“Yes, sir, they are ready,” I manage to bite out.
“Good, you’re behind. I needed them yesterday so step it up.” He winks at me. He actually freaking winks at me.
I need a cold shower now. I also need the stiffest drink I can afford. Because one look from him, and I know yes, it indeed did happen. And what’s more, my body enjoyed every hot minute of it.
He stands to leave, and as he does, he looks over his shoulder. “By the way, Miss Adams?”
I look up at him and my moment of temporary insanity is erased by the supremely smug look on his face. “Yes?”
“We don’t fraternize with our employees. Ever. Got it?”
The prey nips too close to the snare and the trap comes crashing down, the prey trapped in darkness, knowing it lost this battle.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DAZED, I make my way home that evening and even manage to be cordial to Aunt Colleen and Chelsea. On a wild impulse, I join them for dinner to see what I might find out about Chelsea’s drinks and gossip session with Jamison, but I’m only treated to their personal exchanges to each other, which seldom involves any interaction with me. The only insight I gain is that Monroe Enterprises is holding a gala next week. Since this has not been brought up to me, I assume I’m either not invited or will get a last-minute invite out of pity. Lucky enough, I managed to snag plenty of cocktail dresses on my funded shopping spree courtesy of Savannah. However, this will be anything of a party I know. So many of the people attending will be looking to destroy me at any given moment. Plus, this will be my first encounter with the men's fathers who were the architects of the schemes to bring us down in 2008. Four horsemen will come riding in, and this time I am prepared. The A game will need to be on par, which means being dressed to kill and having the mentality to back that up.
“Ainlsee, are you listening to me?” Aunt Colleen is scowling at me, and immediately, I wonder what she was yakking about. Hopefully, nothing important, since the meal is done, and to my knowledge, this is the first time she has addressed me.
“Sorry, Aunt Colleen, what were you saying?”
The disdain pours out of her and swallows the air around me. “I was saying the Borgmanns are coming to stay at the end of next month for their daughter’s bat mitzvah. The house will be flush with our closest acquaintances and colleagues. Unfortunately, that means you will need to find another residence before then. We took you in as a favor initially, but this favor cannot be extended past then. Do you understand?”
There should be a clause in your life that says you can only take a certain amount of bullshit in one day. Twenty-four hours to get everything you can together before another set of circumstances occur. I’m desperate for this pass right now. Where the hell will I go? Images of seedy New York hotels with stains on every surface, all questionable in nature and communal bathrooms, run rapidly through my brain. Why would she do this now? This event must have been months in the planning. I’m sure it’s just another way to fuck with me, but this will not stand. So help me, if I am going to leave this house, I am doing in true grand fashion, and there will not be a single person residing here who doesn’t feel my wrath on the way out. Save maybe the woman in the kitchen who doesn’t speak to me but always manages a smile.
“I hear Motel Six is nice this time of year, Ain’t She.” Chelsea snickers while sucking on an asparagus spear. I say sucking because she looks like she's trying to learn how to suck a peach through a garden hose. A move she surely has to have put to good use more than once in her life. An image of her bedroom comes to mind and if they were many phallic objects on view. Her personal training ring, maybe?
“Well, this is news to me, but no surprise here, Aunt Colleen. My assumption that this was an invitation with no strings has just been debunked. I will gladly leave and hope after this no more niceties will need to be feigned. My mother may have been a friend, but if she was still living, my hunch is she would have thrown you over long ago. She didn’t have the need to pretend once we were kaput in society. I will find other arrangements immediately. Oh, Chelsea, how’s Bryce Mather doing? Of course, I don’t hear much about the lower floors being on the thirty-eighth, but give him my regards when you’re about to be thrown out on your ass because you won’t spend your time researching how to suck dick better.”
Aunt Colleen shrieks, and Chelsea’s chair topples over as they react. “This will not stand, young lady! You apologize immediately! Your mother would roll over in her grave if she heard your words! We took you in out of kindness, despite how it looked to society!”
