by Alexa Davis
Through the closed door, Bangor's angry cry of "FUCK!" was music to my ears.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Olivia
I woke up on Friday morning feeling out of sorts and wanting to see what Frank had done with my profile of Linc Redding. I pulled on some sweats and headed down to the corner store for a cup of coffee and a paper. On the top half of the fold was the article Carl had written about the shooting as it related to the senators who'd been shot. He showed the way in which their absence from the Senate would directly affect a number of issues, but most obviously the gun safety bill they'd been intending to discuss on Sunday morning when they’d been attacked. Carl had steered clear of directly stating a political motive for the shooting, but the article insinuated that there was a bigger force behind it.
My interview with Lincoln Redding ran below the fold with a strikingly handsome picture of the man above the byline. He really was incredibly good looking and my pulse raced just looking at the picture. Lillian had edited the piece well, and as a result, it leaned toward complimentary, but didn't hold back on the tough questions. I had to admit that it was better than when I'd turned it in and I made a mental note to thank Lillian and let Frank know how much I appreciated the opportunity the next time I saw him, which, I hoped, would be tonight.
I groaned as I walked into my apartment and realized that in the afternoon I was going to have to report to the Agape Salon and be subjected to a wide variety of beauty treatments that would turn me from a pumpkin into a princess. Bix said she'd be on hand to oversee the process and make sure that no one went too nuts with the products. I didn't believe that beauty products could be contained, but I was willing to suspend disbelief and go with the flow for the sake of the dress. And then there were the jewels. Every time I thought of them, I started to panic as I wondered who in their right mind would allow me to wear almost a half a million dollars of jewelry to the gala.
I decided that the only way to fight the anxiety was with a long run along the Potomac, so I pulled on my running clothes, hooked myself up to my music player, and laced my shoes. I grabbed a pair of gloves and headed down to the street. The path I ran was usually a little crowded, but today it seemed almost empty. I wasn't surprised, though. It was the week before Christmas and the night of one of the biggest events of the year. The thought of walking up those stairs and into the museum all alone made my stomach feel a little queasy, so I shifted my mind to less anxiety inducing thoughts.
I'd scanned the paper and saw that the D.C. police still hadn't identified the shooter, even though they'd had him under lock and key for almost a week. How could they not know who he was? Wouldn't anyone recognize him? Or miss him? It seemed impossible that a human being could be completely unidentifiable. I started wondering if there was some kind of cover-up keeping the man's identity from the public, and I began compiling a mental list of people who might have a vested interest in keeping the man's identity secret. On it I put Davis Russo and a number of the more vocal gun rights supporting senators who openly accepted donations from the AWN. I wasn't sure how the lack of information would benefit them, but I had a sneaking suspicion that once I began digging, I'd find plenty of reasons.
That task taken care of, my mind turned to Lincoln Redding. He was a stubborn man and a pain in my ass, but there was something about him that I found incredibly attractive. I was loathe to admit it because it meant that I had to fess up to being attracted to a man who irritated the hell out of me. I thought ahead to the gala and wondered if he'd be bringing a date. I hadn't even considered the possibility that he'd have a girlfriend and my cheeks burned hot with embarrassment when I realized that I'd been hoping he would be at the gala alone, like me.
"Fine, fine!" I yelled at the bare trees along the path. "Just fine! I'll be nice tonight! I'll behave, and I'll say nice things to that awful man!"
"Now, that's the spirit," a voice behind me called cheerfully. Caught off guard, I stopped running and turned around. A small woman sitting on a bench near the path smiled up at me from behind large glasses. She tossed a handful of something that looked like birdseed out around her feet and the pigeons flocked to her pecking the ground. She smiled and said, "You're doing the right thing, dear."
"I am?" I asked as I bent over and tried to catch my breath.
"Yes, you are," she nodded as she watched the birds. "It's always good to be kind to those who frustrate us. That way you give them an opening to be nice to you and there's a better chance that they will be kind to you, too."
