I reached for my phone the moment I could focus, as was my habit, and pulled up the morning news. I was reading about the presidential race, the debates that took place just a few nights ago, and a storm that was brewing on the East Coast when an alert popped up.
I have an alert set to let me know whenever my name appears on any internet page, whether it is in the context of a legitimate news story or on a gossip page. This alert had flagged a blog of some sort. My name rarely showed up on blogs that weren’t affiliated with a national publication, so I was curious.
I touched the link and waited for the page to load. When it did, there was a picture of Joanne and me walking into the fundraiser. Underneath was the caption:
Jason Brooks slums with employee.
My heart sank. I knew immediately what this was and where it’d come from. Frank was once again trying to attack me where it would hurt me the most: my family’s reputation.
But what really bothered me the most was found in the body of the blog post. It implied that I was somehow using my position as Joanne’s boss to force her to go out with me. To force her into my bed. Like she didn’t have a mind of her own or didn’t feel safe to tell me no.
Whoever the author was, was essentially accusing me of rape.
I climbed off the bed and headed for the shower. I needed to deal with this before it got out of control. But first, I needed to warn Joanne.
It was a quick ride to her apartment this early on a Sunday morning. I hoped as I knocked on the door that I was waking her. I should have known better than that.
She opened the door, dressed in a flour-covered apron, a soft smile on her full lips.
“Hey, this is a surprise,” she said.
“I wish it was a happy surprise.”
A frown immediately creased her forehead. “What’s going on?”
I gestured toward the living room behind her. “Do you mind if I come in?”
“Of course,” she said, stepping out of the way.
The apartment smelled like heaven. There was something baking, chocolate cake it smelled like. I walked over to the kitchen bar, wondering if she’d be terribly upset if I stuck my finger in the raw batter that was sitting in a bowl there.
“Orange sponge cake,” she said, gesturing to the bowl. “We have a client who ordered chocolate and orange cakes for a nephew’s birthday party.”
“Smells heavenly.”
She smiled again, pleasure dancing across her face. “Thanks.”
“If I’d known you were such a wonderful baker…”
“What? Would you have wanted me to bake a cake I could jump out of?”
“Maybe?”
She laughed, and I found myself wishing I could just keep her laughing instead of having to dump the latest crap on her. Why couldn’t Frank just leave us alone?
Because I fired the asshole for cheating my company, that’s why.
“Is your sister around?”
She shook her head. “It’s just me. She’s at her boyfriend’s.”
She was carefully pouring the batter into greased pans, the beautiful orange silk of the batter falling like melted orangesicles. I couldn’t help myself. I stuck my pinky into the flow and licked the wonderful orange flavor from my skin. It was heavenly!
“So what’s happened now?” she asked, as she dropped the bowl into the sink and turned back to face me.
The look on her face told me that she had a good idea what was going on already. I’d shown her the picture that made its way to the internet on Friday. And she was there when Frank threatened me as I walked through the police station. She knew what was happening.
“There’s an article on some blog. It essentially says that as my employee, you have no choice but to go out with me.”
She laughed. “Was it written by a woman?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of the blog before.”
“What’s it called?”
I pulled out my phone and pulled the article up again. When I turned it for her to see, her eyes widened.
“Dear Elizabeth is a popular blog around here,” she said. “I’m surprised my sister hasn’t called yet. But, again, she probably isn’t awake.”
“Your sister reads this stuff?”
“Lives and breathes it. It features all the gossip in the city. And my sister is something of a celebrity watcher.”
“A lot of people read this?”
“Yeah.”
I stared at my phone, trying to figure out what people found fascinating about this sort of gossip. It was akin to reading the supermarket rags, a bunch of made up stories that had very little foundation in the truth.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Put my lawyer on it, I suppose.”
Joanne bent to take the chocolate cakes out of the oven. She set them to cool on the counter and slid the orange cakes into the oven in their place. I sat on the same stool that guy had been sitting on Friday night when I came to pick her up—Rahul. What kind of name was that, anyway? And why was he around her so much? I’d known her five days and already I’d seen him in her presence twice.
“What can your lawyer do?”
I looked up, a little too lost in thought to follow the conversation. I had to mentally shake myself to get back on track.
“Force them to take it down.”
“But, by then, most people will already have seen it. My sister gets an alert every time there’s a new story, so I’m sure most of Dear Elizabeth’s readers do, too.”
“But if she’s forced to take it down, people will realize it wasn’t true.”
“Or Elizabeth will put up another story that claims she was the victim in the whole thing. She’s done it before.”
“Has she?”
“There was a story on there a couple of months ago about a local politician. The story disappeared a few days later, but then there was a new story about how certain politicians don’t mind suppressing the right to free speech, but claim to be great supporters of the constitution. No names were used, so nothing could be done. But everyone knew who she was talking about.”
