by Ashlee Price
And I was dead-set against telling him about the dream. If he put any stock in it at all, it might make being in jail all the more difficult. If he didn’t, he’d probably think I was a lunatic, and I had to admit he probably wouldn’t be far wrong.
The police station was clean, and even though it was overcrowded, they arranged to have Langdon meet me in a private room, where I fell into his arms. At this, the guard began clacking his baton loudly against the metal desk in the little office.
“Sorry, mate,” Langdon said with a wink.
The guard shrugged. “No problem, man.”
Langdon turned to me. “You needn’t have come, Sheryl. I’ll be out in few shakes.”
“What does that mean? Minutes, months?”
Langdon chuckled. “Won’t be long now. You’ll be able to walk out with me.”
Oh no, I thought, I don’t want to face that pack of wolves all over again! But I don’t dare abandon Langdon yet again. I’d be proud to stand beside him, and if he wants me there, then that’s just where I want to be!
So I answered, “Of course I will, Langdon, whatever you want. What… happens after that?”
Langdon glanced around. “Thought they were gonna hold me till that kid comes around, although honestly I think he already has.”
“Really? How do you know that?”
Langdon gestured behind himself at the empty room, the guard, the endless network of information and corruption that snaked out beyond. “Reliable sources,” was all Langdon said, adding a little wink. “Word is they’re trying to find out what he knows before they cut me loose.”
“They? Who’s they?”
“Feds, IRS, who d’you got? Sheryl, a guy like me, I know it seems like I’m the big man, just striding through life. But all this success comes with a high price, Sheryl, enemies…” I was only beginning to learn for myself what he was talking about, but it certainly wasn’t anything I could tell him. He went on, “But they won’t be able to hold me, they know that.”
That only directed my own attention to everything I didn’t know and felt like I was never going to be able to figure out. “Does that mean you’ll be going home?”
“Chances are I’ll be here in the States a few days yet, and you and I are going to have a lot to do in those few days. Are you ready?” I wanted to be, but I wasn’t sure. “Sheryl?” I finally nodded, biting my lower lip and preparing myself for what was to come.
***
It was just an hour or so later that I was standing on those same steps as before, in front of that same whining pack of hyenas. They all saw me coming from a mile away, and standing beside each man in this high-profile disaster only magnified my participation, my profile, my vulnerability.
Leslie Greene of the New York Herald introduced herself and her paper once more. “Nice to see you again, Miss Francis.” The other reporters erupted in sarcastic, sardonic laughter, though neither Langdon nor I could join in the fun. He gave me a little wink, reassuring me that he’d take care of everything.
And I didn’t doubt it.
Leslie went on to ask Langdon, “Miss Francis here has denied any romantic connection between the two of you—”
“Excuse me,” I said before I could stop myself, “I never denied or confirmed anything. I stated simply that whatever the nature of our relationship, that it should remain private and that there was no compelling reason for it to be otherwise.”
The reporters shared a stunned murmur, more than impressed. Leslie Greene went on, “Follow up. Mr. Langdon, is there any romantic relationship between you and Miss Sheryl Francis here?”
“So what if there is?” The reporters broke out in a burst of muttered awe, and I shot Langdon a stunned look. But he seemed calm, smiling, and I knew I had to trust him.
At that point, I didn’t have any choice.
Langdon went on, “As Miss Francis here said the other day, and you all heard her, she’s not a public person, I’m not running for anything, and what we do oughtn’t mean a wallaroo’s arse to any of you.”
“If it was a crime of passion,” Leslie Greene countered, “it would cast a whole other light on the case, wouldn’t it?”
“If it was a crime of passion, luv, the passion was all on his end. I just needed to make sure Miss Francis here was unharmed. I didn’t have any passion in me for this bloke whatevah!”
“Even though you’re in love with Miss Francis here.”
