Annihilate Me (Vol. 3) (The Annihilate Me Series)

by Christina Ross

  Alex couldn’t stand her, and Bernie called her a media whore, but my first impressions of her were that she was genuine and kind. She didn’t need to be anything more than pleasant with me and with Tank, but she went well beyond that. I felt welcomed.

  “Is Henri here yet?” I asked her before we left.

  “He’s upstairs somewhere. Arrived about twenty minutes ago. We’re expecting two hundred for cocktails, so you’ll find it crowded upstairs, but you’ll see him eventually. He’s a roamer. My best advice is to stand in one spot, and wait for him to appear.”

  “Thank you.”

  She unexpectedly reached for my hand and admired my dress again. “No one is going to know what to do with you, Jennifer. Be prepared for that. By wearing this, you took a risk. Thank God you did. I’m so tired of people of our set not getting what’s new and on trend now. I’m so tired of old and safe and boring.” She lifted her chin at me. “And you’re not boring. We’ll be having you back soon. Hopefully with Alex, though we’d like it if Mitchell also would join us. I promise there will be a seat for you,” she said to him. “I’m embarrassed that I don’t have one now. Do you have a wife or are you seeing anyone whom you might bring,” she asked.

  “Negative on the wife, ma’am. The other is promising but as yet to be determined.”

  “Goodness,” Peachy said. “It all sounds so military.”

  “I’m former military, ma’am.”

  She placed her hand on his arm. “Well, then. Here’s hoping it’s soon determined because we’d love to have all of you to dinner.”

  * * *

  “OK, so she’s totally nice,” I said.

  “Agreed.”

  “I don’t care what Alex thinks of her. I could care less if Bernie thinks she’s a media whore. She was kind to us. You might not know a lot about me, Tank, but I come from nothing. Zip. I’m wary of people with her kind of money, and yet I liked her immediately. She’s a class act.”

  “She’s had some good work done, too.”

  I glanced at him as we followed the crowd toward the impressively carved mahogany staircase. “Who are you, Tank?”

  “Not your typical Tank.”

  “Are you sure that you’re straight? Because that was really bitchy.”

  “Straight as a straight guy can be. But I’ve been around this crowd for six years. For three years, I was Diana’s security detail. We became friends. Sometimes, she could be really catty. Some of that probably rubbed off on me, for better or worse.”

  “What was she like?”

  “You would have liked her. I think you two could have been friends. She was kind of like you, but different.”

  I had almost no knowledge of who Diana was. If Tank was willing to share, I was willing to listen. “How different?”

  “She wasn’t as confident as you. She didn’t have your business sense, and she had no interest in Wenn. She was kind of a free spirit. She did her own thing.”

  “What was her thing?”

  “That’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t think she knew what it was. I think she got absorbed by Wenn, especially when Alex had to take it over when his parents died.”

  “In a murder-suicide?”

  He glanced at me. “That’s right. She always seemed kind of lost to me. Kind of sad, but she hid it well. I don’t know how to describe it—she was complicated. But she also was smart and when she was up for it, she could be mischievous. She used to say things at certain events that made me laugh. I liked her wit.”

  “I’m sorry Alex lost her. And his parents.”

  Tank didn’t respond. As stoic as he was, I could tell he was thinking of Diana now and likely missing her. I didn’t want to upset him, so we approached the staircase together in silence. He looked up at it as if he hadn’t heard me. Maybe he had been close to Diana. Maybe being reminded of her was too much for him.

  “Tank, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her up. I didn’t know you were so close.”

  He cleared his throat and looked down at me. “You’re not Diana, Jennifer. You’re different. You’re wonderful in your own way. Alex didn’t go for the same woman. OK? I know what you’re thinking, so put that to rest. You’re more intense than she was. You’re not afraid to ask people their opinions, as she often was. You’re obviously here to do Alex proud. That wasn’t always the case with Diana. Sometimes, I think she felt she was in a competition with him and his work. She wasn’t happy about that. Sometimes she railed against that and caused him problems.”

