Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  When the knock on my door comes, I rush to open it. Edie is in the same dark blue silk robe I caught her wearing for Tony, over a slinky white thing that I’m glad to note he wasn’t privy to.

  “Worth the wait?” she asks with a coy smile as she slips in past me.

  “I was wondering when you were going to start flirting with me like you obviously do with the maintenance men behind my back.”

  She spins and gives me a deadly glare. “You know, an ideal gentleman wouldn’t bring that up to throw in my face.”

  “Nonsense, I get it,” I say, strutting over to her and grabbing her by the hips to pull in closer to me. “Tony’s not a bad looking guy and the script practically writes itself.”

  Her eyes narrow even more as I begin rocking her side to side. “I hear you’ve got a plumbing issue that needs fixing. Lucky for you I’m an expert when it comes to long…hard…pipes of steel. I’ll have you getting wet in no time, lady.”

  Edie tries to maintain her irritation, but even she can’t hold back the laugh that comes.

  “This is the part where you’re supposed to point out that you don’t have any money and offer to pay me some other way.”

  She gives me a scrutinizing look. “You seem awfully familiar with this script. Should I be concerned about your extracurricular activities?”

  “Not since you came into my life, baby,” I croon.

  She laughs and wriggles her way out of my grip.

  I grin and head to the bar. “Your usual poison?”

  Edie shakes her head. “I try not to drink on a school night. Besides, I think I need my wits about me this week. I don’t know how the other editors are able to walk a fine line of keeping the panic in check without breaking confidentiality. What did you say to your staff?”

  “Superman 101, when in doubt, go fully opposite into Bizarro World. There most definitely wasn’t an email from Conniver and it most definitely didn’t suggest that they might be taking a more mercenary look at their holdings. However…if there was such an email that did suggest such a thing, then we have safeguards in place to maintain salaries and benefits for a good while.”

  Edie nods. “That’s pretty much what I said. Except to Veronica and Nicole. I told them both about our little plan. The latter already has an offer from Elle in the UK.”

  I whistle in amazement. “The vultures do move fast, don’t they. Is she taking it?”

  Edie’s mouth hitches into a crooked smile. “She actually wants to stay. It was flattering, really. Of course, then I had to tell her at least some of what we’re planning after that bit of loyalty.”

  “That’s good,” I say, heading to the refrigerator. “I think I have orange juice instead?”

  “Water’s fine,” Edie says,

  I pour a glass, then grab my bourbon and walk to where she’s settled on the couch to join her.

  “If we learned anything from Conniver, it’s that there is no such thing as confidential,” I say.

  “Still, it’s so early. Prenatal, if you will,” she says, adding a sardonic laugh.

  “Okay,” I say slowly, giving her a confused look at the odd choice of words.

  She catches me and waves a hand dismissively. “At any rate, I think it would be best to keep as many people in the dark as possible. I didn’t even tell them I was working with you and Ideal Gentlemen.”

  “Am I your dirty little secret, Edie?”

  “For now, I suppose,” she says in a teasing voice.

  “Well, I for one am proud to be associating with you. Fair warning, I did tell Lucien and Smith about us…in only the most strictly business sense.”

  She takes a moment to consider that. “Well, I suppose if you trust them.”

  “I do,” I say without pause, which seems to be enough to settle the matter for her.

  “But from now on we should keep it under wraps, at the very least until we have a business plan in place. Maybe even try to throw people off the scent. That way when Conniver eventually drops the hammer, we’ll be ready to pounce.”

  “Interesting thought.”

  “What?”

  “What if they don’t drop the hammer? What if this is really just an audit?”

  “What if Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are real?” Edie retorts. “I suppose we should thank them for having the consideration of giving us a heads up.”

  “True. They’re probably just creating chum for any sharks in the water who may want to take a bite and buy a few of the magazines out before they make the official announcement. No sense just dumping a product that another corporation may find viable enough to buy.”

  “I definitely don’t want to switch one overlord for another.”

  “As someone who spent my entire childhood under the firm hand of such an overlord, I can drink to that,” I say, lifting my glass and taking a sip.

  “And if the vultures find out we’re planning something, it might make us even more delectable prey…and not in the fun way,” Edie says with a smile, no doubt remembering the last time she was on my couch.

  I chuckle. “In which case, you’re right. We definitely have to throw them off the scent of us joining forces.”

  “I think we’ve been doing that for the past seven years, haven’t we?”

  “Speak for yourself, Edie. I’ve always made my interest known.”

  She sucks in her bottom lip and looks away with a hidden smile. I grin, enjoying the way she squirms like this.

  Until it hits me.

  “I’ve got it!” I say, sitting up.

  “What?” she says, her attention back on me with wide eyes.

  Instead of answering, I stand up and walk over to the pile of mail I’m notoriously bad about tossing out when I need to. When I catch hold of what I’m looking for, I raise it in the air like a prize.

  “What is that? An invitation?”

  “Columbia alumni meet and greet. Mostly to indoctrinate the new students who will be starting classes soon, but you can’t beat free hors d'oeuvres and an open bar.”

  “You actually go to those things?” she asks, looking incredulous.

