by Lee Winter
Once she located the USB stick, she rammed it into her jeans pocket, then grabbed her security pass and bolted down the stairs rather than waiting for an elevator. A sleek town car with a smartly dressed man beside the passenger door waited in front of the building.
“Ms Grey?” the man asked. “I am Ms Bartell’s driver, Amir.”
“Yes. We have to go to—” she began as she scrambled into the back seat.
“I know.” He strode to the driver’s side. “I’ll have you at Bartell Towers in no time.” He pulled out into the traffic. “Are you going to Style New York’s office?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“It’s in the building. I drive a lot of models and designers there at all sorts of hours. Sometimes their photographers like to shoot at night.”
“Oh? No. I’m not a model or a designer.” Maddie laughed at the ridiculous suggestion. “I’m just dropping something off for Elena.”
“You’re meeting Ms Bartell?” He sounded intrigued.
“Yes,” Maddie said, uncertain as to why that was unusual.
“In Ms Bartell’s office?”
“Why?”
“How long have you been working with Ms Bartell?”
“Um, it’ll be a month tomorrow. Why?”
He met her eye in the rear-view mirror and looked impressed. “I have driven her for a long time. It is not often people visit her there. Only her inner circle, or so I gather. So it’s a bit unusual. That’s all.”
“Oh, well, it’s an emergency. It was supposed to be Felicity.”
“Ah, I see.”
They lapsed into silence, as Amir picked up the pace through New York’s well-lit streets.
Maddie became more and more anxious as the drive continued. Eventually, they pulled up before a gleaming round tower. “Is this…” The big B on the side of the building answered her question. “…it?”
“Yes, Ms Grey,” Amir said. “I am instructed to wait for you. But feel free to take your time.”
“Thanks.” Maddie jumped out and headed through large rotating glass doors. A set of seven-foot-tall, glass security doors loomed in front of her.
The security guard beside it rose, eying her suspiciously.
“Maddie Grey to see Elena Bartell.” She slid her fingers into her pocket to retrieve her security ID.
“Yes, Ms Grey, I was told you were on your way. Sign here.” He examined her ID, as Maddie signed the visitor’s book. He pushed a button. As the doors opened, the guard passed a silver card to her. “Insert this into the elevator next to the EP button.”
“EP?”
“Express to penthouse. It’s just below the H button.” Before she could ask, he added, “For helipad.”
Maddie nodded and tried to look cool about the fact she was visiting someone who owned a building with a helipad on it. She headed for the elevators he indicated and glanced around while she waited. No expense had been spared. The floors were polished marble. A series of sofas were black leather. The landscape art on the walls was sublime, probably the real deal.
The gleaming doors opened, and Maddie stepped inside. Soft, classical music was playing. Reflective, black glass surrounded her. She slid the card into the EP slot, and the whoosh was instant. The numbers flew by… 20, 25, 30, 35… Maddie’s stomach dropped, and the soothing music failed to do its job. Finally, the elevator shuddered to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Maddie pulled the card out, pocketed it, and stepped forward.
Springy, luxurious carpet cushioned her boots. The elevator sat in the centre of the room, like a doughnut hole, ringed by a curving walkway. All around stretched a 360-degree view of New York. Frosted glass walls, coming out at right angles from the windows, divided the space into wedges.
Directly in front of her was one wedge containing a low, white leather sofa—a Mies van der Rohe reproduction. She recognised the iconic design from the one in Simon’s dad’s office. A pair of garment bags was slung over the back of the sofa. Two matching designer chairs faced it, and a low, glass coffee table, scattered with Style NY copies, sat in between.
An elegant, dark-skinned man in a stunning suit eyed her from the sofa, as she turned left and began her slow circle around the elevator. She shot him a smile, but he didn’t return it, watching her progress with interest.
On her circuit, she walked past a kitchen. The next “wedge” had blacked-out glass walls and a door and was marked as a bathroom. Beyond that, she passed a twelve-seat boardroom table, with an enormous monitor on one wall, presumably for video meetings.
