If Looks Could Kill

by Andi Marquette

  The department had also constructed a social media presence for her new self, and her handlers were ensuring that it was updated with relevant info. She wondered how many of the followers were fake as she scrolled through her posts and Tweets about news in the fashion industry, cute dogs, some cooking stuff—her new self was quite the cosmopolitan type. But not too much. Nothing that would draw questions or comments. The goal was to get mostly benign “likes.”

  Ellie had made a few posts herself, just to get used to it, since she didn’t maintain a presence in her real life. Being in law enforcement precluded that, and she preferred a low profile.

  Her food arrived, and she moved her laptop to her coffee table so she could eat on her couch while she worked. Hampstead had been into fashion from an early age. Kind of weird, to be all obsessed with fashion like that all those years. Ellie wondered if Hampstead couched everything she talked about in fashion. If someone mentioned the weather, would she bust out the fall line or something?

  Ellie’s phone rang, and she groaned when Gwen’s name showed in the ID. She set her carton down and answered. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Hi, Ellie. Sorry to bother you, but do you think I could get my blender this weekend?”

  “I’m not sure I’ll be around. Can I drop it by your office tomorrow afternoon? I’ll just leave it with Trudy.” So we don’t have to see each other and relive the dissolution of the almost-engagement, she added silently.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine.”

  “I’ll probably be available. We could get coffee.” Gwen sounded mostly professional.

  “Thanks for the offer, but—”

  “I understand,” she said, and she sounded sad.

  “No, it’s not that.”

  Gwen waited, and Ellie hated that she could still read her.

  “Okay,” Ellie admitted. “It is kind of that. I’m not ready yet. But I also just started a new assignment, and you know how that goes.”

  Yeah, Gwen knew only too well how that went. Ellie’s weird hours, how she couldn’t talk much about her work, how she used her job to avoid intimacy—all the things that made Gwen call it quits.

  “Maybe next time.” Gwen filled the space easily, saving Ellie from having to talk anymore about the fact that after ten months, she still didn’t want to deal with her face-to-face. “I really appreciate that you’ll drop the blender off. I think that might be the last of my stuff over there.”

  “If I find anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks. And Ellie, I still care about you. Just because we didn’t work as partners doesn’t mean we can’t work as friends. Talk to you later.” She hung up before Ellie could respond, and it was probably just as well, since Ellie didn’t have a response anyway.

  It had been a bad idea, getting involved with a lawyer. How could that even have worked? Especially since Gwen was more the settling down type and Ellie really wasn’t. For now. Gwen had figured it out and let her down easy, everything considered, though Ellie had to cancel the order on the engagement ring. The whole breakup could’ve gone a lot worse. And eventually, she’d have coffee and maybe even a meal with Gwen. Just not right now. She picked up her food and clicked onto another link about Marya Hampstead, and as she chewed, she decided she should find another law enforcement type if she wanted a relationship.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Damn.”

  “Don’t even.” Ellie glared at Rick, and he laughed.

  “Maybe we’ll keep the fashion consultant on a bit longer.”

  She flipped him off. “I’m not even going to dignify the inherent sexism of that with a comment.”

  “You just did.” He grinned.

  She flipped him off with both hands and strode purposefully across the room to her desk, pleased that she could do it in heels and look badass, too. The other guys in the room went silent.

  “What?” she snapped at the closest two.

  “Nothing,” they both said as they looked away.

  “Who knew O’Donnell was a woman?” another guy said from the other side of the room, bringing a bunch of snorts and laughs.

  “So all it takes is a skirt and a pair of heels?” someone else joined in. “Let’s get the consultant to work on you,” she said to the other guy.

  “Nah, it’s the haircut.” Rick flashed Ellie a grin.

  “Shit, O’Donnell. You’re about as hot as Hampstead is.”

  “Shut up, Wes.” Ellie hadn’t had her hair this short since her recruit days. She put a handful of cinnamon Jolly Ranchers into the handbag she’d been given to coordinate with the outfit she wore. “And be glad I don’t have my boots on.” She gave him a look and did a drag queen snap.

