by Kimber Chin
She chuckled at this, the sound husky in her throat. “I'll try my best."
"You do that.” Philippe couldn't resist. He swooped down to graze her full lips lightly with his and then, before he could get swept up in Anne, he walked away.
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Fifteen
What in the world am I doing? Anne wondered that for the hundredth time as she sat parked outside of the Cyber Café. It was hot in the beat up old station wagon, Anne's wig with skull cap itched under the baseball cap and the binding around her chest was uncomfortable. No use turning on the car; Anne didn't think the A-C had worked for the last decade. It was an unpleasant way to spend a Friday morning and not one of her better ideas. Last night, she thought it brilliant. Of course last night she had also been a bit tipsy.
* * * *
Stanley popped into the condo after Philippe left, all aflutter to hear how his university student makeover went. He arrived later than planned because Denise had dropped by the studio to get a freebie spruce up. Stanley didn't make Anne feel any better, telling her how Denise looked wiped out, not her normal beautiful self. Anne might not have been directly responsible but she couldn't forego all the blame. Someone on her team leaked the information.
And then Stanley said something strange. He mentioned that Denise was taking some time off, to regroup and recoup.
Regroup and recoup, that's what he said. All well and good except that Anne's credit check on Denise told her that any time off by the blonde would end with her in bankruptcy court. Denise was so overextended that her first action should have been hustling for income.
So why didn't Denise feel a need to rush out and get a job? Where was she getting the money? And what was she doing with her time? A couple glasses of white wine later and Anne pondered those questions. What was that girl up to? The question nagged at her. Well, heck, Anne didn't have anything to do, she already had painted the condo three times, why didn't she follow Denise around and see?
Stanley, jumping into detective work, advised that she go in disguise. Better, he said, to avoid detection. Anne was made over into a teenage boy. He even got a friend to lend her his car.
Should have been exciting, right? Nope. What Anne hadn't counted on was how unbelievably boring surveillance work was.
* * * *
The morning was uneventful. Anne was there waiting when Denise, dressed semi-casually for Denise, in a cute little sundress, left her apartment around eight a.m. and headed to the Cyber Café. Anne knew the neighborhood, the café located a block from Lamont Ventures.
Then Denise stayed there all bloody morning. What she was doing, Anne hadn't a clue. Denise could be working there, playing video games, or running a booming on-line company, for all Anne knew. She couldn't go in, the place too small to enter without being noticed. Her disguise, though good from afar, wasn't the best up close.
No, she had to wait. Anne sat in the rust-bucket, windows rolled down to get some sort of air circulation. Luckily she thought to bring some of her Young C.E.O.s business building projects with her so she wasn't completely bored, last week's assignment to draft a simple contract between two individuals. Not that contract law was exciting. It was an important part of business but about as dry as the first and last roast Anne ever cooked.
Around noon, there was some action. Though not much. Denise exited the building, walking a couple blocks down the street to a funky little bistro. It was far enough away that Anne had to move the car and she lucked into a parking spot right out front. Now, Anne rubbed her hands together, excited, she'd get to do some real detective work. The bistro was busy, she could wander in for a drink at the bar, situate herself so she could overhear the conversation. Yeah, finally some fun. But no, it being a great fall day, Denise chose to sit on the sidewalk-facing patio. Drat, Anne had a good view and the patio was too small to get closer. No excuse to get out of the car.
Bored, Anne dug out a peanut butter sandwich and nibbled on it. Hmmm ... warm, and gooey from the hot car. Surveillance was hungry work. A wave of dark suits passed by the car and Anne slumped down, trying not to draw their attention. Good thing too because those familiar suits headed to the table where Denise was sitting.
Philippe kissed Denise on both cheeks. Anne's fingertips, without any thought, pressed against her own face in the same spot. Her eyes stayed on Philippe even as Denise was passed along to Gregory.
