“You sound awful. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yeah, Kev, would you hold things down at the office. I’m not coming in…at least this morning.”
“You’ve got it.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want me to cancel tonight’s gala?” There was hesitancy in his voice.
Kevin, my head of Public Relations, had spent months carefully planning the Beverly Hilton event; he had been looking forward to it as much as I had. I gulped a breath of air. As much as I wished I could call it off—hell, I was in no mood to get an award and be all smiley-faced—I couldn’t. Important people from all over the country had flown in for the $1000 per ticket, Oprah-hosted fundraiser, including celebrities and politicians as well as one hundred underprivileged young girls who were likely squeeing about getting princess makeovers, courtesy of me, and attending their first-ever black tie event. I had also bought tables for many of our employees.
“No, Kev. I can’t do that. I’ll be there.”
Kevin proceeded to fill me in on the latest stock crisis news. It was not good. Rumors all over Wall Street were circulating that the Board of Directors was going to ask me to resign. This day was quickly going from bad to worse. Reality stabbed at me. By tonight, I might even be introduced as the “former CEO of Gloria’s Secret.”
I told Kevin to keep me posted of any new developments and then ended the call with an exchange of “I love you.” He always had been and always would be there for me. Our last words whirled around in my head. I love you. Jaime and I had never uttered these three words nor would we ever. My heart sunk lower as if lower were possible.
As much as I wished I could stay in bed all day with the covers over my head, I was still, at least for the moment, CEO of Gloria’s Secret, and I couldn’t eschew my responsibilities. I forced myself to roll out of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. I glimpsed my reflection in the mirror. I looked every bit the train wreck I was. My duo- colored eyes were bloodshot and swollen; my skin pasty, and my long braid was a disheveled mess. I immediately brushed my teeth just to get the taste of something fresh in my system. It helped, the minty toothpaste revitalizing me a little. What I really needed was a shower.
Despite Kevin’s urging not to get my bandaged finger wet, I let the hot water pound on my flesh, sparing no inch of me; it stung my finger. With a large soapy sponge, I washed every part of my body, but I couldn’t wash the painful memory of Jaime Zander away. It was moreover impossible not to think about the sensuous times we’d showered together. Tearfully, I circled the scar that never let me forget that my past was real. Beneath that scar, there was a new one that could only be felt, not seen. It was the scar on my heart that Jaime Zander had left behind. Madame Paulette had once told me that the scars you can’t see are the hardest to heal. I wondered—do they ever?
Stepping out of the shower, I towel dried myself with a soft white bath sheet and then donned my oversized Gloria’s Secret robe. The softness of the velvety terrycloth against my skin was comforting. Standing before the mirror, I was pleased to see that the shower had improved my reflection a bit. My skin again had a fresh glow, and while my eyes still had a few ugly red spider lines, they were no longer red balls of fire. I spritzed myself with a little GS cologne and then braided my hair. My throbbing stiff middle finger made weaving my long locks difficult. The almost waist-length braid was definitely not my best. After securing the wispy ends with an elastic, I decided to take a look-see at my finger. I peeled off the wet bandage and grimaced. My knuckle looked gruesome. It was still raw, inflamed, and puffy. I should have heeded Kevin’s advice. This was definitely the kind of wound that was going to get worse before it got better. I opened my medicine cabinet, pulled out my own box of Gloria’s Secret bandages, and re-covered it. I stared at the bright pink heart in the center of the bandage that sat smack on my torn flesh. Thoughts of Jaime flew into my head…that cocky smile, those beautiful denim blue eyes, all those crazy sexual encounters. He had unleashed a hidden power inside me and made me feel like beautiful goddess. He’d even saved my life! Fresh tears were verging. God fucking damn it! Confession: As much as I loathed him, I still loved him. Fuck love. It hurt. My finger would eventually heal, but I wasn’t sure about my heart. As I lumbered out of the bathroom and headed to my desk, I was no longer sure if it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. By the time I was slumped over my computer, I was sorry that I’d ever met Jaime Zander.