  Several of the guys whooped and laughed. Ellie grabbed another handful of candy. This was probably going to be at least a ten-piece day. She put the short jacket on that matched her skirt, black suede with smooth black leather accents. The consultant had recommended something with classic lines but a little edgier. Hence the black suede/black leather and the light gray shirt that sported burgundy collar tips. She’d provided a pair of black suede heels and neutral hose to complete the outfit.

  Ellie picked up her handbag as well as the large canvas tote bag that held Gwen’s blender. Rick frowned when he saw it.

  “What?” Ellie hefted it. “We’re in New York. People carry all kinds of shit all the time with them. Besides,” she added, “it gives me a little extra credence. I’m a busy woman, dammit, and I have places to be after this interview.”

  He shrugged. “A blender? I’d have gone for another pair of shoes.”

  “They’re in there, too.” She addressed the rest of the staff in the room. “Here’s your show.” She flashed her most charming smile and sashayed toward the door, drawing cheers and whistles.

  “Work it, O’Donnell,” Rick said behind her. “I knew you’d be perfect for this job.”

  “It’s only because I look better in heels than you do.”

  “That’s totally it. Better than any of the guys here.”

  “Don’t knock it.” She used her hip to push the door open to the parking lot. Rick gestured at one of the unmarked cars that didn’t look as much like a cop car as the others.

  “To reiterate,” he said as he pulled into traffic, which would only get worse once they hit midtown Manhattan, “We’ve got a team across the street and two floors above Fashion Forward, if you need anything or something goes nuts.”

  “Rundell Realty,” Ellie recited. “And across the street, thirty-third floor, Wi-Tech.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ellie Daniels.”

  “Where are you from?” Rick glanced at her, as traffic crawled.

  “Indianapolis.”

  “Date of birth?”

  “July twentieth, 1987.”

  “We took four years and change off you. How does it feel?”

  Ellie took a cinnamon candy out of her purse. “My knee still bugs me a little. Can we go back a few more years?”

  “We aren’t miracle workers,” he deadpanned. “Where’d you go to school?”

  “Indiana University. I majored in business but did theater on the side and got really into costume design. Love me some community theater,” she deadpanned back at him.

  “Where were you before you decided to chase your high-fashion dreams?”

  “Wayne and Stevens, doing ad copy.”

  “So what kind of toilet paper does Hampstead use?”

  “She’s a Charmin girl, all the way.”

  Rick looked at her, since they were at a red light. “Seriously?”

  “Nah. I figured that when the help wipes her ass, they’d want to use a soft brand.”

  He chuckled. “Too much. How do you feel?”

  “Same as I ever do before a new assignment.”

  “You’ll rock this role, too. What’s your current address?”

  She recited it back to him, the apartment just over the river
in Brooklyn.

  “Good.” He stopped the car a couple of blocks from the Fashion Forward building without trying to find a spot along the curb, drawing several honks from people trying to get around him. He held his fist out and Ellie bumped it with hers.

  “Kick it,” he said, his standard well-wish.

  She grabbed her purse and tote bag. “Thanks, sweetie,” she said, and she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. “In case anybody’s watching.”

  “I may never wash this cheek.”

  “Dude. Chicks don’t dig dirty cheeks.” She was out of the car before he could snap another retort.

  Since she hadn’t worn heels in a while, Ellie kept her pace even and stayed near the buildings. It would not rock if she face-planted in the streams of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Plus, heels clearly made things like blenders heavier. She’d be glad to dump it off at Gwen’s after this. She made it to Fashion Forward without any embarrassing incidents and checked in with the security guards at the counter in the lobby—one of those marble-and-glass affairs designed to look corporate and impressive. They provided a temporary passcard that allowed access to the elevator. Once on board, she hit the button for the thirty-first floor.

