Bossman's List

by Ashlee Price

  The other reporters cheered and clapped, the women especially.

  “But was he swinging at her, or at you?”

  “No time to tell,” Langdon said. “He wasn’t in a talkin’ mood.”

  Hands shot up again, and Langdon pointed out another familiar face.

  Jerry Mancuso of the New York Times introduced himself the way Leslie Greene had and asked, “What are your feelings about Mr. John Alister, Mr. Cane?”

  Langdon gave it some thought, then shrugged it off casually. “J.A.’s a good guy, all told. I wish we’d been able to work together, but that seems a bit outside our wheelhouse, time bein’.”

  “Are you sure, Mr. Cane? Wall Street’s going nuts with the idea of a merger.”

  Langdon glanced at me, but I hadn’t heard a thing about it. All I could do was shrug and shake my head, and all he could do was believe me. He turned back to the crowd. “I suppose that’s something we’ll have to talk to J.A. about when we meet with him.”

  “And when will that be, Mr. Cane?”

  Langdon gestured to me. “That’s up to her, innit?”

  Chapter 14

  I didn’t think there’d be another meeting between John and Langdon, and technically that was true. This emergency meeting had been called by Margaret Alister, and Langdon wasn’t on the agenda at all.

  I was.

  Margaret opened with, “This has gone way too far, John. You’ve got to put a stop to it!”

  Langdon asked her, “What’s he gonna do, send Sheryl up to her room without any supper?”

  “He can fire her ass,” Margaret said, “and sue your balls off!”

  “Maybe I should sue Alister Fashions,” I said, leaning forward in the wingback chair, “for creating and fostering an unhealthy work environment. I don’t think the company can take very much more bad publicity. But that’s not really my problem if I’m fired, is it?”

  “Why don’t I sue you for conflict of interest, you little snit?”

  John held his palms up to calm us. “Ladies, please, let’s take it easy here. Nothing will get accomplished with us sitting here fighting among ourselves.”

  “I don’t see what there is to fight about,” Margaret said. “She’s gotta go… now!”

  John glared at his wife, his voice coming fast and low. “I realize you have a valid point, Margaret, and that you’re concerned with the health of Alister Fashions, but I don’t want to have to remind you that I founded this company and I’m the one who runs it. Is that understood?”

  The tension was thick in the office. Langdon and I were fixed on the clash of Alister wills. Finally, Margaret backed down and looked away, eyes down, with a submissive expression and a bitter pout. John turned back to me and Langdon. “What’s important now is that we show solidarity, mutual respect, unity within the company.”

  “Too right,” Langdon said. “Stockholders lose faith, your prices take a tumble, you could be looking at Chapter 13 by the end of the year.”

  “And you swoop in to buy us out,” Margaret said. “Everything works out just perfectly for you, doesn’t it? How convenient.”

  But Langdon just shrugged with a bemused half-smile. “How could I have been pulling the strings behind that weird kid and his crush on Sheryl?”

  “Through her, obviously.” She turned to John, her hands gripping the arms of her chair with new urgency. “This whole thing is an obvious put-up, John! The three of them put on this little charade, Alister Fashions falls apart, and they’re right there to pick up the pieces.” Margaret turned back to me and Langdon. “How much is that little ginger turd getting? A cool million in cash, or maybe just part of the new company you’ll create out of the ashes of our lives?”

  Langdon shook his head. “You’re barmy, luv.”

  Margaret stood up and stomped across the office. “We’ll see how ‘barmy’ I am.”

  John said, “Margaret… Margaret, do not walk away from me!” But by then she was slamming the office door behind her. John ran his fingers through his graying hair. “I’m sorry about that,” John said in a voice both low and sheepish. “She’s feeling the pressure of all this, especially now around the holidays. It’s never a good time around our house, tell you the truth.”

  Langdon and I shared a sympathetic glance.

  John went on, “Anyway, Sheryl, your job here is safe, for as long as you still want it.”

