Breach of Trust

by Kimber Chin

  "Was Anne's room a mess? I find that hard to believe.” Philippe wandered out of the kitchen, morning growth shadowing his chin, carrying a steaming omelet on a plate.

  Anne took it happily, her stomach growling at the gorgeous aroma. It smelled good. It looked good. She put a forkful in her mouth. And it tasted good.

  "Why?” Anne asked Philippe between bites of egg.

  "You're a little anal retentive, Cherie.” His boyish smile took the edge of his words. “How's the omelet?"

  "Better than an Egg McMuffin,” Anne teased, knowing this would prick his pride.

  It did. “Mon Dieu, is that your only basis of comparison? I don't know when those McDonald's eggs last saw a shell."

  Ginny watched the two of them, eyes sparkling with humor.

  "Ginny, are you certain you don't want an omelet?” Philippe turned that devastating smile on Anne's sister. “You look like a woman who'd appreciate such a work of art."

  "No, thanks Philippe, though it does look tempting. I already ate this morning. Unlike Anne, I can cook."

  Oh, low blow! “And don't forget, she's the cute sister too.” Anne put her hands on both sides of Ginny's cheeks and pressed, making a fish face.

  "But golly, Tin Man, I have no brain.” Released, Ginny's head wobbled like a bobble head doll.

  "Tin Man? Merde. That means I'm stuck with the sister with no heart.” Philippe cursed with a grin. “That doesn't bode well for us, Cherie."

  "You mean it doesn't bode well for you.” Anne squeezed his hand. “I'm heartless, remember? I'll be okay.” She wandered into the kitchen, placing her dirty plate in the sink, the remnants of Philippe's own breakfast already in the basin. “You really can cook, M'sieur Lamont."

  "Told ya.” Philippe followed Anne, leaving a laughing Ginny in the living room. “I can cook. Hate cleaning up afterwards, but I can cook."

  "That's okay, I like cleaning,” and she did. Putting everything in its proper place was so peaceful.

  "I cook. You clean. We make a good team, you and I.” She got the impression he meant more than cooking.

  Anne rinsed off the plates and stacked them in the dishwasher. “We do. And thank you, Philippe. For everything."

  He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Thank you, Anne for not giving up."

  Not giving up. Like her heart had a choice? Anne was getting weepy and Philippe disliked weakness. “I guess I'd better get ready now, take a quick shower."

  "And I'd better watch in case you slip and fall again."

  The irony peppering the words told her that Philippe didn't believe her either. That wasn't too surprising. Falling might explain the cut on her chin but not the scratches and bruises across her cheeks.

  "I don't think it'll happen again.” She shut the bedroom door behind them, blocking out the sound of Ginny, typing away.

  Philippe plopped down on the already made-up bed. Anne remembered how they had shared it last night, his arms holding her tightly as she slept, lending her his strength. “It certainly won't. I plan to keep an eye on you."

  "Really.” Anne turned on the water in the en-suite shower stall. “Do you have your eye on me now?” She let her robe slip to the ground. She wanted to show him that she was none the worse for wear.

  "I do but, Cherie, your sister's here.” Philippe moved towards her with glitter in his eyes.

  He'd make love to her on the lawn at the zoo but not with her sister in the next room? Peculiar, prudish man.

  "Then all you'd better do is watch.” Anne wet her hand in the shower and then ran it over her breasts, leaving droplets everywhere she touched.

  "You are indeed heartless, Cherie.” Philippe reached out to trace the outline of the bruise on her hip. She had landed on it when she fell. “Are you sure you're okay?"

  "It looks nasty.” The bruise was an angry purple color. “But I feel fine."

  "It was Suzanne, wasn't it?” He looked her straight in the eye.

  "No.” Anne had no choice but to lie outright.

  "Yes, it was. Your lips pucker up when you lie, Cherie."

  Blast it. The man paid attention.

  "Mais Suzanne of all people? I saw her hands, Anne. She didn't even chip her nail polish."

  That crazy woman had been right. Philippe thought her weak. “She caught me by surprise."

  "The first time,” he muttered as he belly flopped on the bed.

