Green Card

by Elizabeth Adams

  “Really? Why?”

  “I won’t sully your ears with his drivel, just believe me that he is not who I want representing anything with the Taggston name on it.”

  Liz’s eyes widened, but the hard set of Will’s jaw told her not to ask any more questions.

  “I just hope I don’t have hell to pay Monday morning,” she said as they prepared to leave the party.

  **

  Liz walked into work on Monday with sweaty palms and a stomach full of careening butterflies. She wore one of her typical outfits of pencil skirt and a simple top, but she added large diamond studs she’d gotten for Christmas and her engagement ring, which she often took off because it was so large. She’d worn it to work several times, and a few people had complimented it, but plenty of women had nice wedding rings and it didn’t necessarily equate to a rich husband. She was pretty sure Alice thought it was fake and she hadn’t bothered to correct her fellow intern.

  She was working with Mr. Watson, going over a new manuscript that had come in, when Shankman’s assistant popped in and told her she was wanted in his boss’s office. Liz smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt and walked across the hall with her head held high.

  “Liz, please have a seat,” said Shankman.

  His assistant closed the door behind her and she sat carefully in the chair in front of his desk. She couldn’t help but notice how unwelcoming the whole space was. He really should let the company decorator help him in here. No wonder Ian Mellen hadn’t wanted to work with him.

  Shankman continued to look at his computer, ignoring her. Liz had learned from Will that silence was a technique men in power often used to unnerve the opposition and refused to be cowed by it. She’d done nothing wrong. She was never asked to disclose the name of her husband, and if she wanted to keep that information to herself, that was her business.

  Finally, Shankman spoke. “You know what’s interesting? I’m looking through your file and it says your last name is Barrett.”

  “Barrett is my maiden name. I still use it for school and since this internship is directly tied to my studies, I use it here. I asked and was assured it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Who did you ask?”

  “Arnold Billington.”

  Shankman’s nostrils flared and his mouth tightened, but she refused to be intimidated.

  “Isn’t it typical to speak with the intern coordinator about such things?”

  “Mr. Billington’s assistant spoke with him. Mr. Higgins said he didn’t care what name I went by as long as I did my work.” She was stretching the truth a tiny bit, but she knew it sounded like something Higgins would say and she wanted to appear confident.

  Shankman leaned back in his chair and looked at her calculatingly. His fingers were steepled in front of him and he tapped them together slowly. Eventually, his lips formed a cold smile.

  “I have an assignment for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “Read this manuscript tonight.” He passed her a thick stack of paper. “Tomorrow I’m having lunch with the author. You’ll join us at one. Be prepared to discuss what you’ve read with me beforehand.”

  She nodded and he rose, the meeting at an end.

  Just as she reached the door, he called, “And Liz, wear something more expensive tomorrow. We’re going to a nice place. You don’t want to look like the help.”

  The gleam in his eyes was unmistakable and Liz nodded, her own fury barely restrained.

  She made her way to the intern lounge and found Alice sitting at the table, an open laptop in front of her and a stack of papers beside it.

  “Heard you got called in to Shankman’s. He ream you out or what?” said Alice without raising her eyes from the screen.

  Liz paced back and forth, anger rolling off her in waves. Alice finally looked up and closed her computer.

  “Whoa, I was just kidding! What happened?” asked Alice.

  “Shankman is a conniving, manipulative, little rat!” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” said Alice. “What did he want? Did he yell at you?”

  “Worse. He wants to work with me.”

  “What? How is that worse? He never works with interns. What’s going on?”

  Liz took a deep breath. “I ran into him at a party at Arnold Billington’s this weekend and he’s pissed about it.”

  “You went to a party at Arnold Billington’s? President-of-the-company Arnold Billington?”

  “Yes,” said Liz tiredly. “But that’s not the point. Shankman thought I was working the event and embarrassed himself in front of someone higher up, and now he’s punishing me for it. Or he’s using me to get something. Or maybe it’s both. I don’t know!” she cried wretchedly. “This is exactly what I was afraid of!”

  “Liz, what’s going on? You’re being really weird.”

  “Alice, I have to tell you something, but I need you to not freak out, okay? Can you do that?”

  “Of course. I’m a rock. Shoot.”

  “You know I’m married.”

  “Yeah, to William. He took you to that B&B for Valentine’s,” replied Alice, not seeing what the big deal was.

  “Right. He’s William Harper.”

  “And I’m Alice Yi,” she replied in a so-what tone.

  “William Harper.” She pointed a finger up, indicating the floors above them. “Of HarperCo, owns controlling shares of Taggston Inc., sits on the board of directors. Ringing any bells?”

  “William Harper-Harper?!” she cried, her mouth wide open. “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You said you wouldn’t freak out!” cried Liz.

  “All right, all right. I’m not freaking out,” Alice said. “I see why you didn’t say anything before.”

  “Yeah.” Liz sank into the chair across from her friend and hung her head in her hands.

  “So now Shankman knows who you’re married to and he’s pissed?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Oh God, do you think he wants to mentor you or something?”