Dang. Of all people, it would have to be him. Her blasted bad luck. This lunch wouldn't add a thing to her investigation. Anne set her sandwich down on the passenger seat to devote her full attention to Philippe. Geez, he was good looking. He smiled, his face animated as he related some story. If only she could hear what he was saying.
But watching him was enough. She loved the way he gulped down his not so healthy lunch like he hadn't eaten in days. The way his face changed with his commentary, his lips moving quickly, drawing in the audience eyes, the way he made the server laugh.
A half hour passed. Anne got out of her car to stretch and put more money in the meter. She acted as natural as she could to not draw attention but in her nervousness, her fingers fumbled so badly she dropped a quarter. Anne scrambled to grab it before it rolled away. There. Finally the meter was topped up. Good for another thirty minutes. Anne settled back into the car and resumed her viewing. Funny. Is Philippe looking right at me? No. Probably gazing into space. From this distance, her costume would hold; he'd think her to be some boy.
* * * *
Philippe not only knew that was no boy feeding the meter, he knew exactly to whom that perky little derriere belonged.
That reminded him—"Anne will be attending the charity event this evening,” Philippe blurted out to the table, interrupting whatever Denise was discussing. He couldn't spring her presence on them, not after all that had happened. He had to give them some forewarning, had to gauge their reaction. Philippe told himself that it was for their benefit but, in all honesty, if their responses were too negative, he'd spare Anne the humiliation.
"Good, we didn't really get a chance to chat before. Business is business and all that,” Denise's dead on imitation of professional Anne lightened Philippe's mood.
Only the disquieting thought of Denise confronting Anne kept him from smiling. “Denise, you'll be nice to her, won't you?"
"To Anne?” Blue eyes rapidly blinked. “But of course, Philippe. Why wouldn't I be?"
Because she destroyed your start up company, peut-etre? Sold you out to the competition? Was he the only person present thinking logically? “Denise, you aren't upset over the Be My Guest fiasco?"
"Oh, God, Philippe. You're not still on that, are you?” Gregory asked in disbelief, “Thinking that Anne leaked the information?"
"I don't have any proof that she didn't."
"Proof? Who cares about proof? What happened to trust?” Denise glared at him. “There's no proof that I didn't leak the information. Yet for some reason, you trust me. So why don't you trust Anne?"
Why didn't Philippe trust Anne? He wanted to. But he couldn't evaluate Anne's involvement rationally like he could with Denise. His feelings kept getting mixed up in it, coloring his judgment. Oui, that was the whole damn problem. He couldn't go on his gut alone, not with his heart involved.
"I told her she had to work for me as long as your business was viable. Anne was upset. It was cutting into her own company's billings, and then suddenly your business plan was leaked. Come on, Denise, what else could it be?"
"You're serious?"
Like he would joke about something like that and why exactly were the two of them looking at him like he was the bad guy? “I don't believe in coincidences."
"You don't know, do you?” The quiet note in Gregory's voice got Philippe worried. His friend did that, lowering his volume, right before springing an indisputable fact on an opposing legal team.
"Know what?” What was it? What vital piece of information was he missing?
Gregory was about to tell him. �
�Remember when I told you that Anne dropped the lawsuit against Bruce?"
Vaguely. Philippe nodded. He had other things on his mind then, like a pair of shapely legs in sheer black hose but he did remember.
"That was a couple weeks before the transfer of information. Anne was suing an entrepreneur Lamont Ventures picked up,” Gregory quickly brought a confused Denise up to speed before continuing, “My friend, did you ever wonder why the lawsuit was dropped? What her motive for doing so was?"
Philippe thought it had to do with their personal relationship getting stronger but he wasn't willing to offer that reasoning, not now. “Not really."
"I did, so I looked into it. Wanted to make certain everything was okay."
Mais oui, more like Gregory wanted to make certain that Anne was okay, Philippe thought wryly.
"You can imagine my surprise when I found out Anne was wrapping up her business."
What the ... “Wrapping up her business? Anne's quitting?” Denise gasped out the words Philippe couldn't yet say. “But she's so good at what she does. She loves it."
