The Brutal Truth

by Lee Winter

  And then there was the six-figure elephant in the room, stampeding through her brain. She’d have so many opportunities now—she could freelance if she wanted to, not having to worry about meeting rent for a long while. Or put down a deposit on her own apartment. Or…

  After two hours of tossing and turning, her stomach intervened and grumbled loudly. Véronique’s bizarre preference for French fries and caviar hadn’t exactly filled her up. Nor had Rosetta’s chocolate cake. Maddie threw aside her bedding and padded downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to find a snack to tide her over. As she approached in the darkness, a noise made her freeze. She stilled and peered around the doorway.

  There, in profile, Elena Bartell sat on a stool at her kitchen island, staring at an empty second bottle of wine, a half-filled glass in one hand, wiping her eyes with the back of the other. Wet trails on her cheek glistened in the low light filtering through the window from a street lamp. A second, empty glass was beside hers, which Maddie recognised as the one she’d been toasting her with only hours before. It looked as though Elena had made a move to clean up when Maddie had gone to bed, and then simply sat down and decided to drown her sorrows instead.

  Maddie crept back upstairs, feeling guilty for intruding. She knew Elena would hate being seen like that. Devastated and lost, she was at odds to the powerful figure who swept the corridors of Bartell Corp. Underneath it all, she was still a woman who’d had the worst day of her life, tucked inside the best one, like some messed-up Russian nesting doll.

  Somehow, in all the thrills of her big career-boosting scoop, Maddie had forgotten that today Elena had lost a husband she’d once cared for. Worse, she’d learned he was a disgusting bastard. No wonder Elena was numbing herself with twenty-year-old booze. But it was still a shocking sight. The ache in her expression was unforgettable.

  Maddie tried to shut out the image of a tear-streaked Elena. Part of her wanted to just hug her until she lost that haunted look. Of course, that wouldn’t be welcome.

  Sliding back between the sheets, hunger forgotten, Maddie stared at the ceiling. Glossy paint had been matched to the exact shade of equally gorgeous drapes. The decor alone in this room would have cost a mint.

  Money really wasn’t everything, was it?

  Dwelling on her big payday suddenly seemed tacky. One floor below sat a slumped, devastated woman, alone in her kitchen, crying into her expensive wine. It was Maddie’s last thought before her eyelids drooped and shut.

  * * *

  Elena stared into her wine glass. The fine vintage tasted like ash. Her mind was a dulled blur of anger and hurt and something else. She pushed away the something else for now, as she focused on the start of her night. Richard’s face. When she’d arrived home and first confronted him about Madeleine’s allegations. She’d seen it, just for a split second. Panic.

  He’d been caught, and he knew it.

  Then came the bluster, attempted charm, and lies.

  “Elena… honey…you know that’s bull. Come on, love!”

  But she’d seen it.

  “You don’t get to call me that ever again,” Elena had said with a low hiss. “You groped women in my employ, vulnerable women who couldn’t fight back. And then, to add to the depravity, you crawled into bed with me each night. You make me sick.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Elly, please. Let’s just sit down and talk. We’ve shared too much to throw it all away.”

  She’d given him a glare that could have bubbled the paint on the wall.

  His expression fell, and his eyes became hard. Eyes she could well imagine sizing up prey. Hurting women. Getting off on the power. It was all there. It made her want to throw up.

  Apparently, he didn’t like her expression because his own morphed into a cruel parody of the face of the man she’d married.

  “If you’d spread your legs a little more often, I might not have had to look farther afield,” he said, a malicious gleam filling his eyes. “You always were a cold fish, Elena. Sometimes I wondered if you were thinking about your spreadsheets when we were doing it. If people only knew how often you ‘have a headache’, and how little you like to be touched. Actually, they already assume that, don’t they? Well, I can confirm your ice queen chill goes right to the bone. I’m no saint, but you’d drive any man to seek his pleasure elsewhere.”

  Elena’s lips thinned, and she gave him a look of such fury that he shrank back a little.

  “All right,” he ground out. “What do you want?”

