by Kimber Chin
"I'm made of sterner stuff.” Anne walked with her to the restaurant entrance.
The maitre d’ took one look at Ms. McKenzie and hustled to seat them.
"I heard.” The maitre d’ was not needed. Ms. McKenzie seemed to know the path to the table. She was so buttoned down, detailed driven, that Anne wouldn't put requesting a specific seat past her.
She had heard. What? Must have been ... Anne touched her face. Stanley assured her that her bruises weren't noticeable under the foundation. “How?"
Ms. McKenzie kept the lunch menu shut, folding her hands on top of it. “Philippe mentioned it briefly. That that Suzanne creature was the cause, shocked me."
Philippe mentioned it? What was he doing? Anne wanted this to be kept private.
"Don't look so upset.” Ms. McKenzie tapped Anne's arm, her small effort at comfort. “Philippe felt it prudent to tell me. It was my right to know. I introduced them."
Ms. McKenzie introduced Suzanne to Philippe? Was Suzanne one of the Angel's rare female friends? But Ms. McKenzie talked about her with such derision, calling her that creature. “No, I didn't know."
"It was not intentional, mind you.” The woman poured, the tea having arrived without being requested, offering some to Anne. She declined. “A chance meeting. Suzanne recently had arrived in town and I felt a rare spurt of generosity, always a mistake, that. If I knew ... bah, all that is hindsight and I never live in the past."
The waiter arrived and they put in their orders. Living in the past or not, Anne wanted to know more about her nemesis’ sure-to-be sordid history. “How did you know Suzanne?"
"Oh, from her New York days.” Ms. McKenzie lit up a cigarette. This must be one of the last smoking restaurants in the city. “Of course she wasn't quite as curvy as she is now and not nearly so blonde."
At the financier's candor, Anne almost spit out her mouthful of water. “What do you mean?"
"The blonde hair, the boobs, even the tush, it's all brand spanking new.” A circle of smoke swirled around the Angel's head. “She was one of those skinny model types before, you know the type.” Older eyes swept down Anne's less than ample figure. “Like you, except taller."
Anne considered herself as far from a model type as possible and she couldn't even imagine Suzanne looking like one. She'd be an entirely other person.
"Why the drastic change?” Though a part of Anne could understand it. She often looked at other's womanly curves and wondered what it would be like to be so blessed. However, the difference was that Anne never wondered long or hard enough to warrant an extreme makeover.
Ms. McKenzie shrugged, smiling a thank you, as the Waldorf salad was set before her. “Who knows what went through that brain of hers. All I know is it happened after that disaster with her fiancé."
A fiancé. Anne took a not so wild guess. “Michael?” It had to be him. It explained Suzanne's emotional reaction to the name.
"Yes.” There was a pause as an apple piece was delicately bitten into. “The woman he left her for was one of those Barbie Doll types.” Anne suspected that the Angel was once a Barbie Doll type, though one with a cuttingly sharp brain. “After five years of engagement. Men, they can be such bastards.” Ms. McKenzie scoffed, having two ex-husbands, she knew that better than most. “I suppose Suzanne decided why fight it? Might as well become the enemy."
"That makes sense, in a warped sort of way.” Anne had settled for a plain garden salad. She hankered for a club sandwich but didn't think Ms. McKenzie would appreciate the visual. Her self-appointed mentor was trying to stick to a healthier new diet.
"Sounds like it did warp her. She always was a bit over the top, the real reason I think Michael might have left her, but fighting? And to think I had associated with her.” Suzanne would no longer be associated with the social conscious Ms. McKenzie. “So share the details. Did she really slug you out?” The Angel's eyes gleamed in interest.
Anne laughed, the finance power woman had a bloodthirsty bent to her. “Unfortunately yes. Much to my embarrassment, I didn't even get a shot in myself."
An hour later, they still were chatting over coffee.
"So you think Maple was serious about working for you?” Anne asked. That was an important piece. If he was, then he couldn't have had the Wedding Pings gig already lined up, could he?