"That sounds so logical when you say it that way."
"Oh, most things are, dear," she smiled. "It's just that we humans make it all so much more complicated when we pile our emotional baggage on top of everything."
"Good point," I said. "How did you learn that one?"
"Years and years of mistakes," she laughed. "I made them all!"
"I see," I said, and then feeling like I had nothing to lose, I asked, "So, tonight I should just be nice to a man that drives me insane with his rudeness and arrogance? To just tell him that even though I can't stand him, we can still work together to achieve a common goal?"
"You might try leaving out the second part if you want a positive response, dear," she said as she threw out another handful of birdseed. She looked up at me with a very serious expression, and then said, "You need to remember that everyone in the world is carrying a burden that no one else may know about, so you need to be kind, dear. Always kind."
"Even when he's totally annoying and absolutely frustrating?"
"Especially then, dear," she smiled. "Treat him the way you want him to treat you, and I think you'll see results very quickly."
"Thank you for that," I said thoughtfully as I turned to go. "Have a lovely day!"
"You, too, dear!" she called. "Good luck with your man friend!"
I laughed the rest of the run home about the idea of Linc Redding being anything close to a friend, and when I got there, I found that I felt a lot better than I had when I'd left. Be kind. Okay, I could do that. I hoped.
#
Several hours later, I met up with Bix at Agape Salon. She looked put together as always, while I looked like a drowned rat. I'd messed around on my computer while drinking coffee after my run, and then at the last minute realized I hadn't showered, so I showed up at the salon in sweats and with wet hair piled messily on top of my head. Bix hugged me and pulled me inside to meet the team she'd assembled.
I spent the next several hours being manicured, pedicured, massaged, and scrubbed within an inch of my life so that my skin glowed, and then sat down in a chair where the stylist, under Bix's watchful eye, began combing, cutting, and styling my hair into something worthy of the dress I was wearing. He wouldn't let me watch what he was doing, but Bix watched closely and shook her head when he tried to do anything that didn't suit me. Or maybe the dress. Either way, she kept a close eye on things. When he was finished, he turned me over to the makeup crew who, again, worked with Bix to give me a natural look with just a hint of glamour. The makeup crew added the last touches and then they spun me around to view the handiwork.
"Oh my God," I gasped. I'd never seen myself look like this before. My hair was shiny and had been swept up off of my face on the sides, but left to hang down around my shoulders. It was a loose sophisticated hairdo that would show off the necklace and earrings beautifully. But it was the makeup that left me staring at myself in awe. The team had left me looking like me, but they'd somehow managed to make me look prettier than I'd ever looked in my entire life. I turned toward Bix.
"Do not start tearing up," she ordered sternly. "They've spent hours making you look as gorgeous as ever and you cannot afford to mess it up."
I nodded and looked up at the ceiling to keep the tears of gratitude from falling. Bix handed me a tissue and said, "Blot them. It's easier than trying to force them back in."
That made me chuckle, and soon we were laughing like kids as she pulled me to the back dressing room and order
ed me to get into the dress.
"Oh God, that means that torture underwear, too, doesn't it?" I groaned. Bix raised an eyebrow and I stomped into the dressing room and grudgingly pulled on the bra. I was surprised to find a nude g-string in the bag with the bra. I called out, "Bix, what the hell is this butt floss thing in the bag?"
"You can't have underwear lines under that dress, but it's inappropriate to go commando at this function!" she called back. "Put it on, Olivia."
"You're out of your mind," I grumbled as I pulled on the wisp of fabric and wondered how I was going to keep from catching cold wearing it. As I was pulling the thin, silky hose up over my thighs and wondering how I'd keep them up all night, Bix entered the room followed by one of the shampoo girls and the two of them held the dress out so I could step into it. Then they slowly worked it up over my hips until I was completely encased in green layers of silky fabric that clung to my body like a second skin. Bix held out the silver shoes and I stepped into one after the other, holding on to her shoulder to maintain my balance.