  “Thank you, John,” I said, using his first name as a subtle hint of my newfound strength and rising position. “I appreciate it.”

  He smiled and nodded, turning to Langdon. “How about you, L.C.? Heading back home soon, I’d imagine?”

  “Cops need me to stick around till the kid comes to. S’dead time to me, tell you the truth.”

  John said, “Why don’t you two get outta Manhattan a while? I’ve got a cabin up in the Catskills, skiing’s great this time of year.” Langdon and I looked at one another, eyebrows high, as we considered his offer. John added, “After what you’ve been through, I’d say you’ve earned it. Anyway, the quieter it is around here right now, the better.”

  Langdon and I thanked John and made our exit from his office. Once we stepped out of the elevator in the parking lot and crossed to the town car, I said in a low whisper, “What do you make of all that?”

  “Not much more’n it seems. You?”

  “A lot more. If he didn’t fire me, it means he still has some use for me. You know what they say about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.”

  “You heard him yourself, Sheryl. Firing you now would be bad publicity. Not to mention the chance of yet another lawsuit.”

  “Yet another?”

  Langdon shrugged as we arrived at the town car. “That kid could sue him as well as me. And I could sue Alister Fashions too if I felt like it.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ll think of something.” We climbed into the car and I turned the engine over.

  “We’re not doing that.” I said. “Kicking John Alister when he’s down. I don’t care if you say it’s business or personal or whatever. He’s still my boss. He gave me my start.”

  “S’okay, Sheryl, no worries. I didn’t come out here with any agenda toward breakin’ poor ol’ J.A., and I’m not keen on doin’ it now. But if you’re right and he’s still got some trick up his sleeve, I can’t afford to just let him play his hand, can I? You think he’ll be that merciful to me?”

  I knew Langdon was right about that, and that I didn’t really have the right to tell him how to do his business. I wasn’t exactly sure how to run my own at that point.

  “Where’re we off to now, then?”

  “Gotta stop by my place.” I said. “Pack a bag.” Langdon glanced at me, his wry expression telling me I didn’t need a bag. “I need to see Ricardo anyway. We won’t be long.”

  ***

  “Of course I will,” Ricardo said, looking over the rest of my list. “Consider it done.” Ricardo looked Langdon up and down with a sexy little smile. “And I do mean done.”

  I rolled my eyes, but Langdon just chuckled. “You’ve only got a few days, but I’ve taken care of most of the items already. Just make sure they’re wrapped and ready. You’ll have to drop them off on Christmas Eve.”

  “I got nothin’ to do that night anyway.” With a glance at Langdon, he added, “Unless you two would like to have a… a brown Christmas, a little three-way?”

  “Ricardo, enough.”

  “What about the press?”

  Langdon and I swapped confused expressions. “What press?” Langdon asked. “What’re you talking about?”

  Just then I heard the Skype ring on my computer in the bedroom. I slipped out of the conversation with Langdon and Ricardo and took the call. My folks were leaning into their computer monitor with worried faces, mouths low and brows high.

  “Finally, honey,” my mother said. “We’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

  “Why didn’t you try me on my phone?”

 
; “Couldn’t get through.” I reached into my purse and pulled the phone out. Dead. “Battery’s out, sorry. What’s up?”

  “That’s what we were going to ask you,” my father said. “What is going on over there?”

  I assumed they’d seen one or both of the press interviews John and Langdon had given. It was a long and complicated story, and I assumed that most of what they’d heard reported more or less summed it up correctly. So I wasn’t sure how much I wanted or needed to add.

  But there was also the matter of Langdon’s admission of our affair, our clandestine love, and I supposed that did bear a little fleshing out. “It just sort of happened, y’know? But it’s serious,” I added, referring to my own feelings of commitment. Then I added, “At least, I think it is,” referring to his commitment to me.

  “Well, I should say it is,” my mother said, confusing me just a little bit.

  Langdon and Ricardo stepped up to my bedroom doorway and I waved them in. My father added, “I don’t know how you can be so glib about the whole thing.”

