Product Description
COCKTAIL HOUR
By Tara McTiernan
What if your friend, someone admired, envied, and fervently sought after by everyone who knew her, was really a dangerous sociopath? Cocktail Hour answers that question as it takes you on a wild roller coaster ride of thrilling highs and terrifying lows in this novel about friendship gone horribly wrong.
Spring in glamorous uber-rich Fairfield County, Connecticut is a time of beginnings: a new diet for the approaching summer spent out on the yacht, fresh-faced interns being offered up at the office as the seasonal sacrifice to the gods of money, and corporate takeovers galore. Five women in their thirties have a brand-new friendship, too, one that fed and watered regularly at local hotspots over cocktails. With all of their personal struggles - Lucie's new catering business is foundering due to vicious gossip, Kate's marriage is troubled due to an inability to conceive, Chelsea's series of misses in the romance department have led to frantic desperation, and Sharon's career problems are spinning out of control - the women look forward to a break and a drink and a chance to let their guards down with their friends. And letting their guards down is the last thing they should do in the kind of company they unknowingly keep with the fifth member of their cocktail-clique: Bianca Rossi, a woman who will stop at nothing to have it all.
As each woman's life is affected by this she-wolf in sheep's clothing, the truth starts to come out, but will they see it before it's too late? Or will their doubts about their own perceptions and gut feelings stop them from protecting themselves in time? Tara McTiernan's latest novel Cocktail Hour serves up the Gold Coast's champagne-and-caviar world of movers and shakers where everything sparkles...especially knives in the back.
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Cocktail Hour
A Novel
TARA MCTIERNAN
Bramblevine Press
Raleigh
Copyright 2013 by Tara McTiernan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.
Bramblevine Press
Raleigh, North Carolina
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design by Mimi Bark
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For Ash, my wonderful husband
Table of Contents
Description
Title and Copyright
Start Reading
About the Author & Bonus Material
Mojito
Alone in the old building's camera-free elevator, Bianca's mask lifted, showing her true face momentarily before her false one slid back into place as a bell tinged and the elevator's doors hissed open.
She stepped out of the elevator, strode down the hall, and opened the door to the dermatologist's office in Darien, Connecticut with her head held high and a small smile playing on her lips, resisting the urge to wiggle her shoulders with pleasure at how much fun this was going to be. It had been a fabulous day for her: all of the physicians she had visited that morning and afternoon had been male which meant that, of course, they were putty in her hands, practically panting when they agreed to write prescriptions for her company's products as if she was the one doing them the favor. It was probably the tight red skirt, fitted matching scarlet jacket and achingly-high flame-colored pumps she was wearing. Men loved red.
Crossing the tastefully appointed reception area that smelled of new carpeting, she stopped in front of the reception desk. A mousy blond with an overbite and pale eyelashes looked up at her and smiled. "Yes? May I help you?"
"Hello, I'm Bianca Rossi from Mennon Pharmaceuticals," Bianca said and handed the woman her card while quickly glancing at her name tag and mentally storing her first name for when she'd make the push. Bianca noted with surprise that the woman was a relative of Grant's, or at least she had the same last name.
Dr. Grant Palmer: when she had seen that name on her routing schedule for the day her eyes had popped. Could it be the Grant Palmer? Her junior high school crush from those long-ago and best-forgotten geek years before she had blossomed into one of the most beautiful and lusted-after women in Fairfield County? And now not only was she beautiful, she was also well-married to a successful stockbroker, had a baby boy of nine months and a nanny to watch over him and do all the yucky boring stuff, a beautiful house on the water in Greenwich, and an exciting new career that was turning out to be the best thing in her life, especially now that she had graduated from all that tiresome studying and ride-alongs with her manager and the other reps.
It was all the attention: she literally had to have it. Without a constant diet of male adulation, she shriveled up quickly. This had been tested and proven during her brief and nearly deadly experience during her junior year in high school when her father had sent her away to an isolated convent after an incident that made him question his daughter's moral character. Bianca learned to be more careful after that.
Bianca continued, "I wanted to stop by and see if Dr. Palmer has a moment between appointments to meet with me to discuss how our products may be a solution for some of his patients. In particular, Revita, the new collagen-builder, is something he might want to know about."
She leaned in conspiratorially and waited for the woman to lean forward, too. The blond hesitated for a moment and then ducked her head and stretched across the desk to listen.
"Revita is really amazing. Look," Bianca said and pointed to the skin under her eyes. "All those little wrinkles we start getting in our thirties, gone! With none of the immobility and lack of expression from Botox or any of redness or peeling of a retinoid. Amazing, huh?" Especially amazing as she had never used the stuff. So what if she told a little fib or ten? All those rules and scripts, when what mattered was that she made the sale - they all knew that. Her colleagues were just a bunch of posturing hypocrites.
The woman's mouth had fallen open. "Really?"
Bianca pounced. "Don’t you think he might have a few minutes for me, Kate? It really would be worth his while."
