Bossman's List

by Ashlee Price

  The narrator went on, “Langdon Cane’s story could already fill two books, and he’s only just turned thirty years old. What will the future hold for this amazing man?”

  I hit the space bar to end the video. “You really think a man like that is going to be interested in a girl like me?”

  Ricardo looked me dead in the eyes. “Listen to me, Sheryl. A man like that, he seems… adventurous, like the king of mankind and the world’s just his playground… and we’re all his playthings.

  “But Langdon Cane isn’t that different from any other man, or any woman either, Sheryl. Everybody is looking for something. So what’s he looking for? Not to prove himself. He’s already done that a million times over. Nobody’s going to doubt him or his accomplishments now.”

  “He’s not looking for fame,” I said. “I don’t think so, anyway. He never talks about it. This was some kind of magazine show he did, but there aren’t many of them. I found a clip from Bill Maher that was pretty interesting.”

  “Honey, a man like that could have fame in the snap of his fingers if he wanted it. No, Sheryl, what that man wants… and needs… and can’t find… is love.”

  “Are you kidding? Any woman I know would fall in love with him, and stay in love, at the drop of his hat.”

  “There’s at least one woman I know who already feels that way. But it’s not about finding somebody to love him, but finding somebody he can love, somebody he can admire and look up to. For a man like him, that’s gotta be a rarity; people falling over him, yes men everywhere, he must get bored being the big man all the time. A man like that needs a powerful woman, Sheryl, somebody unique, somebody with ziz, with pizzazz.”

  We both turned to look into a nearby mirror, Ricardo’s face behind mine. The makeup and hair were perfect, the gown gorgeous.

  “It won’t matter how you look,” Ricardo said. “What a man like that wants… is you.”

  ***

  I met Langdon for breakfast the next morning at a lovely little place very close to the Baccarat. The tea was hot and oaky, the bagel and cream cheese warm and chewy and delicious. The chilled melon was fresh and perfectly scooped, and the ice water cradled a slice of lemon.

  I didn’t want to tell Langdon about what had happened in the parking garage the night before—especially since nothing had really happened at all. I didn’t want to come off like some paranoid lunatic, even if that’s the way I was feeling. And I certainly couldn’t tell him that John Alister had enlisted me to bring back information. In truth, I was growing suspicious of my boss, but I also knew I had a professional responsibility to him.

  But I’d already mentioned that troubling visit from the FTC. At least, I was troubled by it. Langdon didn’t seem overly concerned, and that had my instincts tingling. If Langdon’s that secure in what’s going on, he must know what he’s telling me. I can’t be sure Langdon isn’t playing me for a fool, seducing me in order to use me against John in some way. What if Langdon is using me as a scapegoat, not John, and it’s Langdon encouraging the FTC? But then why would Sherman Mathers have asked? To throw me off the scent, keep me off my guard? All I really know is that none of these three men can be entirely trusted, at least not yet. And I’m stuck between them in a way I’m not even sure I understand. But there are things going on that I’m not privy to, that seems certain.

  I was being used, I knew that, and I didn’t like it. But I had to figure out which of these men was using me—and for what—before I could decide what to do about it. It only struck me then how little I knew about this Langdon Cane.

  “So, y’mind if I ask you a question?”

  He nodded and smiled, a lock of long brown hair falling over one eye. “I hear rumors about you, your company, certain things about… work ethics and safety conditions, child labor, things like that?”

  Langdon cocked his head back a bit, eyes narrowing. “Is that what this is? J.A. hoping to get you to trick me into making some kinda admission or anothah?”

  “No, Langdon, nothing like that, nothing at all.”

  “Get a little leverage, is it?”

  “No, Langdon, no.” I set my hand on his and looked into his eyes with a flirtatious innocent look I knew most men found appealing, if not just downright impossible to resist. “I’m asking for myself, because… because I like you, Langdon, I mean… obviously, after, well…” I cleared my throat, hoping he’d take over the reins of the conversation, but he seemed content to let me squirm. “Anyway, I just want to know, y’know, what kind of man I’m dealing with.”

