by Alexx Andria
I started for the door, but Patrice was on my heel. “Forgive me, Mr. Donato, I had no idea how strongly you felt about Lauren. Give me another opportunity to rectify the situation.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” I asked, mildly curious. “You’ve already claimed that you couldn’t possibly put Luxe in a dangerous legal position, which I can understand, but I don’t see what else can be done to repair our business relationship.”
But Patrice had painted herself in a corner. There was little she could do to salvage my business. “We could feature you again,” she suggested lamely, twisting her hands in desperation. Was I a bastard for putting the squeeze on the woman? Perhaps, but I’d already pictured the evening Lauren and I were going to have, and now it was ruined, which didn’t put me in a forgiving frame of mind.
I exhaled with boredom. “I think once is plenty.”
“Lauren is a very talented writer...maybe she could...write your memoirs!”
“I didn’t realize Luxe was in the ghostwriting business,” I said with derision.
“We’re not,” Patrice hastened to add, “but as a freelancer in a noncompeting venture...I’m sure Luxe would have no objections.”
I opened my mouth to shoot holes into Patrice’s offer but stopped short. Doing an autobiography would require hours of time spent together as she learned all about my life. I had zero interest in publishing a book, but if it meant having Lauren around on the pretense of doing the job, I was willing to play the part. But I knew Lauren would likely turn down the offer on principle alone, no matter how much I offered to pay for her services. “Your idea has merit,” I admitted, though I would need to make some tweaks. The only way Lauren would take the job was if she were desperate. As if her very livelihood depended on it.
Which meant I’d have to play a little dirty.
Dirtier than usual.
“I want you to fire Lauren.”
Patrice gasped, her eyes widening. “Excuse me?”
“Fire her.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Sure you can. Aren’t you the executive editor? Or is there someone else I should speak with?”
“She’s done nothing wrong, and she has a child, for Christ’s sake.”
I smiled. “That’s not your problem, is it?”
Patrice’s lip trembled as she pleaded, “Mr. Donato...please, let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I want her fired.”
“I can’t fire her without cause.”
“Of course you can. New York is an at-will state. You can fire her for wearing purple or chewing her food strangely. Honestly, you don’t need a reason as long as the action isn’t discriminatory. Blame it on budget cuts,” I suggested, gesturing with a flippant motion. “But I want her done with Luxe by this afternoon. Are we clear?” I rose, straightening my cuffs with a bright smile to add, “Oh, and if you mention this conversation to anyone, I’ll ruin you. Is that understood?”
Patrice blinked back tears but nodded. “Why are you doing this?”
I laughed. “Because I think I like her,” I answered, already moving on to plan B. “Oh, and please let Daphne down gently. I won’t be needing her services.”
I left Patrice’s office, pleased with the sudden reversal of fortune. Sometimes you had to find the silver lining.
Patrice would fire Lauren and I would hire her, turning into her knight in shining armor when she needed one the most.
Take that, Mr. Engineer. I win.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lauren
“I’M F-FIRED?” I stammered, tears burning my eyeballs. “What do you mean? I don’t understand...was there a problem with the article? I can make changes. Seriously, Patrice...what’s going on?”
Patrice was distant as she answered, choosing to avoid eye contact. “It’s not my call. Budget cuts. The directive came from above. I’m sorry. We can offer a small severance package and I would be happy to provide you with references, but I need you out of your desk by this afternoon.”
Was I in a nightmare? My lips were dry and my throat parched. I might even need to puke. “Patrice...please. I need this job. I’ve been good to Luxe. I don’t understand.”
“It comes down to dollars and cents. Basic economics. You know that the world of publishing is going through hard times, and we’ve been asked to make cuts. Daphne makes less than you. Therefore, losing you is the better economic decision. I’m sorry.”
Patrice looked as if she also wanted to vomit, but I was too devastated to feel sympathy. I gulped down the lump in my throat and focused on the financial side of the sordid business of getting canned for the greater good. “What is my severance?” I asked.
Patrice scribbled a number on a piece of paper and slid it over to me. I gasped, definitely about to throw up. “I can’t even pay one month’s rent with that, Patrice. This is New York, not Kansas. Come on, you know this is bullshit.”
At that Patrice cut me a short look. “I advise that you move quickly. Security will be here soon to escort you from the building, and we don’t want to make a scene.”
This was really happening. Patrice wasn’t backing down. A terrible thought came to me, and I had nothing to lose at this point so I voiced it. “Did Nico have anything to do with this?”
“Get over yourself, Lauren,” she snapped. “Not everything is some kind of conspiracy theory. It’s about the budget. I’m sorry.”
Ashamed, I nodded and wiped at the tears leaking down my cheek. “I’ll get my things.”
Patrice nodded stiffly and returned to her computer, seemingly absorbed with important Luxe business while my world just fell apart.
I caught Daphne’s stunned expression and I knew bad news traveled fast in a small office. I lifted my chin and ignored everyone as I quietly and efficiently packed my things in a small file box, my vision blurred through a sheen of tears.