“No, you took me in to make yourselves look better and potentially be on gossip TV! My mother has nothing to do with this! You only care about making yourself the martyr, you self-important bitch! My mother was twice the woman you aspire to be, and she never went to Sarah Lawrence either. She went to the old-school academy of be nice, be gracious, and karma is a real thing. Oh, and one more thing, the southern accent? You sound like Gwenyth Paltrow trying to be British, laughable and pathetic while poorly practiced.” I give a big thumbs down without worry about where I’m going to sleep tonight when they surely boot me out.
Chelsea, still standing, goes to throw her glass full of fine wine in my face but is quickly shut down by Aunt Colleen. They glance between one another and seem to communicate this form of bitch telepathy between them. Aunt Colleen daintily blots her mouth on either side and stands. Taking Chelsea’s hand, she regards me as if nothing has occurred.
“You will leave this home in two weeks, Ainslee. While you remain here, you can attend your own needs; our staff will not aid you. You may think you know me, but I assure you, you do not. No good will come to you, and I thank God again your mother, my friend, is not here to see you meet your destruction. You are nothing but an infestation we must deal with, but know this you little leech, the exterminator is coming. Finish your dinner because this will be the last meal you enjoy at home—ever. Come Chelsea, we don’t look at trash once it's spilled. We leave it for the help to clear away.”
They both throw down their napkins, and I hear Aunt Colleen tell Manuela—finally a name—to clear away my dinner dishes. Rapid Spanish is spoken, and I can barely gauge from my poor understanding of the language that she is told to ignore me from now on when it comes to meals. Back to fast food and a hot plate for me, but never have I wanted it more. A true stand could not be made without asserting my place in this home. This was a long time coming, and I only wish I had been better prepared. But you have to act on the fly in this environment.
Chelsea breaks away from her mommy’s hold and breathes in my face. “Good luck at the party.” Just as quickly as she breathes her foul asparagus-and-wine breath on me, I’m reminded of the party.
The next day the office is abuzz with news of the party, and I suspect my lack of housing in two weeks. I woke up early and picked up a newspaper from the stand on the corner to see what was available. My budget looked best suited for areas outside Manhattan, but I knew it was imperative to stay close to Monroe Enterprises. My initial idea was to see about possibly taking a room in a boarding house, but I quickly nixed it when I realized safety was an issue for the ones I was looking at, and I feared being mugged again. Simon suggested Chinatown, but it was a bit too far of a commute, and all the apartments were cramped without much privacy. I needed privacy in the evenings for nothing else than to decompress from the stress of the day. Savannah begged me to let her help, but I wouldn’t hear of it. She was already doing too much, and my self-reliance was not going to let her continue to aid me in every conflict I ran into.
The only fortunate thing about the previous evening’s events was I was distracted enough not to let myself get too worked up over seeing PJ or Jamison. My mind was still completely fucked-up from what had occurred, and last night, I was too keyed up over the confrontation with Aunt Colleen and Chelsea to process it. Ironically, their antics were the nicest thing they had done for me since I arrived. However, I knew that today would pr
ove to be challenging. Jamison would no doubt do whatever he could to remind me of what occurred. Anticipating a long day of close interactions, I had purposely chosen the most conservative outfit I owned to show him I was not going to play his game. Plus, there was the issue of getting to PJ to see about my administrative access.
Waiting by the coffee maker in the breakroom for my delicious, free cappuccino—a perk I’m thankful for considering my newly-acquired Starbucks addiction—I wonder who will be at the party. Monroe Enterprises throws a massive party every year on the banquet floors of the offices. A charity is chosen at the beginning of the fiscal year, and Monroe Enterprises does fundraising campaigns throughout each quarter to raise money. The party is basically a vulgar display of people pretending to be philanthropic but really just wanting to one-up one another on donations. A silent auction will be set up, beautiful women will circulate with Alessi steel baskets looking for contributions, and the end will be a huge fireworks display with the name of the largest donor for the evening spelled out in colorful blasts. The worst part of the evening would be the speeches. The men would all get up and say a little something. But they would undoubtedly ask their parents to accompany them to the stage. This would be nauseating because it would showcase the men’s fathers. The masterminds and architects behind what happened in 2008. My only hope was I would get a chance to see them, but seeing as no one had mentioned the party to me, I doubted my time was at hand.