  Does he mean what happened to Flynn? He must. “It’s not as bad as it seems,” I said, addressing the poor guy’s health. “Y’know, people in the media say a lot of things that just don’t turn out to be true.”

  “I certainly hope not,” my mother said, once more making me wonder what she meant. “But I have to tell you, I was afraid something like this was going to happen, that you’d get in over your head.”

  “But I’m not in over my head, Mom… more like head over heels.”

  “Your head’s in the clouds, is what,” my father said, an uncharacteristically angry tone to his voice. “Frankly, honey, I’m… I’m shocked, shocked and very disappointed.”

  That hurt, but it would have hurt more if I’d known precisely what they were talking about. “Why, because he’s from Australia? He didn’t mean to hurt Flynn. I was standing right there!”

  But my parents only glanced at one another, then looked back at my belly button. “Have you been watching the news, dear?”

  The interviews, I thought to myself. I knew it. But I merely said, “I know about the interviews, Mom, I was there on both occasions.”

  “Not those interviews.”

  My father said, “I think you better turn on CNN, dear.”

  We didn’t have cable, but Yahoo! News and YouTube were right at my fingertips. I searched my own name and my blood ran cold to see how many videos popped up. Several were the interviews John and Langdon had given on the police station steps, but quite a few more were clearly the pundit shows, talking heads with computer graphics behind them, my face often dominating the background.

  One video featured an angular-faced woman with short black hair and a low, knowing tone of voice. Sitting behind a desk and looking into the camera, she said, “Now it seems this… this Sheryl Francis is playing both sides of the street… literally. Maybe even three sides of the street, if that’s possible.” She chuckled to herself as Langdon took his place behind me, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  Ricardo shook his head. “To think I used to like that bitch.”

  The pundit went on, “But really, in this day and age, when women are finally stepping out from the shadows of powerful men and reclaiming their dignity, their civil and legal rights in many cases, to establish themselves outside of their personae, their beauty, their physical gifts, here’s this woman, this ambitious young fashion designer from Oregon… although what she’s ever designed remains a mystery to me… so here comes this eager young woman, hungry to make a name for herself, to make her fortune… hungry for a lot of things, probably… is this really the message we want to send? Is that really on point with today’s current events? Do we really want to be glorifying the image of this woman bouncing from one billionaire to another, sleeping her way up the company chain of command, now spinning all this to her own ends, her own twisted sense of fame and accomplishment? And what about we in the media, what part do we play in all this?”

  I couldn’t take anymore. I clicked out of the video and onto another one, my stomach turning with nerves. This pundit was almost the physical opposite of the first, a pudgy balding man hollering into the camera. “This pugnacious little slut,” he shouted, a sheen of sweat over his jowls, “a modern-day Mata Hari, making a mockery of our economy and some of our greatest institutions. What else has this woman been compromising? I mean, of course she’s dealing in corporate secrets between these two companies, nobody doubts that. You’d have to be deaf, dumb, blind, and living under a rock not to get that. But what else is she hiding? We know about the Aussie connection, sure, but what other deals has she got going down in boardrooms and bedrooms all over the world? There’s already talk in Washington about a Russian connection… Russia! It’s Hillary Clinton all over again, folks! Not this time, not again! This time we are going to get to the bottom of this. Lock her up, lock her up, lock her up!”

  “Oh God,” I muttered.

  “It’s okay,” Langdon said, “he’s just blowing smoke out of his arse.”

  “It’s not that,” I said, leaning back into Langdon’s cut abs and pecs.

  I tiredly clicked on the next video, this one of a popular radio host with long, curly black hair, a big nose, dark round glasses, and a thick New York accent. Sitting in his radio booth, obviously doing a broadcast, he said into his big microphone, “I mean, sure I’d do her. Are you kidding me? That little body, pretty face, hell yeah I’d do her! Can we call her, let’s see if we can get her on the phone.”