  Yeah, surprise was a good excuse for the first punch but not the second or third. She had no explanation for that. Anne spent the rest of the shower rehearsing witty replies in her head.

  When they emerged from the bedroom, Anne felt frustrated yet clean, clothed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, her wet hair pulled up in a ponytail. Ginny, on the other hand, had a worried look on her pretty face.

  "Is something wrong?” Anne asked. What had happened, in the space of a shower, to concern her sister.

  "I don't know, Anne, you tell me. I turned on your computer and you must have it automatically set up for instant messenger because I started getting notifications right away. I know that I shouldn't have read them, I'm sorry, but..."

  Oh, blast. Anne forgot about that.

  "Mais?" Philippe's voice was gruff.

  Her sister looked at his stormy face and gulped. Anne understood. Philippe was intimidating in his full bastard mode. “But some of them, actually a lot of them, weren't very nice. They were horrible, awful, nasty."

  Could Ginny possibly use any more adjectives?

  Anne avoided Philippe's searching eyes. A couple weeks ago, about the time she left Lamont Ventures, she started getting nasty e-mails. They weren't that big of a deal. There weren't many of them, maybe a few an hour, and she ignored them, sending them straight to trash.

  "Who's sending them, Ginny?” Philippe demanded, “Did you get the address?"

  Anne didn't need to hear the addresses. She knew them by heart.

  "As far as I can tell, two e-mailers ... ok896 and lu1197, no other information.” Both Ginny and Philippe looked at Anne for an explanation. She guessed she should give them something, not that she knew much. “I don't know who they are. They never sign their e-mails, and I'm not concerned. These things happen from time to time. Part of making business decisions; no one likes every one I make.” Anne tried to ease Ginny's fears. Philippe, she would deal with later. Later became right now.

  "Let me see them.” Philippe wasn't buying Anne's explanation. Ginny scrambled out of the chair and Philippe took over. He opened the taskbar and scrolled down her messages.

  Anne resisted looking over his shoulder. She didn't have to watch. She received enough of them to have a good sense of what they said. They were all basically the same.

  He swiveled in the chair. “Anne, these aren't harmless. These are threats. Who is it? Suzanne?"

  "I don't think so,” and that was the truth.

  Sure, she suspected, as Philippe clearly did, that both e-mail addresses belonged to the same person. They were too similar not to be. The sentence structures were the same. So was the tone.

  But was that same person Suzanne? No. The e-mails were devoid of all emotion, none of the cattiness Suzanne excelled in. But most of all, the nasty talk talked about her professional credibility rather than her love life. Suzanne's issues with her weren't business. Suzanne wanted Philippe or more likely the mystery Michael person, not Anne's clients.

  However it wasn't some random e-mailer either. They started after Denise was betrayed, after Anne was fired by Philippe. It could be a loyal employee objecting to Anne's alleged activities. It could be Denise. Though Anne doubted that. It didn't sound like the woman. Anne had a feeling that she knew who it was though. Some of the words, some of the phrasing sounded familiar. Maybe if she dwelled on it, she'd figure it out.

  "Annie."

  Anne's eyes darted to Ginny's concerned face. This not knowing didn't help any. Her parents would be getting a full report. “Philippe, don't worry about it."

  Wasted words. He was alr
eady dialing his phone. “Ginny, are you going to be here all day?” Anne's sister nodded. “A techie from one of my companies will be coming over to have a look at Anne's computer. Make sure he shows his business card before you let him in. You can use the computer like normal, only don't erase anything,” and he strode off, prowling around the condo, barking instructions into the phone.

  "He's a take charge type of guy, isn't he?” Ginny watched him go, new respect on her face.

  Take charge and take over. No asking permission and

  Anne resented his railroading. “Yep."

  "Good, I'm glad. I don't think you're taking things seriously enough, Anne. The messages are harsh."

  "They aren't nice, that's for sure."

  "Again, you're understating the problem.” Her little sister gave Anne a good scolding. “Do the e-mails have anything to do with your face?"

  Anne touched the cut on her forehead. “No, this was a silly misunderstanding.” Over a man, of all things, but what a man. Her eyes followed Philippe pacing across the condo. “It won't happen again."

