Chloe smiled up at me. She was so tiny I felt like my size nine feet would surely flatten her as I stomped around the dressing room in my heels.
“I understand you are going to be working at Monroe Enterprises?”
“Yes, that’s the plan.”
“I work with a lot of the female executives in the city. Unfortunately, Monroe isn’t forward enough in their thinking to employ anyone without a penis in a position of power. Be that as it may, I have heard my clients talk. Monroe is known as one of the most brutally misogynistic companies in New York. They also are the most influential real estate company. Hands down.
“Yes, they have their fingers in everything, I am fully aware. Corporate, residential, and industrial markets in "forty-six" of the fifty states, with additional properties in United States territories of Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. Ranking 109 on Forbes Top 500 list. In the last year, Monroe Enterprises has—within the real estate market—had the largest assets at 204 billion dollars, highest revenues at 55.1 billion dollars, second highest profits at 3.8 billion dollars, and fourth highest market cap at a staggering 42 billion dollars. But please continue.” I smile at Chloe because I’m not being snarky, I promise. I know these financials backward and forward. I swear I know more about Monroe’s portfolio and cash assets than I do about what I have in my own bank account.
Chloe seems a bit shell-shocked at my statistics speech, but she quickly recovers.
“I didn’t mean to sound high-handed. I just didn’t want to assume you knew so much. I admire your research abilities! I couldn’t tell you anything about Barney’s or its place in the stock market, and my whole portfolio is invested in it.”
“No, I apologize. You were just trying to give me some advice, and I turned into a know-it-all. Please, continue. I appreciate any insights you may have. I haven’t been in the city for years, so I am only privy to idle gossip.”
Chloe looks over her shoulder as if someone is going to burst through the door and chastise us for speaking of the crown jewel of Manhattan. She motions for me to lean down, and I practically have to kneel to her. Her tiny hand cups my ear.
“You are going to have to be prepared to battle. They are sharks, and you seem strong, but strength alone won’t cut it. You must be brutal. Take what they say or do with more than a grain of salt, and they will devour you. Please make sure that every morning, when you arrive, you are polished to such perfection that you literally can see the glow of your appearance off the elevator doors. I am here to help if you need style advice, but I have to say . . .” She trails off and looks to see if I am still with her.
I nod, yes, I am. I am taking in all she has to say.
“If it were me, I would run like hell.”
I can still see the fear she had for me reflected in her sweet doe eyes as I walk along the pavement arms loaded with shopping bags. I hugged her and thanked her for her very honest advice. Funny how she compared them to sharks. Sharks don’t feel fear or other emotions nearly as strong as other animals because that side of the brain is much less developed. They are born to be natural predators; the nurture is taken completely out of play by their nature.
I had been raised to be loving and sweet, respectful to my elders, and to remember to say please and thank you. My parents had nurtured me with praise, affection, and genuine love. My predator instincts had never been something I thought of until that fateful day. I was still that same girl deep down, but believe me, I could smell blood in the water now. And I was going in for the kill.
CHAPTER SIX
THE NEXT MORNING MY REBORN, Ainslee 2.0 demeanor is achingly absent. The minute my alarm goes off, I run straight to my bathroom and vomit. Aunt Colleen wisely gave me the guest room farthest from Chelsea’s room, so I’m relieved she can’t stand a chance of hearing. My confident demeanor lasted as long as I expected. Walking into the brownstone, I had managed to artfully dodge mother and daughter bitch extraordinaire and make a hasty escape to my bedroom. Armed with dinner and every bag I could manage, I locked myself away. Chloe had assured me the rest would be delivered to me when I was safely ensconced at Monroe Enterprises and had to sign for them directly. Some part of me knew that if they arrived at Aunt Colleen’s when I wasn’t present, they would mysteriously disappear.
I have been plotting this moment for what seems like eons. How will I look, how will I act, how they will perceive me? I’m not so dense as to think they won’t know who I am. We mixed in the same circles for many years. Though they are all older than me, I remember them. Mostly being bullies and acting like they were so entitled. Memories don’t scare me though; I’m glad I know what to expect. Once a bully, always a bully, is my mantra. Do your worst, I’m prepared this time motherfuckers.