  After a quiet ride up, the doors opened into a carpeted, tasteful foyer, and Ellie pushed through the glass doors into the lobby for Fashion Forward, which was nearly as impressive as the first floor’s, and far more stylish. The colors here popped, as the appropriate terminology went, but not in an annoying or distracting way. Lots of blues and greens with splashes of red on the upholstery of the chairs and area rugs. Art that was probably done by important people hung on the walls, lending even more color and vibrancy to what otherwise would probably have been a sterile corporate space. Hampstead and her people clearly knew how to do decorating, too.

  “Hello,” Ellie said to the receptionist, dropping her voice a little to sound a bit more sultry. “I have an eleven o’clock with Tyler Jackson.”

  “Ah, yes. He’ll be right out, Ms. Daniels.” The receptionist smiled at her, all sleek business, but clearly ready for the runway herself, since she had the lithe look of a model. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “I would love some.”

  “Do you have a preference?”

  “Regular, a splash of cream.”

  Beautiful Receptionist got up and went through the open door behind her. Ellie set the bag with the blender on the floor, thinking that Gwen did totally owe her a cup of coffee, at least, because the damn thing was heavy and lugging it around New York hadn’t been one of Ellie’s better ideas.

  Fashion Forward had a lot of traffic, with people coming and going through the lobby. No Russian arms dealers, she was pretty sure. Yet.

  “Here you are,” Beautiful Receptionist said, and Ellie took the cup from her.

  “Thank you so much.” She sniffed then tasted a bit. Of course there would be beautiful coffee here, too. That was a definite perk to this assignment.

  “Hi, Ms. Daniels? I’m Tyler.” Another beautiful person. Tyler Jackson was a generically handsome, slim white man with impeccably styled hair, exquisitely trimmed goatee, and a button-down, blue pinstripe shirt that probably cost a couple hundred dollars tucked into equally expensive gray trousers. His tasteful bowtie added to his fashion mag looks.

  “Oh, good,” he said. “You’ve already got coffee.” He gestured at her cup and smiled at the receptionist. “My office is right over here.” He smiled at Ellie, too, and she made sure her purse strap was stable on her shoulder before she picked up the tote bag.

  They went through a set of glass double doors into a hallway beyond, also tastefully appointed in great colors and excellent art. Tyler’s office was down the hall to the left, and he had a great view of the city. He sat down behind his desk—an urban Ikea-looking thing—with his back to the view. All the furnishings in his office looked as if they’d come out of a Swedish furniture showroom.

  “Please, sit,” he said. “How are you on that coffee?”

  “Fine, thanks.” She took one of the chairs that faced his desk, grateful to put the blender down. He had a copy of her résumé on his desk.

  “So, Eleanor—can I call you Eleanor?” He looked at her over his desk.

  “It’s Ellie. And yes, you can call me Ellie.” She smiled. Gwen had said Ellie’s smile could charm practically anyone. Tyler nodded, seeming to be happy about that. He was pinging Ellie’s gaydar, though she generally thought of big cowboys on the covers of heterosexual romance novels when men were named Tyler. She’d have to finish her dossier on him in the next couple of days.

  “Excellent. So, Ellie, why are you interested in an internship at Fashion Forward?”

  She crossed her legs—carefully, since she was wearing a skirt—and gestured at her completely fabricated résumé. “As you already know, I was involved in theater during college as a costume designer. I’ve been doing that on the side since, but I also volunteer at fashion venues. After the most recent Fashion Week, I decided I wanted to get more involved in the industry. An internship here, I think, will provide invaluable experience and hopefully some ideas for what aspect I’d like to pursue in greater depth.” That sounded pretty good, she thought. Not too stupid.

  He nodded and sat back in his chair. He propped his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers. “I understand that. But the question is, why Fashion Forward?”

  “Marya Hampstead is known internationally, and her work at this company has set numerous trends. When people want to know what’s next, they look here.”

  “As good as that sounds, I’m assuming that you’ve also heard the rumors.” A trace of a smile graced his perfect lips.