“That’s right.” I felt myself go white as a sheet as the reporters echoed my shock. But swaggering Langdon Cane was forever unfazed. “That’s right, I love ah! And I’m proud to be standing with ah, by ah, whatevah! You bunch of hypocrites can make whatever you want of it, but I know you’re all in bed with each other behind the scenes. You? You’re doin’ it with that one over there, the pretty one in the purple, right?” Langdon pointed to a chubby man in a bushy red beard. “Who’re you doggin’ then, beardy? C’mon, ya bunch o’ loy-aahs! Come clean, if you dare!”
The Wall Street Journal’s April Carlson introduced herself and her paper as the mutters of the other reporters rose and fell around her. “What are your feelings about Flynn McGinnis?”
Langdon shrugged. “None. Don’t know the kid, still barely know anything about him. I tried to give him a few bucks to see him on his way, he forced my hand… or rather, me fist. Problem with men in this country, y’all play at being so sensitive and sophisticated, but yer all just a bunch of wolves in sheep’s clothing! You want a fairer society? Try being a bit more fair, yeah? Where I come from, a man raises a hand to a woman, or a man, he gets put on the ground one way or anothah! No apologies, no regrets.”
The other reporters cheered and clapped, the women especially.
“But was he swinging at her, or at you?”
“No time to tell,” Langdon said. “He wasn’t in a talkin’ mood.”
Hands shot up again, and Langdon pointed out another familiar face.
Jerry Mancuso of the New York Times introduced himself the way Leslie Greene had and asked, “What are your feelings about Mr. John Alister, Mr. Cane?”
Langdon gave it some thought, then shrugged it off casually. “J.A.’s a good guy, all told. I wish we’d been able to work together, but that seems a bit outside our wheelhouse, time bein’.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Cane? Wall Street’s going nuts with the idea of a merger.”
Langdon glanced at me, but I hadn’t heard a thing about it. All I could do was shrug and shake my head, and all he could do was believe me. He turned back to the crowd. “I suppose that’s something we’ll have to talk to J.A. about when we meet with him.”
“And when will that be, Mr. Cane?”
Langdon gestured to me. “That’s up to her, innit?”
Chapter 14
I didn’t think there’d be another meeting between John and Langdon, and technically that was true. This emergency meeting had been called by Margaret Alister, and Langdon wasn’t on the agenda at all.
I was.
Margaret opened with, “This has gone way too far, John. You’ve got to put a stop to it!”
Langdon asked her, “What’s he gonna do, send Sheryl up to her room without any supper?”
“He can fire her ass,” Margaret said, “and sue your balls off!”
“Maybe I should sue Alister Fashions,” I said, leaning forward in the wingback chair, “for creating and fostering an unhealthy work environment. I don’t think the company can take very much more bad publicity. But that’s not really my problem if I’m fired, is it?”
“Why don’t I sue you for conflict of interest, you little snit?”
John held his palms up to calm us. “Ladies, please, let’s take it easy here. Nothing will get accomplished with us sitting here fighting among ourselves.”
“I don’t see what there is to fight about,” Margaret said. “She’s gotta go… now!”
John glared at his wife, his voice coming fast and low. “I realize you have a valid point, Margaret, and
that you’re concerned with the health of Alister Fashions, but I don’t want to have to remind you that I founded this company and I’m the one who runs it. Is that understood?”
The tension was thick in the office. Langdon and I were fixed on the clash of Alister wills. Finally, Margaret backed down and looked away, eyes down, with a submissive expression and a bitter pout. John turned back to me and Langdon. “What’s important now is that we show solidarity, mutual respect, unity within the company.”
“Too right,” Langdon said. “Stockholders lose faith, your prices take a tumble, you could be looking at Chapter 13 by the end of the year.”
“And you swoop in to buy us out,” Margaret said. “Everything works out just perfectly for you, doesn’t it? How convenient.”
But Langdon just shrugged with a bemused half-smile. “How could I have been pulling the strings behind that weird kid and his crush on Sheryl?”
