by Alexa Davis
I reach the first counter and start looking at the pieces inside. There are some pieces for under a thousand, but not very many. Everything is painstakingly crafted, every cut on every stone made to bring out the best in the piece.
This is overwhelming.
“Can I help you, miss?” an older gentleman behind the counter asks.
“Oh, I’m just browsing—” I start, but Anthony interrupts me.
“You’ve been expecting Miss Michaels,” Anthony says. “She’s the guest of Mr. Scipio.”
“Yes, of course!” the man behind the counter gasps. “Right this way, miss!”
“Hold on,” I say, holding one hand up to the gentleman. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to look at the pieces offered to the general public, first.”
“Yes, of course,” he says. “My name is Clarence. What can I show you today?”
My relationship with Nick is meant to be about having fun, enjoying a once-in-a-lifetime experience while it lasts, but I’m not going to start spending buckets of cash just because I can.
“Do you have any tasteful, understated pendants?” I ask. “I’m not looking for anything too expensive.”
Clarence glances at Anthony, then at Marc, and then back at me. “Yes, of course,” he says, the pitch and volume of his voice having lowered considerably.
He leads me over to the other side of the counter to the necklaces, and my mouth starts watering.
“They’re all so beautiful,” I say. “I don’t even know where to start looking.”
“If I may, Miss,” Clarence says, opening the back of the display case and taking a necklace from inside and then holding it up for my inspection, “this is from our Enchant line. It’s an 18-karat chain of rose gold and platinum, and as you can see, the flower pendant in the middle houses fourteen stones around a larger, fifteenth stone in the middle, all brilliant diamonds.”
“It’s breathtaking,” I answer. “How much is it?”
“Twenty-seven hundred,” Clarence answers.
“Twenty-seven hundred?” I ask.
“Yes, miss,” he says. “If I may say, it would be an excellent piece to compliment your complexion. The rose gold brings out the—”
“I’m sorry,” I interrupt, “but do you have anything a little, I don’t know, less expensive?”
I’m not going to pretend like I’m above enjoying some of the finer things dating Nick has to offer, but the necklace costs almost four months’ rent, and this is the first of who-knows-how-many stops today.
“Of course, Miss,” Clarence says. He glances behind me a moment, nods and then sets the box containing the necklace in the center of the middle area.
“You can put it back,” I say. “I love it, but I do think it’s a bit more than I can justify.”
“Of course, Miss,” Clarence says. “We like to set all our pieces there before returning them to the display. It’s to check for quality.”
To check for quality? What does that even mean?
Oh well, I can’t be expected to learn how this world works when I’ve only been in here five minutes.
“Maybe something like this would be more to your liking,” he says.
It’s another gorgeous necklace, but I can see the price. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “That’s still a bit too expensive for me.”
He shows me piece after piece, and not only necklaces and pendants. I spend over an hour walking back and forth, from counter to counter, looking at rings and earrings, bracelets and even a couple brooches; though I don’t know when I’d ever wear a brooch.
I adore everything he shows me, but he doesn’t seem to understand when I tell him the price needs to go down, not up.
Finally, I manage to get through to Clarence well enough that he shows me a tasteful, sterling silver, Elsa Peretti necklace with diamonds for six hundred and fifty. It’s still more than I had in mind, but at least I finally got Clarence under a thousand.
He insists I wear the necklace out of the store, saying, “I’ll be sure to put this all on Mr. Scipio’s account for you. You are all taken care of.”
“Thanks,” I tell him. “I hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Oh, not at all,” Clarence says. “It has been a pleasure.” He glances behind me again and this time, I turn around just in time to see Marc brushing the side of his nose with his index finger. He sees me and tries to pass it off like he was just scratching his nose, but I get the feeling that’s not all he was doing.
I have to say I feel pretty amazing walking out of the store with this beautiful necklace. What’s better is now I can call Naomi and tell her I have a Tiffany pendant, too. She, of course, won hers in a sweepstakes.
We get back to the car, and we’re off again. Over the next few hours, we stop at Bergdorf Goodman, Armani Fifth Avenue, and about half a dozen other places I never thought I’d see from the inside.
I never leave with much, but I’ve racked up almost three thousand in clothes and jewelry so far. Every time I get back in the car, I send Nick a message, telling him what I got and how much it costs. I know he planned this whole thing, but I don’t want to cruise past any limit he may have.
By the time we’re on our way to the final stop of the day, a little boutique where Marc’s sister-in-law works, I’m not sure I can spend any more. We go into the shop, and I buy a couple of shirts and a pair of pants for about two-hundred, but as Marc’s sister-in-law, Betty, is ringing me up, Anthony touches me on the shoulder.
“It looks like a crowd is gathering out front,” he says. “There’s no rear exit, so we’re going to have to walk through them. Don’t worry, though,” he says. “We’ve got you covered.”
