by L. Maleki
“Paris? Are you there? Jesus.”
“Hi, Frank. I’m here. What’s up?”
He laughed. “My friends. They’re up. So am I. We need to take care of some wood.”
“What?” I was confused. Wood? Was he building a fire?
“Go to the office, get all the cash out of the safe, and take it to Madame Elena’s on Park Avenue. Send three women over to the Hyatt, have them ask for MacGyver.”
“I …” What?
“Jordy prefers Asians. Chris will be happy if she has a vagina. Me, I prefer a Bubbles over a Jasmine. And when I say ‘Bubbles,’ I mean a natural blonde with big tits.” He was loud and chipper, the hard beat of a club behind him.
“I’m not—”
“Listen”—he dropped his voice, a rough whisper—“you either do this for these clients or we lose not just them, but all our investors from the league. Get over yourself. You’ve got an hour or you’re fired.”
My cheeks tingled, the skin tight around my eyes. My flesh was so hot, I felt like I could sear a steak on my face. Hopefully, it was dark enough Benji couldn’t see my flush or my shaking hands.
I was in a lose-lose situation. No way could I accommodate everyone’s needs. I had to triage, like a nurse at an accident site with no time to think; it was my career that looked like it was going to bleed out the quickest. I had to believe my other relationships were strong enough to survive.
Benji’s mouth dropped open when I stood up, but Gina and Lucia did not share his surprise. Both women glared and turned away.
“I know, I know! Please don’t be mad,” I pleaded with them, tapping an Uber request into my phone at the same time. Then I struggled into my coat. “I’ll be back in an hour, and the next round will be on me, I promise.”
“I am not waiting around for an hour. You will not be back by then, anyway.” Lucia shifted her gaze to Benji and then me. She was trying to tell me this was not going to make my boyfriend feel very appreciated, but … yeah.
Gina leaned back in her chair and took a sip of wine, running a critical eye over me. “From the looks of you, you’re gonna be MIA for a while.” She drained her glass.
I didn’t want to look Benji in the eye but he was staring me down. “I’m sorry,” I said, lamely.
Abruptly, he jumped up and buttoned the top button on my coat. “It’s windy out there.” He looked at his watch. “And it’s so late … I’m coming with you.”
“No, no!” I said, frantic. There was no way I was ever going to let any of them know what I was about to do. I knew I was crossing some line, I just couldn’t see a way around it in such a short time frame. “Seriously, I’ll be back in an hour. I need to stop at PRCM and get something from Frank’s office and then take it downtown. Easy peasy.”
Benji shrugged, but I could see the hurt in his eyes. And suspicion. “Okay, but I think I’m done here, if they are. I don’t want dessert anymore. How about you girls?” They shook their heads. They’d already been gathering up their things. The only one who was happy was the waiter, who dropped off the bill with a smirk.
“I can meet you guys some place for drinks …”
“Nah, I have to work tomorrow,” said Gina. “And Lucia doesn’t drink, remember?”
I blushed all over again. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” I turned and put my hand on Benji’s arm. I hated that he was suspicious of me now. “Do you want to meet up later?”
“You know, I think I’m gonna call it a night.” He kissed the top of my head, kind but dismissive. “You text me when you get home, let me know you made it there safe.”
My Uber app flashed—the driver was waiting. Benji had rescinded his offer to sleep with me. The last time, I’d snuck away believing he had a girlfriend, and I was about to screw it up again. I was being punished. But I didn’t have time to argue with him.
I ran out the door, my body heavy. Ugh. What am I doing?
Chapter 19
“I quit,” I whispered into the mirror.
My threat fell dead in the empty morning air of the PRCM restroom. My ashen face, peering back at me, did not respond.
Terror quickened my heart and drew the blood from my brain. I was about to give up not only my security, but also my father’s.
But Frank had crossed the line. Well, really, I was the one who’d chosen to cross the line, to appease Frank. But who in the name of God forces someone to find hookers for them? The devil. Frank Coyle. That’s who.
