Boss

by Scarlett Ross

  As for me, I had decided the best defense was a fantastic offense. Selecting the slinkiest, sexiest cocktail dress out of my closet, I paired it up with some stilettos that were completely not ideal for a night spent circulating a huge room but decided I needed to look the part. Debating on whether to call Franco, my ally and beauty guru, I quickly made the decision to do some YouTube lessons on hair and makeup. The need to impress was made impossible due to my outcast situation in Aunt Colleen’s home. Savannah had assured me a simple chignon and minimal eye makeup with a good lip color would be a statement no one could look down on.

  A quick trip to the restroom and my appearance was again transformed. The subtleness of the makeup combined with the dress made me feel more beautiful than I could ever remember. Simon, despite his sexual preference, had even wolf-whistled as I stepped out.

  “Damn girl, you could almost give me a semi.”

  “So, it works?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it works. On many levels if I say so, girl next door looking to get a little naughty but still seeming unassuming. Those men won’t know what hit them.”

  “Okay, so where is my expensive listening device going to go?”

  He grinned and held out what looked like a gold snap button. I knew immediately it would undoubtedly be in a most private place on my body, but hell it was Simon.

  “Lower that dress and show me your décolletage, Miss Secret Agent.”

  Inching my already low neckline down, Simon gently placed the gold button between my breasts. Oh wow, I was really doing this. No turning back now, tonight could be the night I got all my potential secrets of what Monroe Enterprises was really about. Secret dealings, shady transactions, inflated prices that didn’t match market prices. . . this could be what I needed to bring them down. Yet in the pit of my stomach I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Too many variables could affect our plan, but my heart told me this was a risk well worth taking for Dad. Mom. Me.

  “You can speak as softly as you want, and I will be able to pick it up. This piece”—he holds up a small clear earbud—“allows me to communicate with you. I need a time frame of no less than two hours. If you see anyone who looks like they might possibly be headed down here, you let me know immediately. The plan is to override the system and create a dummy account. If I can get a dummy user ID, then I can give the account administrative access. However, do not think this will get us everything you want. Knowing nothing about the programs in this system, I’m going in blind, so there will be a lot of places to look, and hiding my tracks will take the majority of my time. My biggest fear is not having enough time to delete this dummy account, so again, if anything looks suspicious you tell me immediately. Understand?”

  I nodded. It was showtime.

  Sauntering toward the elevator, I looked back, and Simon had already disappeared to wherever his hiding spot was going to be until I let him know my position was secure within the party. My knees were shaking, and I hoped I could walk without too much difficulty in my heels. Ping! The elevator doors opened and the floor was visible. The good thing was my first duty was to help set up—which I quickly realized was something only me and the vendors were doing. The anger was masked by much-needed ability to scout out the area and get a feel for how the party was laid out. The entrance was not as crowded since the party had been in full swing for thirty minutes. Monroe Enterprises liked to wait for the cocktails to flow freely before beginning to ask for donations. The harder the elite drank, the more freely their wallets opened.

  Breezing past the entrance, I made my way to the kitchen as Regina had instructed me. Pushing open the door, I saw about ten girls in sexy cocktail attire being given instructions. Regina glared at me and made a point of looking at her Rolex and gustily sighing. Shrugging, I made my way to a girl around my age who was kind enough to give me a brief smile. Our agenda was made clear. We were to smile coquettishly, flirt mildly, and if asked what a good donation would be, make up a number at least one thousand dollars higher than what had previously been given. Listening with half an ear, I had already made up my mind to find the men’s fathers and go for them immediately. I was on a time crunch, and I wanted to get to them as soon as I could in case I had to tell Simon to abort the mission.

  “Additionally, as the donations are tallied at the end of the evening, the hostess with the highest gross will receive a bonus. The bonus will either be in the form of a gift card or check issued by the company. The total sum will be five hundred dollars; this is merely an incentive to be the most charming hostess and help Monroe Enterprises reach its fundraising goal of the evening—one hundred thousand dollars.”

  Five hundred dollars? My mind flashed with all that five hundred dollars could do for me at the moment—moving expenses, security deposits, furniture that wasn’t falling apart at the seams. The other girls looked unimpressed. Okay, yes, I was on a time constraint, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to at least play my part to the best of my ability.

  We filed out of the kitchen and into the ballroom. The minute we all were on the floor, I could see a buzz form. Stupidly, at first I thought this was a general appreciation of so many gorgeous girls being on the floor but then realized my mistake as I began to circulate. Stares, whispers, and disdainful looks followed every step I took. The pariah of New York City was back, and all these people wanted an ounce of my flesh. Donations were being handed out almost immediately to my fellow hostesses, but my feet seemed to slow and glancing back at the kitchen I wanted to make a run for it. No, Ainslee. You’ve got this. Show them some of that Adams charm, and make your mama proud.

  Scanning the room to see if I could find one person who gave me a blank stare was impossible. I approached a tall man with his back to me, engaging in a conversation with a small group.

  “Sir, would you care to make a donation?” my voice lilted in the sweetest way I could, and the demure smile was plastered on my face as genuinely as I could muster.

