Guess that explains some of what happened last night. A little acting out. Maybe I really should’ve stayed in her bed last night.
Nah, I immediately remind myself, that would’ve brought its own consequences. I may regret some of what I did last night, but at least, no one got hurt — except some brain cells and my liver.
“Thanks for putting up with me,” I mutter into the phone. “Sorry I was such a mess. Anyway, I’ve got to start my day.”
“Wait,” Buddy’s tone shifts. “You mean you just got up?”
“Yeah, why?” I rub my eyes, trying to get some life back into me. Then I become aware that Buddy’s gone silent. “Bud? You still there?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s going on?”
I hear him clear his throat. “So, I guess you haven’t seen this morning’s Exposé Extra?”
“Why would I read that shit? I’m a little old for tabloids.”
“Well…” Buddy hedges. He sounds a little concerned and slightly giddy. “You might wanna grab a copy.”
Uh-oh.
Five
Natalie
Perhaps silk isn’t the best option this morning. Is it getting warm in here, or what? I’m sitting in the conference room surrounded by shareholders. Normally, I’d be happy over this much attention, as it’s normally because of a job well done.
Not this time.
An emergency meeting has been called. A meeting about me. And my fuck up.
“What is all this?” I ask pleasantly, trying to keep my cool. A copy of a tabloid is flung in front of me, landing with a smack on the large oval table. I smile and gently bring it toward me.
Well, shit.
It’s me. Front and center; sprawled on the front page with all kinds of ‘censored’ signs, flashing lights and fruit covering all my naughty bits. It’s not a terrible angle at least, everything looks perky and where it should be, even underneath the photoshopped caution tape.
This is humiliating, and violating.
Even worse, this shit is all over the city!
I try not to tremble as I pick up the tabloid. Classy Magazine Editor Caught in Tryst with Playboy Billionaire. Not my best look, is it?
Judging by the stern look on the shareholders’ faces, they clearly agree with me. I scan the tabloid again, flinching as I see my photo. It’s not even my ex’s tabloid, how the fuck did they get hold of this photo? Or this story?
“Ms. Ashcroft, am I to believe you were not aware of this…” Carlisle, one of the shareholders, gestures at the tabloid like it’s last week’s trash. If only it were. “… thing before you came here this morning?”
“No,” I start. “No, I had absolutely no idea, and, for the record —”
“I wouldn’t say anything just yet if I were you,” Carlisle says with a dark look. “Ms. Ashcroft, as you know, Chic is a brand that depends on a certain level of… shall we call it, ‘class’. It is an image carefully curated from long before your arrival at the steps of this temple.”
Did this greaseball just call Chic a ‘temple’? Sure, I care about my work, but this isn’t the Louvre. I keep my mouth shut and try to plead the fifth. This smells like trouble. But, surely, it’s not as bad as… Oh, God, they’re not going to…
I’ve got to do something, or I’m going to lose my job.
“With all due respect, Mr. Carlisle, board members, I am a victim in this. I gave no permission for these photos to be taken, and certainly not for them to be published.”
Another board member tries to say something. “Be that as it may —”
Oh no, you’re not going to fire me until I’ve had my say. I carefully cut him off and barrel through.
“While I’m aware this sort of thing is not on brand,” the whole room shuffles their feet and makes preposterous faces, but I continue, “nor is it the best thing.”
There, you assholes, I’ve accepted the responsibility. Not overtly, mind you, but enough to hang my head a little. “The best course of action now is to keep close. Keep close and drive right through it.”
They still don’t look convinced. “We’ve seen different forms of this kind of thing before and we’ve always powered through. This time is no different, and I will do everything in my power to protect the image of Chic.”
The room shifts uncomfortably again and looks to Mr. Green, the chairman, for guidance. He clasps his hands behind his back and walks forward like a disappointed father. I don’t mind the guy all that much, but then again, I’ve never been in this position. This is hell.
“Ms. Ashcroft, you are one of the top editors this magazine has ever seen.”
Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. Go on, Mr. Green.
“That being said, we expect a great deal more from you. Your lifestyle is a personal choice, but, as a recognizable member of this company, we cannot have this sort of scandal at our doorstep.”
I nod and swallow hard. This speech could go either way.
“However, you’ve convinced me it is best to stay low and let this blow over.”
Whew! Not fired.
“Do not make me regret this decision.”
Not fired — yet.
“Thank you, Mr. Green.” I give him a small smile, which he finally returns. With a nod to his fellow board members, Mr. Green announces it’s lunch time, and everyone immediately shuffles out for their paninis.
I take a moment to collect myself as soon as the door is shut. What the fuck is going on! I’ve been laying low, playing it safe, staying away from partying, nor anything fun, for the last year! And the one night, the one night I’m finally free from it all, this happens.
I’ve got to get out of here!
I grab my purse and head to my office. Maybe I can eat lunch there and just get my head on straight. I let the familiar sound of my heels against the floor calm me down. I’m not going anywhere yet.
As soon as the glass panes of my office come in view, I notice movement inside it. What the hell is that? The cleaning crew shouldn’t be there at this hour. I swing my door open and my look of confusion immediately turns to disgust.