I could not sell myself like this any longer. I was losing my identity—and Dad would be irrevocably disappointed in me if he knew I’d gone into a house of prostitution last night and rented women for investors. My mother was rolling over in her grave. I would die before I let my father or Benji know about my sojourn to Park Avenue. How could I have been so weak? So easily manipulated?
How was I any different from Madame Elena or any of the lovely high-class whores lounging around on her velvet couches, waiting for a man to come in and tell them what to do? At least they were being honest with themselves and were well compensated in return. I was busy pretending, just like Michelle, that my boss would one day come to respect my talents and further my career in finance, and I had to simply put up with his “quirkiness.” But “quirky” did not really fit Frank; he’d made me break the law, in the most embarrassing, shameful act I hoped to ever live through, and I’d watched him abandon his son and cheat on his wife and belittle or harass employees, including me, time and time again.
What was my payoff for supporting Frank in his bullish demagoguery? My friends weren’t talking to me, my boyfriend thought I was selfish and possibly hooking up with my boss, my dad needed me and I didn’t have time for him, and the owner of a whorehouse had offered me a job. Frank had become my world, whether I’d wanted it or not. How had I let this happen?
Nicki pushed through the bathroom door and came to rest beside me at the mirror. She fussed with her long red hair, then said, “Frank’s looking for you.”
“What are you doing up here, Nicki? Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs, working with Todd?” I’d hoped I’d at least be free of her that morning.
She angled her pale hatchet face so her eyes met mine in the mirror. “You are unbelievable, you know that?”
“I’m not in the mood for whatever this is, Nicki. What are you talking about?”
“No need to be coy,” Nicki scoffed. “Michelle already knows.”
Oh my God, how does she know about last night?
“Knows what?” My desire to scream at her mounted by the second.
“That you’re going to Galveston with Frank to help him with the deal. Michelle’s deal. Nice job, Paris. You just pissed off the one person here who liked you.”
It was my turn to scoff. “Hey, gossip girl, you don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about. I set up the trip—I’m not going.” I’m quitting, you back-stabby little bitch.
Nicki flipped her hair around, diva style. “Uh huh,” she said, and flounced out the door.
I followed her out. Michelle glared at me from her desk as I trotted past. I wanted to tell her whatever she’d heard was only a rumor but I sent a look of apology instead. I needed to get this over with. I needed to quit. My steps grew more determined as I threw open Frank’s frosted door and advanced into the office, ready to set myself free, no matter the cost.
Frank leapt up from his desk, saying, “Don’t say a word, Paris.”
“But—”
“I’m serious.” He came around the desk, wearing sweatpants and sandals with his lime green dress shirt. Despite jumping up, his demeanor was calm. Frank pointed to the set of armchairs. “Sit down with me for just a minute. Let me do the talking.”
He’d never asked me to sit before. Even when he brought me in to work on projects, he seemed to resent it when I sat in his presence.
I stayed standing. “I have something important to say, Frank.”
“I know. I’m not stupid, despite what you think.” He sat in one of the
chairs, crossed his legs, folded his hands in his lap. Like an adult. Well, if he’d been wearing real pants.
“I can tell from your face that you’re angry with me, that you’re going to quit. But I’m asking you to reconsider. I should never have asked you to go to Elena’s last night. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
I stepped back involuntarily. Not just because he’d apologized, which was unheard of, but also because he sounded so normal. His tone, pitch, and words were those of a normal middle-aged man, apologizing to a peer.
I squinted my eyes at him, crossing my arms. “I don’t believe you,” I said, just to make sure he received the message loud and clear.
“I don’t blame you. I was kind of a dick …” I made a disgusted noise and he stopped for a second. “Okay. Yes. I’ve treated you terribly.” He bent forward with his elbows on his knees, propping up his face. “What can I do to make this right? I need you to stay.”