  He turned around, and my stomach dropped along with my Alessi steel basket. A loud clanging noise echoed throughout the room, and all conversations halted.

  “Well, if it isn’t little Ainslee Adams.”

  Grayson Gamble. The only person I hated more than the men of Monroe Enterprises.

  “I see you’ve changed sides. Why didn’t you come and see me about a job when you arrived? I assure you, I wouldn’t have you in a position of servitude.”

  Grayson was an asshole. He was also another shady figure from my past but in a much different way. Grayson had joined in on Chelsea’s bullying when we went to school together. His family was prominent but not as prominent until Adams Enterprises fell. Owning a regional property management company, they had quickly come in and picked up the crumbs not absorbed by Monroe Enterprises. Since 2008, they had taken their company and become the second most major competitor in the real estate market next to Monroe. My father had visited their offices after the fall and was escorted out by Grayson Sr. when he asked for help. They, however, had the audacity to sell my father his cigar store, and every time one of the Gambles were in Cambridge, they came to pick up a cigar or two. I had been there on their last visit after taking Dad to lunch and heard the way they belittle him. Telling him, maybe he could acquire another store in the future and giving him a business card before they exited the store, clipping the ends off of their cigars and letting them fall to the floor. Yet I always took great joy in reading that no matter how hard they strived to be on top, Gamble Properties would always be Pepsi, and Monroe Enterprises would be Coke. Grayson was always looking for any tidbit he could get on the goings-on with the rival company, and I laughed knowing for once we had the same vision.

  “I’m here in a business capacity Mr. Gamble. Care to make a donation? Or did last quarter leave the old purse strings a little tighter?” I knew from my research that Gamble Properties had steadily been losing money over the last year and were in danger of falling further down as the year progressed.

  Grayson tightened
his hand around his highball glass so much I feared being covered in blood when it shattered.

  “No, thank you, Ainslee. I make it a habit to not contribute to causes that can’t show a paper trail for all their fundraising events.”

  Was he being serious? Was Monroe Enterprises possibly orchestrating false numbers on the funds they raised? Simon needed to know this, but being surrounded, I couldn’t very well start whispering into my cleavage without someone noticing.

  “Let’s do lunch. I am sure we have a lot to catch up on.” Grayson gives me a meaningful look and perhaps the asshole does know something. A lunch wouldn’t hurt, and I nod before making my way across the room.

  The twinkling of piano keys begins, and I know that before too long, the speeches will commence. Scanning the room rapidly, trying to locate the men, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Assuming it’s Grayson to come and potentially give me some more information, I turn, and again my stomach drops. My skin becomes icy where his hand lays, and my chest constricts.

  Marshall Monroe, the devil incarnate, the main architect of all the ruin my family suffered and Merrick’s father, is smiling wickedly at me.

  “Good evening, Miss Adams.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PANIC SETS IN, and I know this confrontation is not going to go well. How could I have thought I was strong enough to face this evil man head-on without not being petrified? Even worse, I can see them all approaching. Merrick and his mother, Gwendolyn, PJ and his father, Paul Senior, Evan and his father, Elijah, and finally Jamison, all by himself. The firing squad comes closer, and my chest is caving in. Deep breathing is not going to help on this one. There is an exit to a large terrace about thirty feet away. The plan now is to make small talk and excuse myself. The last thing I need is to have a full-blown panic attack in front of three hundred people, who are already gunning to see me do something weak or crazy. Sweat breaks out under my arms and breasts. I can only hope my mini button microphone doesn’t make a sudden appearance at my feet.

  “Mr. Monroe. How are you this evening?” The words come out, but I am so dizzy, it’s like I am floating above myself and watching the whole scenario play out from a place on the ceiling.

  He moves to take my hand not holding the basket and brings it to his lips. Clammy, wrinkled, cold lips that feel like a dead fish are rubbed against my skin. Shivering, he gives me a lecherous look like the shivering was from pleasure and not outright disgust.

  “I couldn’t have been more pleased when Merrick informed me of your intent to move back to the city and work for him. I’m sure it’s wonderful to be back home. You must have so many fond memories of New York. Plus, being in the building is like getting to relive your childhood. I can still see you at seven, running down the hallways with messages, our little errand girl we called you. Tell me, does it still have the same joy now to run errands for us?”

  This man is unbelievable. He is trying to make a stroll down memory lane look innocent enough but is completely belittling me at every turn. Like father, like son.

  “Sir, my joy comes from performing my job to the best of my ability. I was always brought up to believe that hard work and dedication pay off in the long run. My father, of course, might be the only exception to that rule, but he still reminds me to do everything I do with the utmost importance, even something as mundane as running errands.”

  The group descends to form a semi-circle of sorts around me. Introductions would be made if I was a guest, but seeing as I am not and of course, knowing all the players in question, silence is the only thing to greet me.