And finally… She came to Elena’s office. Against the dividing glass wall to the right was a sleek, long bookcase bursting with books and magazines. In front of that sat a desk and a stylish, leather, designer chair in which Elena sat, angled towards the window. She had yet to notice Maddie’s stealthy approach.
On the other side of the desk was a coffee table and, around that, three straight chairs, their backs to the window. Two of these were presently filled by a pair of men in expensive suits, holding large notepads and wearing anxious looks.
Maddie examined the rest of the office. The glass wall facing Elena had several framed newspaper front pages and iconic Style magazine covers affixed to it. Nestled in the far left corner, against the window, was a beautiful, Japanese silk partition—possibly a changing area of some sort. Maddie supposed Elena had to do many a quick wardrobe change at work before going to various events.
The executive chair swung around, and Elena met her eyes. Maddie was about to slide the USB stick onto the desk and say what is was, but Elena shook her head and pointed to beyond the opposite wall to the area to where she’d started her circuit. Where the elegant man in the fine suit sat.
A disembodied voice rang out from the phone on Elena’s desk, alerting Maddie to the fact she was in the middle of a conference call. The man spoke French too fast for Maddie’s high-school lessons to translate every word.
Elena frowned and jotted down some notes.
“C’est impossible! Votre date limite est ridicule!” she replied. Elena’s gaze shifted to her underlings, who gave a vigorous pair of nods.
Maddie edged away, trying to get the gist of it. Something about an impossible deadline? She headed onwards to the next “wedge”, and lowered herself into a chair opposite the man. His deep-green suit, mustard tie, and polished shoes were expensive, probably bespoke. He was billiard-ball bald, in his late-thirties or early forties, and manscaped to within an inch of his life. Fashion designer maybe? His eyes were intelligent and assessing, and he had high cheekbones that would put a supermodel to shame.
“I’m Maddie Grey,” she said, after a moment.
“We meet at last. Perry Marks.” His wide lips curled up in greeting.
“At last?”
“Felicity seems to think your outfits worthy of many entertaining monologues. But she’s never said who you were. So you’re important enough for her to rant about, but not important enough to give me details.” He slid a critical gaze across her outfit and tapped his lip. “Hmm. So you’re not a designer, not an executive…” His gaze trailed across her thighs, which were normal sized. “Definitely not a model.”
“Hey!”
He smiled, and his white, perfect teeth, dazzling against his dark skin, almost blinded her. “It’s rare for me to meet a regular woman in this building,” he said with a cheeky grin. He patted his chest above his heart. “So I apologise if I’m in a state of shock. Anyway, I give up. What do you do?”
“I’m a junior crime reporter at Hudson Metro News.”
“Ah, the little rag that’s sucking all our fearless leader’s attention. Getting an audience with Elena these days is like visiting the queen. Even for me. So…why are you here, Junior Crime Reporter?”
“Just doing a favour for Felicity. I have something to drop off.” She held up the USB drive.
“So leave it here. I’ll give it to her.”
“Felicity vowed to flay me alive i
f I didn’t deliver it to Elena personally.”
“Ah. That does sound like the indomitable Ms Simmons.”
Maddie laughed at that. “So, what do you do?”
He gave a rueful chuckle. “Ouch, my poor, poor ego. In my industry, everyone knows me. I’m Style International’s global art director. If it’s trendy and fashionable, then I was the one who helped make it so.”
“Seriously?”
“Scout’s honour.”
“Votre attitude est décevante. Je ne suis pas ouverte au compromis.” The burst of French from Elena was loud enough to travel to where they sat. Something about a bad attitude and no compromise? Maybe?
“She shouldn’t be too much longer,” Perry said in a hushed voice, leaning forward. “She’s insulting the man’s professionalism. When she gets to threatening to reduce his budget, too, she’ll be done. Or she’ll just fire him.” He lifted his broad shoulders as if unsure which and not caring either way. Then he tugged at his cuff to straighten his jacket back to perfection.
“Oh,” Maddie said back in a whisper. “Who is she threatening?”