  Ricardo shook his head. “Guess it’s time to charge that phone.”

  I sighed. “Or throw it out the window.”

  Chapter 15

  A private helicopter took me and Langdon out of Manhattan and over the Catskill Mountain range, craggy and ancient and sheeted with snow. The wilderness was so vast it was easy to forget how close we were to all the glitz of New York City. I almost felt like I was back in misty green Oregon, ice-capped Mt. Hood lording over the slow pace and easy life we treasured out there but absolutely abandoned in New York City.

  What had seemed like John Alister’s generosity made a lot more sense as a strategy to hide us away and keep the growing controversy surrounding me in particular from disrupting the company’s already fragile profile.

  But maybe he didn’t know about all those stories when he sent us out here. If not, he knows now—and how will that change his whole approach to all this? He’ll be really upset, even enraged.

  I guess I’m glad I’m not there to see it.

  The Alister vacation home was gorgeous, an A-frame dominating the house, with two and three levels on each side. Varnished pine beams supported the grand structure. Stuffed deer and bear heads hung as trophies on the walls, and the room smelled of cedar. A crackling fire roared in the fireplace.

  We lay on the lush Afghan rug in front of the fire, sipping a snifter of cognac that went down hot and soothing. It felt like we should have been celebrating something, but the reality was that we were laying low—and to do it in such an incredible fashion made me feel conspicuous about it. Even though I knew Flynn wasn’t badly hurt, and that word of that was about to be officially released, I couldn’t help but imagine myself enjoying a skiing holiday while he lay on his deathbed. I knew that’s how it would look, and the world was already paying much too much attention to me as it was.

  And my folks, I couldn’t help but think, even though they were the last two people I wanted to think about lying there with Langdon. What must they think of me? I’ve really let them down, as far as they know. How am I going to win back their respect?

  Langdon said, “Hey, you’re tight as a drum.” He set down his glass and began rubbing my shoulders and neck from behind. His fingers were strong, loosening my retracted muscles, sending blood to flow into my tissues, slowly working out the kinks. “You gotta stop worrying, relax a bit.”

  “How can I? I’m suddenly the She-Wolf of Wall Street! But that’s not me, that’s not who I am
.”

  “So what do you care what they think of you? Matter of fact, you might think about riding that out a little bit.” I turned to glare at him, but he smiled and I faced forward again, enjoying his massage more than my own sense of exception. “She-Wolf of Wall Street, that’s a powerful position. You could get a lot done just by walking into a room with a reputation like that.”

  “What could I get done?”

  “I dunno, what did you ever dream of getting done? Has it always been fashion?”

  I hadn’t given it much thought, certainly not in the frenzy of the previous week. “For a long while now, I guess.”

  “Maybe it’s time you gave something else a thought. A charity or something, maybe. We’ve got plenty of money.”

  “We?”

  “That’s right, Sheryl, we. Like I told that geezer scribe at the police station, once we get all this straightened out, the rest of our lives will take care of themselves.”

  It was tempting to believe him. But too much had gone too wrong too quickly, and I found it hard to think that everything would just be fine. In fact, I was becoming more convinced that things were going to get as bad as they possibly could… and then just a bit worse.

  “Just trust me, Sheryl,” he said. “We’re doing the right thing, and everything will work out.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” He turned my head to face him. “I do.”

  ***

  I wanted to show Langdon that I was up to the task of handling a man like him. I wanted him to know I was formidable, capable of doling out as much ecstasy as I was willing to receive.

  I took his big cock in my hands. One fist failed to wrap all the way around the base but still managed to hold that monster steady and squeeze it to stifle the flow of energy as necessary. But in the meantime my other hand was pumping hard, drawing that energy up and into his hefty shaft.

  Langdon lay on his back, head propped up on the rug near the fireplace, looking down on me with a serene smile. Langdon knew how to dish it out, that nobody doubted. But he was also man enough to know when to lie back and take it, secure enough in his alpha-masculinity not to have to assert it at every single turn.