Gabby Green — the conniving bitch — is standing in my office. She turns around like the villain in a soap opera, her squashed little face drooping with a frown of displeasure.
“Oh, it’s you,” she says and reels in her tape measure. Yes, you heard me correctly. A tape measure. This rabbity little bimbo has the audacity to bring one with her. I’m sure you can guess why.
“Get out of my office,” I say curtly before I set my purse down to unpack my binder. I’m not gonna take the bait if I can help it. Gabby Green is the associate editor, and I would have fired her ages ago if her Daddy Dearest isn’t the chairman of the board.
“What do you mean your office?” Gabby pouts as she starts to poke at my desk supplies. Gross. Get your sticky little fingers off my things. I swallow the thought.
“I mean, my office. You’re standing in it, and as I recall, I did not ask you to be here. So, move.”
Gabby scoffs and clutches at her chest. I allow an eyeroll to slip past my filter and Gabby latches on immediately.
“I don’t think it’s wise to have such an attitude with me, Natalie. After all, this office will be mine soon,” she smiles sickly and taps her tape measure on my desk. “I’ve just been taking measurements for when my furniture is moved in —”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Green, but I am still a member of Chic and a ranking member at that, so for the last time, before I wrench those knock-off pearl earrings from your ears — Get. Out. Of. My. Office.”
She goes a horrible shade of purple trying to hold her tantrum at bay.
“You bitch!”
Well, that didn’t last long.
“You’re not fired?!” she asks me incredulously. With something of an upper hand, I allow myself to cool off.
“
Afraid not —”
“But, Daddy promised!” she wails and points a finger at me. “Listen, Natalie, it’s only a matter of time. Daddy doesn’t want you here, he wants me to be head editor and I will have this office!” She grabs her coat from my chair, spilling my pens all over my desk.
With a ‘hmph’, she strides out, slamming the door behind her. I stare after her for a moment. I’m so angry, I could vomit.
That vulture. That snake.
She’s trouble. The first thing she does after every incident is see whose charred body she can step on to climb a little higher.
She’s terrible at her job — lazy, late, and entirely incompetent. The fact that she has the audacity to think she can handle my position steams me up more than anything. I look over at the spilled pens and imagine flames shooting out of my eyes.
I hike up my skirt enough to bend down and furiously pick them up one by one, slamming then into the gilded vase they’re meant to sit in. The humiliation is really setting in. How did this happen?
My pens restocked; I stand up to brush myself off before flopping into the chair. I’ve sat there for all of two seconds before I realize Gabby’s musky perfume is lingering in the air.
“Nope!” I shout as I stand and smoothen my skirt. “Nope. Nope. Not doing it. No.”
I grab my purse and throw it over my shoulder. I have absolutely zero appetite, but I can’t stay here any longer.
I drop by my receptionist and my anger fades a little. I love her. She’s excellent at her job; quiet and efficient.
“I’m going out for lunch,” I say as I pass her desk. She looks up at me with big eyes and a tight little grimace.
“O-okay!” She calls after me. I know she wants to talk; to say sorry and ask what happened or if I need anything, but I can’t stay in this building for one more second. I can’t eat a thing, but maybe the fresh air will do me some good.
Get me out of this nightmare!
Six
Roger
“You gonna answer that?” Buddy asks as my phone rings for about the thousandth time. It vibrates like a coked-up gnat against the chrome café table we’re at.
“No,” I tell him, not even bothering to turn it over to see the caller ID.
“Might be important.”
“It’s going to be some other blood-sucking reporter asking me to comment.”
“Can I answer it?” He reaches across the table. I slap his hand.
“No. Do you know what you want to order?”
We’re sitting outside Maria’s Café. I invested in one of Maria’s early concepts, and this place is even better. You gotta love the view, since it’s right along Central Park. It’s a beautiful day and it would be like any other wonderful lunch I’ve enjoyed countless times… were it not for the circumstances.
“You really are deep in it this time,” Buddy says with glee. His somewhat round frame shifts in his seat as he pretends to peruse the menu. He’s enjoying this too much.
“Pick something, would you?” I beg.
He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Sucks to be a billionaire, right? First time I’m relieved to only have millions…”
“You’re a real man of the people.”
“Ain’t I just.”
Finally, he signals our waitress. I recognize her as Louisa, one of my favorites. We share a smile as she comes over.
I order a burger with fries. Maria’s makes a great watercress salad with ahi tuna that I’m a fan of, but I’m still fucking hungover. Buddy orders a salmon BLT and a cocktail. I order a whiskey, one rock. This one’s not for the hangover, just my usual lunchtime nip.
I’m hoping that with our order in, he’s ready to move on to another topic. No such luck. He slathers the house herb butter on some fluffy bread and says through a full mouth, “Thing is, the way you live? It’s a miracle you’ve gone this long without having your literal ass in the papers.”
Well, that’s cold comfort, but I guess it’ll have to do. I force myself to smile. “You’re right, Buddy. We should really be celebrating the great run I’ve had of non-front-page nudity.”