  Langdon’s head cocked to one side, shoulder arching a bit. “You deal with John Alister, and who knows what he’s really up to?”

  “I work for John Alister, Langdon. He’s my boss. What you and I have… it’s something different, something better … I hope.”

  Langdon looked deep into my eyes, and I felt as if he were searching out the truth of my soul, and finding it. “Fair enough, Sheryl, fair enough. Truth is, those’er all lies, every one of ‘em, down to the last punctuation mahk!”

  “But… why would John Alister lie about that?”

  “Make sure you don’t turn against him, for one thing. Maintain some leverage, like I said, for anothah. But ask y’self this, Sheryl: Why would he wanna get into business with me if my record was really all that bad, right? I mean, it got out he was connected to whatever they’re sayin’ I done, Choinese kids or whatevah, he’d have to run f’the hills!”

  His logic was flawless, I had to admit. But I also knew it would be. This wouldn’t have been the first time he’d sidestepped the issue. And in truth, I had no idea if John Alister would run from the idea of a little forced child labor here and there. I didn’t have any proof, but I had less and less substantial evidence to the contrary.

  “Fair enough, Langdon,” I said, “fair enough. But… why all the, um, the adventures, y’know?”

  “The adventures?”

  “Yeah, deep sea diving and celebrity boxing and mountain climbing. Isn’t being super rich thrilling enough?”

  Langdon gave that one some thought, crossing his arms in front of him. “I guess it’s not, tell ya the truth. I mean, it’s great, don’t get me wrong. But there’s just something… lacking about it, like there’s a hole in me heart somewhere, needs to be filled. Guess it stahted when me mum and dad died.”

  “Oh, Langdon, I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings, or—”

  “Nah, it’s alright. Everybody dies somehow.” He took another long, slow sip of coffee, wincing into the bitterness of his memory, sugarcoating it for my benefit. A man like Langdon Cane would never want or allow himself to be pitied. He even smiled as he went on, “For them it was a small plane, scoutin’ the outback. Me dad was a bush pilot, started taking movie types out to scout locations.”

  “And your mom went with him on things like that?”

  “They were always together, Mum and Dad. ‘At’s how they wanted it. Couldn’t live without each other anyway, wouldn’t have wanted to.”

  “How sad… and kind of sweet.”

  “I think so.” Langdon took a sip of coffee. “I was nearly grown anyway, almost fourteen. It’s how I gaht stahted in business. I sold the place, reinvested the proceeds in a strip mall outside Queensland, then just bought everything I could. The rest, as they say—”

  “Is history.” Langdon and I looked up to see a woman I didn’t know. He didn’t seem to know her either. She had long, chestnut hair and a very angular face, more handsome than pretty. She handed him a business card and said, “Langdon Cane, I’m Adrienne Devereaux from Hulu. I heard you were in town and I just couldn’t believe it. And now here we are, taking a meeting!”

  “I never consented to take a meeting with you or anyone from Hulu,” Langdon said.

  I said to her, “I think you’d better leave us alone, Miss Devereaux.”

  Giving me barely a side-glance, Adrienne said, “Shshshsh, honey, the adults are talking.” Then, to Langdon, she we
nt on, “Langdon, you’re the next big reality star, and everybody at Hulu knows it. Forget the chefs and the Kardashians, that’s all so 2010, am I right? But you? You’re in the world of high fashion, and Australia? Americans’ll watch anything Australian! Far as they know, Men at Work are still a thing.”

  I muttered, “Who?”

  But Adrienne continued to ignore me. “I’m talking about tens of millions of dollars, Mr. Cane.”

  “Don’t need it.”

  “Worldwide fame.”

  “Don’t want it.”

  “Look what it did for Donald Trump!”

  Langdon pulled out his wallet, dropped a fifty on the table and looked at me. “What do you say we get out of the city for a little while?”

