“That’s still out for debate.”
Before she could respond, the doors to Wenn opened, the media pressed inside, and Stephen Rowe looked away from the podium to address us. He looked perfectly cool and collected when he spoke.
“Shall we?” he said.
* * *
The press conference was not at all what I had expected.
Instead of speaking for any significant length of time, as I’d expected him to, Rowe merely addressed the crowd with a few words, proving to me that he was smarter than I thought he was. The tactic took the spotlight off him—and thus reduced the media’s opportunity to ask him hard questions about his new roles at Wenn with Alex now back in the picture.
“Good afternoon,” he said to the press.
The moment he spoke, camera flashes started to pop. I looked out at the crowd of reporters standing before us and saw familiar and unfamiliar faces, people with digital recorders raised high above their heads and at the ready, and people with video cameras jostling for the best position as the crowd shifted in anticipation for what was to come.
“As you know, today is a day of celebration for all of us at Wenn. A major celebration. Just this morning, Alexander Wenn, his wife Jennifer, and others associated with Wenn in some form or another, finally arrived back in New York from Singapore against odds that we thought were lost to us. But they weren’t. And for that, the board and I hope you will join us in a round of heartfelt applause for their return.”
As if on cue, everyone applauded, but unlike most times I’d seen a crowd asked to respond to such a request, I could tell that their enthusiastic response was genuine. They were happy that Alex was back. It felt real to me.
“By now, all of you know at least part of what happened during those two weeks, when we were thinking the worst,” Rowe continued. “We also know that you have questions about everything you don’t know. For instance, how did they survive for two weeks on that island without readily available food or water? How did they find shelter? Moreover, and perhaps of even greater interest, how did they manage to escape from a group of people that wanted to suppress them to the point that it ended in a gunfight? Those are the details that have not yet been released to the public because Alex, the board, and I thought it was best for Alex himself to answer those questions for you. That’s what today is about. Hearing the details from the man himself about what happened on that island, and how they managed to escape so they could be with us now. Today isn’t about underscoring that Wenn is on the upswing—you’ve heard enough of that from us, because it is. At this point, with concrete sales figures in just this morning, few will be able to deny that the SlimPhone, though quickly maligned by many, is now an unmitigated success. Instead, today is about Alex answering your questions. I know you have many. So, please, allow me the great honor of asking Alexander Wenn to step up to the podium and take those questions now. Alex?”
Alex approached the podium, and shook hands with Rowe. But when Rowe leaned in for a bro-hug, Alex bypassed it—something I’m certain wasn’t lost on this group of reporters, many of whom were among the best in the industry.
Initially, the questions hurled at Alex were just as Rowe wanted—how did we survive on that island? What made the plane crash? Did he see the lightning strike the plane?
“I didn’t, but my wife did,” Alex said. “She saw it all.”
Five people died in that crash—did Alex care to respond to that?
“I’ll never forget them,” he said. “And I can tell you this—I’m not sure if I’ll ever get the memory of what happened to them out of my head. My heart goes out to their families and friends. But most of all, what the world needs to know is that they were heroes,” he said, deepening the moment. “If you’d witnessed how they responded when lightning struck our plane, you would have seen absolute professionals working to make sure that everyone was safe right up until the inevitable happened. As upset as I still am that my friends are gone, I hope that you will honor them in your reporting because they deserve it. Their families deserve it.”
The onslaught of questions continued—how did we find shelter? How did we find food and water? What was Cutter’s current condition? At what moment were we aware that there were others on the island? When did we know that they were against us? Could he describe the moment when his wife took a bullet for him? What exactly happened—moment by moment—that could have possibly led to the confrontation that occurred outside the bank?
“Were you surprised by what Jennifer did?” one reporter called out.
“Why would I be?” he said. “It’s not the first time Jennifer has taken a bullet for me, as many of you know. Do I wish that she hadn’t? Of course I do. But at this point, many of you have met Jennifer yourselves, and I think you know by now that when she decides to act upon something—such as putting her life on the line for me—there is no stopping her. She loves me that much.” He turned back to look at me. “And I love her more.”
More questions came, and Alex answered every one of them to the best of his ability. But as the press conference began to wind down, other questions arose—and the tone changed.
“Where do you stand now with Wenn?” a reporter called out. “Will you be reinstated as CEO and chairman of the board, or have those positions gone permanently to Stephen Rowe?”
“As we speak, I have controlling shares of the company my father founded, and I have a seat on the board—but that’s where it ends. I am no longer CEO of Wenn Enterprises, nor am I chairman of the board. Those positions have indeed gone to Mr. Rowe.”
“Do you approve of that decision?” another reporter asked.
“Would I prefer to be running my own company? Of course I would. Wenn runs deep in my blood. It always will. But things happened and the board felt pressured into a vote when the authorities told them that we were dead. And so here we are. In the end, here’s where I stand on this: Stephen has told me himself that he is confidant that he can keep moving Wenn forward with new ideas of his own. I believe him.”
“Do you?” someone asked.