"Sounded serious to me. There was that fear in his eyes that older executives get, like if they don't get another position soon, they might not ever."
Anne had seen that expression too many times. Sometimes it led to wild and fanciful business ideas.
Ms. McKenzie studied her with interest. Anne got the impression that the woman was bored and enjoyed the distraction. “Why?"
"Working on the task you assigned me, figuring out who sold Denise out,” Anne shared, “Maple is suspect number one."
"He does have motive. He hates you."
Lord, another person thinks that. How had she made such an enemy out of the man? “He told you that too?” How had that confidence come about? It wasn't normal interview talk.
"Didn't have to tell me. I have eyes. I can see it. Hate, pure hate, plain as day. If he knew, he would have helped that Suzanne creature out."
Anne shuddered, the thought of the two psychopaths teaming up too much to handle. “Don't say that."
"It's the truth.” Ms. McKenzie didn't appear concerned. “So if Maple's suspect number one, who's number two?"
Anne hesitated. This was awkward and she didn't know if she should mention it to the Angel. Philippe's group seemed pretty tight. Though Ms. McKenzie could add her input.
Anne risked it. “Something isn't quite right with Denise and her fiancé."
"Derek?"
Did Ms. McKenzie know everyone? “Yes."
"I don't wonder. He approached me about financing."
The Angel took a sip of espresso. “Quite desperate for it. Upon his pleading, took a look at his business plan. What a mess!” and then her lips puckered. “It wasn't one of yours, was it?"
Ms. McKenzie would re-evaluate her job offer if it were. Anne shook her head. “Nope, didn't touch that one."
"Didn't think so. A waste of paper. Don't know what Philippe was thinking.” She paused and then rolled her eyes. “Actually I do. Philippe must have been thinking with his heart on that one. He doesn't have a chance at getting his money back.” Ms. McKenzie's mouth turned downwards. “Did a few of those myself, back when I was green."
Must have been a while back. Ms. McKenzie was known for her cold, logical business decisions.
"So you turned him down,” Anne stated the obvious, snapping a piece of biscotti off to dunk in her coffee.
"Of course. He's not my friend, child. Though I do like Denise. She wasn't good with my Philippe, too weak, but she is charming on her own."
"She seems like a nice person,” Anne murmured. Could a nice person let another person take the blame for what she'd done?
"A nice person that you have as a suspect number two? You are a practical one, Anne. That's what I like about you. No delusions about human nature."
Was that a compliment? Her mentor thought so.
"Let me guess,” Ms. McKenzie warmed to the discussion, “Denise's motive for cashing in was to supply financing for her fiancé's money-sucking white elephant?"
"Yep. Would you do it?” Anne asked the businesswoman. This would be the logic test.
"Sell out my own secrets for a quick dollar infusion? No question. I'd do it in a second. You hadn't signed a financing contract, had you?"
"Nope. Was about to."
"But you hadn't signed yet, so no harm, no foul. Her decision to make. Her idea to sell. What does Philippe think?"
"He doesn't want to talk about it."
"Hmmm ... “ Ms. McKenzie sipped the hot liquid. “What does that tell you?"
"That he doesn't rule it out.” Philippe thought it was possible. Now, Ms. McKenzie agreed. But Anne liked Denise. Oh, why couldn't it be Maple?
"Exactly,
he doesn't rule it out.” The older woman beamed with approval. “So prove it, and then come work with me."
"Trying to steal her away from me, mon Ange?” Philippe kissed his friend on her cheek and pulled up a chair from the empty table next. “Mon amour.” He clasped Anne's hand. “Whatever she offers, I'll happily double."
"Difficult to do as I don't technically work for you, Philippe.” He fired her or had he forgotten? “How did you find us?” Anne hadn't been answering her phone this morning.
"Called Nancy. Your voicemail gives her home number.” Since Nancy was at home and moving soon, that number was best. “She mentioned you were having lunch with L'Ange.” His smile was fond. “And it is Tuesday."
What did Tuesday have to do with anything?
"I'm a creature of habit,” Ms. McKenzie explained. She came here every week? No wonder she had a table reserved for her use.