  “How?”

  “By misbehaving. By acting out. Not everyone can stand this sort of scrutiny and pressure. But then the unexpected happened and she died. I think Alex knew that she was unhappy when she died. I think it affected him deeply and that’s why he stayed away from a relationship for so long. But that’s all speculation on my part and I hope it will remain between us.”

  “Everything remains between us. My mouth is a vault.” And I meant it. Whenever someone confided in me and then asked me to say nothing, I kept my silence. “Let me ask you. Would she ever wear anything like this?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “So I went too far.”

  “Not at all. You went just far enough. Bernie was right. You’ll see. I saw him and Blackwell try to dress Diana many times. They wanted her to take risks and really go for it with fashion because they knew that she could pull it off and they knew the exposure it would bring to her. But she was too conservative and refused to be part of any of it. She felt that people should be interested in her, not because of what she wore, but because of who she was as a person. I appreciated where she was coming from. But in this crowd, she was naïve in that respect. Sometimes, she wondered aloud why the press ignored her. She didn’t understand that she needed to surprise everyone by taking a risk and making a statement. She didn’t get that who she wore and who she was often met in the middle. Blackwell and Bernie knew that, but Diana didn’t. She didn’t understand how to work the media the way they did. She didn’t care that Wenn needed the press she could have brought them. Diana was beautiful and, if she’d only let herself go, she could have gotten them that press. You’re going to please the entire board tomorrow, not to mention Alex, because you will be photographed tonight. Probably more than you realize. I think you’re brave.”

  “I think I’ve lost it.”

  “I’m not joking. You haven’t even had a taste of what’s to come. In all of the rags, you either will be celebrated or dismissed. The dismissals will often be cruel, especially in the blogs, which is where they vilified Diana. But you’ll also be celebrated. Can you handle that kind of dichotomy?”

  This man was far smarter and savvier than I had realized. He surprised me. “I don’t know.”

  “Because in what you’re wearing tonight? It’s coming tomorrow. You will be talked about. It could go either way. You need to know that.”

  “Did Bernie and Blackwell set me up?”

  “No. Never. That’s not who they are. They see this as elevating you. You’ll get the press they want, but the undercurrent is what Wenn wants—the exposure and the deals you’re working on. It’s a win-win if it works. I think they’ve totally set you up to win and to become a known commodity in this town. That’s their goal. I don’t think you get it, Jennifer. You’re on the verge of becoming famous in this set.”

  “Now I’m beyond rattled.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I need to be around straight shooters, Tank. I’m grateful for your insight and your honesty. Now, I just need to get through tonight and not disappoint. Apparently, I need to perform.”

  “Would a martini help to stave off any anxiety?”

  “You know it would. But I need to be careful. I need to think clearly. Two martinis is my max for the entire evening. Period. I will not drink more than that. I know my limits. Please make sure that if any drinks are sent my way that you intercept them as discreetly as possible.”

  “How about if I g
et you the first one?”

  “I’d love that. Can you have one?”

  “I never drink on duty. Ever.”

  “How about a martini glass filled with super-chilled water and a twist of lemon to make it look like you’re joining me?”

  “That I can do,” he said. “But if it gets in the papers, you’ll need to explain it to Mr. Wenn.”

  “You’re covered,” I said. “Let’s get a drink. Or get me a drink. You can have Aquafina. Or whatever it is they’re serving here tonight. Might be Smart Water, which you obviously don’t need. Who knows?”

  With my cape lifted off the floor, we climbed the staircase to the second floor, which stretched out in front of us so that I couldn’t see an end to it—it was that deep. Paneled in dark wood and warmly lit so that it flattered anyone who needed flattering, it was packed with people. In that moment before we fully entered the room, I leaned toward Tank. “Look at how many people are here,” I said. “And how large this room is. Holy God. Who lives like this?”