  Ellie leaned back, making herself look more relaxed and confident. “I’m guessing you’re implying the rumors about Ms. Hampstead’s reputation with staff.”

  “And everyone else, yes.” He studied her, and it was a little unnerving, like a spider scoping out a bug.

  She studied him back. “It’s irrelevant. This internship isn’t permanent, and I want to learn whatever I can from Ms. Hampstead and the staff at Fashion Forward.”

  He smiled again, and it seemed genuine. “Excellent. When can you start?”

  That knocked her back a little, but she recovered quickly. “Monday.” It was already Friday, so why not? Wasn’t like she was getting out of this assignment. She might as well get it over with.

  “Super. If you have some time now, I can show you around and get you set up with our human resources department.”

  Her expression must have broadcast her confusion because he laughed, and that, too, was genuine. “Look, the reality is, if anyone is willing to be an intern here with Ms. Hampstead, then we go with it.” He stood, and she did, too.

  “So the rumors are true?” she asked, looking to forge a little bit of a bond with him and remembering what Rick had said about Hampstead’s reputation and how practically any warm body would do.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, eyes seeming to twinkle.

  “You’re not even going to take me in for an interview with her?”

  “Oh, no. I’m her long-suffering senior staffer. She relies on me to do the hiring and firing, and I generally have a good idea about who’s going to work out—meaning, who’s going to be able to complete the internship—and who’s not. Ready?” He came around the desk and gestured toward the door.

  As Tyler walked her around the various offices on the floor, Ellie studied the layout, listening, nodding, and smiling appropriately as he chatted about who did what in terms of the magazines Fashion Forward handled. She’d get a better sense come Monday, but for now, she watched how others responded to Tyler. Since he was Hampstead’s senior staffer, they might think he was her spy. For the most part, however, she didn’t get that sense from the other employees. Maybe they all banded together as protection from the dragon lady.

  “Here are all the forms we need you to fill out,” Tyler said after he’d taken her to the HR office. “Bring them b
ack with you on Monday. We’ll get a copy of your driver’s license then.”

  “Thank you.” She took the papers and slid them into the tote bag. “And thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity.”

  “Let me know in a couple of weeks if you still feel that way.” He smiled, and his cell phone rang with Madonna’s “Vogue.” Ellie barely managed not to laugh.

  “We’ll see you Monday at nine,” he said as he took his phone out of his pocket. “Can you find your way out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” He answered the call, and Ellie left.

  She walked slowly toward the main lobby, hating the blender but hoping she might get a look at the legendary Queen Bitch of Fashion Forward, but alas, such was not to be. Staffers moved purposefully around her, and the beautiful receptionist nodded at her as she left. At least three men checked her out before she got to the elevator, and she decided that the woman Rick had lined up to do Straight Eye for the Lesbian on her must’ve done her job right. She hardly ever wore skirts or heels, but she knew how to rock both if she had to.

  Except right now, she really wanted to adjust the crotch of her hose. And she really needed to be a little more careful with walking because she tripped as she got off the elevator. Smooth. She caught herself and blamed it on the blender. Once outside, she set the bag with the blender down and dug in her purse and put her sunglasses on. The air was a little humid and warm for late September, though she knew it might change in the next couple of days. Weather in this city was always dicey.

  She somehow managed to hail a cab, which pulled over almost immediately—a miracle. As she moved toward it, a man who looked familiar walked past her. Daddy Hampstead. Interesting. She waited for a moment, assessing, and decided to follow Marya Hampstead’s father for a while. So she waved the cab away, regretting it because it was the fastest she’d ever gotten one, and walked after Jonathan Hampstead, her persona just another New Yorker carrying a bunch of crap.

  He didn’t go into the Fashion Forward building, though he gave it a glance as he passed. And then a couple more. Ellie knew that trick. He was checking reflections in the glass. She stopped and pretended to dig around in her purse, also checking the reflections.