  “I guess that explains why I never see you at one. Shame, it’s pretty much free advertising across a fantastic cross-section for my magazine. Future leaders of America and fellow over-the-hill schleps like me who long for a more refined lifestyle,” I say loftily.

  “Is that what Ideal Gentlemen is selling?” Edie asks with a crooked smile.

  “Or just hotter women, better sex, faster cars, classier clothing, and really cool gadgets.”

  “I love how simple the wants and needs of men are.”

  “That’s what makes Ideal Gentlemen a success.”

  “What does all of this have to do with an alumni cocktail party?”

  I walk back and fall on the couch next to her. “It’s the perfect opportunity to put up a front.”

  She seems to consider it favorably, but I watch her brow slowly furrow with doubt. “I don’t know. I can’t think of too many people from business school I’d like to be reacquainted with. Especially now. Don’t people go to these things to crow about their success? We’ll be like carcasses surround by laughing hyenas.”

  “And then we’ll have the last laugh,” I say. “Tongues are already wagging. Like you said, they’ll be on us like fresh meat, which gives us the perfect platform to control the narrative.”

  “And what narrative would that be?” Edie asks, showing interest again.

  “That I’m obviously beholden to confidentiality, but the forecast is not looking good.”

  “In other words, we have to eat crow,” she says with a frown.

  “A tough pill to swallow for Top-of-the-Class-Edie. But remember the bigger picture. This time next year when we go back, we’ll be the ones crowing and everyone will be perfectly flabbergasted.”

  “Flabbergasted?” she repeats with a small laugh.

  “Flummoxed. Nonplussed. Befuddled. Perplexed. Discombobulated.” With each word, I lean in
closer and closer so that I’m now inches away from a laughing Edie. “All this talk about school is giving me sordid ideas about role play, Miss Teacher’s Pet.”

  “But what about my pipes?” Edie responds, her eyes going kittenishly wide. “I need a man who knows how to handle them properly.”

  “See? Now you’re getting it. That’s exactly how you talk dirty to me, Ma’am,” I say with a grin, walking my fingers up her thigh toward that silky thing she has on. “Now, let’s talk about a payment plan for services rendered.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Edie

  It’s Thursday night, the evening of the Columbia event and Bryce and I are in the elevator headed down to the lobby of our apartment building.

  “If you mess up my lipstick, I’ll never forgive you,” I warn as he backs me into the corner of the elevator we currently have to ourselves.

  “In which case, I’ll just have to suffice with every other part of you,” he says, lowering his head to my neck.

  I laugh and squirm underneath him as his tongue tickles the skin there. “The same goes for hickeys! I don’t need to look like a brazen hussy as well as a loser.”

  Bryce pulls away. “Don’t discount brazen hussies. At least they know what they want. And what better advertising for the school than a woman of easy virtue? Think of the children, Edie. It gives them hope as to what college life is really like.”

  I laugh as he goes back to my neck. At least until the elevator stops on a lower floor. I try to push Bryce away, but he lingers long enough for the ding to ring out, then moves away from me just as the doors begin to open.

  The couple that enters gives us just enough attention to notice our presence, then go right back to the obviously riveting conversation they were already engrossed in. It seems to be about whether sun dried tomatoes add or detract from a particular pasta dish.

  “Actually, Margo, only one of us has spent time in the milieu of Michelin-rated restaurants,” the man says condescendingly.

  “Yes, I know that Todd,” she replies, just as patronizingly. “But a familiarity with twenty-four mushroom varieties does not a sophisticated palate make.”

  My brow lowers slightly with amused incredulity. Do people really talk like this? I slide my gaze to Bryce who has a similar sentiment written across his face. He catches my eye, then slowly and subtly raises his hand to his temple and imitates blowing his brains out.

  I bite back a smile, which only causes him to exaggerate the effect, throwing his head back and allowing his tongue to loll out of his mouth. I cough out a laugh when he falls back against the car in a dead faint.

  The couple turns around in surprise and stares at us with frowns on their faces. Before they can comment, we arrive on the first floor. I watch their expressions narrow with contempt as they begin to suspect they are the butt of some joke between us, but they let it go and exit without a word.

  “You’re so immature,” I criticize, but can’t keep the grin from my face.

  “Yes, you’re right,” he says straightening up and adjusting his suit and tie. “I should learn to practice far more decorum when forced to listen to the very important topic of pretentious additions to pasta dishes.”

  I laugh before exiting ahead of him. “Okay, so from now on, we don’t know each other,” I warn him.

  “I’m sorry ma’am, who are you? Don’t you know better than to talk to strange men in elevators?” He asks with a scolding look.

  I smile and roll my eyes, then continue on several steps ahead of him.

  Just as I walk through the front door, I feel his hand reach out and take mine, pulling me back toward him. Before I can even squeak out a noise of surprise, Bryce has me bent backward with his lips on mine. Any protest that threatened to escape is quickly swallowed by the enjoyable feel of his kiss. We stay like that for I don’t know how long, making a perfect spectacle of ourselves, before he pulls me back up in a rush, leaving me perfectly heady.