“Through her, obviously.” She turned to John, her hands gripping the arms of her chair with new urgency. “This whole thing is an obvious put-up, John! The three of them put on this little charade, Alister Fashions falls apart, and they’re right there to pick up the pieces.” Margaret turned back to me and Langdon. “How much is that little ginger turd getting? A cool million in cash, or maybe just part of the new company you’ll create out of the ashes of our lives?”
Langdon shook his head. “You’re barmy, luv.”
Margaret stood up and stomped across the office. “We’ll see how ‘barmy’ I am.”
John said, “Margaret… Margaret, do not walk away from me!” But by then she was slamming the office door behind her. John ran his fingers through his graying hair. “I’m sorry about that,” John said in a voice both low and sheepish. “She’s feeling the pressure of all this, especially now around the holidays. It’s never a good time around our house, tell you the truth.”
Langdon and I shared a sympathetic glance.
John went on, “Anyway, Sheryl, your job here is safe, for as long as you still want it.”
“Thank you, John,” I said, using his first name as a subtle hint of my newfound strength and rising position. “I appreciate it.”
He smiled and nodded, turning to Langdon. “How about you, L.C.? Heading back home soon, I’d imagine?”
“Cops need me to stick around till the kid comes to. S’dead time to me, tell you the truth.”
John said, “Why don’t you two get outta Manhattan a while? I’ve got a cabin up in the Catskills, skiing’s great this time of year.” Langdon and I looked at one another, eyebrows high, as we considered his offer. John added, “After what you’ve been through, I’d say you’ve earned it. Anyway, the quieter it is around here right now, the better.”
Langdon and I thanked John and made our exit from his office. Once we stepped out of the elevator in the parking lot and crossed to the town car, I said in a low whisper, “What do you make of all that?”
“Not much more’n it seems. You?”
“A lot more. If he didn’t fire me, it means he still has some use for me. You know what they say about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.”
“You heard him yourself, Sheryl. Firing you now would be bad publicity. Not to mention the chance of yet another lawsuit.”
“Yet another?”
Langdon shrugged as we arrived at the town car. “That kid could sue him as well as me. And I could sue Alister Fashions too if I felt like it.”
“For what?”
“I’ll think of something.” We climbed into the car and I turned the engine over.
“We’re not doing that.” I said. “Kicking John Alister when he’s down. I don’t care if you say it’s business or personal or whatever. He’s still my boss. He gave me my start.”
“S’okay, Sheryl, no worries. I didn’t come out here with any agenda toward breakin’ poor ol’ J.A., and I’m not keen on doin’ it now. But if you’re right and he’s still got some trick up his sleeve, I can’t afford to just let him play his hand, can I? You think he’ll be that merciful to me?”
I knew Langdon was right about that, and that I didn’t really have the right to tell him how to do his business. I wasn’t exactly sure how to run my own at that point.
“Where’re we off to now, then?”
“Gotta stop by my place.” I said. “Pack a bag.” Langdon glanced at me, his wry expression telling me I didn’t need a bag. “I need to see Ricardo anyway. We won’t be long.”
***
“Of course I will,” Ricardo said, looking over the rest of my list. “Consider it done.” Ricardo looked Langdon up and down with a sexy little smile. “And I do mean done.”
I rolled my eyes, but Langdon just chuckled. “You’ve only got a few days, but I’ve taken care of most of the items already. Just make sure they’re wrapped and ready. You’ll have to drop them off on Christmas Eve.”
“I got nothin’ to do that night anyway.” With a glance at Langdon, he added, “Unless you two would like to have a… a brown Christmas, a little three-way?”
“Ricardo, enough.”
“What about the press?”
Langdon and I swapped confused expressions. “What press?” Langdon asked. “What’re you talking about?”
Just then I heard the Skype ring on my computer in the bedroom. I slipped out of the conversation with Langdon and Ricardo and took the call. My folks were leaning into their computer monitor with worried faces, mouths low and brows high.
“Finally, honey,” my mother said. “We’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“Why didn’t you try me on my phone?”
“Couldn’t get through.” I reached into my purse and pulled the phone out. Dead. “Battery’s out, sorry. What’s up?”
“That’s what we were going to ask you,” my father said. “What is going on over there?”