"A creature si belle,” Philippe cooed, lifting Ms. McKenzie's fingertips to his lips.
"You are too much, Philippe.” Anne noticed the delighted woman didn't pull her hand away.
"I find he's not enough,” Anne shared with her mentor, a dare in her brown eyes.
"Vraiment?” He turned his attention to Anne's fingertips. “I must correct that bad impression immediately."
"Well, do that somewhere else, will you?” Ms. McKenzie's smile softened the words as she pushed her chair back. “I must get to my next meeting."
"And Anne and I must go shopping.” Philippe managed to tuck both of their arms into his as they walked out.
"Vraiment?” Anne mimicked, her bad French accent making the Angel laugh. “I think you are mistaken. I was to meet with Nancy this afternoon."
"Nancy sends her regrets. She discovered a sudden conflict in her schedule. Have I mentioned that I like Nancy?"
"Only a half dozen times,” Anne grumbled but she was thrilled he liked her friends.
"Finally, you have a little play friend to argue with you,
Philippe,” the Angel teased, “I am so happy for you and for me. I find it tiring,” the woman confided in Anne.
"You love it, mon ange, but we will let you rest.” Philippe kissed Ms. McKenzie on the cheek as they parted.
"Be off, you rascal. Have fun, Anne. Oh, and I do think your number two should be number one."
So Ms. McKenzie was betting on Denise being guilty.
"Number two?” One of Philippe's dark eyebrow twitched.
Anne steeled her mouth into a straight line. “Yes, she thinks Gregory has a lot of potential."
"Not nice, mon Cherie.” He slapped her bottom as they walked through the lobby, not heeding the concierge's disapproving frown.
"I'm also a bastard, Philippe, remember?” Anne tossed back Denise's words. “And as a bastard, I prefer some forewarning. Would it have been too much to hear that Angel knew about the Suzanne situation before I lunched with her?” Philippe slept over again last night. He had plenty of opportunities to share the information.
"Je m'excuse, an oversight.” He didn't sound that contrite.
"Any other oversights that I should know about?"
Philippe paused outside the entrance of the hotel, tossing a plastic number chip to the valet. “I went to see Suzanne this morning."
"Why?” Anne peered up at him. Not that she had to ask. She knew it had to be about her.
Philippe shifted, not meeting her eyes. “The original prescription label was underneath. I made her aware that I knew the pills were hers."
"And?"
"She won't be bothering you again."
Bossy, controlling man, this was her business, not his. She should have been at least consulted before he took action. And why'd he see the woman on his own? Did he not think she could handle facing Suzanne again?
"I wanted the satisfaction of confronting her myself.” Anne stuck her chin out stubbornly. “I deserved that much."
"I didn't see it that way, Cherie. I forgot about you being a warrior woman.” Philippe's admiration shone in his eyes.
A warrior woman. She was a warrior woman, darn it. “Forget again and you'll have me to battle with."
"I'll remember.” Philippe watched her cautiously, clearly expecting a blow out.
What was the point? What was done was done.
And they were going shopping, Philippe and her in the middle of a workday. Anne was determined to enjoy the stolen moments. They spent enough time on Suzanne and Maple and Denise.
So she tactfully changed the subject. “I'm curious. Why the sudden urge to shop, Philippe? Why now? Shouldn't you be at work? Why couldn't it wait?"
She was rewarded with an amused smile. She didn't know why but her questions always made Philippe smile. “I don't have to be anywhere, Cherie. I'm the boss.” He opened the passenger door for her and slipped the valet a bill. The valet thanked him, calling Philippe by name.
"Been here before?” Anne asked, keeping the mood light.
"I've had a Tuesday meeting or two with L'Ange.” Philippe gripped the steering wheel, “Where to? Rodeo Drive?"
Rodeo Drive? Anne had shopped there once or twice. Not what she would call an enjoyable experience. Too uptight to be comfortable. Anne only had to glance at him to get that message across.
"Right. What was I thinking?” Philippe grinned. “No Rodeo Drive for my peanut butter girl. What about Century City? I took my eldest sister there once when she came to visit. She liked it. It's got a few burger places."