The woman nodded and glanced at her computer monitor. "I'm sure he can spare a minute. Let me take you to his office." She got up and went around to open the door, beckoning to Bianca with a timid smile and then leading her down the hall past the exam rooms, two with shut doors muffling quiet voices and the other rooms open and unoccupied. Kate stopped outside the last door, which was standing open to reveal the doctor's private office, and gestured at it. "He's with a patient right now, but he'll be with you in a moment."
Bianca felt like a cat about to eat a particularly delicious canary. "Thanks so much,” she said, her voice rolling luxuriantly.
She sat down on one of the leather club chairs facing the desk, putting her briefcase and bag of samples on the floor beside her. Normally, she’d be plotting her sales pitch right now, preparing that special blend of BS she spread during every office visit: one part clinical knowledge, one part affected compassion about the doctor’s problems and pressures, and a touch of implied sex that stayed just next to the line of propriety without crossing it.
Instead, she saw that there was a large framed photo on his desk that faced his chair. She had to see it. Was he still handsome or had he lost his looks or bloated up as so many of her old classmates had? She hadn’t seen him since the second to last year of junior high when he’d transferred to a private school in New Hampshire. She’d been so disappointed, especially when she started seeing changes in the mirror and in how men reacted to her. She’d wished and wished he’d come home for a visit and run i
nto her, see her in her present incarnation. In her fantasies, he immediately fell deeply and desperately in love with her.
Bianca leaned over in her chair and stretched her neck to see if anyone was in the hallway, but it was quiet. That was the benefit of a one-physician practice – lots of privacy. She stood and tiptoed over to the other side of the desk holding her breath.
Then all the air in her lungs poured out at once.
Yes! Grant was gorgeous at thirty-three, even more so than he’d been at thirteen – assuming the photo was recent. It was a wedding photo taken in a lush rose-filled garden and his bride was…the mouse in reception. Seriously? Oh! It didn’t get better than this. This was better than a canary; this was a huge hot-fudge sundae that had no calories!
She started to clap her hands together when she heard his voice in the hallway. She spun and started back toward the guest chair when her pointed heel caught on the new nubby carpet. Bianca fell in what felt like slo-mo, her left hand stretching out to grab at the desk for support and missing and then both her hands and knees hit the rough carpet just as his shadow filled the doorway.
“Oof!”
“Oh, no. Are you okay?”
She looked at her hands on the carpet, her face flooding with heat while a shrieking outraged voice had risen above the hubbub in her head. Ruined, everything... no! She would not give up. Never! She would fix this somehow. She took a deep breath. “Ah, thank you,” she said as calmly as she could.
Then a flash of an idea hit her. She sat back on her heels and looked at her reddened palms. "Oh, dear. I think I've hurt my hands. They're really raw." She still didn't look up at him, holding out.
"Here, let me help you up. How did this happen?"
She saw his hand reach down through breaks in the curtain of her long dark hair that had fallen forward to hide her face. "Oh, it's the new carpet. My heel caught," she said in a little-girl voice, not bothering to explain why she was beside his desk instead of in front of it.
"Please, let me help you."
"Oh, you're so kind." She threw her hair back off of her face and reached for his hand before rising as slowly and delicately as she could, as if she'd really been injured.
When she was finally standing, she turned to look up at him and melted a little before an old familiar tingle jumped up her spine. Wow. Nothing had changed. She waited for him to react, recognize her. Then the amazement and infatuation would set in. This was it.
His blue eyes were caring, but revealed nothing else. Grant shook his head. "I'm so sorry about the carpet. Do you want me to look at your hands?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Oh, I don't want to impose, Dr. Palmer. I'm supposed to be here to help you, not myself." Minutes seemed to have slowed. Where was the “aren't-you”?
"Here, let me look. It's no trouble."
She put her mildly smarting hands in his and felt a shock go down her arms. Oh, my.
He moved his head back and forth, looking at her palms from each angle. "Well, it's a very mild abrasion. But I can get you some salve; that might help with the stinging."
She stared at his handsome and still-dear face. How could he not recognize her? Maybe he was too distracted by her hurt act. She'd stop it now. It wasn't working the way she thought it would. She pulled her hands out of his reluctantly, not wanting to stop the zinging pleasurable feeling his touch brought. "No, really. They've stopped hurting. I'm fine. Please, I've taken up enough of your time," she said and gestured to his desk. "Why don't we sit down for a minute and talk about Mennon's products and the needs of your practice? I won't be more than a minute; I'm sure you have back-to-back appointments."
He paused and then nodded, putting a hand out to the guest chair before moving to sit behind his desk. “Sure, I have a minute. My wife – you met her, she’s the office manager here, you’ll work with her to stock our samples and materials – she mentioned that you had an amazing new product.”
Sitting with her legs crossed prettily, Bianca looked at him one last time, waiting some flicker, but there was none. She would have to wallop him with it; for some reason he was oblivious, distracted. She’d wait, pick just the right time. She launched into her spiel, finally sticking to what she’d been taught. It had been tough to learn; her background was psychology, not science or biology. Still, she’d been driven ever since she struck up a conversation with a woman named Jessica at her gym while waiting for a spinning class to start.