Joanne leaned against the counter and studied my face. “Maybe you should just ignore this one. Maybe the storm will pass quicker that way.”
“Maybe.”
She straightened again and grabbed a couple of bowls that had been sitting in the dish drainer and started cracking eggs into one.
“What are you doing?”
“I have three yellow cakes I need to make for an order due to go out Tuesday morning.”
“Can I help?”
“Do you know how to bake?”
I shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
She laughed, but she gestured for me to don the apron hanging from a nail in the corner of the room. I picked it up and groaned.
“Seriously?”
It was one of those funny aprons with the imprint of a woman in a French maid’s outfit on the front.
“My sister thinks it’s hilarious.”
“Wait until she sees me in it.”
“Awe, I think you’re beautiful.”
I grabbed her arm and pulled her into my arms. “And I think you’re pretty awesome.”
She smiled, and I couldn’t help but wipe that smile away with a very thorough kiss.
She taught me how to sift flour, how to measure out baking soda, and explained why salt was important even in baking. And I managed to get yellow cake batter all over the front of my apron—breasts splattered in sweetness is wonderful when it’s not plastic replicas—and when she laughed, I managed to smear it over the end of her nose.
I’d never had quite so much fun in the kitchen.
Chapter 21
Joey
I expected some curiosity when I walked into work on Monday. What I got was gawking.
I stopped in the break room on my way to my cubicle, filling a coffee cup to the brim with hot coffee. Jason spent the night at my pla
ce last night, and we did just about everything but sleep. When he left, somewhat reluctantly, a little before dawn, my bed suddenly felt huge and very empty. Sleep was no longer an option.
I thought about him as I showered; I thought about the way he touched me, the way he made me laugh when he really didn’t mean to, the way it felt when he held me in his arms, cradling me against him like I was something precious to his life.
I hadn’t wanted the night to end.
“I guess I don’t have to ask what you did over the weekend,” Lesley said, as I slid into my chair.
I smiled. “Did you see the spread in the Times?”
“You look good in blue.”
“He bought that for me.”
Lesley came around the barriers between our two cubicles and leaned against my desk. “How long have you been seeing him?”
“Since Wednesday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
Lesley pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it to me once she’d pulled up what she wanted.
“I suppose if I’d jumped out of a cake, he might have fallen right into bed with me, too.”
There was another picture of Jason and me, one of us leaving the party Friday night. I was staring up at him as he was helping me into the limo. I didn’t even realize there was a photographer nearby at that point. I guess I’d just gotten used to the flash of their cameras.
The headline said:
Jason Brooks Meets New Lover When She Jumps Out of Cake for Him!
The article basically stated that I was inside a cake someone had given Jason for his birthday and that we ended up in bed almost the moment I popped out. It implied that I was chosen because I was his type and he’d been too busy lately to find his own women. Like the person who paid for the cake and the birthday telegram was a pimp procuring sex for him.
I felt like I needed a shower after reading it.
“Is that really all it took to get him in bed?”
My face began to burn.
“It wasn’t like that, Lesley.”
“Yeah, well, you certainly aren’t the person I always assumed you were.”
She got up and went back to her own cubicle without saying another word.
Moments later, Mrs. Constantine did her regular check, making sure we were all at our desks as we were supposed to be. When she came to my cubicle, she paused. “I’d like to see you in my office, Ms. Forman.”
I immediately stood and followed her back down the hallway. The last time I’d gone to her office like this, I was hauled away by the police to answer questions. I had no idea what would be at the end of this particular walk.
She pushed open her door and motioned for me to go inside. Then she came around her desk, leaving the door open.
“I understand that you were helping with the investigation into some missing money?”
“The police just had a few questions.”
Mrs. Constantine pressed her fingers together, making a teepee of them, as many men do when they’re concentrating. I tried not to look as nervous as I felt.
“We’ve had multiple complaints about your behavior recently, Ms. Forman. And I have no idea who might have been involved in this theft and who wasn’t. So, I’m afraid, I must take certain actions to ensure that our department is sound.”
I inclined my head slightly. “I understand that Mr. Brooks—”
“Please don’t pretend you know something about the management of this company because you have a personal relationship with the CEO.”
I felt my face begin to burn. Mrs. Constantine seemed to take small consolation from that fact.
“You’re fired, Ms. Forman. Please collect your things and leave the premises.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“I can—and I just did.” She smiled softly. “You’re more than welcome to go upstairs and speak to upper management about this, but I believe Mr. Brooks is in a meeting with the DA at the moment.”
I just nodded. What more could I do.