  “You gone. Tonight.”

  “Tonight! That’s absurd! I can’t just—”

  “Tonight, or I’ll make your life a living hell. That’s a promise. I want no trace of you left in here by the time I return home. If there is, whatever you’ve left behind will be burnt. Text me when it’s done.”

  She’d stalked away and never even glanced back.

  Elena took another gulp of wine. The betrayal she felt was far worse than she could have imagined. It had only increased as she aimlessly rode around the streets of Sydney, trying to clear her head and waiting for the final text. That had been a hateful few hours picking over all the signs that should have alerted her to his true nature.

  Then, finally, she’d remembered Madeleine. A woman she had kicked out of her office, out of her job, in a rage. Madeleine had not deserved that. A flash of her face, the burn of hurt in her eyes, had suddenly shocked Elena upright. So she’d instructed her driver to take her to Madeleine’s apartment. She heard him, distantly, on the phone, getting the requested address from God knows where, and then doing a U-turn. As the car accelerated off again, she felt a surge of relief and calm, that this was right.

  Besides, she told herself, the least she could do was offer the girl her job back.

  Discovering Madeleine was out had simply turned her calm into a determination to wait her out. As the minutes ticked by, and the car circled the block over and over, she became even more perplexed by her own behaviour.

  What was she doing, waiting on an assistant? A former assistant at that?

  Just then, Madeleine had arrived home. A thrill had surged within Elena. The game was on.

  Elena poured herself another glass, still unable to believe that Madeleine Grey, her teasing, blurting, intelligent, fashion illiterate, former assistant had scored the interview of a lifetime. She’d somehow swanned up and plucked the holy grail of interviews out from under the nose of far more seasoned writers, including herself, and then she’d placed it gently in Elena’s lap.

  This would make Madeleine’s career. Everything would be different now. The woman had no idea what she was in for, but Elena knew.

  How on earth had the young woman done it? How? Oh, she’d explained about her single question, but still. Had Elena asked the same question, she was quite sure the outcome would have been different. She frowned. What was it about Madeleine that made people warm to her and open up?

  It had to be her charm. Madeleine had this way about her, a guilelessness that could get under anyone’s skin. She’d gotten under Elena’s often enough, despite her best efforts to repel her.

  She’d originally tried to sever Madeleine from her when they were in New York. Nothing said “stay away” like “you’re fired”. Although, it had been a business decision. Well, mostly. That had lasted all of two days. Elena’s resolve had crumbled, and she’d been forced to admit she’d missed her. So, Elena had allowed her back. Well, that’s how she’d spun it in her head. In truth, she was at a loss as to what she’d have done if Madeleine had said no.

  Swirling her wine, Elena stared into its crimson depths. What did all this mean? Her pride in Madeleine, her admiration for her scoop, was overwhelming. She’d rarely felt such an extreme response to anything. Her initial reaction washed over her again, and she shook her head. Elena had wanted to whisper in her ear how impressed she was and how pleased she felt for her.

  She scowled. This anomalous response had been one of the things she’d been trying to avoid since basing he
rself in Australia. She’d come to the conclusion that she had a…well, a weakness regarding Madeleine. All those intimate blogs and late-night chats had somehow affected her.

  But the preposterousness of actually going to Madeleine’s home in New York and offering her another job, in person, simply because the woman had demanded it, was a sure sign she had a vulnerability.

  Still, it was nothing she couldn’t get past.

  Elena had had it all worked out. She had allowed Madeleine at her side as a PA. That way, she could still have the woman in her orbit each day and enjoy the twitch of her lips in response to Elena’s acerbic comments that usually sailed right over Felicity’s head. Madeleine always got her faint half jokes.

  Elena had thought they could still have a few tiny moments, but crucially, the PA role had been a fresh start. When she became Madeleine’s direct superior, the lines became much more defined. It had seemed the wisest option all around, withdrawing from her. They had responded to each other in only the most professional way. Their intimate evenings of chats were over.

  It had been for the best.