Better but still ritzy. “Johnny Rockets, not an In N Out, a bit upscale for my humble tastes."
"Humor me, Cherie, I'm treating."
He was treating. Anne didn't know if she liked him buying her things. Didn't leave her much control.
Philippe read her mind again. He did that a lot lately. “C'est matin, I was..."
"I understand.” He didn't have to say more. She wouldn't make him apologize.
He nodded his appreciation. “Besides, Cherie, I owe you a dress, have to repay my debt."
That was right. He did. “And a pair of shoes,” Anne reminded him, “and a pair of underwear.” Especially the underwear.
"D'accord, d'accord.” He was a gracious winner, feigning disgruntlement. “This will be an expensive outing."
"And I assume Century City has a Victoria's Secret?" Anne put her hand on his thigh, feeling the muscles underneath the fabric flex.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Twenty
Shopping let them forget their troubles for the evening. But only for the evening. The next morning, the troubles came back, with interest.
"That bastard!” Anne paced back and forth in the Lamont Ventures boardroom. This wasn't Lamont Ventures business, well, not really, but the location would have to do. She no longer had a boardroom of her own to pace in.
"It wasn't me, Cherie.” Philippe watched her from his vantage point at the table.
"I know that.” Really couldn't Philippe take anything seriously?
"And I don't like being put in the same bastard category as this hacker person. What do you think, Nancy?” He was too blasted flippant.
"Not now, Philippe.” Anne cut him off. Her sense of humor temporarily had fled.
"I'm so sorry.” Nancy shrunk even smaller in the chair, her face rosy. “I should have cut external access, leaving the database alone for history."
Yeah, she should have. And Anne should have make certain that was done. Her friend was dealing with classic baby brain. What was Anne's excuse?
"What's done is done, Nance. No use going back in time. We have to concentrate on the future. Philippe, how long was he in for?"
He studied the file, having been prepped by the company president, wanting to handle this himself, giving Anne the much-appreciated privacy to vent. “Two hours, he did his research and picked the perfect time to escape detection. Three o'clock in the morning, right before shift change."
"Two hours. Two friggin’ hours.” The speed of Anne's stride increased, as she thought of the
confidential information residing on their server. “He could get everything in that amount of time. What did the bas—sleezeball access?"
"Everything,” Philippe didn't mince words and for that, Anne was grateful. She needed facts now. “It was a total security failure on our part."
"Everything. Every blasted thing—” Anne flopped in the empty chair across from Philippe, folded her arms on the table and rested her forehead upon them. Neither Philippe nor Nancy spoke, letting her sort out her thoughts. It couldn't be as bad as she thought. Anne heard of hackers entering sites and not wreaking havoc. Some of her composure restored, Anne raised her head. “Did he deface the site?"
"No.” Philippe sighed. “Cherie, this was no white hat pointing out security gaps. He purposely was looking for information."
"And he wouldn't be looking for information if he didn't plan to use it,” Anne concluded. Use her information. Information her clients entrusted with her. Information she once again had failed to protect. It was a good thing she was getting out of the business. She wasn't as good as she once thought herself to be.
"And use for a return. The hacker was a pro."
What was Philippe saying? That an amateur couldn't access her site? Anne didn't quite know, not anymore.
Her doubt must have shown. Philippe forced out between clenched teeth, “My system isn't that easy to get into, Cherie.” This was a failure Philippe would take very personally, his origins being in software development. “The man was skilled and will expect to be well compensated for his efforts."
Well compensated? There was one person out there who is a million dollars richer.
"But, by whom and for what piece of information?” Could it be someone after one of her clients? Or was he after her?
"We don't know that yet. My people are watching the net for any information drops.” Philippe was on it, trying his best to recover. Anne gave him credit for that.
"Do we have an I-P address?” That cyberspace fingerprint would be key to catching the hacker.
Philippe ran a hand through his short brown curly hair. “The Cyber Cafe was the funnel, the origin elsewhere, untraceable."