I look out the front window of the shop to find the sidewalk packed. It would be bad enough if they were just random strangers, but I can’t help noticing a lot of cameras out there.
“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can get out of here without my picture taken, is there?” I ask.
“You can borrow my jacket if you’d like to cover your face,” Marc says, “but I don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Looks too much like a perp walk,” Anthony says.
I start shaking. This isn’t what I wanted. I knew there was a chance my relationship with Nick would get out, but I didn’t expect it to be like this.
“Why’s this only happening now?” I ask.
“Someone must have tipped off the press,” Marc says. “I don’t mean to be rude, Miss, but we should probably get you out of here. People are going to start asking you questions, but either don’t answer at all or just say, ‘no comment,’” he instructs me.
“How do we do this?” I ask.
“Just follow my lead and stay close,” Anthony says.
I walk behind Anthony with Marc close behind me, and I take a breath as the door opens.
Instantly, dozens of voices are shouting questions I can’t begin to make out, and cameras are flashing all around me. Marc puts the flat of his palm between my shoulder blades and keeps me moving forward, though Anthony’s having some trouble cutting through the crowd ahead of me.
It’s only about twenty feet from the door of the shop to the open door of the town car, but it takes more than a minute to make the journey. Once I’m in the car, Marc closes the door behind me.
“He’s not getting in?” I ask.
“He’s protecting our escape,” Anthony answers as Trevor hits the gas.
This is too much. Apart from school photos and driver’s license photos, and the occasional candid by Naomi, I haven’t had a picture taken of me in my life that was in any way public. Even with that, Naomi’s random pictures of me are the most public, and her shots only make it as far as her Facebook page.
It was fun pretending and playing dress-up for a while, but the fantasy’s over. People grabbed at me, trying to get my attention and everyone was shouting, just shouting at me. I’m just a girl from a place nobody’s ever heard
of; I don’t know if I can do this anymore.
“It looks like they’re already posting pictures,” Anthony says.
“What?” I ask. “How?”
Anthony shrugs. “It looks like they’re just teasers, so far,” he says, “but don’t be alarmed if you see yourself in a few dailies tomorrow morning and likely a few tabloids over the next week or so. Also, you may want to stay away from the online stories. A lot of those people aren’t concerned with facts as much as they are sensationalism, and you don’t want any part of it. Whatever you do, stay away from the tabloids. Don’t even read the cover,” he says. “Trust me.”
I’d love to answer if only I could speak.
We get back to the hotel and security’s already waiting outside to escort me into the building. I don’t know how the reporters got here so fast, or even if they’re the same ones, but if it weren’t for the additional security, I don’t know if I could have made it through the hotel doors.
By the time I get back up to my room, my head is swimming. I’m so disoriented that I almost don’t notice that every piece I looked at Tiffany’s, every dress, every pair of shoes, every set of earrings, every everything I showed any interest in at all, is in my room, waiting for me.
Chapter Eight
Long Island
Nick
“Marly, hey, come in,” I say as my longtime lawyer, mole, and mentor knocks on my office door.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Come in and shut the door, if you would.”
Ellie hasn’t left her room in three days, and I don’t blame her. The moment that first reporter got wind of who she was and what she was doing in New York, things were bound to go a little crazy.
A little crazy would have been fine, but the tabloids have taken a particular interest in Ellie.
“I suppose you’ve heard about the recent issues Ellie and I have been having with the yellow press,” I say.
Marly nods. “Yes, I have,” she says.
I ask, “What do you think we should do about it?”
Marly leans forward, saying, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but we both knew this was going to happen.”
“Did we?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “We did. I don’t know what you were thinking sending her on a Fifth Avenue shopping spree right when we’re trying to get the board off our backs, but this is reflecting poorly on you.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I tell her. “Just because I own a company, I’m not allowed to date or buy a girlfriend a few things?”
“A few things would have been fine, but they’re reporting that your friend went home with over a hundred grand in jewelry and clothing,” Marly says. “You don’t think a little discretion might have been nice?”
“A hundred grand is nothing,” I tell her. “What's the problem?”
“The big deal, sir,” she says, her face growing a deeper shade of red with every syllable, “is that you are the head of this company, and we are not in a stable position right now. You ducked away from the central office for two months with hardly any warning and almost no explanation.”
“Again,” I start, “what’s the—”
“It’s the timing,” Marly says. “The company’s on the verge of complete upheaval and you’re sending your girlfriend on a shopping spree. What do you think that does to investor confidence?”
“Where are we?” I ask.
“We’re holding steady this morning, but that’s just because we’ve found a new bottom,” she says. “Don’t fool yourself, this keeps up, and you don’t start doing some serious damage control with the company, and that bottom’s going to drop out from under you.”
“I see,” I say. “Marly, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”
She shifts in her seat, but says, “Okay.”
“Did you tip off the press about Ellie and where they could find her?” I ask.