“Miss Adams.” Merrick’s booming voice caused me to nearly end up with a second day of coffee stains on my clothes. I was always amazed that for such a formidable man, he could sneak up on you without even a hint of a footstep. Of course, isn’t that how most animals snuck up on their prey?
“Mr. Monroe.”
“Have you been informed about the party on Thursday evening?”
Informed? If he means by hearing the buzz and excitement from the entire office who is attending save me, then sure, I have. “Yes, I am aware of the party.”
“Good. You will be expected to attend. As an employee, mind you. You will help out with the function and represent the company to the best of your ability. Please plan to stay after work on Thursday, and you can coordinate with Regina Marlo on your assigned duties. Might I inquire if you own anything appropriate to wear? Cocktail dress is required. Should this prove to be an issue, I suggest you find a way to make any necessary arrangements to find apparel. Do I make myself clear?”
Bastard. A large part of me would love to show up in jeans and see them escort from the building. But this is too precious of an opportunity to screw up. My game plan is largely based on being front and center to gauge reactions. The only flaw is that I will essentially be acting as an employee instead of a guest. Guests have the right to mingle freely and join in on conversations. My role will not permit this, but I am sure I can find a way to intersperse myself into the mix with hopefully minimal fuss.
“Yes, sir, I do understand, and my wardrobe includes several options for cocktail attire.”
“Yes, I forget. The Rowlands rather adopted you after the fall. Must be a relief to have a benefactor when one is such a state to need one.”
“Savannah Rowland has been my best friend for years. She has stood by me along with her family long before the fall, as you put it, and I expected them to continue to do so after. Isn’t that what friends do? Of course, it makes it easier to count the friends you have when you know they stand nothing to gain except your love and loyalty. Tell me, Mr. Monroe, do you have many of those relationships?” The last part creeps out, and my face flushes. It is one thing to be mouthy to the other three, but Merrick is different. Essentially, he holds all my cards and could fold them when he sees fit. The men are all powerful in each of their positions, but let’s face it, he is the biggest boss. And he knows what he’s capable of.
Merrick gives me a dark glare. Reaching over me, he extracts my cappuccino and calmly sets it down in front of me with an ease I envy. Nothing shakes this man at all, and if I didn’t despise him, I would admire his ways.
“Friends come and go. Acquaintances are usually always in the background. But enemies, Miss Adams, tell you how far you’ve come and how far you still need to go. Make a note of that. This industry is not about relationships. Those are the stuff of pipe dreams. Goals and the outcomes you want should be the things you look at to know who you really are and what you’re made of.”
He turns to leave, but I’m not finished yet. “Your father will be in attendance, I’m guessing? I hope to pay my regards as it’s been such a long time.”
Merrick stops, but he doesn’t turn to face me. The steam escaping the cappuccino machine does nothing to mask the sudden chill in the air. “Yes, he will be in attendance. I will make sure he gets a moment to receive your regards.”
Walking away stiffly, I wonder if even for the briefest of moments I have gotten under his skin. Doubtful, but the thought propels me throughout the day. Jamison is absent from the office, and one of the interns lets me know that PJ has taken a personal day to attend to personal business. Perhaps I am getting to the men of Monroe more than I assumed. Practically whistling, I go about my routine of fetching Jamison’s lunch, but he’s also missing. Eerily quiet is the best way to describe the thirty-eighth floor, but I welcome the silence. I seem to be able to finish almost all of my mundane tasks. My phone rings at 4 p.m., and looking at the ID, I can see it’s Simon. The interns always leave around 3 p.m., so I accept the call.
“Simon?”
“Hey I was wondering if you made any headway with your southern stud boss today on access?”