“Style Paris has just signed an insanely overpaid, rising-star model, which has blown their annual budget by twenty percent. To make matters worse, the girl boasted about the size of the deal all over social media, so there is no face-saving way to cancel it and pretend it never happened. Even if there were, Style Paris’s new hot-head editor won’t replace her and thinks suggestions he do so are ‘interference by Américains imbéciles’. It will end badly if he doesn’t get it through his thick skull who he’s dealing with. Elena could blacklist him and make it so he’d only ever be able to work in retail in Iceland. Which would be a shame, because I rather like Iceland.”
“She cares a lot about her fashion magazines, doesn’t she?” Maddie says. “I mean, Style is not just another masthead to her, is it? It’s what she loves, right?”
Perry studied her curiously. “You really don’t know her, do you?”
“I’d like to,” Maddie said earnestly. She paused as she wondered why that was. Why had she been trying so hard to get to know her boss? So much so, she’d probably made an idiot of herself by oversharing yesterday. She bit her lip. Because Elena is fascinating, her brain whispered to her. And beautiful. And a mystery. And I love to unpick a mystery. I want to know who she is and how she thinks about anything and everything. I want to know her.
Perry hadn’t replied, as if sensing there was more.
“But no, I don’t really know her,” Maddie continued. “I mean, I haven’t known her long. I just want to know who she is when she’s not playing a god. You know?”
“What if I said she’s not playing? Would you believe it?” Perry leaned forward.
Maddie couldn’t work out if he was joking. “I’d say she’s good but not that good.”
Perry laughed and leaned back again. “True. Or perhaps it’s a matter of perspective.” He studied her for a moment. “Do you know that everyone asks me about her because we’re good friends? They all try to find out about the businesswoman. What makes her tick? Who does she favour politically? Their reasons are clear. But in twenty years, you’re the first person who actually sounds sincere when asking me about the woman behind the power. No ulterior motive.”
“Really?” That was both startling and depressing. Who wouldn’t want to know the real Elena?
“Yes, really. So I will tell you her secret.” Perry gave her a tiny smile. “Well, it’s not such a secret if you watch her for as long as I have. Anyway, the thing about Elena is fashion always comes first.”
“Fashion.” Maddie gave him a sceptical look. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely. Oh, she might deny it and talk about her media vision, but it’s not what drives her.” He waved his hand towards Elena’s office. “She is a woman in love with beauty in all its forms. Those who propose a project that offends her sensibilities because it is ugly get cut loose. Because Elena sees herself as a curator of beauty, first and foremost. People who don’t understand that, don’t understand her.”
Astonished, Maddie stared at him. She ordered her thoughts. “That’s just… It makes no… Okay, well let me tell you something. There’s an eighteen-year-old kid I’m doing a story on. Ramel Brooks. He was hanging out at his friends’ place when the drug squad raided. Ramel, unlike his druggie mates, is a straight-A student, with a college scholarship lined up. But after everyone got arrested, his loser friends all claimed they were innocent and that Ramel was a big-time drug dealer. Now they got cut loose and he’s carrying the can for all of them.”
Perry frowned. “I don’t see what your story has to do with Elena.”
“I had to look into this kid’s eyes while he told me, voice shaking, that every day he sees his mother’s doubts in him. She wonders if Ramel did it, and that’s what’s breaking him—more than the betrayal of his friends, the dodgy charges, or the threat of years in jail. Stuff like this is what I see in my job. Life is so bleak for some people. And my working day is sharing that bleakness. Truth is, news is mostly just slickly packaged pain. It’s ugly and depressing. When my story runs tomorrow, people aren’t going to say, ‘Oh, how beautiful’. They’ll say ‘Sucks to be Ramel’. So how can Elena see beauty in the news? I don’t get it. If what you say is true, how can she even be in this line of work?”
Perry’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Look, when you see a newspaper, you see its content. The good, the bad, whatever. Elena doesn’t see that. She sees the basic beauty in what she has built. Your sad little story is just a cog in a news machine that she has remade so efficiently that to her it all becomes art.”
“Art?” Maddie gaped at him. “Come on, that’s crazy.”
