by Kimber Chin
And different quotes with enough information to dominate an entire article. Very clever. It worked out to Anne's benefit also. A polished P-R person was unlikely to let something slip while a programmer or an admin person might be more forthcoming. Anne scanned down the list she was handed. Peter Flun, developer, Heidi Jibbs, marketing, and then her mouth almost dropped open. Kevin Maples, Innovation. Holy crap, when had he jumped to the competition?
Anne's voice was perfectly neutral. “Awesome. So have all these employees been involved in this project since the beginning?"
Ms. Winslow looked at the paper and frowned. “Yes all, oh, except for the Innovation contact. He joined the organization two short weeks ago."
"Would it add value for me to talk to him then? If he recently started?” Anne certainly didn't want to talk to Maple. He would have her thrown out of the building immediately. Geez, that would cause a scene.
"Yes, you definitely should meet with him."
Figures. The woman wants her extra quotes.
"He has experience with the competition. He can tell you what it is about Wedding Pings that switched his allegiance."
Let me take a wild guess. Hmmm, he got fired perhaps? And then sold company secrets to land this new job?
Should Anne immediately make an excuse to leave? She had her answer. It would be easy enough for Philippe to confirm. One thing didn't add up though. Why had Maple asked Ms. McKenzie for a job if he already secured this gig? Was that request made before or after? Anne had to confirm the timing with the Angel. So she might as well stick it out, asking the questions, probing for more answers, and then beat a hasty exit before Maple's interview came up, his conveniently her last slot of the day.
The first slot, the interview with the developer was uneventful. The pale nervous man was purely an implementation vehicle, having been given everything from design to the programs to use. Of course he had. It was all there, outlined in the business plan.
The minute she walked in, or half walked in as it were, Anne knew that Miss Jibbs, the marketing lead, would be another story entirely.
"And I told Sally, what am I supposed to do with the rest of my marketing campaign? It's impossible. I can't advertise anything without money.” The woman braced the meeting room door open as she had this honest conversation with a coworker. “I know, I know. They should have told us. Oh, I've got a meeting. I almost forgot. I'll talk to you later."
"Hi, there.” The perky brunette wriggled her fingers in Anne's direction and sat down with a flounce, her short skirt floating up even higher. “So Marie, you're from the university. How exciting. My ol’ alma mater. Do you belong to a sorority there?"
Anne's mind went blank. Would a journalist belong to a sorority?
"Oh, of course you don't,” Heidi Jibbs answered her own question. “You gotta be neutral, don'tcha? Free speech and all that. Has much changed?"
"We got a new food court.” Anne knew that much. Her editor friend mentioned that any coverage outside of the new food court would be welcome. He had that more than dealt with already. Some controversy with nutrition and big company commercialism.
"Really.” Heidi's tone stated that she didn't much care. “I guess that's a ‘No.’”
"Well, not like here.” Anne tried to transition into the interview as gently as possible, maintaining the chattiness of the opening. “I mean, wow."
"I know. One day I have over a million dollars to play with and the next, nothing.” The woman remained on that subject.
"Man, oh, man, a million dollars is a lot of money.” Anne remembered it was, when she was a starving student. “Where did all that cash go?"
"How the sugar snaps would I know? Some mystery development costs that I can't get a straight answer on.” The rest of the organization must have realized Miss Jibbs had a serious case of verbal diarrhea, not telling her anything.
"A million smackeroo's for development?"
"That new guest management system.” Heidi rolled her eyes. “The savior of our company. As if. Marketing drives business, everyone knows that."
A million dollars for developing the guest management system. Since the guest management system was stolen fully developed, that sounded like a payoff and if so, why would they pay Kevin off in a lump sum? Why wouldn't they gradually flow it through an inflated salary or a one time signing bonus?
"I'm confused. If marketing drives business then what does innovation do? This Kevin Maples person I'm meeting with?” Anne prompted, hoping that her query was enough to send the pony tailed woman into another run on tirade. It was.