“I have no reason not to,” Alex said. “I brought Stephen onto Wenn’s board myself, and for good reason. He’s an excellent businessman. He’s also a visionary. But beyond that, what also mattered to me when I asked him to join the board is this—Stephen Rowe is an excellent family man. He’s deeply in love with his wife, Meredith, whom all of you know through her family, who has done so many great things for our city, and also through her own private, successful business ventures. Stephen also has two little girls, whom I know he adores. At this moment, I know in my heart that he is the right person to lead Wenn for those reasons and more. For those who are on the sidelines of this issue, please know that I will still be involved in day-to-day operations, and in decisions that reach the board for approval. What I know about Stephen Rowe is critical—he is most defined by his honesty and his morality. Unless I’ve somehow had the wool pulled over my eyes—” and at that, Alex looked over his shoulder and laughed heartily with Rowe, though with steel in his eyes that the reporters could not see, “—I’m certain that Stephen is the right person for the job. If anyone can prove otherwise, be my guest. As far as I’m concerned—and from what I know about Stephen Rowe—his character will be revealed over time, and all of you will be writing about it.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
“Jesus,” Blackwell said to Alex after the six of us stepped into an elevator and began our ascent to the fortieth floor. “‘Defined by his honesty and his morality.’ Well played, my dear. You just set that son of a bitch up.”
“Actually, he did that to himself,” Alex said. “He just didn’t know it at the time. Now, Tank will gather his team and go to work. Finding Janice Jones is critical, but so is questioning people who might have seen them together and who will be willing to go on record if they saw anything inappropriate between them. The sooner this is behind us, the better.” He looked over at Tank, who was standing behind Lisa. Ann was to their
right, beside Blackwell and me. “Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Tank said. “But I am going to caution you—Rowe knows exactly what you did back there.”
“Of course he does. Did you see the look he gave me when we entered the building? I’d be dead right now if I’d taken it to heart. He’s furious.”
“That’s what concerns me.”
“You think I need protection?”
“I do. And so does Jennifer. Just as a precaution.”
“That’s fine. You’ll be busy, so I assume you’ll hire someone to oversee us?”
“I already have two men in mind.”
“For now, you’re only going to need one.”
Tank furrowed his brow. “Why’s that?”
“Because Jennifer and I are getting out of here.”
I looked at him. “We are?”
“We are. I’m taking you to our cottage in Maine. It’s time for us to be alone together. Just you and me. Since Wenn is in such great hands, I want to spend some time with my wife.” He looked at Blackwell. “You also should take some time off. A week. Spend it with the girls. Forget about Wenn.”
“What about Tank?” she asked.
Alex looked at his friend. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “But right now, I need you on this. Are you all right with that?”
“I’m ready to go.”
“Lisa, are you OK with Tank working while the rest of us take some time for ourselves?”
“I have no problem with it if he doesn’t.”
“But you’ll be alone most of the time,” I said with concern.
“No, I won’t. I’ll have my zombie peeps to keep me company. And besides, I’m two weeks behind on my book. This girl also needs to get to work—and fast—or I’m going to miss my deadline, and Iris won’t have that. No rest for the undead, so to speak. If that even makes sense.”
Alex turned to Ann. “I know you’re out of the loop on all of this and probably are wondering what the hell is going down between Rowe and me, but Barbara will debrief you on everything before you leave for the day.” He glanced over at Blackwell. “Would you do that? Tell her everything?”
“It would be my pleasure to tell Ann everything she needs to know about that hooligan.”
“When are you planning on leaving?” Tank asked.
“Jennifer needs to see her gynecologist today—she plans on calling the doctor as soon as we get to my office and making that happen, regardless of how busy the woman is. If Jennifer is in good health, we’ll take one of the Lears in the morning and spend a week on the coast. It should be beautiful there now. I’ll call you tonight and let you know when your man can meet us at the airport. Sound good?”
“No problem.”
The elevator started to slow.
“I need you to find her, Tank,” Alex said.
“I know you do, Alex. And I will.”
“I want Rowe out of Wenn as soon as possible. Call me in Maine if anything comes up—big or small. If you find Jones quickly, Jennifer and I will be back on the plane and in New York before you know it so we can shut this down for good.”
“You’ve got it.”
When the elevator doors slid open, I suddenly and unexpectedly found myself saying goodbye to my friends. I hugged Blackwell, Lisa, and Ann, and I gave Tank a kiss on the cheek before joining Alex in the hallway. He reached for my free hand, and we started for his office.
“This is a surprise,” I said.
“We need time alone together,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
“But don’t you need to be here for Tank?”
“Tank doesn’t need me. He’ll find Jones on his own, and knowing him, he’ll find her fast. So fast, in fact, that we may only get the weekend together, but at least that’s something. At least it will be just you and me. I plan on taking in every minute of it.”
We stepped into his office, he closed the door behind us, and I could see by the heat in his eyes that he wanted me. He placed the palm of his hand against the side of my cheek, told me that he loved me, and then leaned in and kissed me on the lips. At first, the kiss was gentle, but then it became searing, a kiss filled with lust and longing, and I gave myself over to it because I also had missed us like this.