What was I going to do?
The severance was a joke. What about health care? I needed to carry benefits for Grady. I couldn’t take the chance that he might relapse and need to be in the hospital. The bills would bankrupt me without health insurance.
I left Luxe without looking back. I took the subway instead of hailing a cab because it was cheaper and I would need every dime just to make it to the end of the month.
If push came to shove, I could probably move back in with my mom, but I was loath to do that. The woman would drive me insane within a week.
But if I couldn’t pay rent...
Okay, stop freaking out. You’re talented, you will find another job. I just needed to brush up my résumé and start sending out the feelers. I used to freelance. Maybe I could email a few of my old clients and see if they needed any piecework.
Or maybe I could just crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and stay there for the rest of my life.
But what about Grady? My little sunshine. My pride stung, but maybe it was time to hit Houston up for child support. Even a little bit would help. But what if he wanted joint custody in exchange for support? I know I’d sound like a bitch if I just said, “No, I don’t want you to have anything to do with my son, but if you could cut a check once a month and stay the hell away, that would be great.” But damn, I wish I had that option.
I really didn’t want Houston around Grady, for any reason. I didn’t want Grady to turn out anything like his father, and I felt sick thinking of Houston’s influence on my son. Maybe people could change, but Houston obviously hadn’t changed enough to reach out in all these years.
Nico popped into mind, but I rejected anything associated with Donato as quickly as it formed.
I would save myself. I didn’t need anyone else to come along and play the hero.
It was easy enough to say the words, hard as hell to stop the fear from curdling my guts.
The clock was ticking against me. I didn’t have the luxury of picking and choosing; I needed a replacement job now.
New York landlords weren’t known for their sympathy. If I couldn’t pay, I’d get tossed out. Kid or not.
I was still stunned by the events of the day. This morning I had a job; by afternoon, I didn’t.
And Patrice had never once mentioned that budget cuts may be imminent. I mean, I know the executive editor wasn’t going to discuss company financials, but no matter how hard the execs tried to keep a lid on those things, inevitably, information leaked.
But nothing, not a peep had trickled down. It was as if Patrice had just woken up that morning and decided to ruin my life because I chose not to go with Nico to that stupid dinner.
Right about now I wished I’d just girded my loins and suffered through the damn event. Maybe Patrice was right and it wouldn’t have mattered, but my gut couldn’t quite quit the suspicion that somehow, Nico was involved.
Maybe I was being suspicious and overly harsh, especially given that Nico had been a perfect gentleman, but there were too many pieces that simply didn’t fit the puzzle.
I wiped at the sweat on my brow, my pitiful box of belongings between my feet on the subway. I caught a few knowing glances, but no one engaged or asked questions. Too many people knew the walk of shame when it came to losing their jobs.
Times were hard for everyone.
Except Donato.
Yeah, it was fucking roses for the trust-fund boy.
God, I was turning into a bitter bitch.
Better to focus on the real issue—getting a new job.
I couldn’t spend energy on conspiracy theories (as Patrice called them) because I needed to rebound. Fast.
If push came to shove, I could waitress. I held a master’s degree in journalism, but waiting tables might be where I ended up.
Money well spent. I should’ve gone into finance. Except I hated math, and being surrounded by numbers all day made me want to jump from a window.
So, that brought me back to waitressing. Or stripping.
Fuck me. I buried my head in my hands and ugly cried.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nico
PATIENCE WAS A virtue I didn’t have, but I managed to wait three days before putting my plan into action.
I knew Lauren was probably heading into the panic zone by now, which would make the conditions perfect for my offer. I felt a little guilty for causing that panic, but I’d be remedying it soon.
It was distressingly easy to find her address—even if I hadn’t had every resource available to me, a crazed lunatic could’ve found her address without breaking a sweat. I walked up to the older brownstone.
The neighborhood was on the decline but at one time might’ve been quite adorable. The buildings were in need of repair, but lazy landlords with nothing but greed on their minds had taken a toll. I hated to see formerly grand architecture disintegrate, but there were more instances of this kind of urban decay than could be fixed by one family, even one as wealthy as mine.
I pushed the buzzer and waited.
“Hello?” Lauren sounded from the intercom. “Can I help you?”
“It’s me, Nico. May I come in?”
A long pause followed before Lauren said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I cut to the chase. “I know about your circumstances. I’ve come to offer you a job. Are you interested?”
“How do you know about my circumstances?” she asked, suspicion in her tone. I had to tread cautiously. Lauren was smart. I had one chance to make this work.
“Look, I’m not having this conversation on the street. If you’ve had better offers, then I’ll go, but I thought you might be at least open to hearing me out.”
There was a long enough pause that I thought perhaps she was ignoring me, but finally the buzzer sounded and the interior door popped open.
I barely kept the triumph from my expression as I entered the building.