"Well, that's a new position so I don't even know what he's supposed to do. We never had it before and I don't think it is needed. It must have been created to hire...” but then she was interrupted by a knock on the glass door.
Anne blinked a couple times and then tried to frantically hide her face behind her temporarily burgundy curls before she was noticed. She wasn't fast enough, meeting the widened blue eyes of Gregory Myers.
Don't blow my cover, don't blow my cover, don't blow my cover, were her first thoughts. Her second was what was he doing here?
"Oh, goodie, goodie. I was hoping he'd drop by. Don't go anywhere.” The pretty young marketer told Anne like she actually had an option. “I'll be back in a jiffy."
Anne peeked out, Gregory was looking at her. She shook her head and he transferred his attention to the bubbly marketer. Anne's attention drifted back to them. They appeared pretty chummy, with Gregory's hand resting intimately on Heidi's hip. Philippe's friend gave Anne a couple more stealthy glances, but from the woman's relaxed, happy face, it appeared that he hadn't said anything.
When Heidi returned to the meeting room, Anne blinked her brown eyes and forced a girlish giggle. “Who's that hottie and is he on my list of people to interview?"
Heidi laughed, blushing sweetly. “That's a guy I'm sort of seeing and no, he's not. He is a hottie though, isn't he?"
A guy she's sort of seeing? Gregory was going out with an employee? That was a huge conflict of interest he hadn't bothered declaring. “He is. Does he work here?” Please say no, Anne prayed. She didn't want to have to tell Philippe that too. The girlfriend bit was bad enough.
"No,” Heidi shook her head, much to Anne's relief. “He dropped by to tell me something. He does that, when he's in the neighborhood, very sweet."
"Very, but wow, I can't get over what you said before, a million dollars. Wow.” Anne leaned forward, her palms facing upwards, inviting the woman to share. “The project manager must have really known what she was doing. Where is she anyway?"
"Penelope, oh, she's taking some time off.” The marketer's eyes darted to the closed door before continuing. “Just between you and me, I doubt if she'll be back. Big, big scandal."
The woman hung back expectantly and Anne knew she only needed a little push. “Big?"
"Oh, yeah.” A brunette tendril was twisted around a finger. “Pen had a big fight with the boss. Said she was unethical or something like that, right to her face. Missus Dumont didn't like that much and next we knew, Pen was taking time off. Oh.” Her rather free mouth shaped into a circle.
Anne knew what she was thinking. “Don't worry, Miss Jibbs, All this is off the record. I would never betray an alumni.” That was the truth. Nothing would go into the paper, might be used to clear her name sure but not in the paper.
"I appreciate that, I knew you wouldn't be that way, and don't worry, the company will make back its money,” Heidi shared, “only that it digs into my marketing money. I need recruitment money, what with us being short-staffed and all."
"What do you mean short-staffed?” Anne smelled opportunity.
"Why didn't I think of this before?” Heidi grabbed Anne's hands. She hoped that the marketing woman wouldn't notice that they were older than her youthfully made up face. “I need some short term staff members, floaters more like it, to help out with marketing activities. Fun things, like going to conventions and bridal shows."
"I know someone who would be perfect,” Anne volunteered, “Could I send you her resume?” A resume specially created for the marketer.
"Better yet, tell her to give me a call and I'll set up an interview.” Heidi's genuine appreciation causing Anne discomfort. Whatever it takes. “That would help me out a lot."
The rest of the conversation plumped up the school article, but didn't add to Anne's investigation. It did call into question Gregory's involvement with Miss Jibbs. Sure, the woman was nice and likely good at what she did but she was also lacking in depth. Somehow, Anne couldn't imagine her piquing Gregory's interest.
So what was Gregory doing with Heidi Jibbs then? Was it a sex only arrangement? Nothing more than that? Was it merely a coincidence that the woman worked at Wedding Pings? Was Anne creating connections that weren't there?