  And now, Madeleine was gone. Elena had tried to get her back, only to fail. This time, Madeleine wasn’t coming back, and Elena felt bereft.

  In the space of less than a day, the swirl of hands around a clock face, her interesting and unexpectedly addictive assistant had outgrown her. She didn’t need anything from Elena now and never would again.

  A hint of regret stabbed at her. Was it wrong to be jealous of the whole world who owned Madeleine now? They would see her magnificence and never let her go. Who could blame them?

  Her eyes fluttered closed. It was wrong. Still, she would miss her. Her smile could be quite cheeky. The line between her eyes, when she frowned over something unfathomable, was endearing. As was the way she looked at Elena, past her title and mask, as though what lay beneath was all that really mattered. She was unaccustomed to anyone caring that much for her.

  Maddie’s way of always neatly lining up her folders with a sharp tap before standing, slipping across to the filing cabinet, her impressive ass curving just so, as she leaned forward and dropped them in the out tray then headed off to lunch. Sometimes, she’d bring back something tasty for Elena, giving her an admonishing look for forgetting to eat, but saying nothing.

  Elena appreciated that. She appreciated her eyes, too. That gaze followed her constantly, daring her to…what? She never could work out what Madeleine was thinking. It was usually unexpected.

  Not to forget the fact she’d just won an international exclusive without seeming to break a sweat. The raw talent evidenced by her blogs alone was a revelation. She loved Maddie’s talent most of all. It made her tingle with delight, like discovering a profound, scientific breakthrough. She loved Madeleine’s unexpected, beautiful writing. She couldn’t wait to see how she used it in her Duchamp story.

  It was clear she appreciated Madeleine. On many levels. And soon, very soon, she would be gone.

  At that depressing thought, she filled up her glass again.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Gates of Hell

  Maddie woke to the gorgeous scent of coffee. She cracked an eyelid.

  “Ah,” said a voice that Maddie would recognise anywhere. “You’re alive.”

  Maddie sat straight up and glanced around the room, feeling disoriented. Elena. She was in her guest room. And Elena was now standing over her, an impatient look on her face, offering her a coffee. Which she had yet to take.

  “Thanks.” Maddie scrambled to sit up and reached for the cup. How long had she had an audience, anyway?

  “May as well enjoy it. That will be the last nice thing I do for you in the next fifteen hours.”

  Maddie took a sip. Her taste buds swooned. “You remembered the way I like it? White with two sugars!”

  Elena seemed pleased by her enthusiasm but didn’t reply.

  Maddie glanced at the wall clock and started. “Oh my God!” It was almost eight! She made to fling off her sheets and rise.

  “No. I wanted you to sleep in, so you were rested for writing today. Now drink, then go to the kitchen. Rosetta has prepared a breakfast for you. Then you will do nothing but sit and write. Victor is on his way here.”

  Maddie frowned. Victor had to mean Vic Salinger, the magazine’s most skilled features copy editor. He was heading here? Why wasn’t Maddie being bundled off to work?

  “Why’s he coming here?”

  Elena perched on the edge of the bed. “Because this is where Style Sydney has gathered this morning. Again, and I will not stress this enough, nothing can come between me and this story. That includes traffic jams, car accidents, random hazards, bad weather, or anything else. So, today, downstairs, for all intents and purposes, is Style HQ.”

  Elena’s phone rang, and she answered it.

  “No.” Her eyes narrowed. “Twelve plus the cover, not including. Why would we have an eleven-page story? Who in the history of publishing has an uneven-numbered spread? When was the last time you saw a feature article ending on a left-hand page?”

  She glared at nothing in particular, gaze sweeping the room. Maddie sipped her coffee and watched her formidable boss, back to her old self. Well, her mask, at least, was welded back on to within an inch of its stubborn, proud life.

  “Send over the other art designer, then.” Elena snapped her fingers. “What’s his name? Jonas? At least he knows how to lay out a feature.” She huffed out a breath, as she ended the call. “I am dealing with idiots.”

