by Kimber Chin
The buzz of the clock signaled the end of the Tuesday session. Anne watched contentedly as her Young C.E.O.'s class continued to hang around, talking amongst themselves, exchanging ideas.
"Miss James, there's someone at the door for you,” Tanya, her chubby cheeked future restaurateur, lilted in a singsong voice.
Anne glanced up at the door and inwardly groaned. She kept her face serene, her voice pleasant. “Thank you, Tanya."
"Remember next week, we're reviewing pricing. I need competitive pricing; your own pricing and the rationalization behind it. Be prepared to talk about it and that includes you, Samantha,” Anne called out as she gathered up her papers, sliding them into the black leather briefcase. Her laptop, unneeded today, already was packed up.
Dirk jumped up from his seat to open the door for her. “Thank you.” Anne's face mirrored her gratitude.
"No prob, Miss J.” The boy beamed back. “That laptop looks kind of heavy. I could carry it to the car for you if you want."
Both of Dirk's parents worked multiple jobs, struggling to keep a roof over their heads, yet they managed to teach their children manners. It never ceased to impress Anne.
"That would..."
"Not be necessary. I'll help Miss James.” Glenn Howard, Wilson High's Principal, wrested the laptop out of her hand.
The two males glared at each other, shoulders squared, the boy not backing down.
Oh, no, not this again. Anne didn't know what the problem was between the two. She just knew that there was one.
"Miss J?” Dirk's eyes stayed fixed on Glenn.
"It's okay, Dirk. I have to talk to Mister Howard anyway.” It was only a half fib. Anne didn't want to talk to Glenn but she got the feeling that he wanted to talk to her, likely about that blasted fall class schedule. Though it could be something else entirely. There always seemed to be some trivial issue popping up after each and every session.
"Okay then, I'll see you next week, Miss J.” The fifteen year old's smile for Anne morphed into a scowl for his Principal.
"That Dirk,” the former football player muttered as the door closed.
"Is a good kid and a good student,” Anne finished.
"Yes, er ... on that subject, we should have a talk about your students and your class.” Glenn used the Kleenex scrunched in his spare hand to mop his moist forehead. “Would you, that is, maybe we should go for a coffee, or a tea or whatever you wish to drink."
Anne suppressed a sigh. A monster shot, that's what she wished to drink. Admin work was so deadly, the only dark part of teaching. She couldn't even delegate it like she did at her own office.
She checked her watch; it was getting late and she had an early morning meeting to prepare for. “Tonight's not good, could I come in a bit early next week instead?"
Anne didn't quite catch Glenn's answer as she spotted a familiar figure traipsing down the hallway, her Gucci
handbag swinging. “Ginny.” Anne strode up to hug her younger sister, breathing in her fresh floral scent. “I didn't know you were coming."
Her sister's face was radiant even under the dreadful fluorescent lights. “I didn't know either but I was in the neighborhood. Mom forwarded me some of my mail and asked me to give you this coupon for,” she threw Glenn a look and whispered in Anne's ear, “Victoria's Secret,” continuing louder, “so I thought I'd drop by."
"I'm glad you did.” Anne grabbed her arm, bringing Ginny closer to the Principal. “Glenn Howard, I'd like you to meet my baby sister, Ginny. She runs a very successful party planning business. Ginny, Glenn Howard is the Principal here."
"My sister exaggerates. A not yet successful business, Mister Howard.” The big man blushed under Ginny's blatant perusal. “Do you work closely with Anne?"
"Not as closely as I'd like,” he mumbled.
Anne almost rolled her eyes but caught herself in time. Glenn could be a real pain in the ass when he wanted something and what he wanted, she guessed, was that fall schedule. She had to get it done.
"I find it hard to believe that you're sisters.” Glenn looked between the two of them.
"We are.” Anne laughed, as did Ginny, but the innocent comment rankled.
They were as different as two women could be. Ginny was all golden hair, golden tan, and generous curves. Anne—well, Anne was brown. There was no other word for it. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. Brown, brown, brown. And no boobs to speak of; flat as a fresh piece of paper.