After Heidi bounced out of the room, Anne wiggled in her chair. Maple's interview was next. How would she get out of that? As was the trend thus far, Ms. Winslow would pop into the meeting room in between appointments to see if she had any questions. Yet another lie to be told. None was thankfully necessary. Ms. Winslow regretfully informed Anne that Kevin was pulled into a last minute meeting and would be unable to meet with her. More like, he thought her a lowly student reporter and couldn't be bothered with her. Good. Her last name hadn't raised any suspicions.
Ms. Winslow walked her to the elevator, an insipid version of “My Heart Will Go On” blaring in the background, and again offered that if she had any questions, to give her a call.
It would have to be a call. Lying was difficult. They were nice people, with maybe the exception of their CEO, she sounded like a piece of work, and, of course, Kevin Maple. He was an ass. The rest, they couldn't be blamed for using information provided to them. It would be almost impossible to turn down.
No, the fault rested on the person providing the information. It would take someone without any sense of loyalty or honor. Someone who badmouthed his own CEO? Probably. Or a lawyer who didn't declare a conflict of interest? Anne thought that less likely.
She was ninety-nine-point-nine percent positive that the info thief was Maple, and once Ginny secured that last point-one percent, Anne would plop the irrefutable proof in Philippe's lap. She smiled as she walked to her car. Cocky, self-righteous bastard, he was intent on dishing out punishment for her imagined crime against him. Or at least trying to dish out punishment.
Philippe tried, oh how he tried, to give no pleasure with his lovemaking. Fortunately for Anne, he couldn't help but please a woman. He did it without thought, without effort. Caresses transpired, words of endearment spilled out without consciousness. He didn't want to please her and he certainly didn't want to want her. That he could resist neither erased any lingering doubts she had about Philippe Lamont not truly wanting plain old Anne James.
She had control over him, as he had over her.
* * * *
Philippe thought along the same lines as he sat in Anne's sparsely furnished living room, waiting for her to return home. Why he was there, he didn't rightly know. Gregory had given him a call, saying that he saw her at Denise's main competitor, the competitor that scooped Denise's guest list idea. Gregory told him some airy-fairy story about Anne posing as a university student. Like she'd be able to pull that off, give him a break. Oui, she might have been a student once but Philippe couldn't picture it. Anne was too uptight, too conservative in dress and speech.
Not in bed though. There anything and everything went. That thought alone made his body harden. Philippe told himself coming over here that he only wanted to know why Anne had been there. He planned to ask her straight out if she was working with the competitor. But then, sitting here, Philippe faced facts. Forget the investigation. He waited for a chance, any chance to see her, to touch her, to taste her.
The key turned and the door opened. At first, Anne didn't notice him sitting in the dark. She wandered into the condo, hips gently swaying, arms full of groceries.
At least Philippe thought it was Anne. What the hell did she do to her hair? That gorgeous honey brown silk he loved was frizzy and a harsh reddish pink color. He hoped that wasn't permanent. And the outfit? Philippe had never seen her wear anything like it. It was funky and flowing like she was some sort of gypsy. The sandals slipped off at the door, her feet now bare, one slim ankle having a hemp strap around it.
She could very well be a university student, all sweet rebellion, rainbows and daisies. Was that what his little brown sparrow had been like? And could Gregory's crazy version of the story be correct? Was she doing some investigating of her own? Was she truly innocent?
Philippe watched Anne place the bags on the kitchen counter and then start to put the groceries away, singing to herself softly off key. What was the tune? Ahhh, oui, that horrible Titanic song. Even with the vile disguise, the bad song choice, the appalling selection of instant meals ... was that condensed soup? Do people still eat that stuff? It was Anne, and Philippe wanted her.
Would he want someone that couldn't be trusted? Was his heart all the proof he needed? Too many questions. Not enough answers. Time to resolve that disparity.
"Welcome home, Cherie.” Philippe flicked on the lamp behind him.