  “Peachy Van Prout does,” he said. “And her parents and grandparents before her. You know she inherited this from them, don’t you? They were into sugar. Still are. You’ve consumed their sugar in all sorts of things, from sodas to sauces to pasta. Think about how broad a reach that has. Watch your cape.”

  He took my hand and helped me up so I wouldn’t step on it and trip. Thankfully, I didn’t. When I looked up to find the bar, I was met with dozens of faces turned to mine. I saw men looking at me and women looking at me. Some not so kindly. Some with a mix of surprise, lust, distaste, dismissal, and fascination. The mix of reactions was a lot to consume at once, but I needed to trust in Blackwell and in Bernie, so I absorbed it all. The worst looks I received were predictably from women, which meant that I’d won.

  Elbows nudged elbows, and more faces revealed themselves to me. Somewhere off to my left, a camera flashed. And then it flashed again. I was aware of eyes sweeping up and down my body. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t embarrassed by it and also a little turned on by it. To my right, I saw Immaculata Almendarez, whose lips parted before she pressed forward through the crowd to get a better look at me. And then she glared at me. It was a look that clearly said, “You don’t belong here. Especially not without Alex. How dare you show up among my people?”

  Not wanting to disappoint her, I gave a quick flick of my arms, and spread out my cape as if it were a pair of wings. Someone’s camera flashed multiple times as I did so, and I let my gaze burn into Immaculata’s as the cape settled around me.

  “What was that?” Tank said. “Are you a superhero?”

  “If I was one, I’d torpedo Immaculata.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Sorry to be so base, but she’s a cunt. I know it’s a crass word. I very rarely use it. But she is one. Have you noticed her?”

  “Who could miss her? Look at her face. She obviously dislikes you.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “Meaning.”

  “She hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story not worth telling.”

  “So, who is she?”

  “A bull,” I said. “And a ruthless one. In short, she wanted Alex for her own, but he wasn’t interested in her. For some reason, he was interested in me. Right now, there’s nowhere in the world that she’d rather charge than straight at me and at this dress.”

  “Well, it is red.”

  “Thus the bull reference.”

  “Shall I shoot to kill if she comes near you?”

  We started to walk through the crowd and to the bar, which was off to our left. Along the way, I stared Immaculate down until finally she looked away, screwed up her face, and likely started talking shit about me with whomever would listen. “And deny myself the moment I know is coming later between us? Not a chance. I’m going to savor that moment. I’m going to feast upon it.”

  “You think she’ll come at you? In this crowd?”

  “Especially in this crowd. I’m an inferior. I know that. I don’t belong here. But that doesn’t mean I’ll take her shit.”

  “And that,” he said, “is why you’re nothing like Diana.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I was just starting my second and last martini of the night when I finally saw Henri Dufort in the crowd. He was not a tall man—he actually was rather short, which is likely why I’d missed him after spending over an hour in the same spot looking for him in the dense crowd. But when there was a shift in the tide. I saw him, looked at Tank, and said, “At last. He’s over there. I should go over.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Peachy has her own security team. Have you noticed?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “She does. Likely because the French ambassador is here. And I have to give it to her—she did well. I’ve counted at least a dozen men and women circling who are a mix of her security detail and the ambassador’s detail. I won’t bother pointing them out to you. Just know that I’ve been watching them and that they’re impressive. Mixing in at these sorts of events is difficult, but they’re doing it well. I’ll stay here at the bar where I can watch over you. Go introduce yourself to Dufort. You’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t feel fine. I feel like I’m about to blow it for Alex.”

  “The board wouldn’t have sent you if they thought that would happen. The deal with Streamed was your idea, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “And you remember why it was a good idea?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

  “So, what’s the issue? That’s the confidence you need to bring to him. Come on, Jennifer. I know that dealing with someone alone is out of your wheelhouse, but I remember when Alex was just starting out when his parents died. He rose to the occasion and got the deal.”

