“Great, just call me when you’re done.”
“What’s this about?” he asks, obviously sensing something in my voice.
“It’s nothing. Best discussed in person.”
“I’ve got about an hour free soon if you really need to talk.”
It’s tempting, but if he isn’t the culprit, I’m going to need more than an hour for a good rant, or at least someone to bounce theories off of to figure this whole thing out.
“No, it’s not that urgent. Just call me when you’re done,” I say.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual.
“Okay then.”
“See you tonight,” I say before hanging up.
I stare at the wall again thinking this out. It wasn’t Smith, and I’m almost ninety percent sure it isn’t Lucien.
Which means it must have come from Edie’s end.
Chapter Thirty-One
Edie
“So, what’s up?” Nicole asks. After the morning I’ve had, I’m in awe of her constant effervescence. It’s something I noted before I hired her, the way she always seemed to bring a sense of upbeat ease into the room. Even during the interview process she didn’t seem tense or worried or go through any of the usual rollercoaster of emotions that any potential hiree would experience.
I hate to burst her bubble.
“You know the tentative plans to start a media corporation I told you about?”
“You’re still doing it, right? I think it’s a great idea.” Her eyes penetrate me as though trying to inject some mojo back into my spirits in case I was thinking of changing my mind.
Interesting.
“It’s hit a bit of a snag. It seems someone else has jumped on the idea and is already running with it.”
“Oh shit. That sucks. But…does that mean you still can’t start your own? I mean, Contempo Woman is a pretty established magazine.”
There is no hint of guilt or duplicity whatsoever.
“It certainly makes it harder,” I say, feeling distracted by my growing belief in her innocence.
“I think you should. You were born to lead, Edie. Who could do the job better than you?”
I flash a brief smile. I knew there was a reason I liked her. But I’m not done yet.
“Do you know anyone at Ideal Gentlemen magazine?”
She rolls her eyes up to the side in thought. “I know they hired that guy Smith-something based on his Instagram feed. He’s in charge of Fashion. Kind of a cool way to get a gig, if you ask me. I wish I’d thought of it.” Her eyes flash to me in a panic. “If I was still looking of course. Which I’m not.”
I give her a reassuring smile. “Does the name Cheval Blanc ring any bells?”
She squints her eyes in thought. “Is that some kind of wine?”
I breathe out a laugh and shake my head no. “So you’ve never heard anyone mention it?”
“No. What is it, French?”
“It’s supposedly the name of the company that’s rivaling us.”
“Did you google it?”
Stupidly no.
Nicole’s mouth breaks into a grin of disbelief when she sees it on my face. “Why not look it up?”
“Good idea,” I say, still focusing on her. “Listen, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but I have to check with anyone who knows anything about this.”
“I get it. No problem. Just to be clear, I haven’t told anyone.”
“Of course.”
Nicole gives one quick nod before getting up to leave. I watch her go, feeling mostly certain it wasn’t her. Then again, if she was my “friend since school” I’d probably have a better feel for her.
But she’s just an employee.
That makes me angry at Bryce all over again. I know it’s irrational to take it out on him, but there is the distinct possibility that it is one of my people as opposed to his, and that pisses me off.
Veronica is the next and last to interrogate. I’ve known her a lot longer so I feel more certain about her. But this whole mess has me second-guessing everyone and everything. Just an hour ago I was looking for bugs in my office, thinking maybe some corporate espionage was going on and that would explain it.
Once Nicole is gone I do an internet search of the name Cheval Blanc, mentally slapping myself for not doing it sooner. I blame the argument with Bryce, which has my brain working under foggy conditions.
The search returns a lot of different results, including, coincidentally enough, a wine label, but nothing that would suggest any ties to a media corporation. As far as Google is concerned Cheval Blanc Media doesn’t exist.
I did learn that the name means White Horse in French, which was about as helpful for my purposes as a sunhat in a hurricane.
So much for that.
Which just leaves Veronica.
I decide to at least do Veronica the favor of going to her office to discuss this. Besides, I need a change of scenery. My mind feels groggy sitting here behind my desk. I call her up before stopping by, in case she’s in the middle of something, then make my way over.
“Hey, Veronica,” I say, walking in and closing the door behind me. The trek here has cleared my head somewhat and I feel slightly more revived when I take a seat.
“Bad day so far?” she asks with a hesitant smile.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I say. My eyes land on the clock on her wall. Is it really only three in the afternoon?
“So what is it you wanted to talk about?”
I decide not to beat around the bush with her. She’d be the type to appreciate a straightforward approach.
“I found out that there’s another entity starting a media corporation like the one I mentioned to you and Nicole. So far it looks like they’re targeting other Conniver publications. International Male, Obsessed…Ideal Gentlemen.” I still haven’t told either her or Nicole about my informal partnership with Bryce.
“You’re kidding,” she exhales, sitting back in her seat to stare at me. “What does this mean for your plans?”
“It means we have some stiff competition. If they’re already propositioning editors at other publications, they must have funding in place.”
“Have they come to you yet?”
“No, but that’s beside the point.”