The brownstone had been converted to a duplex, and Lauren’s apartment was the downstairs unit. The place wasn’t awful, but I didn’t like the idea of Lauren and Grady living there alone. Evidence of poor management was everywhere. The weather stripping on the interior door was rotting, which meant during the winter, the cold air probably whistled through the open crack and it wouldn’t take much to kick open the street-side door if someone were of a mind to gain entry.
Muted sounds of another family living in the upstairs unit filtered down, and I shifted against the discomfort of knowing that Lauren and Grady lived in such close quarters with strangers.
I was seized by the irrational urge to tell Lauren to pack her shit—she was moving—but I knew that idea was bound to blow up like the Fourth of July when I tired of her company.
Her door opened and my heart stuttered with uncharacteristic excitement. “Nico? What’s this about?” she asked, her gaze wary. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid that draped over her shoulder. She was wearing black yoga pants with an iconic rock T-shirt. And it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen on a woman.
That ass... I bit back a tortured groan.
“May I come in, please?” I asked. Just then Grady popped his head around his mom’s thigh and grinned broadly, prompting a smile on my part, too. “Hey there, little man. Have you been taking good care of your mama?”
“Of course. Except, we’re probably gonna be ’victed soon ’cause Mama can’t pay Mr. Tubbins.”
Lauren’s cheeks flared and she practically wilted with shame and embarrassment at her son’s loose lips. She threw her hands up and walked away, gesturing for me to come in as she flopped onto the sofa with a defeated expression. My conscience pinched knowing I’d put her in this position, but once she accepted my offer, all would be well—better, in fact, because I would pay her far more than that magazine ever had.
So, in a way, I was a hero. Kinda like a secret Santa.
I closed the door and took a moment to survey her small apartment. No screens on the windows. Anyone could climb the fire escape and slip into her apartment during the hot, humid summer. The aged kitchen made my eyes bleed. The carpet, worn and mashed and probably crawling with bacteria... Good God, this is like living in communist Russia.
I gestured to the paperwork strewn everywhere with an arched brow. “Hurricane or art project?” I asked.
“I’ve been going through my portfolio, looking for the best articles to include in my job proposals. I submit electronically but I tend to think better when I have something in my hands, so I’ve always had paper copies of my work. But it seems no one is hiring right now. I’ve sent out countless résumés and offers for spec work, but I haven’t had one nibble. Patrice promised me she’d give me a good reference but...I haven’t had a single callback.”
“I already know you’re a good writer and I don’t need references. I want to hire you.”
“How do you know I’m a good writer?” she asked.
“Patrice let me read the copy you wrote for the feature. Very good,” I lied smoothly. “Impressive. And she was the one who recommended you for the job. Seems she felt bad about having to let you go.”
Lauren’s surprise was colored by a touch of confusion, but she accepted my answer, immediately curious. “What do you want to hire me to do?” Before I could answer, she turned to Grady, saying, “Why don’t you go watch TV in your room while I talk with Mr. Donato? We have some adult stuff to work out.”
Grady rolled his eyes. “Like I don’t know what adult stuff means. You can kiss him and I won’t care, Mama. Like Uncle Ronnie says—”
“Grady! I’m not kissing Mr. Donato,” Lauren cut in with a nervous laugh before Grady could spill more “Uncle Ronnie” gems. “We just have business to discuss and it’s going to be very boring.”
Grady didn’t buy it, but he had
enough respect for his mother to stop arguing. He disappeared into his room, but he left the door open. The more I knew about this kid, the more I liked. I didn’t even try to hide my grin. “He’s pretty smart.”
“Too smart sometimes,” Lauren grumbled, shooting me a warning look. “What kind of job are you offering?”
Instead of answering right away, I gestured to the windows. “Does your landlord know that this is a safety hazard?”
“I rarely open them, and Grady knows to stay away when they are.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s a landlord’s responsibility to ensure that all safety laws are being upheld on his property. The weather stripping is rotten and you have cockroaches.” I’d seen one on the stairs as I passed. “My guess is that if the housing authority came to inspect this property, the list of violations would be epic.”
“Did you come to criticize my home or offer me a job?” she asked with a subtle scowl.
The longer I stood in this place, the surer I was I didn’t want Lauren and her son living there, but one problem at a time. “I was impressed with your professionalism,” I said. “I know I didn’t make it easy for you, and yet, you handled yourself well. A pet project that I’ve been sitting on for a while returned with a vengeance, and I knew I’d finally found the person I wanted to work with.”
“What project?”
“My autobiography.”
She barked a short laugh. “You haven’t lived long enough to be interesting enough to warrant a book about your life.”
I cut her a pointed look. “You have a funny way of putting your best foot forward for a job interview.”
“Is that what this is?” she asked. “Because even if you were serious...I don’t think I would take the job.”
“And why is that?”
“Because in all fairness, I don’t know that I’m the right person for the job. I’m a journalist, not a ghostwriter. I mean, you should go with someone with more experience. If I were a different sort of person I would take your money without thinking twice, even though I’ve never ghostwritten anything in my life, but I’m not that kind of person.”