  “Don’t worry, your lipstick still looks perfect,” he says with a grin.

  “Yours not so much,” I reply, my eyes falling on the smear of dark maroon on his lips. “You should probably fix it before all our former classmates think you’re a brazen hussy.”

  “Sex sells, baby,” he says, the dimple in his chin deepening.

  I laugh and give him one last look before twisting away on my heels and hailing a cab. In this part of Manhattan, they are prevalent and as soon as I’m settled in one I prep myself.

  As reckless as it was, that kiss was just the bit of oomph I needed to embolden me tonight. I have no idea what it’s going to be like. In retrospect, Bryce had a good point about it being free publicity. The event is no doubt held to raise precious alumni money, as these things always are, but the current dean will be in attendance which means there might be some heavy hitting players there.

  Once at the building of the start-up company—the product of a well-publicized darling of the business school—I check-in at the desk in the lobby and head up the elevator to the correct floor. As soon as the doors open, I’m met with the hubbub of chitchat over cocktails and expensive finger food.

  The space is definitely the kind you hear about but never really see in corporate America. Pop art lines the walls, and brightly colored, eccentric seating is strategically placed. There isn’t a cubicle to be found. I’m guessing the space was chosen to appeal to the admitted students who will be starting at the university in a few weeks. I can’t deny that I’d be enthused about the “real world” if it was packaged like this.

  I catch the face of a former classmate, which is a firm reminder of why I’m here tonight. Fortunately, before he can see me, I also scope out the open bar and make a quick path toward it instead. I order a Chardonnay and wander away, deciding to focus on the art rather than hobnobbing. At least until I feel comfortable enough in this environment.

  That’s when I see her.

  It’s almost as if fate was laughing at me, directing my gaze right toward her.

  Lila Tanner.

  “Ah…shit,” I mutter under my breath. Mostly because she certainly felt my eyes on her and is more than happy to make a beeline my way. The past seven years have made her look even more like a cunning fox, with her pointed chin and nose, blue eyes narrowed into sharp focus on her prey, silky blonde hair practically streamlined into perfection.

  “Well, if it isn’t Edie Hartman,” she gushes in a way that I can’t believe I didn’t realize was completely fake back in school. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of these events before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” I say brightly before disappearing into my glass of wine.

  Lila eyes me with a gleam in her eye as she takes a measured sip from her martini.

  “Interesting timing for you, no?” she asks after swallowing.

  The way her gaze eagerly studies me tells me she knows all about Conniver. Of course she does. Everyone in the room probably does.

  “How so?” I ask, pretending to look truly puzzled by the comment.

  “Well…” she pauses to purse her lips as though she’d rather not “go there,” then seems to decide to throw caution to the wind and do it anyway. Because of course she does. “I suppose it’s all still very under the radar about Conniver, since the whole thing is supposedly confidential. But you know how the business world is. We make Gossip Girl look like the CIA in terms of secrets.”

  She laughs in a conspiratorial sort of way that encourages me to play along.

  I refuse to give her the satisfaction, instead maintaining my look of utter bewilderment at whatever her point is.

  The laughter dies on her lips and her face immediately transforms into that of abject sympathy.

  “Of course,” she says nodding somberly. “You can’t say anything about it, can you? Conniver basically giving Contempo Woman the axe?” Her gaze is inquisitive, but I know better than to think it’s because she expects an actual answer. She just wants a reaction from me.
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  Again, I refuse to bite.

  Keeping my face perfectly neutral, I respond. “If indeed there was a message from Conniver, especially a confidential one, I don’t think they’d appreciate me blabbing to someone who definitely isn’t in the industry.”

  That slaps away that eager look on her face. But I’m not encouraged by the defiantly smug smile that replaces it.

  “Actually,” she begins in such a pretentious tone, I’m reminded of “Todd” from the elevator earlier, “being the Director of Social Marketing at Estée Lauder, I’m practically tied at the hip to the women’s magazine industry. But you probably already know this.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard.”

  That takes a bit of the wind out of her sails. “How do you think I heard about your little mess in the first place?”

  “Gossip Girl has nothing on you,” I say in an upbeat, snappy tone, which she mistakenly takes as a compliment.

  “The job does have its perks. I mean, you can’t beat unlimited access to makeup and beauty products.” She tilts her chin slightly up and to the side as though modeling for me.

  “Yes, it’s very lucky for you. You certainly do the brand a service.”

  Her pleased look wavers as though searching for the insult there.

  “Speaking of which, is that one of their perfumes you’re wearing?” I say, bringing a curled finger up to my nose. It isn’t terrible, but one can only handle so much at once.

  “Yes! Youth Dew, Eau de Parfum.”

  Ew is the word, at least with regard to how much she put on. Did she take a bath in it?

  “Again, you certainly…draw attention to the brand.”

  “Don’t I?” She agrees, smoothing down her hair. “If I was a few inches taller I could be a model. Of course, image is très important in this field. It’s a shame, I give so much publicity to the product just by wearing it in public. Yet, even for makeup and perfume, they adhere to such strict guidelines for what they want. As though clients can tell if a model isn’t at least five-foot-eleven even when photographed from the head up.”