by Trixie More
“Oh, for the love of … well, that’s unbelievable, Pete. I just told her yesterday that we were basically letting her go for that type of behavior. Is Kathy upset?”
Adam’s amiable voice gave Peter a twinge of guilt. After all, it was really he who was upset, not Kathy. She had said the girl left without getting help and he preferred not to lie to Adam. But on the other hand, she had been on this floor. What he was really bent about was the project she seemed to be working on.
“Of course Kathy’s upset. She hates to tell anyone no. She’s too good-natured.” Peter drew a breath. “She says you have her working on the Walker and Birkeland account. I thought we agreed not to take that one.”
“You agreed, Pete. I decided to at least meet the guy.”
“And?”
“And nothing. The guy’s an ass. I don’t like him, so it’s not worth it to me to fight with you over it.”
“So why is your assistant creating brochures for them then?”
Adam sighed. “I told her we couldn’t keep her and she, um, argued quite persuasively for a chance to come up with a campaign for them. I decided to let her try. She has until Monday. And really, she hasn’t won a slam yet, her work is not up to par and I don’t think there is any way she can create a good campaign.”
“Then why waste the payroll? The resources, Adam?” Peter was incredulous. This was so like Adam. Peter was surrounded by Goody Two-shoes everywhere he looked. They had a business to run and also, they were trying to turn public opinion on global warming. They didn’t have time for this nice-nice stuff.
“Well, Pete, since you don’t seem to realize who she is, let me tell you. She is a triple threat. She doesn’t appear to know how much influence she carries, thank God, but we can’t afford to treat her badly.” Adam cleared his throat.
Peter remained silent for a second, his brain working furiously. “She’s Carl Johansen’s daughter, that much I know.”
“Right.” Adam continued in his “let me tell you something” voice, the one that put Peter’s nerves on edge. “Her father is Carl Johansen. And he adores his daughter, his only daughter. That’s not all, though. Carl Johansen just hired a young man named Nate. This has cemented the relationship between Carl and a man you might know. Tom Russel?”
Peter groaned. Broader Developments. Doug Lloyd’s comments from the other day came back to him. If they fired her and she went running to Daddy, that might piss off Doug just the same as if they accepted the Walker and Birkeland account. Doug Lloyd was starting to feel like a silent partner.
“Exactly.” Adam sounded smug now. “And there’s one more thing. She’s Baby Dot.”
“Baby Dot? Her?” Peter leaned back in his chair. No fucking way.
“Oh yeah. And people adore her.”
Peter could just imagine the look on Adam’s face. This was why he called the guy rather than walking the five yards to his office.
“So I thought, what the heck. Maybe I’ll let her present the idea and when she fails, then at least she won’t be likely to fight it. After all, I gave her another chance.”
“I see,” said Peter, and he did. He didn’t like it but Adam was right. “OK then, ’nuff said.”
Peter hung up and turned back to his speech. He was just going to have to make some changes to counter Walker before he even got started. He positioned his cursor and began pressing delete.
Chapter 9
On Friday afternoon, Edward found himself sitting in the office of Ben Feingold, his lawyer. Between his conversation with Gunnar and the work that Dorothy had laid out for him last night, he’d decided to finally go visit the man. When the lawsuit around the video had been settled, he’d basically left the money in Ben’s hands. At the time, Edward had been so angry, he still was truthfully, he’d sworn that he’d never touch the money. Ben had set up a trust and managed it. Ed hadn’t seen, or wanted to see, a single document or balance sheet since the day he signed the papers seven years ago.
Ed’s other investments had done well over that period, large ups and downs notwithstanding. He was surprised to find himself excited to find out how much the trust now held. From not being able stand the thought of that money, to seeing it as something he might be thankful for, well, that was a huge change in perspective. He had Ben Feingold to thank for it, since if Ed had been given his way, the cash would be rotting away in a savings accounting earning less than a percent.