“Fun while it lasted,” Buddy quips. He can see I’m not completely comforted by the ‘achievement’, however.
“Listen,” he says, for the first time with an air of seriousness, “the whole thing’s going to blow over in a week. There’ll be another scandal by then.”
“Maybe involving you.”
“I should be so lucky.”
I look out at the skyline and think of the deal I’ve got coming up with the Barron Corporation this week. “Maybe the notoriety will give me some advantage with the deal I’ve got coming up,” I muse. “Add to the playboy mystique. Give me some enchantment over them at the negotiating table.”
“I don’t know,” Buddy considers. “Jared Barron’s a grade-A asshole, but he might be impressed by this.”
Louisa brings out the drinks, and I raise mine in a toast. “What’s bad for some is good for the rest of us.”
Buddy joins me. “What’s bad for everyone else is somehow always good for Roger Zane.”
I sip my whiskey. Buddy pauses before trying his cocktail and mutters, “Hope she was worth it.”
Then he shifts on to other topics, thank God. Buddy is capable of carrying on a conversation with almost no input from me, which is just as well, because most of my mind is considering his little aside.
Hope she was worth it.
It’s tempting to think that no woman is worth this sort of public scrutiny. Not that I’m a modest guy, or unused to the odd scandal. Still, it is my ass on the front page of the papers. I’m aware of the stares I’m getting from the other café patrons – and even a few of the staff. Salacious stares that say, ‘I know what you’ve been doing, naughty boy.’
It’s not that I’m embarrassed. It’s just not an ideal situation, you know?
Hope she was worth it.
Thing is, there’s more than a little bit of me that kinda thinks she was.
Buddy is mid-story, “So then Muffy turns to Taffy and is like –” when I see her.
“Holy shit,” I blurt out.
“I know,” Buddy says, thinking I’m actually listening to his gossip.
“No,” I say, “it’s her.”
It’s Natalie. She’s passing by at a clip and is past me before I can call out her name. I stand up from the table and hop over the short wrought-iron fence that surrounds Maria’s outdoor dining area.
Probably best not to shout her name, given the situation. Never know who’s around. So, I catch up to her as quickly as I can.
I mentally rifle through my opening lines. Do I go casual? Flirty? Collegial? I settle on coy. Coming up alongside her, I say, “Hello, stranger.”
Whap!
The slap comes quick and stinging. Her hand flies from out of my field of vision and catches me across the face with military precision. I’m so surprised, it takes me a few seconds to register what happened. “Ow,” I finally say like a dope.
“You asshole.”
I rub my stinging chin, and ask, “Did you not get the wine?”
Coy is proving to be a bad choice. She’s fuming.
“I know that sleazy stories are great for your image,” she says through gritted teeth, “but they suck pretty hard for mine.” She looks like she wants to wring my neck. Considering the athleticism she displayed last night, I have no doubt she could make quick work of it, too.
“Wait a second,” I hold my hands up, “you think I’m happy about this?”
“For all I know, I was your latest target! You needed some smut for your press this week, you saw me in the wine shop, and figured, ‘She’ll do. I’ll ruin her life for the sake of making it into this week’s celebrity gossip news cycle’.”
“That is not what happened at all.”
“I almost lost my job today because of you.”
Oh, shit. In a blink, her manner goes from pissed-as-hell to verging on tears.
Not everyone’s got
the luxury of your lifestyle, Roger, I tell myself. If there’s one thing my kind of money often makes you forget, it’s the concept of ‘consequences’.
“Natalie, I’m so sorry. But you have to believe me, I had nothing to do with those pictures. This is all some stupid misunderstanding. Seriously, I’m as nonplussed about it as you are.”
She looks me up and down. I’m in some expensive casual wear. Then she glances back at Maria’s, where Buddy is leaning over the little fence. He’s got his cocktail in one hand and is waving at us with the other. Altogether, it’s hardly the picture of a man in distress.
Natalie stares me down again. “Yeah, you look like you’re really bent out of shape about this.”
“I am. I just… process this sort of thing differently, okay?”
Her face softens a little. It’s a lovely face. She stares at her shoes. For a moment, I consider lifting that lovely face and kissing her. Probably a dumb idea.
Damn, this girl’s in my head in a crazy way.
“C’mon,” I say, “Let me buy you lunch to make up for it.” I gesture back toward the restaurant.
She looks up at me again, and I see a glimmer of the woman I was with last night. I watch her calculate whether she wants to be seen with me or not. Finally, she relents. “It better be expensive,” she says.
“Trust me, everything at this place is overpriced.”
“Good. And I’m getting dessert.”
We walk back to the café. She’s still got some steam to release, and she walks faster, putting her a few steps ahead of me. I can’t help but glance at her ass in that tight skirt. I remember the feel of it…
Chill, Roger.
I step over the short fence next to the table. Then I turn back and lift Natalie up and over it, placing her back down on the café side.
There’s a look of admiration in her eyes. That sexual energy from last night sparks between us again…
Buddy ruins it, of course. “Is this the lovely –”
“Scram, Buddy,” I say before he can finish the sentence and make things awkward.