When I emerged from the dressing room, a collective gasp went up from the room of customers and stylists. I lowered my eyes and blushed feeling embarrassed by all the attention, but eternally grateful to Bix for making it happen. She smiled at me as she took possession of my regular clothes.
"Here, you'll need this," she smiled she as pressed an emerald green silk clutch into my hand as she held out a small tube of what looked like lipstick. "Put your phone, keys, and this lipstick into it. You'll need it for touch ups."
"Bix, thank you," I whispered as I dug into my purse trying to be careful not to mess up my beautiful, cranberry-colored nails. "I don't know what to say."
"Say let's get a move on and get over to Tullio," she suggested. "Phillip is waiting for you."
"Oh right, jewelry," I said unenthusiastically.
"If you don't want to wear it, you don't have to, Liv," she said gently. "Let's just go over there and see what it looks like, okay?"
I nodded and she and I walked out to the car, waving good-bye to the team and all of their remaining customers. Fifteen minutes later, we were being buzzed into the store.
"Oh yes, this will be perfect," Phillip smiled and nodded. He introduced me to Jacques, my security detail for the evening and the one who would collect the jewels at the end of the night. He told me that Jacques would be virtually invisible while I was at the gala, and that I didn't have to worry about where I went or who I mingled with because Jacques was trained to follow me at a discreet distance. He was only there to protect the jewels, not prevent me from having a good time.
"He's going to have a boring night, then," I laughed. "I'm not at all interesting and nothing exciting ever happens to me."
Phillip returned from the back room carrying the tray that held the jewelry. He lifted the necklace out first and then walked behind me and fastened it securely around my neck. My hand went up to feel it and then I quickly pulled back.
"It's okay, you can touch these pieces without hurting them," he smiled as he handed me an earring.
"I know, but I don't want to do anything to smudge them," I said as I fastened the first earring and then the second one. I looked up at Phillip and he motioned for me to stand up and walk across the room. As I did, even Bix sighed.
"You look like a princess, Olivia," she said with a smile so wide I thought her face would crack.
"I wish you were going with me," I said.
"Oh God no, you know how I despise these things," she laughed. "No one ever organizes things right and the food is always terrible."
Knowing Bix as well as we both did, Phillip and I burst out laughing. I walked over to the full-length mirror and stared at myself for a long time. Bix was right; I did look like a princess.
I knew that I'd have the upper hand with Linc Redding. My transformation from frumpy news reporter to woman of international mystery would ensure that. I hoped.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Linc
I'd been at the gala for an hour making the rounds and shaking hands and had begun to accept that Olivia Moore wasn't going to show up. I had been worried that our skirmish during the interview would seal her decision not to show, but the favorable article in the Sentinel this morning had put enough of my fears to rest that I was fifty-fifty by the time I climbed the steps to the Gallery. I wasn't sure why I wanted her to show up so badly; I knew chances were good that we'd end up insulting each other and arguing. When I'd brought that fact up for the twentieth time over pre-gala drinks at my apartment, Brant had pointed that this was the grown-up equivalent of pigtails in ink well.
"You've got it bad, Linc," he grinned as he raised his glass. "It's kind of nice to see you thrown off kilter."
"Shut up, Pace," I grumbled. "I can't stand that woman. She annoys me to no end."
"C'mon, it's good for you to have a weakness or two," he teased. "You're always so perfect and focused, the rest of us have a hard time living up to your standards, man."
"I'm not interested in the woman! I have things I need to accomplish and it doesn't do anyone any good if I dick around."
"But, Linc, you're rich beyond your wildest dreams and you have a life that most people can only dream about," he said, taking a sip from his glass. "Yet, you live like you're a middle manager at some mediocre processing plant."
"I do not!" I protested. "I have plenty of things! Hell, I've got apartments in nine cities around the world, a private plane to take me and my staff anywhere we need to go for business meetings, and I pay everyone who works for me more than fair wages. What more do I need?"