When Ben’s door opened and the familiar face of the man who had seen him through so much appeared, Ed felt a feeling that could only be love. Other than Gunnar, this was the only person on the planet who knew his deepest secrets. And unlike Gunnar, who Ed only met after the whole thing was over, Ben had been by his side through it all.
Edward stood quickly, strode over and when Ben clasped his hand, Ed pulled him to him and gave him a one armed hug. If Ben felt that was a strange thing to do with a client, he had long since gotten over it, since Ed greeted him this way several times a year when he took Ben and his wife out for dinner. When Ben invited him into the familiar office, with its stacks of papers and slightly worn furnishings, Ed was eager to get started.
Twenty minutes later, Ed was smiling broadly.
“I was beginning to think I’d never see the day,” Ben groused. “What made you change your mind?” Ben asked. “Not that you should need a reason. This money is yours. I’ve always said you mistook the meaning of it.”
“I can’t let the company fail, Ben. Simple as that. Too many other people at stake.” Ed grinned. “But you, you fox, you certainly didn’t ignore the trust. How did you do all this?”
Now Ben smiled and relaxed. He loved to brag about his financial prowess. “I took that money and put a quarter of it in an S&P Index, very low fees. I took a quarter of it and put it in a fund that focused on dividend yields and put another quarter of it in a global fund. The last quarter I invested in small cap.” His leather chair creaked as he leaned way back, folding his hands over his slightly rounded belly, the cuffs on the long wool cardigan he wore, frayed and stretched wide around his bony wrists. The guy never wore a suit unless he was in court. “I split it, bought the stock over the course of a year, then I left it the hell alone. Every year, I celebrated the anniversary of your win by re-balancing it.”
“That sounds too easy, man.”
“The S&P earned more than one hundred fourteen percent in that time, not even thinking about dividends. But the small caps, holy smokes, they went great! I sort of wished I’d not even gone to the global funds but who can know?” He shrugged. “So, there you are. You needed a million and a half. I got you a million.” Ben beamed at him.
Seven years ago, Ed had walked away from three hundred and fifty thousand dollars and this man, all these years, had been patiently building it into a small fortune. “I’m blown away. How can I thank you?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Give me a cushy job on your board of directors!”
Edward laughed. “If we stay afloat long enough, your name will be at the top of the ballot. Believe me.”
They talked some more about the company and when Edward emerged from the office, he felt … normal. Normal, happy, calm, like anybody might bump into him and he wouldn’t jump out of his skin. It had been a long time, he realized, since he’d felt like this.
The sun was starting to sink when he finally got back to his apartment. It was almost six and he hadn’t had a single text from Dorothy. When she’d left this morning, he’d been sure she’d come back. The first thing he did was turn on his computer. Then he turned from his desk and surveyed his apartment. What must they have looked like to Gunnar this morning? He remembered how she’d backed into the hallway. He’d followed like a dog on a lead, forgetting about Gunnar completely. His friend, in his infinite wisdom, hadn’t mentioned the scene today despite the fact they’d spoke twice after that.
Ed smiled to himself. It appeared Dorothy was going to forgive him for leaving her last night. Unless of course, she’d thought the bette
r of it after she left. He’d been an ass last night, running away like a frightened boy. When she dropped to her knees assuming he’d allow her …
He thought about the video. It had been almost twelve years since that summer. He had been young, attending college at night, building his own landscape business during the day, servicing the rich folks on Long Island. Only in his house, it had always sounded like LonIguyland, the way his mom used to say it, pronouncing a hard G in there. Something about the way the folks in Brooklyn said Long Island, let you know there was a tension there; they flat-out refused to even pronounce the name right. Anyway, he knew people had money on Long Island, so that was where he went to get himself paying customers, there and Connecticut.