I assumed they’d seen one or both of the press interviews John and Langdon had given. It was a long and complicated story, and I assumed that most of what they’d heard reported more or less summed it up correctly. So I wasn’t sure how much I wanted or needed to add.
But there was also the matter of Langdon’s admission of our affair, our clandestine love, and I supposed that did bear a little fleshing out. “It just sort of happened, y’know? But it’s serious,” I added, referring to my own feelings of commitment. Then I added, “At least, I think it is,” referring to his commitment to me.
“Well, I should say it is,” my mother said, confusing me just a little bit.
Langdon and Ricardo stepped up to my bedroom doorway and I waved them in. My father added, “I don’t know how you can be so glib about the whole thing.”
Does he mean what happened to Flynn? He must. “It’s not as bad as it seems,” I said, addressing the poor guy’s health. “Y’know, people in the media say a lot of things that just don’t turn out to be true.”
“I certainly hope not,” my mother said, once more making me wonder what she meant. “But I have to tell you, I was afraid something like this was going to happen, that you’d get in over your head.”
“But I’m not in over my head, Mom… more like head over heels.”
“Your head’s in the clouds, is what,” my father said, an uncharacteristically angry tone to his voice. “Frankly, honey, I’m… I’m shocked, shocked and very disappointed.”
That hurt, but it would have hurt more if I’d known precisely what they were talking about. “Why, because he’s from Australia? He didn’t mean to hurt Flynn. I was standing right there!”
But my parents only glanced at one another, then looked back at my belly button. “Have you been watching the news, dear?”
The interviews, I thought to myself. I knew it. But I merely said, “I know about the interviews, Mom, I was there on both occasions.”
“Not those interviews.”
My father said, “I think you better turn on CNN, dear.”
We didn’t have cable, but Yahoo! News and YouTube
were right at my fingertips. I searched my own name and my blood ran cold to see how many videos popped up. Several were the interviews John and Langdon had given on the police station steps, but quite a few more were clearly the pundit shows, talking heads with computer graphics behind them, my face often dominating the background.
One video featured an angular-faced woman with short black hair and a low, knowing tone of voice. Sitting behind a desk and looking into the camera, she said, “Now it seems this… this Sheryl Francis is playing both sides of the street… literally. Maybe even three sides of the street, if that’s possible.” She chuckled to herself as Langdon took his place behind me, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder.
Ricardo shook his head. “To think I used to like that bitch.”
The pundit went on, “But really, in this day and age, when women are finally stepping out from the shadows of powerful men and reclaiming their dignity, their civil and legal rights in many cases, to establish themselves outside of their personae, their beauty, their physical gifts, here’s this woman, this ambitious young fashion designer from Oregon… although what she’s ever designed remains a mystery to me… so here comes this eager young woman, hungry to make a name for herself, to make her fortune… hungry for a lot of things, probably… is this really the message we want to send? Is that really on point with today’s current events? Do we really want to be glorifying the image of this woman bouncing from one billionaire to another, sleeping her way up the company chain of command, now spinning all this to her own ends, her own twisted sense of fame and accomplishment? And what about we in the media, what part do we play in all this?”
I couldn’t take anymore. I clicked out of the video and onto another one, my stomach turning with nerves. This pundit was almost the physical opposite of the first, a pudgy balding man hollering into the camera. “This pugnacious little slut,” he shouted, a sheen of sweat over his jowls, “a modern-day Mata Hari, making a mockery of our economy and some of our greatest institutions. What else has this woman been compromising? I mean, of course she’s dealing in corporate secrets between these two companies, nobody doubts that. You’d have to be deaf, dumb, blind, and living under a rock not to get that. But what else is she hiding? We know about the Aussie connection, sure, but what other deals has she got going down in boardrooms and bedrooms all over the world? There’s already talk in Washington about a Russian connection… Russia! It’s Hillary Clinton all over again, folks! Not this time, not again! This time we are going to get to the bottom of this. Lock her up, lock her up, lock her up!”