Anne was saved from responding, by her phone humming against her hip.
"Sorry but I have to get this,” she apologized, taking a few steps away before flipping her phone on. Anne didn't bother checking the number. The call was expected and was answered with a curt, “Anne James."
"He got it,” her friend and partner Nancy squealed into her ear, nearly causing Anne to drop the phone.
"Awesome.” Anne smiled reassuringly at Glenn from a distance. He looked sad and a bit lost standing there. Ginny would soon put him at ease. “Good for Bruce. I'm so relieved."
"Come on, Annie.” Nancy snorted. “You couldn't have been that worried. The deal was a shoo-in."
"Yeah, it was pretty foolproof; a fast, easy return,” Anne admitted as she paced the hallway. Glancing back, she relaxed. Glenn was even now laughing at something her sister was saying. “But you never know. So what's the hit to equity?"
"Forty-Five percent."
"Whoa,” she whistled. “That's high for first round. Bruce must have been ticked."
"He didn't have much choice."
"No, he didn't.” Anne had heard about the key customer sticking their nose into the financing. It severely limited their sourcing. “And Lamont knew it. What a ruthless bastard.” This was said with admiration. When it came to business, the venture capitalist showed no softness. That's what made the business plans presented to him so challenging.
"A good-looking bastard."
Anne didn't argue. Philippe Lamont was a good-looking bastard.
"I doubt Bruce cares about that. He just cares about getting screwed over.” Anne shrugged. It couldn't be helped. “Well, a piece of something is better than all of nothing."
"True, true.” Nancy's agreement was quick in coming, as she took Anne's lead on strategy. “He's having a do next Friday to celebrate the financing and the customer deal. Black tie affair, cocktail wienies and bubbles. We're invited, the usual cover story, of course."
Accountants, as glamorous as it got. “Are we going?"
"You know you wanna.” Nancy, after years of working together, knew Anne too well. “If only to observe your favorite money man interacting naturally with his glam bunny compatriots."
My favorite moneyman, Anne's eyes glowed, the dynamic Monsieur Philippe Lamont, venture capitalist extraordinaire. Hmmm, in his tux too. Yummy.
"Our job is so rough, hey, Nance?” Anne sighed with exaggeration. “Forced to go to fancy parties, toss back free drinks, and spend the evening watching a handsome playboy flirt with tall blondes."
"The roughest,” her friend concurred with a laugh. “So I take it that's a yes. I'll dust off the uniform then, gotta swoop by the dry cleaners. Do you need a pick up?"
"Nah, mine's ready and waiting.” The uniform, the standard little black dress, so standard that it would garner no interest. They could slip in and slip out and no one would be the wiser. Invisible.
"You're going to a party?” Ginny asked, as Anne rejoined them. Anne's voice must have carried in the narrow school hallway.
Her sister loved parties, so much so that it was her business now. “Just work, Ginny. A small client thing."
"Oh.” The blonde's face fell in disappointment.
Silence stretched. The sisters both looked at Glenn pointedly, expecting him to take his leave so they could talk in private.
"I'm thinking about having a party,” Glenn burst out.
Yeah, right, he was. This was the first Anne had heard of that.
"Really?” Her sister's spirits rebounded. “
Do you need help planning?"
"I might.” Glenn didn't have the guts to meet Anne's eyes.
"Well, then I'll give you my number.” Ginny tucked her business card in Glenn's meaty right hand, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Call me if you need help."
The older man looked at Ginny like he had been given the world rather than her blasted digits.
Chalk up one more admirer for Ginny. What was the score? Hmmm, let's see, Ginny, one zillion, Anne, a big fat zero.
It was on days like this that Anne was tempted to give herself up to her friend Stanley's not so gentle ministrations. Her make-up-artist buddy was a genius at creating illusions of beauty. With his talents, Anne could easily smite some poor unsuspecting man.
But what would happen when she stripped off the make up? When her brunette roots grew back? When she removed the bust-building water bra? When she went back to plain ol’ Anne? Nope, Anne shuddered at the thought, deceptions were always found out sooner or later. And when they were, well, let's just say that being ignored was preferable over outright rejection.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Two
The next Friday night, Anne studied the busy scene before her, frowning. “Nance, something's wrong. I can feel it."