Bored out of her mind once she decorated their new house in Belle Haven, tired already with John, her once shiny-toy husband who had gotten scuffed by reality once the honeymoon was over, she had been looking for the next big thing and Jessica showed her the way. Beautiful and charismatic, Jessica told Bianca all about the big money and success that pharma sales had brought her. As she spoke, glowing with a tan in March from a recent sales-award-earned all-expense-paid luxury trip to St. John courtesy of her employer, Bianca knew immediately what her next big thing was. The challenge of it, the heated competition - it was exactly what she loved.
But then she got pregnant, before she was even finished crafting a new artificially pumped-up resume. And at first, having a baby seemed like a fun pit-stop. She would dress the baby up in all sorts of darling outfits and host huge birthday parties with on-site carnival rides and have all sorts of Hallmark-mommy-moments. Then she became swollen in spite of the strict dieting and vigorous exercise that she continued to pummel her body with against doctor's orders, suffered through the horrible birth which no amount of flowers and gifts from her husband would wipe from her memory, and went home with little Sebastian.
After a month at home with her son she knew what motherhood really was: a lot of exhausting thankless work, most of it dull or disgusting. Once enlightened, she hurried to secure a live-in nanny and got back to work on her resume, lying to John and saying that she would still make time for their family. She didn’t even bother to cross her fingers when she said it. What did he care? He was always working, too. And she needed to have something that she was excited about. It had turned out to be the best decision of her life. And now, she was going to enjoy the ultimate fruit – Grant Palmer, at long last, crazy in love with her.
Finishing up her pitch, she decided to take a risk. “Asking for the business” was the last step in the process, and usually on the first meeting she only asked to schedule a five minute conversation in the next few weeks. Once they were more familiar, she’d suggest a dinner program or a lunch-and-learn. And even later, she’d push for actual prescriptions. But after her winning day, she knew she was on a roll.
“So, knowing all that you now know about what this product does for women, I’d like to ask you to write Revita for the next five patients who walk through your door! They’ll love you for it. What do you say?” she asked, leaning forward and smiling at him, letting the slight touch of cleavage her jacket revealed plump up from her change in position.
He didn’t glance at her breasts, which was unusual. Instead, he shook his head and smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t write that way. However, I’ll definitely take some samples and do my homework on the product. I’m always interested in the latest and greatest.”
He stood. She startled and looked up at him. This was nothing like she expected, knew she deserved. “Well, I hope you’ll consider a five minute appointment in a few weeks. We have many other products, some even more exciting.”
His eyebrows went up. “Really? Well, certainly. I meet with reps regularly. Just see Kate. She’ll get you scheduled. Here, let me walk you out.”
Bianca slowly gathered up her things while he walked to the door of his office and waited for her. She stood, shook her head and smiled at him playfully, as if it didn’t matter. And it shouldn’t have. She had changed so much. But once he knew… “You really don’t recognize me, do you?"
Grant's expression was mild, polite. "I'm sorry?"
"Scofield Junior High? We both were in the same class. Bianca Moretti?"
"Ah, Scofiel
d? Wow, that was eons ago. We were in the same class?"
It wasn't possible. How had he not noticed her? Every boy in her class remembered her: skinny Spaghetti Moretti with the big meatball-zits. She'd been a joke. She swallowed. Was she going to have to say it? "Ah, it's funny, but they used to call me Spaghetti Moretti."
He let out a little mirthless laugh. "Kids can be cruel, can't they? I guess I'm glad I wasn't too social back then, just played football and hit the books,” he said, and shook his head. “So, Scofield, huh? Small world. Sorry my memory isn’t better. I guess I stuffed too much information in my head during med school to remember anything important like old schoolmates. I’m amazed you remember me.”
“Ah…,” Bianca said, at a loss for the first time in years. He was supposed to be floored, be awed, be enamored! His smile was friendlier now but still reserved. He turned and led her out of the office and she followed, feeling an odd tumbling-down feeling and wondered if she was going to fall again.
He stopped at the front desk and addressed his mouse-wife, who turned away from her computer as they approached. “Hey Kate, guess what? Bianca here went to the same junior high I went to. I guess I’m going to be running into a lot of old classmates now that we’re living near my home town.”
Kate smiled. “Really? Were you two having a trip down memory lane?”
“Nope, I can’t remember her at all. Isn’t that terrible? I’m sorry, Bianca. I’ll have to start cramming with the old yearbooks, my memory isn’t what it should be,” Grant said, tapping his head.
Bianca looked at him. He seemed almost cheerful about the whole thing. She looked again at Kate, a skinny little no-looks blond that didn’t fit at all with Grant. No, this was not how it was supposed to be. It was not how it was going to be. She was going to make him remember her, make them both remember her vividly, even if the all the memories were fresh. She always got the man she wanted, even if she had to try harder with some than with others. And she wanted Grant, now more than ever.
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