My suspicions shot up to alert level ten. He was so obviously performing—acting in the way a contrite human being would, using the vocabulary of a professional in an office setting. His posture was like that of a kid listening raptly to a story, and his eyes were wide and innocent …
I think he may be a sociopath. He knew how he was supposed to act, but he only let societal norms dictate his actions if it benefited him.
“Why do you care if I quit? Any monkey can do this job, Frank. Why did you bother hiring someone who wants a career in finance? Because this is a career killer, right here.”
For the first time, I was speaking to Frank honestly. I remained calm. I knew I was on my way out and I felt nothing but relief. “With every menial or unsavory chore you’ve had me do, my brain has eroded. I thought I’d be walking away from here smarter and more capable, but I swear to God I’ve lost brain cells. You’ve taught me nothing.” Except how to deal with insane people.
“So … if I taught you how to work with the hedge funds, you’d stay?”
I paused for a minute. Wasn’t that what I wanted? To learn and grow into a competent financier?
I sat down, trying to see all the angles. “Seriously, why do you care if I quit or not?”
His face contorted until he finally hit on what he thought conveyed sheepishness. It was like watching a Doctor Who episode, the one with shape-shifting aliens. “Andrew’s tired of dealing with untrained people.” I could see the darkness sliding around just below his remorseful gaze. “He said he’s leaving the company and taking his funds if another assistant quits because of me.”
So, Andrew is finally stepping up.
“Don’t get me wrong, Paris,” Frank added quickly, squirming his lips into a too-wide smile. “This is really about you. I can’t lose you. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. I can’t function without you.” He scanned my face as if to see if I was buying his bullshit. I managed to avoid gagging, barely. He hurried on. “But I can also be a mentor. I can do that. I promise. We can start when we get back.”
“I told you, I—Wait. Get back from where?”
“Andrew broke his leg at the gym this morning. He can’t go to Galveston. He said I have to take you or he’s calling off the deal. So did Todd.”
He was muttering, but I was pretty sure he’d just said I was going to Galveston. Too much. Brain overload.
“Paris, you put together my schedule, you know I have to make it to meetings, and dinners, and parties, and keep everything straight. You can sit beside me—you’ll make me look good. I’ll buy you a new dress.”
This is really why he wants me to go. He needs me to wipe his ass while creating the facade that women are attracted to him. I let my face show my scorn. Todd and Andrew wanted me to go because they expected me to keep Frank in check. Left to his own devices, he’d be a headline on the nightly news.
“I don’t even know if I want to stay at PRCM. Why don’t you take Michelle? You should be taking her anyway. She brought you the information about these guys in the first place.”
He sighed theatrically. “Michelle isn’t very pleasant. She’s bossy. The men I’m working with do not want to deal with a female who will insert herself into the conversation.” He held up his hands in protest. “Don’t look at me! It’s not my fault they’re sexist.”
I was surprised he knew how to use that word correctly, considering his face was in the dictionary under the term. Don’t trust this guy, I reminded myself, he’s become rich from manipulating people as much as he manipulates the markets. He knows exactly what to say to get what he wants from me.
But what if I really was going to be mentored? I already knew he was the devil, and how to work with him, so what could it hurt to stay a little longer? I mean, besides losing my personal life and relationships.
Was there a way to stay at PRCM and keep my friends? If I could make them understand how important it was that I made this work, that I established my career in a real way and made real money so I could support myself and my dad … But they already knew that. They thought I was letting Frank walk all over me, and them by extension, while he offered me nothing.
“If I’m going to stay, and that’s a big if, you have to stick to your word and teach me things. And we’d need to set up boundaries. Like calling me in the middle of the night. That’s out. Or referring to me as your ‘Persian princess.’ Or having me tell your wife you’re playing golf when I know full well you’re not. I’m not going to lie for you.”
His eyes flashed.
I knew I was pushing it, but I’d already quit, essentially. I leaned into it. “No throwing things, and no more hookers. Ever.”