Occupying myself with my e-mails didn’t help. There were at least fifty e-mails from Jaime, each one begging me to call, text, or e-mail him back in the subject line. In one swoop, I deleted all of them. My sorrow morphed into rage. I wasn’t going to let him get the time of day with me. Rules are made to be broken, he had said, and so were contracts. Screw a deal is a deal! I immediately fired off an e-mail to Business Affairs, asking if we had signed a contract with ZAP! and if we did, to find a way to get out of it. Before I could hit send, my intercom buzzed. My heart jumped. Shit! Could it be him?
I jogged downstairs and sprinted to the intercom. I pressed the button. Through the speaker, Jules, our daytime doorman, piped that there was a man here to see me.
My heart thudded; I cut him off. “What does he look like?”
I’d say he’s about six-foot three—Thud!—has longish brown hair—Thud!—blue eyes—Thud!—and he’s probably in his sixties—Phew! “And he’s got a delivery for you.”
“Send him up,” I said with a sigh of relief. Okay. Confession: I was disappointed. I perversely wished it had been Jaime. What was wrong with me?
Five minutes later, the deliveryman was at my door. I unbolted the lock and gaped. Tucked in his arms were three crystal vases, each filled with a dozen magnificent red roses. They were just like the ones Jaime had bought me in Paris. My heart teetered between melting with joy and exploding with rage. I almost told the man to take them back from wherever they came but ultimately told him to place the vases on the entryway console. The apartment instantly filled up with their heavenly scent. Once the deliveryman was gone, I ripped open the small enveloped that was clipped to a plastic holder planted among the roses. There was a handwritten note inside, the penmanship black and bold. I shook as I read it.
Angel~
Please trust me.
Je t’aime.
~Jaime
I crumpled the note in my trembling hand. Tears seared my eyes. Why was he doing this to me? Was this the beautiful bastard’s latest ploy to make me fall apart? If it was, he was succeeding. My emotions were in turmoil, flying out of control. One by one, I hurled the vases onto the white marble floor. Fuck you, Jaime Zander! SMASH! SMASH! SMASH! They were as shattered as my heart. Tears spilled into the water that was drowning the now tattered, scattered roses. I was too much of an emotional wreck to clean up the mess. In a tailspin, I ran back upstairs to my computer and sent my e-mail off to Business Affairs. Whatever it took, Jaime Zander needed to be out of my life. I shut down my computer, set my alarm clock to 11:00, muted all my phones, and then did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. I sat down on the carpet, crossed my legs, and closed my eyes. I meditated.
At exactly eleven a.m., the loud ring of my alarm clock brought me out of my deep meditation. I slowly peeled open my eyes, took a deep inhale, and brought awareness back into my body. I felt empowered. Back in control. There was no Jaime Zander lurking in my head.
I rose to my feet and marched over to my lingerie commode, selecting my favorite, most uplifting black lace bra, panties, garter, and silk stockings. Fifteen minutes later, I was again dressed for success in my killer Louboutins and the Dior dress that I’d worn to Madame Paulette’s funeral. My little black mourning dress. In no mood to drive, I called my driver Tyrone and told him to meet me downstairs at 11:30. Grabbing my purse, I scurried out the door, ready to meet Victor Holden head on. I was not going to let him take me down.
CHAPTER 12
The legendary pink Beverly Hills Hotel was lo
cated a few miles from my condo on Sunset Boulevard. Tyrone let me out at the entrance. A long-legged valet instantly ran up to the car and opened the passenger door.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Long. Welcome back.”
I was quite a fixture at the Beverly Hills Hotel, meeting numerous vendors and reporters here, especially for breakfast at the famed Polo Lounge. And this was, of course, where Victor Holden held all his business meetings. It was a favorite celebrity and power mogul hangout.
As I stepped out of the Range Rover, I told Ty to wait for me nearby. That I hoped to be done with Victor and whomever else I was meeting by two o’clock. He obliged with a big smile.
Passing through the famous pink and green Art Deco-inspired lobby, I strutted to the Polo Lounge located to the rear. My long-stepped stride was a blend of sexy confidence and arrogance, one that had heads turning. Once inside the Polo Lounge, I spotted Victor immediately. Dressed in one of his classic three-piece gray suits, he was seated at his favorite green leather corner booth in the dimly lit front room. A tumbler was in his hand. His afternoon bourbon. When I strode up to his table, he rose, his lecherous eyes leering at my body from head to toe.