“Is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“If they’re already targeting Obsessed, will they still go after Contempo Woman? At least in the beginning? Yes, we have a slightly different approach, but two women’s magazines? Unless they are planning on being as big as Conniver, of course.”
That’s exactly one of the thoughts that had Bryce and me leaving Obsessed off the list of publications to reach out to, at least in the beginning. We were planning on starting small, growing organically. Part of it was a matter of funding. Another part of it was the enjoyment of being a mom and pop corporation, or as close to one as you can get at this level.
Now it looks like someone is beating us to the punch.
“In which case, what does that mean for Contempo Woman?” Veronica asks, suddenly serious.
“Worst case scenario, we’ll get funding to survive on our own,” I reassure her. Hopefully, I won’t have to resort to my mother’s methods, but I’m sure I can formulate something.
“I’m not too worried about that. I’m sure you’ll get funding, even though it would be nice to be part of a conglomerate again, at least for the perks of cross-promotion and publicity.”
“And the added hogties preventing us from ever innovating?” I reply with an eyebrow raised cynically. “That was part of the reason we wanted to start this thing.”
“We?”
I blink, realizing what I’ve let slip, then realize it doesn’t matter. “I was working with Bryce Wilmington from Ideal Gentlemen.”
Her brow rises in surprise, then she seems to consider it and nods in approval. “That would have been a good partnership to start with.”
“It's still a partn
ership,” I say testily. “Despite what this Cheval Blanc seems to be implying.”
“What are they implying? That they already have him on board?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe they do.”
“No, they don’t. Trust me.”
“Are you sure?”
As sure as anything. Bryce was the one to tell me in the first place. Surely he wouldn’t try and double-cross me that way.
My brow wrinkles in thought as I’m suddenly paranoid again. Was his call some kind of reverse psychology?
“Edie,” Veronica says, leaning in to catch my attention. “If you say he’s on your team, then I believe it. You have a good head on your shoulders. I’m just a natural worrier,” she says with a smile. “Trust me, the last thing I want is to be searching for a new job in this field. I’m over fifty, which means in this industry, I might as well start collecting social security if Contempo Woman goes down in flames.”
“Which won’t happen, not under my watch,” I say firmly.
She breathes out a laugh that’s filled with relief. “And to answer the question that you really wanted to ask when you came here, no, it wasn’t me who leaked anything about this. Why would I do something to jeopardize the magazine I work at?”
I smile graciously. “I know, I just needed to ask.”
“Understood.”
I rise and walk out feeling myself once again. I can now confidently tell Bryce it wasn’t one of my team. Which means it must be one of his. It’s not a sense of triumph I feel, but sympathy. Someone he truly trusts went behind his back.
Unless there’s a third party involved somehow?
Running this magazine, I’m used to solving problems, big problems. And this is nothing more than another problem to solve.
One that I will solve.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Edie
By the time I’m supposed to meet Dad for dinner, I’m once again thinking of bailing. I came home to take a quick nap, knowing how long Sergio and he like to keep me, but it did little to rejuvenate me.
But it’s been a month since I last saw them, and listening to them try to talk me out of not coming seems even more exhausting than the prospect of the two of them prodding into my life.
I arrive at the stately townhouse on the Upper West Side with a bottle of red wine in my hand.
“Lola!” Sergio announces in his accented voice. Only Dad and he get to call me by my first name without repercussion.
Sergio is originally from Venezuela. He’s is partially responsible for more than a few of the country’s many Miss Universe contestants, having worked as a former pageant advisor. “Oh look at you, you’re practically glowing with beauty! Come to papi.”
I allow him to pull me into a bear hug, drowning me in a familiar sea of Drakkar Noir, which he has faithfully worn for as long as I can remember.
“Your father is in the kitchen making a mess as usual,” he says rolling his eyes. “Duck à l'orange? More like Duck à let’s just order Chinese. I tell him, ‘you don’t know the first thing about French cooking.’ But you try telling that man anything and he will just shoo you out of the kitchen.”
“Hopefully it will turn out okay,” I say, already feeling my stomach lurch. Sergio has a point about Dad’s cooking. Once upon a time, this monthly dinner used to be at a restaurant. For the past few years, Dad has been on a cooking crusade.
“Don’t you go coddling him, Miss Lola. If he keeps this up, my girlish figure is going to be nothing more than Kate Moss.”
I offer a mild smile of amusement, following my “uncle” dressed in a brightly patterned silk shirt and shiny black slacks. His hair is dyed pitch black, which fools no one, but we all have our vanities.
Sergio and Dad have been the true couple hidden behind the Alfred-Cassandra public marriage. He even served as Dad’s best man for the sake of appearances.
“Come, come, let Uncle Sergio get a good look at his Lola.”
My smile becomes more plastic.
“Don’t give me that. You think I don’t see those bags under your eyes. Is that magazine from your mamá too much for you?” He purses his lips with disdain. He and Cassandra don’t exactly hate each other, but they do so enjoy being catty about and toward one another.
“The magazine is fine.”
Now he gives me a look.