  Liz looked up with a horrified look on her face. “I hope not!”

  “Sounds like he might. Getting in with the boss’s wife might be too good to resist.”

  “I think he’s smart enough to know it’s too late to get in good with me, isn’t he?”

  “Is it too late? If he gave you really plum assignments and introduced you to influential people, would you put in a good word for him? Or feel obligated to?”

  “Oh, no! This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. You should have seen the look on Shankman’s face as I was leaving his office. The man hates me. AND he wants to use my connections. It’s a lethal combination.”

  “Yeah, you’re fucked, girl. Sorry,” said Alice simply.

  Liz’s head dropped to the table with a thud.

  *

  As soon as she got home, Liz called Caroline in London. If there was anyone who would know what to wear to impress someone like Shankman, it was Lady Caroline Fleming-Covington.

  After Liz spilled the entire story to her cousin-by-marriage, Caroline took charge of the situation. She made a quick call to Barney’s and an hour later, a courier was leaving a package with the doorman.

  Liz propped up her phone with Caroline in a video call and modeled the sent over clothes.

  “Definitely the blue Stella McCartney,” said Caroline authoritatively. “Smart and just sexy enough. And best of all, you look terribly expensive.”

  Liz laughed and they chose jewelry together, deciding on discreet but elegant earrings and a matching necklace. Liz had gotten a manicure a few days before and refused to let Caroline talk her into having her hair and make-up done.

  “I have to draw the line somewhere, Caroline!” she said. “I mostly just want to show Shankman that he can’t use me as a pawn.”

  “Good girl. Show him he’s playing with the big dogs now,” said Caroline in a surprisingly hard voice
.

  Liz was pretty sure she wasn’t even approaching a big dog; she was more of a small terrier at the moment. But she understood what Caroline meant and she was impressed with the hard business woman she’d glimpsed. Besides, William was absolutely a big dog and as his wife, she refused to be used or played by anyone, especially a weasel like Shankman.

  *

  Tuesday morning, Liz walked into work looking much more grown-up than she usually did. She turned a few heads but ignored them, focusing on her appointment. After a couple of hours with Watson, who in his usual manner hadn’t noticed anything besides the manuscript he was working on, she was told by Shankman’s assistant to meet him in the lobby at one. Lunch was set for one thirty and he didn’t want to be late.

  Liz stood in the lobby patiently, occasionally noting the time, and exchanged pleasantries with a security guard she’d gotten to know over the last year.

  At one-ten, Shankman finally hurried out of an elevator looking irritated and rushed.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she replied. She was unable to get a read on his mood or his motives and it made her wary, but she stuffed the discomfort down and focused on the business at hand.

  He hailed a cab in front of the building and they chatted about the book for a few minutes as they crawled through Manhattan traffic. Liz was left wondering why she was there. It wasn’t a typical meeting where she would be expected to take notes. The author had already signed on with Taggston and she wasn’t sure what she was expected to do. And Shankman didn’t seem to want to tell her.

  Finally, Shankman said, “This is a very big get for us. Jonathon Daniels recently left his previous publisher and agent. I want him to feel like he made the right choice. Be nice to him, make him feel at ease.”

  She nodded, acknowledging the words were innocuous enough but not liking the way Shankman glanced at her bare legs when he said them.

  The cab stopped and Liz stepped out, happy to see they were at one of Will’s favorite places, a French restaurant that was part bistro, part high-end dining that somehow managed to have both a relaxed atmosphere and a ridiculously expensive menu.

  Shankman walked ahead of her and spoke to the hostess behind the pedestal.

  “Mrs. Harper! How nice to see you!”

  Liz turned to see the manager, a tall, lanky Frenchman walking toward her with a broad smile on his face.

  “Monsieur Dufour,” she smiled and exchanged kisses, first one cheek, then the other. “How are you? How is the baby?”

  “She is perfect, just like her mother,” he said with a heavy French accent.

  Shankman turned around and glared at the scene before motioning to Liz. “Our table is ready,” he grumbled and turned to follow the hostess.

  “Non!” cried Monsieur Dufour. “Only the best for Mrs. Harper. Follow me, s'il vous plaît.”

  Liz smiled and followed him, Shankman filing in behind her with a scowl.

  The manager promised to send out a very special appetizer immediately and Liz made him promise to show her pictures of the baby before she left. She could tell Shankman was annoyed by her familiarity with the exclusive restaurant and its notoriously snobbish staff, but she thought it served him right. He’d wanted to use her connections and position for himself, hadn’t he? Well, here she was.

  The manager poured their water himself, then discreetly showed Elizabeth a picture of his new daughter on his phone. She cooed and smiled delightedly at the baby in a lacy dress, then exclaimed how happy she was that the layette was to his wife’s liking. Dufour thanked her again and left with a promise of superb service for his favorite guest.

  “You gave them a layette?” asked Shankman in a tight voice.

  “Yes. William and I eat here often and his wife was the hostess until she delivered. We sent them a gift, as I’m sure many of the regulars did,” Liz said simply, taking a sip of her water.

  Shankman didn’t respond, standing to greet the two people who had just arrived at their table.