“No, that’s business. At its core, it doesn’t matter what you produce—if it’s made well and effective, to the person who designed it, it will be beautiful.”
“Tu es viré!” came a bark from the next room. A phone slammed down.
Funny how she hadn’t even raised her voice, but her lethal tone sent a chill down Maddie’s spine.
Perry’s head tilted. “Hmm. Well, I suppose that was inevitable.”
“She just fired him,” Maddie said, slowly deciphering the words. “The French editor.”
“Mm. She will do worse to him than that.”
The executives were now filing out, and the rat-a-tat of Elena’s demands drifted over. “See that Marcel never works for any of my publications again. Meanwhile, find out if Stan has shifted his stance on selling those six titles. I saw him at Martha’s Vineyard recently, and it’s in his eyes. He wants to retire and play golf. So, send him a membership for whatever the closest five-star course is. It’ll eat him up that he can’t play because business is interfering. All right. We’re done.” There was a pause. “Perry!”
“My cue.” He rose, picked up the two garment bags resting on the sofa, and strolled towards the office.
At the opening to her office, he greeted Elena warmly and then unzipped the top bag. Their murmurings reached Maddie’s straining ears. Something about an upcoming ball and several famous designers. She leaned forward, craning her neck to see around the frosted glass wall that separated them. Luckily they were still only barely inside Elena’s office. A flash of glitter caught Maddie’s eye, as Perry lifted a dazzling blue dress from the first bag.
“Absolutely not,” Elena said. “I’ll look like a mirror ball. Show me the other one.”
Perry shifted out of sight, and when he reappeared, he was now holding a deep red dress. He waved it about with a flourish.
Maddie craned to see it better and was leaning almost horizontal to the seat now. Oh. Oh wow. That would look incredible on Elena.
“Mm. Acceptable. And I like this shade of scarlet. Well, more garnet, really, isn’t it? Give me a moment. Let me try it on.”
Elena stepped farther into her office, now out of Maddie’s line of sight. Probably to change behind the Japanese screen in the corner that Maddie had seen earlier. Pe
rry was still by the door, sliding the blue dress back into its garment bag.
A few minutes later, Elena spoke, her voice too low for Maddie to hear, and Perry spun around. She could see only a slice of his back and nothing of her boss. Damn it.
“Gorgeous.” He sounded impressed. He took a step backwards, back into Maddie’s line of sight. “Better lighting by the door,” he said. “Can you step forward? Oh yes. Turn? I need to see the cut at the back.”
A flash of red swirled into view and then was gone.
Maddie wanted to groan in frustration. And now her straining neck was hurting.
“Yes. Perfect,” Perry said.
“Heels?”
“In the bag. A besotted offering from Stuart Quinz. Personalised. You’ll see.”
A rustle sounded, and then came a low, feminine purr of approval that made Maddie swallow hard.
“Oh my. Please thank Stuart. Now the dress…whose is it? Duchamp? Or someone else? If I’m to be catapulting some new designer into the stratosphere by wearing it, tell me it’s someone worthy at least.”
“You were right the first time. Véronique Duchamp.”
“Ah,” Elena said. “Perfection as always. All right. Good choice, not that she needs more publicity. But her dress will do nicely.”
“Excellent.” Perry took another step backwards and was now outside of the office. He reached forward, fingers wiggling. “I have to say, the flow from the bust is sublime.”
Maddie leaned far off her chair, desperate for a peek at the “sublime” bust in question. She lost her war on gravity, and, after a comical three seconds trying to stop herself from falling, her thud was both loud and humiliating. She scrambled to her knees.
“What on earth…?” Elena stepped out of her office, hands on hips, and pinned Maddie with a cool stare.
Maddie gazed up at the vision before her. The dress was…oh. Perry wasn’t wrong. It clung to every curve. It was gorgeous. Stunning. And the bust? Oh God. Wow. The garment’s cleavage went all the way down to Elena’s stomach, showing a tantalising triangle of smooth, flawless skin. Maddie could see the swell of bare breast from either side of the dress, and her mouth went dry. She slid her gaze higher and caught an incredulous look on Elena’s face.