Savannah, my constant guardian angel, had arranged for me to have my own separate car service on my first day. Riding with Chelsea would have been ingredients for an automatic panic attack. I know she’s just waiting for an opportunity to needle me. I worried that she would somehow find her way to me during the day and erase what little peace I might have found. Not today, bitch. Today was mine. For thirty seconds or five hours, I was going to find my confidence.
Showering and meditating, I survey the plethora of clothes I have been gifted. Thankfully, Chloe gave me a list of coordinating outfits, so all I need to do is look at the list. I put on my favorite go-to song, Moby’s “Bodyrock,” and commence to killing it. Black pencil skirt by Calvin Klein. Round-neck, sleeveless, silk charmeuse shell by Eileen Fisher. Undetermined designer black blazer purchased from thrift shop in SoHo. And my beloved, and only slightly blemished, Marc Jacobs patent-leather pumps courtesy of my Dad last Christmas. Kendra Scott jewelry from Savannah’ cast-offs, and a most likely knock-off Chanel bag from a stand in Times Square. My anxiety slowly vanishes bit by bit as I see my appearance make itself known. Knock ‘em, sock ‘em, rock ‘em dead, girl.
Opening the door to my room, I prepare to show myself. I feel like one of those reality shows where you are completely made over and almost unrecognizable. I hear the voices as I descend the stairs. Chelsea, Aunt Colleen, and Uncle Herb—whom must have either been away on business or just at his mistress’s home—fall silent as I descend. It’s my first trip today into the lion’s den. I wish I could have a brandy for Dutch courage or a Xanax, but I know I need to rely only on my wits from here on out.
“Ainslee. Welcome to our home.” Uncle Herb has always been soft-spoken and unassuming. For such a huge force in hedge funds, he has been browbeaten by these women. I’m sure he saves his energy for his clients and decides to not subscribe to the cutthroat ways at home. He’s rarely home, and I know nothing about his affairs, except that he has a lot of them, and is extremely lucrative in all his dealings.
“Thank you, Uncle Herb, I appreciate the invitation to be staying here.”
“What invitation?” Chelsea mutters.
Aunt Colleen looks me over from head to toe. I can see her visibly take in every inch of my body, hoping for an insult. She surveys my shoes and smirks. They might not be this year’s fashion, but Dad gave them to me. I need to know he’s here with me today, so she can suck an egg for all I care.
“Well, shall we go? Or do you need another bathroom break?” Chelsea pointedly looks at me. She either got up early to listen outside my door, or the maids are giving her information. Damn the maids, I never even thought about them as secret spies. I tried to butter up the staff by telling them I could take care of all my food, cleaning, and laundry needs. However, all I got was thinly-veiled hostility and blank stares. So much for making a good impression. I wonder about soundproofing my walls when I hear a throat clearing. Everyone looks at him, mostly in disgust for interrupting the conversation, but I’m glad to be done with the unwanted perusal.
Riff Raff, whom I have dubbed the butler due to his uncanny likeness to the character in Rocky Horror Picture Show, is standing at the front door. He looks eerie. Deep-set eyes. Bald head back to mid-crown where it becomes
a rather stringy blond. He ties it back, however, and his clothes are impeccable. But still I have to resist the urge to “Time Warp” and give him my attention.
“A driver is here to escort Miss Adams to work.”
Chelsea and Aunt Colleen gape at his response, and Uncle Herb wisely uses the time to nod and sneak off to his study.
“A driver? How the hell did you swing that? She stole our credit cards, Mother! I knew it! Look at how’s she dressed. Trash like her doesn’t have a dime to her name, not to mention any credit! She needs to be searched immediately! That bitch has taken my Barney’s card I just know it! Percy!” She addresses Riff Raff, and he looks so bored he might actually be asleep with his eyes open.