“Why, darling, I must say you are holding up quite well given what you must be going through.” He grasped my hand and put it to his lips.
I so wanted one of those antiseptic wipes to wash off his slimy kiss. I mentally sneered at him as I sidled into the booth until I was seated in the middle. I acted cool, calm, and collected. Like the Forbes power woman I was.
“Thank you, Victor. I’m confident that the stock crisis is just a little glitch, and we’ll be back on track shortly. The prototype for the vibrator came in, and I must say it exceeded my expectations.” I felt a throb between my legs. Oh, Jaime!
“That’s good to hear.” A smug smile curved on his lips. “So, Gloria, have you reconsidered my offer?”
I flinched. Under the table, his free hand ran up and down my thigh. Pig! I kept a poker face.
“Victor, the only thing I’ve focused on is the stock crisis.” That and the affair your slut for a daughter is having with Jaime Zander. Inwardly shuddering, I wondered if he knew about it—or was even aware of Vivien’s perverted history with her stepbrother.
His steely eyes narrowed. “Are you still seeing Jaime Zander?”
The mention of his name unhinged me but I acted calm. “No, I’m not seeing your stepson.”
At the word “stepson,” Victor flinched. His hand flew off my thigh. He was taken aback and for sure knew I was aware of his violent past. Like a snake, it was time to strike. I took a deep breath before showing my fangs and asking, “Victor, why were you the first to sell off so many shares when you knew business was solid, in fact, poised for growth?”
My question caught him off guard. He twitched and gulped his bourbon. Slamming the tumbler onto the table, his eyes darted to the left. “Ah, here comes our meeting.”
My gaze followed his. Lumbering toward us was a stocky man wearing a long black trench coat, the collar curled up, and a wide brimmed hat that obscured his face. There was something déjà-vu about him. Where had I seen him before? I racked my brain. Think, Gloria, think. And then it hit me—in the lobby of The Intercontinental Hotel in Paris just after checking in.
The man stopped at our table and removed his hat. I almost shit my panties. I knew this man! It was a face I’d never forget! The face of a monster!
“Gloria, I’d like you to meet…”
Boris Borofsky! I wasn’t sure if I even heard Victor say his name. For a brief second, my heart stopped beating. Everything inside me died. Then my heart beat into a frenzy.
Victor continued. “He owns a chain of very successful international sex clubs. We met in Paris and thought there might be a natural synergy between his enterprise and Gloria’s Secret. An opportunity to get our products into his many clubs around the world. Perhaps set up Gloria’s Secret boutiques inside them and create an exclusive BDSM product line.”
Still standing, Boris’s eyes, the color of pink quartz, clashed with mine. I felt myself turning as white as a ghost. If only I were a ghost and could make myself invisible. I tried hard to steady my right hand as I offered it to him to shake. His stubby, thick-skinned fingers entwined mine, his grip so hard I almost winced. My bandaged finger throbbed with pain as the horrific memory of these fingers wrapped around my neck threatened to undo me.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Long,” he said in his unforgettable, thickly accented husky voice. Still squeezing my hand, he gazed into my duo-colored eyes. His white-lashed pink eyes narrowed into razor blades. “You have fascinating eyes, Ms. Long. It is rare to meet someone who has vun blue eye and vun brown vun.”
Oh, God! Did he recognize me? It was hard to tell because he was maintaining his cool. I twitched a smile and thanked him.
“I never forget a beautiful face. Have we met before?”
Every hair on my body bristled. “No, I’m sure we’ve never met,” I stammered. Stay calm, Gloria! Don’t let him hear your heart thundering.
“Are you sure we never met several years back in New York?” His voice was growing more ominous by the second.
Fuck! He knew! He knew who I was! “Yes, I’m sure,” I managed with a nervous smile.
He smiled coyly. “You must be right. It vould be hard to forget an albino freak like me.”
I inwardly shivered. I now wasn’t sure if he was putting me on or believed me.