  I couldn’t help but smile and extend my hand across the table. “That sounds great.” He took my hand and we stood, Adrienne backing up as we stepped away from the table.

  “Just tell me you’ll think about it,” Adrienne said, before realizing he’d left her business card on the table. “Okay, we’ll do lunch again!”

  Chapter 9

  Langdon and I walked back to the hotel, and I couldn’t help but think how odd it was that Ricardo and I had just been discussing Langdon’s modesty, only to have it illustrated like that. It almost seemed too hard to accept, but then again it was easy to imagine Langdon getting offers like that all the time. Ricardo couldn’t have been the first person to think about it, not by a long shot. So I decided not to let it worry me and to turn my attention to my day with Langdon.

  When we arrived at the hotel and I asked the valet for the town car, Langdon just shook his head. “Got a surprise, actually.”

  “But… I’m supposed to be driving you—?”

  “What makes you think you’re not?” With that, a limo drove up and stopped in front of us, the valet opening the door so we could climb in.

  The limo was dark and swanky, the first I’d been in as a guest and not merely John’s assistant. It felt different… better. I’d always felt that the other limos I’d been in had been meant for other people, because they had been. This one was meant for me. Lights lined the top of the cabin, and there was a cocktail bar filled with crystal glasses and decanters. “Nice wheels. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” After a mischievous little pause, Langdon explained, “I guess I should be perfectly honest, Sheryl.”

  Uh-oh.

  “I wasn’t just inspired to get outta town back at brekkie there, though I sure did wanna get as far from that slag as I could. Bad vibe, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” was all I could say.

  “Well, the truth is that I’d planned to take you out of the city anyway, a little jaunt to remind us where we are, and who we are.”

  Giving it only a little thought, I asked, “And where are we?”

  “We’re in one of the greatest cities in the world, and we’ve barely had a look at it!” I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I was content to sit back and wait to find out. My mind was racing again, jumping to visions of a life surrounded by that kind of luxury.

  Enjoy it while it lasts, I had to remind myself. I was barely able to recall what Eugene looked like, smelled like.

  “So, about John’s offer, have you given that any thought?”

  “I have.” Langdon turned to me. “You?”

  “Some, but… it’s not exactly my deal, so it’s not for me to think about.”

  “Nobody can tell you what you can think about or not think about, Sheryl. What happened to your country’s famous First Amendment? Freedom of speech, right?”

  “Well, sure. But that doesn’t mean I have to speak, does it?”

  Langdon looked at me for a skeptical moment, then broke out laughing. “Too right, Sheryl, too right.”

  “But, to be honest, I’m not sure how good a deal it really is.”

  Langdon gave that some thought, looking me up and down. “That so? How d’you mean?”

  I could only shrug. “I’m not sure. Like I said, I don’t really know the details. It’s just… something about it, a hunch.”

  “You think your bossman’s trying to screw me?”

  “Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve only been working with John Alister for a year or so, but he’s never done anything wrong or criminal that I know of.”

  “Not that you know of.”

  “That’s right,” I answered calmly, unfazed by his insinuation. “I can’t account for everything in his life, but I’ve never known him to do anything I’d consider unethical.”

  Langdon considered that, nodding slowly. “But you still don’t like the deal?”

  I lingered on that, knowing he was trying to make me commit, which I couldn’t do in any way at that time, and for so many reasons. “I’d proceed with caution,” was all I really could say, and Langdon seemed to understand that.

  “Fair enough. With one caveat.” I waited for him to set his terms. “No more talkin’ ‘bout business till we’re back on dry land. Deal?”

  Back on dry land? I was about to ask him what he meant when we pulled up to New York Harbor and a helicopter which sat waiting for us.

  The rotors started turning, and Langdon led me, head down by sheer instinct, into the plush cabin. We strapped in and someone closed the door behind us. With Langdon’s nod to the pilot, the bird lifted off the ground and ascended. My stomach turned with just the slightest bit of nerves, and my blood was pushing through my veins as my body gobbled up the oxygen. I took Langdon’s hand and squeezed tight.