Anne jumped, startled at his voice but didn't turn around. “How did you get in?"
"Your landlord. He let me in.” There was no point hiding his methods. “Cost a few dollars but it was worth it not to wait in the hallway."
"Why would you wait in the hallway? I'm not aware of any meeting with you this evening.” Meetings were what they had now. Not dates, not intimate moments, but meetings.
"I took a chance on you being free.” Philippe strode towards her, grabbing the can she struggled to place on a top shelf. The cheery face of Chef Boyardee smiled back at him. The woman might be able to find the North Star but she sure couldn't cook. One more thing to teach her.
He slid the can onto the shelf and turned. The kitchen was small. She was so close, he could smell her. Philippe leaned against the counter top, and reached out to grab a curl. “This is new."
"Do you like it?” Eyelashes batted against her cheek like butterfly wings. Damn woman was flirting with him. What it would take for her to fear him, Philippe didn't know. He tried to come across as dangerous as possible and she laughed at him.
"Non." Philippe was honest. He liked her the way she was. His little brown sparrow.
"Well, that's too bad.” Slight shoulders shrugged.
She didn't care what he thought and that bothered him. “Where were you today?"
"None of your business.” Anne put the dishwashing liquid away in the cabinet under the sink. She must be expecting some heavy duty washing for those instant meals she was serving. There were already two unopened bottles neatly lined up, ready to go. “I don't work for you any more, remember?"
How could he forget? He asked himself everyday whether he made a mistake. That decision hadn't felt right from the start.
She wasn't done. “I'm my own woman. I work for myself, me, numero uno, or moi, if you need it in French."
Mon Dieu, she is adorable. “Merci pour la traduction."
"Not a problem.” Anne opened the fridge door and bent over to put a lonely tomato away in the crisper. At least she knew what a fresh vegetable looked like.
Should he tell her about Gregory seeing her? If he did, she'd ask why Gregory was there. And then Philippe would have to admit that he sent his friend in to do some investigating. She'd ask why again, she always asked why, damn pain in the ass woman. He'd have to admit that he had doubts. And that his doubts were compounding with every passing day. Gregory had informed him in the same phone call that Kevin Maples, his former executive, was
working for Denise's competition.
So Anne might be investigating, trying to prove herself to him. And if she was doing that, then she couldn't herself be guilty, a small annoying voice inside him said. Philippe humored the voice. “How's your investigation going?"
"I don't have proof yet, if that's what you're asking,” her words were gruff. He could hear the hurt in them.
Philippe wanted to reach out and hold her in his arms.
Non. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he was sure. “Any leads?” Say yes, Anne.
"Only the same ones I always had.” She turned to look him straight in the eye, “Philippe, why are you here?"
He didn't have a good answer for that. Why was he there? What did he want? He wanted to spend time with her. To go back in time. To believe in her again. Was that too much to ask? It was, so instead, “There's a charity event tomorrow.” A date, that was it. “I'd like you to go with me."
Suspicion was written over her made up face. She didn't trust him and that stung. “Why?"
Why? Why? Why? Always why.
Good thing he hadn't told her about Gregory. “Since you're serious about this investigation, you should be more proactive, take some risks. If we spent time together, it would make the real guilty party nervous.” Oui, that sounded like a good solid excuse. “Nervous people make mistakes."
Anne tilted her head and Philippe watched those harshly colored curls rearrange themselves. She was cute even with a bad dye job, he decided, very kissable, even with purple stained lips. Her legs were bare. Do hippies wear underwear? He didn't think so.
"I guess that makes sense.” She smiled at him, buying his weak excuse, and his heart lightened. He was seeing her now and he would see Anne again tomorrow. Philippe missed seeing her everyday.
"I'll pick you up around seven.” He cupped her chin, raising it so he could look into her eyes. “And since we want it obvious that you are attending, you might want to look more ... like you.” Philippe curled one tendril around his finger. Still soft, smelling like a fruit salad.