To the average person, it looked like business as usual at one of these appreciation events. The speeches were standard, thanking the tireless support of staff, welcoming Lamont's company to the team, discussing goals and recent wins. The setup was also the same. Finger food and champagne circulating by wait staff. A bar in the corner. Men in tuxes and women in black evening wear swirling around them, crystal flutes in hand, their chatter a constant drone over the classical music being played. Yes, to an outside observer, everything looked fine.
However, Anne was no outside observer. She had attended hundreds of these parties and her entire career revolved around capturing nuances. Something was off; something didn't feel quite right, like the faint whiff of floral perfume in an all male office. What was the source? What would be the effect? That Anne couldn't yet put her finger on.
"What possibly could be wrong?” Her business partner and close friend sipped at her own champagne, blissfully unaware. “There hasn't been as much as a speed bump since last week. Bruce has his financing, and the orders are starting to ship. Your M'sieur Lamont should be looking at a return already."
"He's not mine.” Anne murmured, “He doesn't know I even exist."
That was the absolute truth. All these years of following Lamont and he didn't know who she was. Sure, she would prefer that he not know what she did. That made the job easier, but he didn't even know her name.
Why did that rub Anne the wrong way?
Maybe because she was always so aware of him, Anne felt Lamont should be aware of her, at least slightly. Even now, her eyes drifted on their own accord to the dynamic venture capitalist. Nope, he certainly wasn't aware of plain, little Anne James. Philippe Lamont, not the tallest man himself, was busy charming some leggy blonde towering over him.
At least that was in character, Anne's lips twisted in disgust. He never could resist the tall blondes.
"Maybe if you actually talked to the man, he'd know who you are.” Nancy nudged her forward.
Anne resisted, her bottom lip curling. “Oh, what's the point? Jumping through hoops to make Lamont notice me couldn't help the business, and might even harm it."
"Annie, were we talking about business? Geez, when I said talk, I meant talk, not give him a sales pitch covering what you do for a living.” Her friend shook her pretty auburn head. “Small talk like, ‘Boy, summer sure has been hot,’ or ‘Hey, did you see the ball game last night.’”
"He's not interested in sports,” Anne murmured, distracted.
Nancy's patient smile also was ignored. “So talk to him about something he is interested in. That you should know, Annie. You know everything about the man."
"Exactly,” Anne agreed, her keen ears picked up Philippe's laughter over the buzz of the crowd. “That is why...” She tapped her pointed chin with her index finger.
"Why what?” Nancy finally gave into her friend's musings.
"Why I know that Philippe Lamont's acting strangely. His normally languid movements are a bit too fast, his voice a little too loud,” Anne outlined, “like he's jumpy, eager, overly happy."
"Of course he's happy. He's getting a good return. I'd be thrilled with those dollars also."
"But he wouldn't be. This little deal wouldn't do it.” She studied him. Nope, it was something else, she was sure of that. “He's acting like one of his babies has gone public."
"Maybe they have.” Nancy turned to peer at the venture capitalist.
Anne shifted so her back was to Philippe. She didn't want their interest in him too apparent. “Nope, I would have known."
"Yes, you would have.” There was a pause. “Maybe it's personal. Maybe he finally has succumbed to the fabulous Suzanne."
This last maybe caused the tinge in Anne's heart. She didn't know what that tinge was but it sure wasn't jealousy. That wouldn't make sense, to be possessive of a man who didn't even know her name. And above all, Anne was sensible.
"He wouldn't be flirting with the other blonde if he had. He's not a complete ass.” Anne moved away from those dangerous thoughts. “What about Bruce? He isn't acting like himself either."
"Do you expect him to? Here? He's uncomfortable. Bruce is our typical entrepreneur. The social scene isn't his thing,” Nancy rationalized.
"He wouldn't meet my eyes."
"Bruce isn't supposed to know you. You're a faceless accountant, remember? He's not the fastest thinker either. That's why we had to prep him so much before pitching to Lamont."