  “I’m not here to make a deal. I’m here to keep things moving and to answer his questions.”

  “Even better. Do that. Now, go.”

  I put my martini down on the bar, held my cape in such a way that neither I nor anybody else could possibly step on it, and walked through the crowd. A server stopped beside me with a silver tray filled with glistening flutes of beautiful, bubbling champagne and asked if I’d like a glass—I declined even though I wanted to down one. An elderly woman touched my elbow as we passed each other and remarked on my dress: “Lovely,” she said. “Just gorgeous.” I thanked her. A moment later, I overheard one woman saying to another that I was the woman from the Times. “Alexander Wenn’s girl, I believe. Here alone and so garish. I wonder what he thinks about that...?”

  Finally I was upon Dufort, a tanned, handsome-looking man who had the most striking head of silver hair. He was talking to a severe-looking couple who were complaining about the cost of finding good help for their home along the Turkish coast.

  “It used to be pennies per hour along the Turquoise, Henri,” the woman said, referring to that prized portion of the coast. “Pennies. Now they want a full dollar per hour. A dollar! For folding laundry and wiping up little messes! It’s ridiculous. Don’t they know how lucky they are to work for us? To work within such an oasis? To be fed by us? You’ve been to our home, you know how magnificent it is and these people who come from nothing—nothing—have the luxury of working fourteen-hour days with us instead of spending the day sweating it out in the slums from which they come. That’s got to be worth something. It’s to the point that I can’t stand any of them. Three of my maids—Bilge, Erbil, and Gülcan—are particularly impossible. They’re giving Gerald and me one week to accept the new wage, or they walk. Who does that? Who even speaks to us like that? Like the rest of the staff, those three also smell like shit. So if they leave, at least we’ll be rid of that.”

  “Perhaps the extra money would help buy them soap,” Dufort said.

  “Help buy them what?”

  “Soap,” he said. “And maybe some laundry detergent, or new clothes, or deodorant so they’d be less offensive to you.
”

  The woman blinked at him. She moved to speak, but then blinked again. A buzz went through the crowd somewhere off to my right. I saw the lights of cameras snapping. But that had happened so often tonight—even to me, of all people—that I was beginning to wonder if Peachy was indeed a media whore, regardless of how much I liked her. I wondered which celebrity or person of interest was here now. It didn’t matter. Because, even as the thought occurred to me, more lights started to flash as another rush of recognition struck through the room and another media circus began. Dufort shrugged at the woman in front of him. Then he saw me, recognized me, and excused himself from the couple, saying that he would catch up with them later.

  He turned to me and kissed me on each cheek.

  “Jennifer,” he said. “Perfect timing. Sorry you had to hear that.”

  “Mr. Dufort,” I said when he pulled away from me. “Sorry I arrived at such a complicated time.”

  “It’s Henri. And please. Those two roll around in drama like pigs in shit. They are among the richest and cheapest people I know. I only interact with them and tolerate them because of business. Otherwise, I’d drop them in a second.” He stood back and looked at me. “I already know that you’re smart,” he said. “May I also say that you’re beautiful?”

  I blushed at the compliment, but I knew better than to deflect it, so I accepted it. “I don’t think any woman would object to that.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. That’s some dress. I bet no one here knows what to do with you.”

  “I’ve caught a few curious looks.”

  “I’ll bet. And some envious ones, too.”

  “And maybe even more perplexed ones. With this cape, I feel like a superhero, Henri. It’s a bit much.”

  “Isn’t it supposed to be? Look around you. What isn’t a bit much?”

  I laughed. “You have a point.”

  “Who cares what this crowd thinks? I certainly don’t. You shouldn’t either. They’re just people, Jennifer. Same blood, same organs. They’re people with money and a certain amount of influence, sure. But most of the crowd you see around you is incestuous and too many of them are idiots. Believe me.”