I went back to my desk and grabbed a few personal photos that were sitting on the desk and a hole punch I brought from home. A year and that was pretty much the extent of my “things.”
I could feel people watching me as I walked toward the elevators. Even Lesley. Even though I knew I would never be able to work here again no matter what happened next—no one would trust me—I was sad. I’d liked working here.
And I liked the big paychecks.
Chapter 22
Jason
“Both parties have agreed to the plea deal.”
“Five years’ probation and retribution.”
The DA, a tall woman with thick, black hair, nodded. “We feel it’s a suitable punishment for the crime. One of the men never even saw any of the money.”
I nodded. “Works for me.”
“The only problem we see is that Mr. Thomas claims it will take time for him to be able to cut a check. We’ve given him a month. After that time, we will reevaluate the situation and see where we stand.”
“If he doesn’t return the money by then?”
“He will have gone back on the plea deal and we will proceed to court.”
Shelly and walked out of the office a few minutes later. She was looking at her phone, scrolling through God knew what. It seemed she was always on her phone, even more so than I was. I didn’t think much of it. In fact, I was a little busy thinking about Joanne. So, when she stopped and mumbled something quite unladylike under her voice, I looked sharply at her.
“You’re not going to like this,” she said.
“What?”
She turned her phone around so that I could see the screen. It was another of those blog posts. This one was about Joanne jumping out of a cake for me on my birthday.
“Shit,” I hissed under my breath.
I had my own phone out as I walked out of the building, my brother’s number dialed.
“Have you seen this gossip blog?” he asked me as he answered the phone.
“Who else knew about the cake besides you and Sara?”
“The company I hired. The girl and her bodyguard.”
“Who is talking?”
“I don’t know, brother,” Justin said. “But, is it really that big of a deal? It’s just a blog, for goodness sakes.”
“It’s a blog that millions of people read.”
“Millions of people who unlikely include Mom and Dad’s friends, so who cares?”
“I care. Joanne cares.”
“Is that what this is about? That girl? You can’t tell me that this isn’t more than a fling.”
I hung up rather than risk losing my temper. Then I called my lawyer.
I’d had enough of this crap.
We got back to the office, and there were a dozen applicants for the creative supervisor’s job waiting in the lobby. A few of them tried to stop me on the way to the elevator. I made note of those and had Shelly strike them from the list. I didn’t need someone who thought they were above the rest of the applicants.
Interviews were not my favorite thing. I normally left this sort of thing to the head of human resources. But with everything that had been going on lately, that no longer seemed like a good idea.
Half dozen interviews later and I was beginning to rethink my choices.
“This is ridiculous,” I said to Shelly. “None of these people seem to have a single idea what it is I’m trying to do here. And the rest seem to resent my desire to be involved in the changes in the department.”
“It’s not unusual to have to dig through crap to find a diamond.”
I just shook my head again, even if the image Shelly had conjured was quite amusing.
Another couple more interviews and I was ready to concentrate on something else.
“Why don’t you send up the supervisors from accounting? I should discuss the changes I want to make down there with them as soon as possible.”
&n
bsp; “What about the other applicants?”
“Tell them to come back after lunch.”
I settled back behind my desk, wondering if Joanne would mind if I called downstairs and invited her up for lunch. She was worried about how the others would respond to our sort of public coming out on Friday. If I invited her upstairs, it could go two ways. Either people would finally understand and stop whispering about her behind her back, or it would just make the gossip worse. Either way, I didn’t really care. I wanted to see her.
I picked up the phone, but Shelly was back at my door.
“One more applicant. She’s insisting that you see her now because she doesn’t have time to come back later.”
I groaned, but I told her to show the woman in. I guess I’d just have to call Joanne later.
And I was kind of glad I had decided to go ahead and see her. She was a graduate of Georgetown, and she had an extensive background in management. None of the other applicants knew half of what I was talking about when I asked questions, but this woman did. And some of her ideas were brilliant.
“The creative teams should have less access to the clients. A supervising team should deal with the clients, leaving the creative people more time to be creative. That’s the way it’s done in larger companies, a division between administrative work and creative work.”
“And what about the client’s needs. How does the creative team know exactly what the client wants if they don’t meet?”
“Oh, they’ll meet. But only after most of the administrative stuff is out of the way. It’s like going to the doctor. You deal almost exclusively with the office staff before you even see the doctor. That way all the business stuff is out of the way and the doctor only needs to deal with the health side of things.”
It wasn’t mind boggling, but it made a hell of a lot of sense.
We talked for quite a while, forcing the accounting staff to wait much longer than I intended for them to, but it only seemed fair. All this mess had taken me away from my own business for the better part of a week now. Make them wait.
SEAN: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 3) Page 64