“Of course not,” she says with a scoff. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, you’ve been fairly upfront with your feelings on the matter,” I say.
Marly rolls her eyes and, with a smirk, she says, “It’s been a bad idea from the start. You could have gotten to know this woman again without uprooting the company. Every inch of this mess is because you don’t know how to be discreet about shit.”
My eyebrows go up. Marly gets away with a lot when we speak in private, but she’s never been this outright disrespectful.
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Have you seen the new twist to the story yet?”
“Twist, sir?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Apparently, a staffer close to me walked in on Ellie and me in a, quote, ‘compromising position in the main room of Stingray’s new headquarters.’ The author of the article seems to think this is yet another indication that I’m putting my personal desires above the interests of the company and the shareholders. That wasn’t you?”
“You don’t understand what you’re doing to the company,” Marly says. “You’re gambling away the future of a lot of people by this stupid flight of fancy. The two of you reconnected, well that’s just fan-freaking-tastic, but this company was doing just great before she came along and if it has any chance of bouncing back, you’ve got to stop doing what you’re doing. Keep sleeping with her if you want, but get the company out of Mulholland now. I hear construction just started on the new building: You have to stop it. Then, put a halt to the money flowing to the new headquarters and get your head out of your ass, Nick. You’re killing the business, and the board isn’t going to put up with this a whole lot longer.” She’s on her feet now, saying, “Come on, Nick. I’m trying to protect you here. You need to meet me halfway.”
“You went behind my back, didn’t you?” I ask.
She furrows her brow and shakes her head. “I was trying to wake you up, Nick,” she says. “You have to stop pushing the board. You have to—”
“Marly, you’re fired,” I say.
“Make all the jokes you want,” she says. “I’m not kidding around here.”
“Neither am I,” I tell her. “I can handle people questioning me. I put you in your position because you have a particular talent in that direction, but Marly, you sent those reporters after Ellie. I could have lived with the leak about her and I in the conference room back in Mulholland, but you didn’t just go to the press with your concerns, did you?”
“Sir,” she says in a tiny voice, “I—”
I slam my fist on my desk. “You sold me out!” I roar. “You went to the board and told them to give me one last chance to drop the Mulholland office before having me fired; well, congratulations. I just got the call from Reeves, and that’s what he told me. Of course, getting your name wasn’t all that difficult. I said to think of it as a gesture of good faith. It sounds like you didn’t say everything you could have. I appreciate that. Still, he insisted that I stop production at the office. There’s one minute detail you forgot to cover.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“This is my company!” I roar. “You may have managed to turn the majority of the board against me, but you forget I still have some friends in this company. The office is being built, the board can’t do a thing about it, and you can consider yourself fired. Now get the hell out of my office.”
Marly takes a long, slow breath and walks to the door. She turns around and, shaking her head at me, and she says, “Most of the board was already against you, Nick. Before you said anything about Mulholland, they were trying to find a way to get rid of you. You don’t have the computer smarts Jacque had, and you’re so obsessed with this nobody you knew for like a week fifteen years ago that the one card you did have to play, your ability to close a deal and to run the company, started slipping a while ago.”
“Thank you for your concern,” I tell her. “Security’s going to throw you out now. Maybe if we all get lucky, you’ll bounce into t
raffic. Now get the hell out of my office and never come back.”
One of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do in my life is to hold a stern expression while my longtime mentor and confidant is escorted out of view. I’m furious, but I’m also hurt. For a man in my position, it’s only acceptable to show the first, and that rarely.
I get up from my desk and walk across the room to close the office door. Metering my breathing, I go over to my semi-secret liquor cabinet, located beneath all the plaques and certificates and pictures of me with notable people.
Doing my best to steady my hand, I pour two fingers’ worth of Glen McKenna into a tumbler and take a drink.
Marly’s been with the company … with me, almost since the company began. I have no illusions about it: Stingray wouldn’t have been anywhere near as successful as it is if it weren’t for her.
I never thought she’d betray me like that.
Taking one more sip of scotch, I walk back to my desk and press the intercom button.
“Yes, Mr. Scipio?” Darla, my assistant, asks.
“Could you send Malcolm in?” I ask.
“Yes, Mr. Scipio,” she says.
A moment later, the door opens.
I’ve been going over this in my head since Malcolm told me what Marly had been up to behind my back. At first, I didn’t want to believe him, but when I got the call from the board …
“Mr. Scipio,” Malcolm says, opening my office door, “you wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, Malcolm,” I say. “Come on in and shut the door, would you?”
I could be angry at Marly for going behind my back and putting my position in jeopardy, and I am. I could mourn the loss of her from the company, and I am. Right now, though, I have to stay focused.
Along with losing a mentor, I’ve also lost my insider. Whenever I wanted to take the board’s temperature on something, I’d call Marly. Whenever someone under me started scheming for my job, Marly told me about it.
I need a new mole.
“Have a seat,” I tell Malcolm. “Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.