  "So it's someone else. Wow.” Ginny's eyebrows raised. “I didn't know number crunching was so dangerous."

  Number crunching? Ginny never did understand what Anne's business was about. That reminded Anne. “Anything else on the money transfer at Wedding Pings?" The temp work slowed but Ginny stayed in contact with some Wedding Pings employees, trying to dig up the information for Anne.

  "Nothing. No one knows who got the million. Wait a minute, do you think that had to do with...?"

  Could be.

  Anne didn't have to answer as Philippe interrupted them. “Ginny, the tech should be here around ten o'clock."

  "Ten o'clock? On a Saturday?” Did no one work business hours any more?

  Philippe ignored Anne's question. “Also talked to Gregory and he hasn't tracked down the container yet,” he continued.

  "Was Gregory even out of bed yet?” Anne couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. It was barely eight o'clock. On a weekend. After a late night party. Gregory wouldn't have been too happy with that early morning call.

  Philippe had the good grace to look abashed. “No, he wasn't."

  He raked his fingers over his five o'clock stubble, and then sat back down at the computer, scrolling again. As he did so, he moved his head back and forth until his neck cracked.

  The man was upset. Anne leaned against his back, rubbing his shoulders. Yep, his muscles were stretched tight. “Philippe, I appreciate the concern. I do, but I can handle this."

  Philippe gave her a doubting look. “I know that you think you can handle it yourself, Anne."

  "Because I can. I can take care of myself, I'm..."

  "Your own woman, yes, I know.” Philippe placed a hand on hers. “But you are my woman too and you don't have to. We're a team now. I cook. You clean. Remember? I help you. You help me."

  "By doing what?” Anne's laugh was shaky. She had complicated his life since entering it, “Facilitating corporate espionage? Forcing you to fire your V-P? Decreasing employee faith in your judgment?"

  "Fire the V-P? My God, Anne,” Ginny broke in, “Were you the one that got Kevin Maple fired?"

  That sounded so harsh. Anne's chin rose. “I might have been involved."

  "But it would have happened anyway,” Philippe defended her.

  "Were you the only woman involved?” Ginny's hands twisted together.

  "Well...” What was Ginny getting upset about now?

  "Were you?” her sister insisted.

  "Yes, I was the only woman involved.” How is this relevant to anything?

  Ginny was about to tell her. “God, Anne, Kevin Maple hates you with a deep seated passion. I didn't know it was you. He never mentions your name, calls you that haughty bitch. I never realized it was my own sister he was cursing out all this time."

  "He's angry...” Kevin is still harboring a hate for me? It's been over a month.

  "He is and he's not calming down.” Ginny didn't reduce Anne's concern. “It's like you're an obsession with him. Talks about you all the time. Says you're going to get what was coming to you. His assistant, a sweet woman, thinks he's a couple of cards short of a full deck."

  First Suzanne, now Maple ... what is with all the crazies lately?

  "Cherie, are these from...?"

  "Maybe.” Anne tilted her head, her ponytail swinging to the side. Maple, the mystery e-mailer? He hated her. He was connected to Lamont Ventures.

  "That bastard!” Philippe paced away from her. He took out his phone again.

  Anne ran after him, snatching the phone and turning it off. “But it might not be him, Philippe. We don't know."

  "Give me the phone.” He reached for it but she put it behind her back.

  Anne placed a palm on the center of his chest, holding him back. “Calm down, Philippe. Let's get the facts first."

  "If I find out—” The unspoken threat in his words frightened Anne.

  "Then you will talk to him in the sensible, rational manner I expect from you. He hasn't done anything to me, maybe talk a little smack, some much understandable venting after his dismissal, but...” She spun around, her arms outstretched, the phone in one. “That hasn't harmed me any."

  "Yet.” Philippe didn't lunge for the phone signaling that his temper was back under control.

  "Don't be so dramatic. He won't harm me. He's a middle aged executive, not some gangster. This is so silly, I can't believe we're discussing this."

  "I can't believe you never told me.” Philippe frowned.

  Tell him? When? Up to two days ago, he thought her guilty of espionage. Anne decided to be the bigger woman and let that go. “I'm sorry, Philippe. I thought I could handle it, and you've been so busy. We're both busy. Look at us now. We're already late for your conference call and we have to stop at your place.” Anne tried to distract him, picking up her purse.