She's good at what she does but she couldn't do both, that was what she told him. She had to choose. Only his damn Anne would put another company before her own. Only his damn Anne. His? She wasn't his Anne anymore. Mon Dieu, what have I done?
"I didn't know,” Philippe's voice was hushed. Amongst friends, he didn't try to hide his torment. He was past pride.
"I'm sorry, my friend. I thought you did. I thought you knew and you were deliberately holding that information back from me,” Gregory admitted, revealing some of the hurt he felt.
Denise was silent for once, looked at them thoughtfully. Finally she said, “I really ought to get to know Anne better."
So should I. Philippe thought he knew her. He didn't.
She was far stronger than he would have ever imagined. There was still monetary gain as a motive. Philippe already knew the answer but he had to wrap up any lingering doubts. “How much was she suing us for?"
"More than Wedding Pings paid for the information,” was Gregory's confirmation.
Denise finally put two and two together. “That isn't why Anne is no longer working for you, is it? Tell me it isn't. Tell me it was because my start up went under."
"It was.” Philippe might as well own up to all his bad moves. “I thought she sold you out and I fired her."
"You—” Denise was again struck speechless.
Denise trusted Anne. Gregory trusted Anne. L'Ange had told Philippe he was an emotional idiot. Even Sylvie, his executive assistant, supported Anne. Everyone could see that Anne couldn't, wouldn't do such a thing. Everyone except for himself. Even now, Philippe's head turned toward that dreadful station wagon. His brave, strong Anne was out there, trying to gather up enough evidence to prove her innocence. To prove to him, the only person who thought her guilty. He was an ass, and said so out loud.
"You certainly are,” Denise wholeheartedly agreed.
Even Gregory had to nod his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “You've dug yourself into a big hole, my friend. What do you tell me when that happens?"
"You can wallow in that hole or climb your way out,” the two of them recited in unison.
Philippe, despite his despair, had to smile. It was a frequent piece of advice, as they'd been in a lot of holes over the years. This one, however, was his biggest yet, a crater, a global killer.
"So what will it be?” Gregory asked, “Will you wallow?"
Gregory would like that, Philippe suspected, if he wallowed. He might have a chance with Anne if Philippe left the field, if he walked away.
Walk away from Anne? The woman who wouldn't walk away from him, even after all he had done? Not a possibility. “This time I don't have a choice."
"Then how can we help?” Denise grinned.
* * * *
With the sun beating down on her little tin can, Anne sweltered, perspiration dripping down her backbone. Next time, if she was foolish enough to do this a next time, she'd wear a cooler disguise. Dang, but that's a long lunch. What did they have to talk about? Don't they see each other all the time? Gregory and Philippe even worked together. They couldn't have anything left to say.
They were standing up. About friggin’ time. Luck would have it that they stopped to talk right in front of her vehicle. Anne kept her head down, studying the newspaper laid out on the steering wheel. Words drifted to her through the open window.
"I need to get back to the café,” Denise chirped, “Derek will be in a tissy if I'm too late. We've got a lot to do."
Who was Derek and why was she meeting with him? Anne didn't know.
"We'll see you at the charity thing tonight,” Gregory replied.
Was that the same charity do that Philippe was taking her to? Likely.
Anne felt a little—no, a lot—nervous about seeing Denise again. Philippe was Denise's friend. He would have told his ex-girlfriend his suspicions by now. And Denise must hate her. It was going to be a hellish evening.
"Looking forward to it. It was a lot of fun last year."
Sounded like Denise didn't know she was coming yet. Philippe must be waiting to spring it on her. Nice. More stress.
"It'll be more interesting this year, isn't that right, Philippe?” Gregory laughed.
"I don't know about fun,” Philippe groaned.
Was that a bit about her attending? Anne frowned. Did he not want to spend time with her? Was it a chore for him?
"Oh, it'll be fun for us,” Denise threw at him.
"Glad to increase your entertainment, Dee. We'll see you tonight.” Anne heard what sounded like lips smacking and then the voices drifted off.