All good reasoning, but it didn't ease Anne's trepidation. Nancy could explain away until she was blue in the face, but she wouldn't convince Anne that nothing was wrong.
"Relax, Anne.” Nancy gave her a side hug. “Everything's okay. Enjoy the night. Mix it up a bit. Have a drink."
Anne glanced down at her empty glass and then placed it on the tray of a passing busboy. The refill would have to wait. Before she could truly relax, she wanted to lay her suspicions to rest. The best way to do that was to get close to one of the players.
Hmmm. Preferably someone tall, gorgeous, and chatty. The fabulous Suzanne headed to the powder room, two equally beautiful girlfriends in tow. Anne followed at a safe distance. Yeah, Suzanne would know what was going on. She might let something slip in the intimacy of an all female tête-à-tête.
When Anne entered, the women were huddled around the mirrors, powdering their faces down and reapplying lipstick. Perfume hung in a stifling cloud around them. Anne didn't even warrant an acknowledgement as she slipped into an empty stall under the pretense of adjusting her black silk stockings. It was a pretense. The garter belt had them securely fastened. Pretty undergarments being her secret indulgence, she liked the very best.
"Is that a Chanel, Suze?” Deidre asked.
"Yes.” Anne heard the rustle of skirts. “I thought such a tediously proper outfit was well matched to this sleeper of a party,” the husky tones of Suzanne filled the room, “I swear if Philippe drags me to another..."
"But he will, and isn't that what you want, Suze? I thought you said that Philippe was a keeper.” Her other friend twittered. Must be Annabelle. The grown woman ended every sentence in an adolescent giggle.
"Oh, he is, Belle, he is.” This comment was flat and there was a pause. “But once I have the ring on my finger, I won't be going to these boring work functions anymore. No more consulting work for me either. With the wedding, I'll only have time for me."
There was a sharp intake of breath through perfect teeth.
"Okay, time for my girls too,” Suzanne amended, and Deidre murmured something Anne couldn't make out.
"And it'll be easier planning the wedding this time. We'll be in the same city,” Annabelle giggled.
"First things first.
Focus on the ring. I just saw Philippe flirting with that chesty trollop Tiffany. Déjà vu all over again, Suze, shades of Michael."
"You know that we're never to discuss that,” Suzanne hushed, and there was silence in the room.
"I think the ring will come soon,” Annabelle soothed, “No one can resist Suze, the new and improved Suzanne, not even Philippe. Maybe tonight will be the night? I haven't seen him this excited since the two of you first started dating."
"God no. Get a grip, Belle. That isn't why,” the girlfriend sighed, “Philippe's excited because of some information he received, or what not. Said he was waiting for this for a while. I don't know, it really has nothing to do with me."
And as such, Anne concluded, Suzanne wasn't interested.
"Waiting for it for a while, huh?” The horsey laugh came from Deidre. “Sounds like you and the ring."
"Like you have one coming, Dee.” The door opened. “You would be so lucky especially with that thing you're wearing.” That spurred on a fresh round of fashion commentary until the voices finally drifted away.
Anne's instincts hadn't been wrong. Something was up but what? And how could she and her clients take advantage of it? Hoping to overhear more, Anne drifted to the crowded bar area and pushed herself to the front. The gossip mill was running overtime. Such and such deal had closed. A company was rumored to be for sale. A senior exec left. But nothing she didn't already know.
While Anne waited for her Perrier, she was jostled a bit, thrown off balance. That blond lawyer friend of Lamont's threw a thoughtless apology over his shoulder.
Gregory Myers. They had been introduced briefly once before though he probably wouldn't remember her. Why would he? No one else did. But where Myers was, usually Philippe Lamont wasn't that far off. The two friends, one light, one dark, worked the room as a devastatingly handsome duo. Women didn't stand a chance.
Even as that thought percolated, Anne was pushed once more. This time, her waist was grasped, anchoring her, her slight body pressed to hard muscle. “Ne bougez pas,” an achingly familiar voice buzzed in her left ear.