“Percy, grab her handbag at once and let me see the contents. Thievery is just second nature to her, and I’m sure my bill seemed excessive this month.”
Chelsea comes forward, and I cut her off with a strong arm on her thin shoulder.
“I had a friend make arrangements for me. Savannah Rowland, daughter to the Rowland Cosmetics fortune, is my best friend and an extremely powerful ally. I would seriously advise against messing with my belongings she so generously paid for. Her family has taken me in as their own, and though very refined, they are fiercely protective of what is theirs.” I cut my eyes to Aunt Colleen and Chelsea. Aunt Colleen shakes her head fervently at Chelsea in what is a clear they have more money and influence than us so kindly shut the fuck up, dear daughter silent exchange.
“She also knew I would be in need of transportation today due to some likely mix-ups. Perhaps a car leaving early or conveniently forgetting to mention being picking up a block away? Don’t worry, now, the pariah of your home won’t be there to embarrass you upon your arrival. Wasn’t I kind in thinking of you?”
I smile so sweetly I’m sure even Chelsea has sugar shock. Shock seems to be the order of the day as I gracefully reach for my Chanel handbag and shake out my hair. Deviously I crane around to check my appearance in the opulent mirror in the foyer, knowing every one of my movements is being chronicled. Grateful for the need to keep the audience entertained so I can prolong the anxiety of setting off on my own, I steal one last glimpse at the two hyenas. Both look like they are about to implode, so I do the best badass thing I can think of. I slide on Jackie O style sunglasses, blow them each a kiss, and saunter out like a modern-day Grace Kelly.
The driver is waiting beside the car and tips his hat to me in the first welcoming gesture I’ve had this morning.
“Miss Adams, good morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please call me Barrett. Miss Rowland has arranged for me to pick you up and return you home for an indefinite amount of time, so there is no need for formalities. From what I could observe out here, you could use a little less formal and a lot more friendly.”
He smiles and opens my door. I could easily object to Savannah’s extension of what was supposed to be just a one-time pick-up, but he’s right. The scene that played out this morning is likely to be a recurring one. I wonder how I could have underestimated the ability of them both trying to sabotage me at every turn. My sense of urgency to get into Monroe Enterprises and get the hell out as quickly as possible is tantamount now. New York is not going to welcome me or tolerate me for any longer than they must, and it is glaringly obvious I will always be in a battle of wits.
Barrett proceeds out into the traffic, and I find myself wanting to break into the minibar on the side. I’m sure in addition to the obscenely thorough background check I was forced to submit to that there will be a random drug screen. And a tiny bit of vodka would be a golden ticket straight to the unemployment line. I look forward desperately to the bottle of Two-Buck Chuck I have on ice in my room.
“I have a thermos of coffee in the back, Miss Adams, as well as bottles of water. I wasn’t sure if you would be hungry, but if you like, I can stop and pick you up a bite of something.”
“I am fine, Barrett, thank you. My stomach is probably not going to be able to digest anything at the moment. And please, as you requested no formalities, call me Ainslee.”
“How about a compromise, and we settle on Miss Ainslee? I have known Miss Savannah since she was born. I drove her home with Mr. and Mrs. Rowland, and I still can only manage Miss Savannah.”
“Yes, that works for me, Mr. Barrett.”
He smiles at me in the rearview mirror, and I’m happy to have found another ally. God knows I am going to need them all. We continue in amiable silence, and I pull a bottle of water out and take a sip. The park is blurring by, and I remember happier days. Dad and Mom taking me on carriage rides, dinners at Tavern on the Green, slurping dripping popsicles and watching the ducks swim by in pond. As we drive, I see my childhood whirl by, and I feel a mix of so many emotions. I desperately want to call someone for one last pep talk, but I know now is the time for independence. This is my quest, my journey to succeed or fail in alone without a backup plan. Elizabeth Taylor once said, “Now is the time for guts and guile.” My guts are queasy with anticipation, but my fucking guile is ready to show no mercy.