Anne waited for a few more minutes. Denise was going back to the Cyber Café. That meant turning the car around. Anne didn't want to draw attention as she did the U-turn. She tugged at the overly moist binding. The get-up was getting exceedingly uncomfortable. She didn't think she could stand it much longer. So is it even worth anything going back to the Cyber Cafe? She couldn't go inside. Anne knew the first name of the man Denise was meeting with. She could ask Stanley about this Derek person.
Yes, asking her gossip queen friend was an easier way to figure out what Denise was up to. Cooler also. So forget it. She did enough PI work for today. She was going home. Anne placed her hand on the key to turn the ignition when the passenger door opened and the seat was filled.
"Salut, Cherie.” Philippe grinned at her cheerfully. “What are you up to?"
Busted again. Yesterday by Gregory. Today by Philippe. She was terrible at this undercover work.
"You're sitting on my sandwich,” Anne grumbled.
Philippe pulled the flattened bread out from under him, smelling it. “Plain peanut butter on white processed bread. You really are a cheap date, aren't you?"
Anne took the uneatable sandwich from him and tossed it in a plastic bag. So much for her lunch. “This isn't a date, Philippe. I'm busy."
Philippe ran a hand over the ripped up dash, wrinkling up his nose at the dirt on his fingertips. “Nice car. Did you trade in the Volvo?"
"Ha.” Anne rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “I borrowed it from a friend."
"Oh, I wouldn't exactly call her a friend.” Philippe opened the glove compartment only to shut it again quickly as things starting falling out. “You got a death wish?"
"It runs okay.” Anne didn't know why she was defending the junker. It was a piece of garbage. “Can I take you somewhere, Philippe?” Like back to his office or anywhere else as long as it was out of her car?
"I guess you can take me home, Cherie.” Philippe, after a couple tugs, managed to put on his seatbelt. “I have to change my clothes. Can't go around with peanut butter stuck to my derriere."
But oh, what a fine derriere he had. He probably knew it too, conceited, bossy man.
Anne started up the engine. It backfired, turning heads. Embarrassing. Next time, if there were a next time, she'd do the undercover work in her own reliable an
d clean car. A Volvo wasn't a look-at-me type of car anyway. Very common. And it was quiet.
"I can fix that,” Philippe told her, unperturbed by the loud bang. “Dirk and I finally fixed the problem with the Gremlin."
My, aren't you being helpful and so very chatty. “Thank you. I'll tell my friend. Who knows? Car repair could be a second career for you."
"It could. I'll keep that in mind.” Then his face grew serious. “So whom are you tracking, Cherie? Me, Gregory, or Denise?"
"Couldn't be you,” Anne blocked, “I had you chipped once while you were sleeping."
"Guess you didn't think I could find the North Star.” Philippe nodded, his arm out the window, tapping on the roof, annoying Anne. “So that leaves Gregory or Denise. You're wasting your time, Anne. Neither, I think, is your guilty party."
"Since you think I'm the guilty party, please forgive me if I don't take your opinion into account.” Anne let the car coast to the stoplight, not wanting it to stall. The station wagon was a little touchy with stopping and starting. The brakes squeaked as they were applied, almost masking his words.
"I don't think you're the guilty party, Cherie."
What? He doesn't? Well, that's news to me. Anne thought herself tried, convicted, and on death row. “No? Why the sudden change of heart?"
"No sudden change of heart,” Philippe sounded so earnest she almost believed him. “More like an alignment of head with heart."
Alignment of head with heart, huh? Although Anne wanted to believe him, his story didn't quite hold together. If he truly didn't think her guilty, why'd he fire her? Why weren't they investigating this together? Why make her believe that she was on her own? Anne thought all this but didn't ask. She kept quiet, not ready to talk about it yet. It hurt too badly.
He sighed, not pursuing it further. “What are you doing?” Philippe ran a finger along the bare back of her neck.
"The deal was that you weren't to contact Denise directly."