I could smell a trace of his cologne, and I found it as intoxicating as him. Slowly, carefully, he moved me backward until my back was pressed against the wall. Our tongues met again, but because my arm was held in front of me in its sling, our torsos could only barely touch one another, which seemed almost cruel to me. As we continued to kiss, the fact that our bodies couldn’t fully embrace only intensified the moment. Because of my injury, we were being cheated of truly letting go and becoming one.
“I want to make love to you,” he said.
“I want the same thing.”
“Are you ready?” he said. “Emotionally?”
I didn’t want to talk about our loss—we’d already done that. I needed to trust that soon we’d have children, several children, whom we would welcome into our lives. It had been so long since Alex and I had shared any kind of intimacy, I knew that if we didn’t become close again and reclaim the fire that had once defined us, that it would be a death in and of itself. “Don’t you see?” I said. “The very act of making love to you is exactly what I need. I want to be naked in your arms. I want to become one with you again. I need you inside of me. I’m craving it now.”
“You are?”
“You don’t even know.”
He seemed almost relieved by the admission, perhaps because he himself knew that our lives could have turned another way if we hadn’t accepted the miscarriage.
“All right,” he said. “But first we need to get you to your doctor. Do you agree? Yes? She needs to check you out. When that’s over, then we’ll leave for Maine—which, by the way, is where we first made love.”
“You think I’ve forgotten? You were my first. You’ll always be my first. And you’ll forever be my last, Alex. So take me to Maine again. There, we’ll be one again. It’s time to move forward. And you’re right. It’s also time to see my doctor to make sure I’m in good health so we can take that next step. Let me call her now—she’ll see me.”
And she did.
Later, at my appointment, I learned that, while I may have miscarried, I was physically fine. Better yet, the doctor was encouraging. As far as she was concerned, despite all that we’d been through, I was healthy—and there was every reason to believe that at some point, when we were ready to welcome a child into our lives, we could have one.
“It’s really up to you,” she said. “Though I would caution you on this—take some time for yourselves. Absorb the loss as best you can. And when you arrive at the moment when it feels right to get pregnant again, do it. Because I can tell you this—there’s nothing wrong with you, Jennifer. As far as I’m concerned, you can conceive whenever you want to.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
The next day, when we arrived in Maine at the Hancock County-Bar Harbor Airport, it was mid-afternoon, it was warm and sunny, the sky was preternaturally blue, and the air was just as I remembered it—noticeably cleaner, and with a slightly salty edge from the nearby ocean that gave it the brightness of memory.
This is how I remembered Maine, particularly in late spring, when the scent of lilacs filled the air. I could smell them as we departed the jet—which only fueled how happy I was to be back in my home state, regardless of the fact that my parents were only an hour away.
Well, Dad is an hour away, I thought. With Mom in prison, who knows how far away she is…?
As usual, this particular airport was peppered with a host of similar-looking Learjets. With Memorial Day just around the corner, the wealthy were returning to the Maine coast for the pending summer, and while they weren’t here in droves quite yet, it was obvious that many were starting the pilgrimages from New York and Philadelphia to enjoy the reason why so many came to Maine during these months—the terrific weather, the stunning o
cean views, and a laid-back lifestyle that was unobtainable to them in the city.
Alex and I had left our apartment at noon with only two suitcases between us—one for him, one for me. Nothing fancy. He’d chosen to wear a pair of dark jeans and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt that rode his muscular frame in ways that made me very happy to be Mrs. Alexander Wenn—I did, after all, know what was lurking beneath those clothes. I wore something similar—jeans and a white T-shirt, which Alex had had to help me into. My hair was pulled away from my face in a loose ponytail, and my makeup was on lockdown—I wore only minimal foundation, eyeliner, and a nude lip.
And that was enough. Alex and I were here to relax—and to come together as a married couple again. That was the point of this trip.
And in my suitcase are just the sorts of things that will make those moments more memorable, I thought as we crossed the tarmac to a waiting Mercedes SUV.
Following us was Drake, a stern-looking, enormous man hired by Tank to watch over us while we were away. I didn’t know much about him now—we’d only just met when he’d driven us to LaGuardia—but like Tank, he also was a former SEAL. Far more serious than he should be and hovering somewhere in his early forties, everything about Drake reeked of confidence and professionalism, which at this point in my life, I rather liked.
* * *
When we arrived at the cottage, Drake hopped out of the SUV first, opened our doors for us, and then insisted on carrying our bags inside.
“I can get them, Drake,” Alex said.
“Mrs. Wenn probably needs help on the gravel path,” he said. “I’d hate to see her trip on one of those rocks with her arm in that sling.”
“Point taken,” Alex said, and he wrapped his arm low around my waist as we moved toward the cottage.
When Drake put our bags in the master bedroom, I asked him if he’d like anything to eat. Alex had already told me that he’d called ahead to the caretakers and asked them to have the refrigerator stocked and the house cleaned before we arrived. So, I knew there would be plenty of food to offer him.
Annihilate Me 2: Omnibus (Complete Vols. 1-3, Annihilate Me 2) Page 45