  “Miss Adams, I missed you today. I trust you were able to keep yourself busy in my absence?” Jamison had been mysteriously absent all day, and while I was grateful, it also made me a bit nervous. His smile seems amused, and the sight of him in black tie was enough to take away what little breath I had managed to steal back. All of them look like an Armani advertisement. Jamison and Merrick had opted for traditional tuxedos with black bow ties and white dress shirts. Evan was decked out in a black on black tuxedo with a tie instead of a traditional bowtie. PJ was wearing a navy tuxedo and a white bowtie which made him look more adorable than sexy. I noticed all of them perusing my attire, and I was glad I had gone the sexy, slinky route.

  “Yes, Mr. Wells, I was busy, and I also helped the preparations for the party, so my day was quite full.”

  He grinned and winked at me, but so slyly, I doubted anyone else caught it. Or at least that was my hope since his comment about fraternizing rang loudly in my ears.

  “Ainslee, are you circulating? You are indeed here in a work capacity, not to have reunions with old friends.” Merrick glared at me, and the rest of the group, minus PJ, seemed to chuckle under their breath.

  “Ainslee, you have indeed grown into a beautiful young woman. How is your father these days?” Evan’s father, Elijah, pipes up, and I can see the term “reunion” was brought up at my expense.

  “Fine, Mr. Mancini.”

  “I heard a little bird mention something about possible health issues? An old school chum was up for a Harvard alumni mixer and stopped in to see him. Said he wasn’t looking so well. I do hope it isn’t serious?”

  My teeth clench so tightly that part of my tongue gets caught, and I taste blood. They are here for the kill, and I am helpless in their midst. Was this how Dad felt when he realized what they had done? My knees start to shake again from holding myself in such a straight posture.

  “No, sir, he’s fine. Just a little head cold was all.”

  Paul Sr., PJ’s father, gazes at me with a hint of compassion and elects not to join the pack. But Gwendolyn Monroe decides since he isn’t going for the last fatal wound, she will gladly step in.

  “Really, Merrick! How could you even think of assigning her to collect donations? My God, the humiliation is bad enough that she’s even in this room, but to let her have access to money? She’ll rob us blind just like her father did! Young lady, be aware that I am watching you, and your basket best be comparable to what our other hostesses bring in tonight. My son and husband may have a fondness for you for some unknown reason, but I do not. The sheer shame your family brought upon all of us is sometimes still too much for me to bear. If you had any common decency at all, you would have all crawled under a rock and let your stench rot away with your name. Merrick, don’t you have a hygiene policy anymore? She positively reeks!”

  Fuck this. I throw the basket down and quickly make for the exit. Fuck all of them, I can only take so much, and this is too much. Tears stream down my face, and I race out the door to the end of the terrace. Sobbing and wiping at my armpits with my hands, I run them down my dress, not caring in the least if I leave stains.

  How could they allow that to happen? I didn’t expect anyone to outright stand up for me but at least a simple stern nod or clearing of the throat? Monsters, all of them are monsters. How could I have thought for one minute that fighting this battle alone would net me a win against such despicable people? All my feelings over the last forty-eight hours take hold, and I want nothing more than to go home to my father. It’s exhausting pretending. Being as vulnerable as I am now, it’s not an option, but fuck, does it feel good to let go for one moment.

  “Are you alright?”

  Evan appears next to me. This is literally like a bad dream, set in slow motion. My eye makeup is running down my cheeks, and I cannot keep my body from trembling. Sobs that could be disguised as hiccups escape from my lips every few seconds. He eyes me warily but makes no move to leave.

  “How are you?” he asks as if he wasn’t just witness to the entire scene that played out back in the ballroom. He has the nerve to ask me in such a calm fashion as if we are catching up like two old friends. It’s infuriating.

  Turning my head away, I choose to ignore him. My words would only come out as angry curses, and truthfully, they would be so jumbled he would think I had been sneaking drinks.

  “Miss Adams? I asked you a question. At least have the d
ecency to be cordial and issue me a response.”

  Are we having tea? Is he the Queen of England? Cordial? Who is this guy? We have had the most minimal interactions out of all the men since I arrived, and now here he is, checking up on me. Was he sent out here to hammer the last nail in my psyche so my breakdown tonight would be complete? Glancing at him, he isn’t even looking my way, just blankly staring out at the New York skyline. He is the most calculating one of the four. You can see the screws turning over and over in his brain as he plots his next sentence. This must be why he is the quietest. Nothing is ever said out of emotion or candor; his words are reserved for a purpose.

  “Just grand, thanks, considering the circumstances. Enjoy the spectacle much? Your father certainly seemed to be.”

  Evan leans back with his elbows resting on the ledge despite the fact we are forty stories up. I doubt there is much he fears in this world. One must have fear to be afraid, and that would require emotion, which he so clearly lacks.

  “Fearless,” I whisper. Why can’t I be too? On an impulse, I mimic his stance and lean back on my elbows, more wary of my offending scent than the height. The terrace is deserted thankfully, and we lean side by side in surprising peace. Exhaling, I let my head drop back a bit and then seeing the distance between us and the ground, letting out a slight yelp. Evan looks over at me and puts a hand to my shoulder, which in turn makes me yelp again.

  “Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to push you off.”

  “I wasn’t worried. Believe it or not, you don’t scare me.” The words escape my lips.