  Maddie nodded and slid her now finished coffee onto the bedside chest of drawers, not willing to encourage a new diatribe. She scoured her room, suddenly aware she was only in her underwear under the sheet. “Where are my clothes?”

  “You won’t need them.”

  “I…what?”

  “Comfort matters, Madeleine. I wouldn’t want to write in yesterday’s unclean clothes. It might impact performance. I have Rosetta laundering your clothing. Felicity should be downstairs with a new outfit I asked her to pick up on the way into work.”

  Maddie blinked. She knew Elena was a type-A personality with control-freak leanings, but this was absurd. “Poor Felicity.”

  “Yes, well, for some reason I find myself without an assistant.” Elena gave her an intense look and tapped her foot impatiently.

  “You know…” Maddie paused and stared at the tip of that percussive Manolo Blahnik that matched an equally blood-red skirt, swallowing a crisp white blouse, “I can’t very well wander around your home in my underwear to find whatever clothes Felicity has brought for me.”

  Awareness crossed Elena’s face, as though she finally understood the cause of the delay. She pushed a button on her phone. “Felicity? Bring those clothes I asked for upstairs. Second floor. Third door on the left.” She ended the call without another word. “All right? And don’t dawdle. We’re down to eleven hours, twenty-five minutes.”

  With that, she was gone.

  A minute later, the door burst open, and Felicity huffed in with her arms full of bags. “You!” She gave a dramatic gasp and dumped them on the bed. “I might have known!”

  “Known what?” Maddie hauled the bags closer for an inspection and rummaged through them.

  “That wherever there’s chaos, you’re somehow in the middle of it, making my life more difficult. It’s been total mayhem since you left.”

  “Right. Everything’s all about you.” Maddie rolled her eyes. She found a pair of new designer jeans in one bag. Ooh. Nice.

  “And what on earth are you doing in her guest room? She fired you yesterday!”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, I don’t have time to hear it. She’s scrapped the Valentino cover story. Can you believe it? On deadline day! I have fifty things to do, all annoying, and for some reason we’re doing it from here today. I am going insane! It took me ages to get all the contracts and releases to go with the spread to start with, and now, pfft, no reason at all, it’s out at the e
leventh hour.”

  Maddie pulled out a pretty Sass & Bide shirt and held it up. That’d work. “Underwear?” she asked hopefully.

  Felicity tossed her a small bag. “Elle Macpherson Intimates range. God help me, if I’d known they were for you, I’d have picked up the Hanes Collection.”

  “Ha-ha.” Maddie grabbed the clothes and padded over to the en suite, trying to ignore that she was wearing little more than her underwear in front of her bitchiest frenemy. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Felicity’s confused look.

  “Seriously, Maddie, what are you doing here?” she asked. “And why is she being so nice to you all of a sudden, that I have to fetch you clothes? This is too weird—even for Elena.”

  Maddie gave her a mysterious grin. “You’ll find out soon enough. Try not to mess up her walls, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When your head explodes.” She closed the bathroom door with a snick and laughed hard.

  * * *

  Showered, dressed, and humming with nervous excitement, Maddie grabbed her phone and headed downstairs. She’d half expected Elena to have kidnapped that in the night too, but the editor had restrained herself.

  Five minutes later, she was in the kitchen, munching on breakfast and chatting to Perry. The art director was fawning over her photos he’d copied over to his laptop and making awed gasping noises when Felicity tore in as if a bear were on her tail.

  “You!” She pointed at her with a waggling finger as though exorcising a demon. “You got us a world exclusive with Véronique Duchamp? And photos? Of the new collection?”

  “Surprise.” Maddie shot her an amused look and took another sip of juice.

  Perry snorted, swivelled his laptop around, and selected a photo. “Not just any photos. Check out our cover.”

  He enlarged the photo of Natalii on the floor, boots sticking out from under taffeta, and Véronique with pins in her mouth, as she adjusted her daughter’s outfit. The faintest hint of smile dusted her lips, and her eyes glowed with warmth. Véronique Duchamp as no one had ever seen her.