  "We need to talk about this,” Philippe warned her as she tugged him towards the door.

  "Yes, yes, we'll have plenty of time for that,” but she planned to avoid any further discussion. She'd handle it and that was all he needed to know. “We can do that once you're smelling a bit better."

  "What are you saying?"

  Anne opened the door. “You smell, Philippe. As in, you stink. Ginny, make yourself at home. Will you be here when we get back?” Please say no, sweet sister.

  Ginny wasn't that sweet. “Do you want me to be?” She showed Anne her dimples.

  "No.” Anne was blunt.

  Her sister laughed. “Then I won't be. Bye, Philippe, hope you smell better later."

  Philippe sniffed one underarm, shuddering. “Do I smell that bad, Cherie?"

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Nineteen

  Tuesday morning, a partial answer about the e-mails came. Philippe walked into the condo, plopped a fat file in Anne's pajama-clad lap, and said gruffly, “They were funneled through the Cyber Café,” and walked away without another word.

  He didn't have to say more. The file said it all. The most telling bit being in the conflict of interest section. The Cyber Café was owned by Derek, Denise's fiancé. Add to that, Philippe recently cutting off the Cyber Café funding, and Denise had more than enough motive. There was no concrete proof though. Using a cyber café, a place where anonymous computer usage was the product being sold, meant no link to an individual.

  Anne needed to talk about it. Not with Philippe, he was too emotionally involved. Not with Nancy, she was busy moving. That led to an appointment with The Angel. Anne walked into the luxurious hotel lobby and stifled the impulse to walk right out again. There, sitting with the self contained Ms. McKenzie, was another suspect, Kevin Maple, looking slick and polished in his charcoal gray suit.

  Maple's smile faded as Anne approached, her heels clicking confidently on the marble floor. “Miss James, what a delight to see you,” his tone said that it was anything but, “you do get around."

  Nice. Let the slander sta
rt. “Ms. McKenzie, Mister Maple,” Anne's acknowledgement and greeting deceivingly civil.

  Their relationship past needless formalities, the financier didn't rise to greet Anne, but remained seated, ankles crossed, a dainty teacup cradled in her manicured hands. “Anne, child, have a seat. Mister Maple and I are finished.” She didn't look at the man for confirmation. From the Angel's uncharacteristic and telling silence, any conversation the two shared must have been decidedly one sided.

  "Just about done, yes,” the executive softened Ms. McKenzie's harsh words before launching into his next attack, “Anne, Missus Dumont, the President of Wedding Pings, sends you her best."

  Smiling sweetly at the man, Anne sat back straight upon the chair, good posture being one of the Angel's things. Maple was making trouble, implying the worst. “You must be mistaken, Mister Maple. I've never met your Missus Dumont.” True, Mrs. Dumont hadn't time for a student reporter.

  "Really.” A silver eyebrow rose. “She was certain she knew you. Quite well, in fact. Said you've been very helpful to her organization, and that much of her site's recent success could be attributed directly to your efforts."

  "Interesting. But then I have a common name. It's an easy enough mistake to make.” She kept her face smooth as glass. “And I'd like to thank you for the daily e-mails, Mister Maple,” Anne pushed, trying to put him on the defensive. “It's nice that we stay in touch after our so very brief working relationship."

  There was a flicker on that lined face. Was it guilt or confusion?

  "Well, you know what they say about keeping friends close.” Kevin Maple's right foot tapped nervously. An annoying habit.

  Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. The message was received. “So true, Mister Maple.” A lack of a denial was as good as an admission of guilt to Anne. The executive stood. “Oh, are you leaving?” she managed to input disappointment into the question.

  And now he was beating a hasty exit. More evidence.

  "I fear that I must. Opportunities never rest. Ms McKenzie.” The Angel inclined her head, not deeming it necessary to speak. “Miss James."

  Ms. McKenzie didn't even wait until he was out of earshot. “Distasteful. I trust that didn't affect your appetite, child?” She set the teacup on the side table and rose to her feet, smoothing down her baby blue suit.