He would drive his truck an hour or two out and get paid some real money, then bring the truck home and park it behind the row house on 12th Avenue where he grew up. For a kid from the city, he had somehow managed to develop a love for horticulture. He loved nature, but not in the way a guy who likes to climb cliffs and sleep in a tent likes nature. It wasn’t the same as the longshoremen loved fishing or hunters loved the woods. He loved nature the way farmers did. Cultivation changes a person.
He figured it was one of those things that was bound to happen. If anybody stayed outside long enough, returning to the same gardens and lawns week after week, sooner or later they saw the ecosystem. It was inevitable that he came to realize that everything he did had impacts beyond his narrow imaginings. If he sprayed the roses to keep them beautiful, the Japanese beetles would stay away, but so would bees. When he became clever, interspersing vegetables with flowers, creating an Eden for his customers, he suddenly realized why he needed those bees. The next year, he found himself willing to put in the extra work to find ways to keep the roses healthy while keeping the bees safe. He began to get a feeling for the way the whole world was an interlocking puzzle. A sense of fragility and wonder accompanied him into the gardens he tended.
The summer of the video, he was twenty-two. It was his fourth year in business, and he’d had a client out on the island who was never home. The guy worked on Wall Street and had a huge apartment in Manhattan. He lent the key to his island home to anyone he thought might help his business. Edward’s job, besides lawn and garden work, was to keep the yard tidy, the pool clean, and the place locked up after whoever spent the weekend there went home. Mostly, he fished bathing suits and plastic beer cups out of the sparkling pool, raked up the cigarette butts and generally put the place to rights on Sunday afternoons after everyone had left for the city. In return, the guy paid top dollar and passed Edward’s business card out to all his clients.
The Sunday that the video was shot, he’d pulled up to the place and the party wasn’t quite finished. He’d walked around to the gated back yard and let himself in. A few guys were still hanging around the pool, it looked like everyone else had gone. He’d walked over to the beautifully landscaped pool and surveyed the damage. It must have been a hell of a bash because there were plastic cups everywhere, overflowing ashtrays on most of the tables and abandoned swim trunks on several deck chairs. The sliders to the house stood wide open despite the humidity and the guys still remaining weren’t moving too fast. The closest man had on dark wrap-around sunglasses and he’d waved to a quarter keg sitting in a garbage bag of ice near the equipment shed.
“That one still has some beer. Help yourself.”
Like a fool, he’d filled a plastic tumbler with beer, thinking it would be a while before he could start cleaning up anyway. He remembered sipping his beer, heading to the house and shutting the sliders to keep the AC inside. The next thing he could recall was waking up alone by the pool, freezing from lying naked on the lawn, seeing clouds float across the face of the full moon. His head felt like he’d been hit with a brick and his jeans …
Edward stood up from his desk, forcing himself to ignore the sense of nausea developing in his gut. He marched over to his sound system and let the furious rock of Disturbed wash over him. No more. He wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Nothing was worth bringing those memories back. He’d made big strides today, just going to see Ben about the money. He wasn’t going to push it.
Thinking of Dorothy kneeling on the floor while he panicked, flooded him with shame. Damn it. If Dorothy wanted him, broken and fucked-up, that was her business. His business was proving those bastards were wrong. Those animals had been rich and powerful men, he knew it in his bones. Why else would they have been given the keys to that house? But he wasn’t just some piece of trash they could use and toss out. He was smart. No, he was fucking brilliant, and if he had to save the damn planet to show what kind of man they had tried to break, he would. He didn’t have time to unfuck himself along with saving the world, so Dorothy could take it or leave it.
Blistering lyrics and guitar following him into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, twice. Never feeling sure about that day, the lack of memories, the video, made him want to scrub down every possible place on his body. He showered and when he got out of the steaming water, some of the ghosts had been banished. He brushed his teeth again, wrapped a towel around his waist and walked briskly out to the living area. The rest of the ghosts fled when he saw the text on his phone.
Are you ever going to let me up there?
And then
I’m getting cold out here.
He groaned when he saw the last text
It’s not nice to make me sore and then get me chilly.