I breathe in deeply, and like a dream—or a nightmare—it appears. The structure gleaming in the morning light, shining so brightly it seems like a beacon to all of Midtown to stop and worship at its feet. Forty-four floors of structural steel with a helipad and banquet facilities on the top two floors. The once blue and white tones of Adams Enterprises were remodeled with garish gold overtones to make it what the Monroe’s wanted: the crown jewel of Manhattan. The papers praised the transformation and said that it was a stroke of genius to remodel what had brought so much shame to the city into something to bring so much hope.
“Miss Ainslee, shall I let you out in front?” Barrett is looking over his shoulder at me with a concerned, almost fatherly look. Nodding, I dug out my cosmetics case and apply more powder to blot off the sheen of sweat that has accumulated. I take out my bright-red lipstick and touch up my lips. Finally, I run a comb through my hair and check my teeth for any sign of any stains. Chloe would be proud I think. I'm more polished than the marble floors I’m about to click-clack my way across.
“Thank you, Mr. Barrett. I should be ready to leave by 5 p.m., but can you give me your number so if not, I can let you know ahead?”
Barrett hands me a card and with a raised brow says, “Here’s my personal cell phone number. Call me if you need anything.” I can’t help but think he means if I need a little men-of-Monroe-Enterprises ass kicking.
He stops outside the front of the building, and people are flowing in and out of the doors as though it was La Guardia Airport. Jumping out, Barrett runs to my side of the car and opens the door. Extending his hand, I rise slowly and feel a bit faint. Shit, it’s even bigger than I remembered it to be.
“Good luck, Miss Ainslee.”
Plastering a smile on my overly made up face, I nod and join the throng entering the building. Regina had informed me to stop at security and ask for her since my badge had to be given to me directly by her. The security desk is off to the right of the massive foyer. With my heels clicking on the floor, I approach the guard, who’s giving me an appreciative once-over.
“Can I help you?” he asks, standing and continuing to eye fuck me. Normally I would pretend to ignore him or just dismiss his caveman behavior but that will not do. Today is the day to exert my new persona Ainslee 2.0.
“Yes, you can stop ogling me because I assure you, I know all about the sexual harassment violations of this company. I’m sure upon your hire you were forced to watch the same asinine videos I was, plus sign a plethora of paperwork. Funnily enough, there were five forms to sign on the strict sexual harassment policy that Monroe Enterprises enforces. So, stop with the lechery and inform Regina Marlo, head of human resources, she has a new hire reporting.”
The guard’s mouth is doing a funny impression of a fish, gaping open and shut as though he has just been hooked and flopped on the floor. He picks up the phone and mumbles while look
ing down at his shoes, that he is sorry, and can he have my name.
“Adams. Ainslee Agatha Adams.”
I have arrived.
CHAPTER SEVEN
REGINA MARLO ARRIVES five minutes later, and I immediately see what Chloe meant when she said that I needed to be perfection incarnate every time I stepped through the doors to Monroe Enterprises. After my stern greeting to the security guard, I seated myself in the lobby to watch the kaleidoscope of employees entering the building.
A dazzling array of characters filled every nook and cranny of the lobby. Men who looked like Greek Gods with Armani stretching over every inch of their well-defined physique. Men who were a little more like Sean Connery but still managed to strike an impressive pose in their business apparel. Even a few more physically challenged men who decided to overcompensate on the fact by wearing enough bling and cologne that I felt like I was an extra in a mafia movie. And the women, oh my, the women. Sparkling and fragrant with an air of elegance that extended like an opera-gloved hand delicately stroking my face. I had lost count of how many women I gave a perfect ten to in the glamorous department. My only failing grade on anyone who walked through the door was when Chelsea walked in and literally growled at me. Honestly, I was more than a bit amused that she would let down her bravado in the presence of her colleagues to show such an unladylike attitude. I was more than sure by the end of the day she would have informed anyone who listened that the notorious Adams heiress had returned. I was honestly surprised she hadn’t already.
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