“What?” I ask, feeling my stomach drop. Have the two of them heard as well?
“Is that Lola I hear?” Dad’s voice rings out from the kitchen.
Sergio ushers me that way before I can question him further.
Since he started this cooking phase of his, Dad has been collecting absurd aprons that are meant to be funny. Last month the one he wore had an image of a voluptuous woman in a skimpy pink diner uniform with a mini apron that read: Albert’s Diner. Tonight’s reads: May I Suggest the Sausage? There’s an image of a hand with a finger pointing downward.
“Dad,” I groan, wrinkling my face with distaste.
He and Sergio have a good laugh at my reaction.
“How is my little marshmallow?” he says with a hyperbolic pout as he looks at me. Even the nickname—given to me for my desire to stick as many marshmallows as possible in the hot chocolate he used to make for me—doesn’t detract from the knowledge behind that look.
I narrow my eyes with suspicion, then turn to Sergio who has a similar look of sympathy.
“So, I take it you heard about Conniver.”
“Oh Lola, everyone’s heard!” Dad cries, throwing his hands up in the air.
I sigh and close my eyes. The last thing I want to do is discuss this with them tonight. Even the well-worn path across the historically barren land of my love life would be preferable to this. Even if it isn’t such a wasteland these days.
But Bryce is yet another topic I’d rather avoid, especially after today’s fight.
“Unless you have some solid advice or words of wisdom, please spare me the sympathy. I can’t possibly feel any worse than I do right now.”
“I think maybe we open this,” Sergio says, gently taking the bottle of wine from my hand.
Good idea.
“My advice is, talk to your mother,” Dad offers.
“Done, and definitely done,” I say, eyeing the wine as Sergio opens it.
“What did she have to say?”
“You don’t want to know,” I reply, casting a furtive glance his way. “How much do you remember about her starting the magazine?”
“We hadn’t yet sealed the deal, at least not officially.” That’s how he’s always referred to his marriage to mom. “But I wasn’t completely naïve, Lola. If it weren’t for Sergio keeping me an honest man, I’d have been just as bad as she was.”
“Oh, you still a bad boy,” Sergio says, interrupting his wine pouring to slap Dad on the butt. They both laugh.
I smile as Sergio hands me a glass. I admire the two of them. As unconventional as their arrangement has been, it’s still relationship goals in its own way. Bryce makes me laugh just like this.
“So, obviously I’m not going Mom’s route,” I say in a pointed way.
“And while you’re not doing that, help me bring this food to the table.”
I happily oblige since it takes both of their minds off my dire circumstances. At least until we’re settled with our food.
Despite my desire to avoid the topic of all things Conniver, I’m still curious.
“So what little birdie told you two about all of this?”
“It was Corey at International Male,” Dad says as he piles a heaping mound of garlic mashed potatoes on my plate. I don’t protest; even if his cooking isn’t exactly restaurant-worthy, I’m feeling ravenous. “Ever since he called on us to do that whole spread on mature gay travel—and I do have to say, I approve of him avoiding the term ‘senior’ or ‘elderly’ or other forms of blasphemy. Just because we have a little snow on the North Pole doesn’t mean we’re Santa Claus. Anyway, they interviewed Sergio and me abo
ut our travels to Tahiti. Remember that resort, Sergio?”
“Yes, with the fish. Lagoon fish they called it. It was whatever they caught that day! And those cocktails. Delicious. I especially liked the ones with the lime, what was it?”
“It wasn’t lime, it was mango, dear,” Dad says.
“No, I’m sure it was a lime, something spicy.”
“Exactly. The drink was orange. What lime drink is orange? You might as well mix plaid with polka dot,” Dad insists.
“Then what was the lime for?” Sergio asks, as though the question makes sense.
“I don’t know, maybe you’re thinking of something from the spa? All I know is, you had the spicy mango drink and I had—”
“Okay, so you heard about it from Corey at International Male,” I confirm, interrupting the irrelevance this is turning into.
Dad turns to me as though realizing that I’m there and laughs. “Yes, that’s right, this magazine business.” A pout suddenly appears on his face. “Though I do have to say, Lola, I was hurt I had to find out about it from him.”
“It’s still supposed to be confidential, even though half the universe seems to know about it by now. Besides, I didn’t want you to worry. ”
“I’m your father, that’s what I’m supposed to do.”
I flash him a faint smile, then start with the potatoes rather than the duck, which looks too good to be true. They aren’t half bad. Or maybe I’m just hungry.
“Anyway, has this Cheval Blanc company talked to you yet? In my opinion, the idea is a sound one. Just start a new—”
“So you know about Cheval Blanc as well?” I ask in surprise.
“Well, yes, that’s what Corey and I discussed. I suspect he was trying to feel me out about whether or not they had approached you yet, all without going directly to you about it.”
I fall back into my chair. “This Cheval Blanc company is trying to undermine me.”
“How so?” he asks in alarm.
“I was formulating the same idea of starting a new media corporation.” I don’t want to bring Bryce into the picture yet. That would surely have us going off-topic.
Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance Page 17