His dick was half hard just thinking about her tender nipples pressing against her bra as they hardened in the cold. Argh. What the fuck was wrong with him? He hadn’t been this horny in years. Maybe ever. He texted her back.
Sorry, was in the shower. Buzzing now
He hurried into his bedroom to get some clean jeans on, thought about having his dick crammed against the zipper all night and opted for sweats. He was still trying to towel his hair dry when she knocked at his door. He tossed the towel into the bathtub and had to force himself to walk slowly to the door and open it.
She’d been home to change. That was just about all he could think because his brain had officially disconnected, presumably because his dick needed every last blood cell in his body.
She had on red shoes with heels about a mile high and little round toes. Sheer stockings, this woman always had on stockings, and her legs looked flawless, like they’d been airbrushed. That wasn’t what made toast of his every brain cell. Her delicious legs disappeared beneath the hem of a tiny denim skirt. She had on another Mets jersey, this one a traditional three quarter sleeve baseball shirt, looking several sizes too big. The round neck threatened to expose her bra strap, the hem was almost as long as the skirt. She looked like she was standing at his door in nothing but his own jersey and heels.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her inside before anyone else could see her and, God help him, try to take her away.
Once she was inside, he hardly knew what to do with her. She was so perfect and so perfectly hot.
She had that same smile on her face, the one from the taxi, the one that was smug and womanly, as if she knew exactly what she did to him. Maybe she did; he was sporting wood every time he looked at her for Christ’s sake.
On her arm was a giant carryall, almost a suitcase. He wondered wildly if she intended to spend the night. Taking the bag gently from her, still holding one of her hands in his, he tugged her farther into the apartment.
“Is this a suitcase?” These were the only words he could come up with? Well, she would certainly know what he had on his mind.
Dorothy laughed. “It’s the brochure samples, some placards and my laptop, silly. I’m here to work.”
Ed’s throat was dry. He couldn’t take his eyes off her long, smooth legs, that tiny skirt, those shoes.
“I’m starting to feel funny here, Ed. Say something.”
“You changed.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Your clothes. You changed your clothes. I wasn’t exp
ecting that, I mean I thought you’d come here right from work.” He forced himself to stop babbling.
“Why?” she asked him with a knowing look, her eyes sparkling. “Because you left me all hot and bothered?” She took a step toward him and he backed up. She took another step and his arousal fled. It was replaced with a feeling of ice at the base of his spine. Part of him knew that she was just playing with him, just enjoying turning the tables, being the initiator. Still, he couldn’t manage to change his reaction. When would he just be normal again? He plunked the bag down on the trunk and stepped forward into her space.
Her beautiful ocean eyes widened and uncertainty chased across her face. With his lust induced haze cleared, he had time to consider how she had arrived at his door, dressed like that. Was she crazy? Did she want something bad to happen to her?
“How did you get here?” Ed asked.
She frowned. “I took the subway. Why?”
“In that?” He felt incredulous, and then he saw her flush a little. She glanced down.
“Answer me,” he said. “Please.”
She looked embarrassed. She shouldn’t be embarrassed, she should be scared. She opened her mouth and looked up at the ceiling.
“Not exactly.” She looked him in the eye. “I wore sneakers. I changed into heels in the lobby.” Then her expression turned to aggravation. “Not that it’s any of your business. I don’t appreciate being put on the spot here.”
“I’m trying to point out that you’re vulnerable in that outfit, that something might have happened … and you, you’re embarrassed that you were wearing sneakers?” He was confused.
“I’m embarrassed because obviously, I changed my shoes. For you,” she said, looking not a bit embarrassed.
Oh Lord. The meaning of her words hit him. She’d planned her outfit for him. If he’d had a functioning mind when he first saw her, he would have known that.
“You put on those heels—in the lobby—for me?” His voice sounded funny, husky to his own ears. Who was this person he became around her?