Propelling himself out of his chair, he hovered over me. I shrank back in the seat. He didn’t notice, just plucked at a loose thread on his sweatpants, nervously shifting from foot to foot, far too close to me.
“So, then, you’re going to Galveston?” he asked.
When I didn’t answer right away, he sat back down, slowly, gripping the arms of his chair. He opened his mouth and his voice came out an octave higher. “I’ll give you a raise! A significant raise!”
That made me sit up straight. “Can I take a second to process this?”
“The plane leaves in three hours.”
Michelle will kill me. It’s not fair to her. I stood up. But she’d do the same thing. Who turns away a decent raise? I stepped away from Frank. Besides, I’m her boss. Striding out of his office, I said over my shoulder, “Give me ten minutes to make my decision.”
He didn’t answer. My head spun as I shut the door, the floor seeming to move under me.
Todd, always the gentleman in a beautiful pinstriped suit, leaned against a corner of my desk, waiting for me. He exuded patience and control. He should have been the CEO.
I dropped into the desk chair and put my head in my hands, partly so I didn’t have to see Michelle, still glaring from across the room. “I don’t want to do this, Todd. Even with a raise.”
He lifted a gray, bushy eyebrow. “He offered you a raise?” His long fingers patted my shoulder. “Good.” His fingers clamped down briefly. “Paris, we need these investors. The company needs a shot in the arm—or we’re going to get sick and die. If you don’t go, Frank will fuck this up.”
I blinked at the sophisticated COO using a curse word.
“You know I’m right,” he said. His body tensed. “Maybe you don’t have any reason to be loyal to the company, but I need you to do this.” He smiled sardonically but then became serious again, standing up. “Every employee here needs you to do this. I can’t leave; he doesn’t listen to me anyway. He has to stay on his meds, keep the drinking under control, and not create a national incident. You’ve handled him better than anyone has before. You’re calm and you make good decisions.”
“I’d be his babysitter.”
“Yes.”
“To tell the truth, Todd, I don’t feel safe around him.”
My cell rang. Glancing at it, I didn’t register who it was at first. Sonya. Frank’s wife. I slid it to
voicemail. I’d deal with her later. But the cell immediately rang again. Sonya again. Great, what does she want?
With a sigh, I said, “I’m sorry, Todd, I better get this.” I showed him the screen and he nodded, folded his arms, and settled in for an obvious eavesdropping session.
“Hello?”
“Paris? Is that you?” The voice was scratchy blue steel.
“Yes, hi, Mrs. Coyle. What can I do to help you?”
“As you know, Liam’s birthday party is on Sunday at six.”
“Okay.” This was news to me. She must have just planned it or her cook would have let me know.
She clicked her tongue. Loudly. “Paris, it is your job to make sure Frank’s there. On time, with a present.”
“I haven’t agreed to go to Galveston yet, Mrs. Coyle. I can’t guarantee I’ll be there to get him home on time. You’ll have to talk to Frank.”
Todd shook his head and waved a hand in front of me, while the air on the phone went dead. Then Sonya said, “What’s this about Galveston?”
“Oh, uh …” I widened my eyes at Todd, who shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Coyle. Frank has a meeting with investors this weekend—”
“And you’re going to stay in Galveston with him. Interesting.” She hung up before I could say anything further.
I glared at Todd. “Maybe you could have warned me before I answered.”
“Frank never tells her when he’s going somewhere ‘fun,’ and she is definitely opposed to him taking along attractive young women.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “Anyway. It’s not like you’re going to be best friends. I’m surprised she remembered your name. You are a peon to her. We all are.”
Todd was trying to change my mood. I couldn’t care less what Sonya thought about me. Liam, on the other hand … I did care about the little boy. His dad was never going to make it back in time for his birthday party. Unless I made that happen.
So many reasons to go. So many reasons to stay.
What was I going to do?