“No, unfortunately, he isn’t here.”
“Ainslee, I may be a miracle worker when it comes to all things IT, but you need this access pronto. I can’t commit to going through pages of information you may download when frankly, you don’t have the vaguest idea of what you’re looking for. If I had access to the system myself, it would be a breeze, but their firewall is harder to bust than a straight-laced virgin’s cherry. You gotta get me something to work with.”
The party comes to mind. If I could get Simon in while everyone is busy schlepping up to the open bar, then all this gets solved so much quicker. Merrick told me to stay after work and dress appropriately. An idea forms, and while a long shot, it merits trying.
“Simon? Do you have any way to get your hands on a tuxedo or nice suit by Thursday?”
“Seriously? I may be an IT nerd, Ainslee, but I do get out once in a while.”
“Excellent.”
He groans. “What’s your hairbrained idea?”
“Hey, nothing out of the norm, honey. My sweet and loving boyfriend is going to bring me my formal attire Thursday after work and find a cozy place to chill for a few hours while yours truly is serving up canapes. I can keep watch, and all I find is your undying affection for a few brief minutes. Oh, and a way to communicate to one another that isn’t too conspicuous.”
“And said boyfriend would be me, I’m assuming?”
“Why lover, of course.”
Simon reluctantly agrees to the plan. “But know this, Ainslee, if I get caught, it’s your ass. My loyalty only goes so far.”
“You just do your brilliant best and let me worry about my ass. Or I should say let who’s going to be gazing at it.”
Merrick has a plan, but don’t count me out, because I do too.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MONROE ENTERPRISES IS LIT up like it was the Academy Awards. Spotlights are assembled around the entrance, and a red carpet leads from the valet line to the front door. The foyer has been decorated with so much glitz, it shines like a new penny. There are strands of fairy lights, the marble has been polished to perfection, and additional lighting in the form of opulent gold chandeliers has been put in every square inch. Besuited waiters proffering champagne greet you upon entering, and a velum program is handed to everyone who enters. The elevator is madly ferrying guests up to the fortieth floor, and an orchestra plus a ten-piece b
and is setting up. Tables covered in the finest linen, and at twelve hundred a piece, place settings have been carefully marked with embossed place cards. The open bar doesn’t contain anything but the highest premium liquor. Gift bags with everything from Montblanc ballpoint pens to Beats headphones are arranged carefully on a welcome table at the entrance to the ballroom. I make a mental note to snag one if I can do it unseen, which doesn’t seem likely.
Simon arrived, and like a diligent boyfriend, gave me a kiss on the lips, which I’m sure I will end up paying extra for, but the effect was amazing. He snuck into the breakroom under the ruse he was going to wait for me to get ready, so he could see me fully made up. The interns were the only ones not truly invited, so they had hung around all day to be able to see the hoopla—and like myself, hopefully grab a swag bag. Simon’s appearance was quickly a point of chatter, and the phones were pinging above the noise of the setup. I was assured he would make himself scarce, and by the time he needed to get into my office space, no one would even notice.
Regina had already told me I was delegated to fundraising duties. Secretly I was pissed but still slightly honored as well. The most beautiful of the beautiful were assigned this task, and I intended to make the most of it. This would give me access to everyone, and I could mingle freely.
The night before at home was a frenzy as Chelsea and Aunt Colleen were in a whirlwind of beauty preparations. Stylists, hairdressers, makeup artists, countless deliveries from the finest department stores in New York were like a never-ending turnstile through the foyer. Riff Raff stopped answering the door to let people in around eleven o’clock. Peeping through the edge of my door and hiding in the staircase made me feel like some errant child. But the joy of seeing the shenanigans was too much to miss. My favorite part? Seeing the Upper West Side princess have her mustache waxed and Aunt Colleen squeeze into a pair of Spanx after scolding the Bendel’s personal shopper for not taking into account her “hourglass shape most reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe.” The only thing Aunt Colleen had in common with the idol was the assortment of pills on her bedside table.
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