  Manhattan was spread out beneath us, getting smaller by the second as we rose over it. Those mighty skyscrapers which had towered over me for years suddenly seemed humbled, reduced. But it was still New York, still impressive, and seeing it from above only gave it an additional gravitas. It sprawled out into the distance, boroughs connected by bridges and tunnels, streets and structures.

  We flew over Central Park, alive with tiny pedestrians, the zoo looking like a model on some architect’s desk. Everything beneath me seemed surreal, unlike the city I’d come to know and more like the movie version, the famous facade without any of the reality that lurked behind it. But I had seen more than enough of that dark underbelly. Floating above the scramble of the city, I was more than happy to leave it behind, not to let in encroach upon that lofty experience. Langdon’s right. Leave business for when we get back to dry land.

  But I had to ask myself yet again, dry land?

  The helicopter took us around the island and then back toward the harbor. The great Statue of Liberty stood not far into the harbor, and the helicopter pilot took us closer than I would have thought possible, much less safe. We flew right up to the statue’s face. Her stern countenance was much more attractive than I’d ever realized. From a distance, it was hard to take in the high cheekbones, the full lips. I was reminded that its creator had been a Frenchman, after all.

  The helicopter brought us back to the landing pad near the edge of the harbor, and I fought a pang of disappointment. The date was looking to end on a melancholy note until Langdon led me away from the helicopter and toward a large white yacht with black windows that was waiting at the dock.

  The captain was standing on the deck waiting for us, smartly dressed in a white uniform. Langdon nodded at him. “Permission to come aboard?”

  The captain nodded, tipping his white cap. “Permission granted.” Langdon led me up the gangplank and the captain disappeared into the cabin. The yacht’s big motors turned over and water foamed around the stern.

  We set out slowly, and the mighty statue above us seemed more familiar than ever as we sailed out of the harbor and into the Atlantic chop. The wind grew stronger, and even that huge yacht still seemed intimidated by the colossal sea beneath us all. Langdon and I stood on one side of the deck as the cold breeze pushed back our hair. Langdon’s long brown locks intermingled with my own blonde strands, tying us together for what I hoped would be the rest of our lives.

  What a moment, to be on that mag
nificent yacht sailing away from Manhattan and feeling for the first time that the city was actually going to miss me while I was gone. But also for the first time, I didn’t give a damn what Manhattan thought about me, or about the city at all.

  I was more interested in the man standing beside me, warm and inviting and more charming than even seemed possible. If he was playing me, and I knew that was likely, I was ready to get played.

  But I also had to do a little playing of my own.

  “So tell me something,” I asked, “what got you into the fashion industry? You said you started off in real estate.”

  “Still in it,” Langdon said. “But I didn’t get into clothes as fashion, not at all. I don’t give two shakes of a lamb’s balls for all that fancy shite. Have you ever been to a Paris fashion show? They dress those girls up like space aliens, big hats that look like something out of a psychotic’s wet dream. If that’s fashion, they can have it. That won’t get you across the outback, I’ll tell you that.”

  I tried not to laugh too much. A lot of what he said did make a lot of sense.

  “I started off making gear,” he continued, really leaning on that last word with his Australian accent: Geeeeaaaaah.

  “Stahted off designing a new clip for mountain climbing, reduced accidental falls by about sixty percent by the second year.”

  “No kidding.”

  “But that was a one-time thing. Sold the rights, got into the wider market for breathable fabrics, sportswear, things like that. One thing led to another, just kinda happened that way, I guess. How about you? Liked to play dress-up as a little girl, did ya?”

  “Not at all, actually.” I gazed out over the water, choppier as we got further out to sea. “I always had this… I dunno, artistic impulse, I guess. I loved to draw as a kid, but I really wasn’t very good at it. I tried all the media—clay, paint, dance—”

  “I’ll bet you were an amazing dancer.”

  “Two left feet.”

  “Great legs, though.”