  Elizabeth greeted the author, Jonathon Daniels, with a friendly smile and handshake and turned to say hello to the agent standing behind him.

  “Liz!”

  “Marian!”

  The two women laughed and hugged, exclaiming over each other that neither had known the other was going to be there today.

  Shankman and Jonathon looked at them inquisitively and Marian said, “Liz was the writing assistant to one of my other authors who’s recently published. We worked together quite a bit over the last two years.”

  Liz laughed. “You could say that again! More like we exchanged a dozen frantic phone calls.” She smiled and looked across the table to Jonathon. “You’re in very good hands, Mr. Daniels. Marian is a good man in a storm.”

  He seemed to relax with her statement and said, “Thanks. And call me Jonathon.”

  She nodded and they settled in to look at their menus. Shankman leaned over and said quietly, “Who’s assistant were you?”

  “Mark Basurto’s.” Shankman’s brows shot up and she added, “He was one of my professors at NYU. It’s in my file,” she couldn’t help but add. She’d never been secretive of the fact that she’d worked with Mark. He’d written her a recommendation letter for her internship! If Shankman couldn’t be bothered to read her file before taking her to task, that wasn’t her problem.

  Shankman ran the conversation from there, mostly talking over Jonathon to Marian, then speaking to the author patronizingly. Liz could tell that Jonathon was getting annoyed at being steamrolled and she wondered why he didn’t speak up, but then thought that he was bankable enough he could just let Marian deal with it. His contract was with the publishing house, not the individual editor. He could simply ask for someone else and spare himself the confrontation. He seemed like the quiet sort; she wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what he did.

  It made her wonder how many other authors didn’t want to work with Shankman and whether Arnold Billington knew all of this. There was another person on the hierarchy between the two, so she could see how Billington wouldn’t see it himself, but she was beginning to think Will was right. Shankman was not someone they wanted representing Taggston—in any way.

  The meeting ended with Jonathon nodding at Shankman and shaking Liz’s hand with a warm smile. Marian excused herself to the ladies room and signaled for Liz to go with her.

  “Are you still doing the assistant thing?” asked Marian once the door had closed behind them.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Why?”

  “Jonathon may need a little help. Not much, but a handful of meetings with someone to bounce ideas off of and read through scenes would be great. I could send one of my assistants, but they wouldn’t be as good as you. I remember how you handled Mark.” She chuckled and Liz returned the smile. Marian continued talking in her quick-draw fashion. “In fact, you’d make a hell of an agent if you’re interested. You’ve got a great rapport with the writers and you have excellent taste.”

  Liz didn’t know how Marian had come to that conclusion and laughed uncomfortably, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Wow. I’ll think about it.”

  “Great! Just send over your rates and I’ll set something up with Jonathon.”

  When they finally said their goodbyes in front of the restaurant, it was a quarter to four, fifteen minutes before the interns were released. By the time they got back to Taggston it would be time for her to go home, but it was typical of Shankman not to notice something like that. She waited patiently while he attempted to hail a cab and listened to him swear quietly every time one passed by.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll start walking back,” she said.

  She’d been tempted to offer to call the car service she used, but she thought it might be overkill. Instead she said goodbye politely when he waved her off and started walking in the direction of Taggston in her heels.

  **

  “How did it go?” asked William. He’d come straight home from his
last meeting and had two bags filled with Indian food. Liz was in the kitchen baking—a surefire sign that she was stressed about something.

  “It was all right, but I’m pretty sure Shankman hates me more than ever.” She pulled on a pair of oven mitts and took a bundt pan out of the oven. “At least before I was just another faceless intern.”

  Will made a face, thinking she hadn’t been as faceless as she thought if Shankman’s rude comments were anything to go by.

  “Well, at least the worst of it is over.” He unpacked the bags and got two plates from the cupboard.

  “Is it though?” Her question was punctuated by the fridge closing and two beer bottles set heavily on the counter. Will popped the tops off while she piled her plate high with rice and vegetable korma. “Shankman’s not going to keep quiet about this. It will trickle through the office, and one by one I’ll face disgruntled coworkers.”

  They walked into the dining room and Will sat across from Liz, a worried expression on his face. “Do you really think he’ll do that? He made a pretty big ass of himself at the party. People will want to know how he found out and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want that story coming out—not if he has any sense of self-preservation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he insulted you, and you’re my wife. Anyone with a brain in their heads wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole.”

  “But he won’t tell them that. He’ll just say we met at a party.” She looked at him skeptically. “Will, are you up to something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not going to tell anyone what happened at the party, are you?”

  “I’m not going to gossip like an old lady, if that’s what you mean. But I am having lunch with Arnold Billington Friday,” he added casually.

  Her eyes widened. “Will, you can’t fire him.” He continued eating as if she hadn’t said anything and her voice rose in pitch. “He’s awful and rude and a bad boss and I’m beginning to think a bad editor, but if you fire him just because of me I’ll never live it down. Everyone will walk on eggshells around me, afraid to say anything in case I tattle to you and get them fired.”