"You're a piece of work, you know?" Brant smiled. "Dude, you could be partying on the French Riviera with supermodels and rock stars or you could be traveling around the world enjoying the best service in all of the top hotels."
"Why? What good will that do? Whose family will that save?"
"And that's what I love about you, man," he said as he gently slugged my shoulder. "You don't do all of the ridiculously showy stuff because you're so damn focused on the greater good."
"What else is there, Brant?" I asked seriously. "If I party my ass off and accomplish nothing when I have every opportunity and advantage at my fingertips, then what's the point of my life?"
"Your parents would have loved you no matter what you did," Brant said quietly. "You know that you don't have to prove anything, don't you?"
I stood at the counter gripping my glass for a long time before I looked up and nodded at him. He nodded back, we tipped our glasses, and downed the last bit of whiskey in them before I slapped his shoulder and said, "Let's get to the party, friend!"
"I hope that girl shows up tonight. I really do, and I really hope that you don't act like an ass and blow it," he sighed and then as an afterthought he added, "Hey, do you think Mo will dance with me tonight?"
"I guarantee it, buddy," I said slapping his back and smiling widely. "I can almost guarantee it."
It was Mo who brought me out of my memory as she tapped me on the back and then nodded her head toward the front of the rotunda. There, as the crowed parted, stood an incredibly beautiful woman swathed in emerald green silk wearing what looked like a million dollars worth of diamonds. Mo gave me a little push and I frowned at her before walking toward Olivia, trying to keep my face from giving anything away.
"Olivia, I'm glad you could make it," I said formally holding out my hand. "You look lovely."
"Thank you, Mr. Redding. I'm glad I could make it, too," she smiled nervously as she shook my hand. She looked annoyed as she said, "You clean up pretty well yourself."
"Thanks, I think," I said and then searched my brain trying to find a topic that wouldn't piss her off. The best I could come up with was to ask, "Did you have any trouble finding the place?"
"No, the driver who brought me was pretty well versed and didn't seem to have any problem getting here," she said, but was polite enough not to make fun of my ridiculous question.
"Welcome to the
Christmas Gala," I said gesturing around the room. "Can I get you something to drink?"
It was hard to take my eyes off of her. She looked more beautiful than I'd remembered. Her hair was pulled up off of her face and had been artfully arranged to look both sophisticated and casual in the way it fell across her shoulders. Her emerald green dress hugged her body, drawing attention to her hourglass figure and making me fight hard to resist the lure of her full breasts that peeked out of the top of her dress. I chose, instead, to focus on her eyes. They were mysterious green windows that simultaneously drew me in and kept me out as I held her gaze and waited for her answer.
"I'd love that," she exhaled visibly relieved by the offer. I turned and offered her my arm. She looked down at it as if I'd offered her a dead rat, then sighed and took it. When she did, I felt an electric shock at the place where her hand touched my arm. I inhaled deeply, trying to keep from giving myself away, but wondering if she'd felt it, too. I looked down into her sparkling green eyes and tried to smile.
"What will you have, Miss Moore?" I asked. "Champagne or some of this, um, festive punch?"
"What's in the punch?" she said as she used her free hand to tug at her neckline. “I'm not sure how festive I can be in this fancy dress."
I smiled at her honesty, but did not let my eyes follow her hand. I took two glasses of the light, bubbling champagne from the bartender and handed her one, keeping the second one for myself. I offered my arm again, and she took it as she scanned the room and sipped from the flute in her hand.
"Thank you for the nice article in the Sentinel," I said. "I was kind of worried after you stormed out."
"You can thank Frank, he cleaned it up," she said as she scanned the crowd. "I was going to hang you out to dry."
"But you were the-" I caught myself and held back. "Then, I guess I owe Frank my thanks, don't I?"
"That was good," she said as a small smile played at the corner of her full lips. I suddenly had the strongest urge to lean down and kiss those deep red lips and for a moment, and had to fight the urge. I heard Olivia asking, "Linc? You okay? You look kind of sick."