He thudded around the table and sat down next to me. My eyes fixed on him. He was completely bald now and paunchy, and despite obvious plastic surgery, the bullet hole scars that bracketed his fat chalky lips made him even more hideous than he already was.
A waiter came by to take our drink order. Another bourbon for Victor, a Stoli straight up for Boris, and a sparkling water for me. I couldn’t let alcohol cloud my thinking.
“Cheers!” said Victor when the drinks arrived. “To our future together.”
Fuck! I wasn’t sure I was going to have a future as I clinked glasses with Victor, who was back to manhandling me under the table, and with Boris, who was mentally stabbing me in my gut. He eyed my bandaged finger.
“Vhat happened to your finger, my beauty?” His sinister voice was going down a path.
I twitched another skittish smile. Inside, every nerve ending was on edge. I could barely breathe. “It’s nothing. Just a minor scrape.”
He leaned in close to me, his quartz eyes burning another hole into my chest. “Do you vant to know vhat happened to my face? Most people do. Although I bet you can guess.” He snarled at me. “Scars have the power to remind us that our pasts are real, don’t they, Ms. Long?”
My heart was beating so fast I thought it would ricochet out of my chest. Sweat poured from behind my knees as nausea rose to my chest. Grabbing my bag, I leaped up.
“Excuse me, I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom.” I was going to throw up any minute.
Boris forcefully grabbed my braid, holding me back.
“Hurry back, Gloria. We have business to discuss.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I said, jerking myself free of his grip and losing a clump of hair in the process. Keeping an evil eye on me, Boris stood up and let me out of the booth.
Holding my head high, I walked calmly out of the Polo Lounge, and then, the moment I stepped foot into the hotel lobby, I sprinted to the ladies’ room located down a hallway to the left. Yanking open the restroom door, I ran straight into a vacant stall and crouched down on the cold marble floor. Holding back my braid with one hand, I puked my guts out over the toilet. Oh God! How could this be happening? First the stock crash! Then Jaime! And now Boris Borofsky was back in my life! I was in harm’s way. Big time! Fuck! What was I going to do?
Only one thing was clear. I had to get out of here as quickly as possible. Away from the man who would, without doubt, seek his revenge. Gloria Long could soon be a goner.
After a quick wash of my hands and rinse
of my mouth, I raced to the hotel entrance, calling Tyrone on his cell to meet me there as quickly as possible.
Once outside, I tapped my foot anxiously, waiting for Tyrone to pull up, and stole nervous glances behind me. The hotel, popular with the Hollywood crowd and tourists alike, was bustling, with the valets running back and forth to service guests. My galloping heart jumped into my throat when a red Thunderbird convertible pulled up. Oh my God! Jaime!
He immediately saw me and leaped out of his car, leaving it for the valet. My already tight stomach balled up into a knot of panic.
“Gloria!” His voice was a breathy blend of surprise and desire that complemented the desperation in his lustful eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped.
“Meeting my real estate agent. And you?”
“Leaving.” Oh, please Tyrone, hurry!
“Did you get my roses?” Facing me, he gripped my shoulders with his strong hands. I trembled beneath his touch.
“Jaime, let go of me!” Come on, Tyrone! My prayer was answered. Ty was heading up the driveway. I would have run downhill to meet him, but I couldn’t break free from Jaime.
His piercing blue eyes were fierce on my face. “I’m not letting you go until you answer my question.”
“Let go of her,” thundered another voice behind me. Boris! “She’s all mine.” With a painful yank of my braid, he tore me away from Jaime.
“Who the fuck are you?” barked Jaime, his eyes flaring.
Boris growled. “Your worst nightmare.”
No, my worst nightmare!
“Fuck off, asswipe!” Jaime growled back at him.
Boris didn’t know whom he was dealing with. And didn’t see it coming. I ducked just in time as Jaime thrust a clenched fist into Boris’s ugly face and sent him reeling to the ground. Blood poured out of his bulbous nose and trickled over his hideous scars. A split-second later, Tyrone pulled up. Without waiting for a valet attendant to assist me, I jumped into the Rover and slammed the passenger door shut. Thank God, it automatically locked because Jaime was one step behind me.
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