Silver Fox (Bridge to Abingdon Book 4)

by Tatum West

  Stephan stands up, putting his hand out to shake. “Have a seat, Mr. Domenico,” he says, showing Sal to the opposing side of the conference room table.

  Sal declines to shake, instead just plopping down in the leather chair, leaning back like he owns the place.

  Stephan goes through formal introductions just for the record, then he hands it over to Sal.

  “Your meeting, Mr. Domenico. What would you like to discuss?”

  Sal nods, sitting forward, folding his hands in front of him. He looks directly at me.

  “Have you had a look at the Billboard charts this week?” he asks.

  I don’t respond. It’s not relevant.

  “And what about that series that just got picked up? Did you do that all on your own? I seem to recall dropping a few hints to the network and making a few calls myself.”

  “That’s what managers do. I thank you for that. But that bit of work is many months old. In the meantime, it seems you’ve been busy funneling money into your own bank account.” I reply, lacing my fingers together and putting on my best fuck you face. “What they’re not supposed to do is steal from their clients.”

  Sal shakes his head, waving his hands as though to swat my words away. “You’re confused,” he says dismissively. “You don’t have a clue how expensive it is running a business like this; from your clothes to the public relations machine that keeps you in the news, to the people who get paid at every step along the way. It’s a business, and businesses have expenses. I was just paying for the massive expense that is Nikki Rippon.”

  “Is this one of those expenses?” Stephan asks, pushing a piece of paper across the sleek tabletop. “An eighty-thousand-dollar cash withdrawal from one of Mr. Rippon’s accounts? Do you do a lot of Mr. Rippon’s business in cash? That’s unusual, isn’t it? It makes it difficult when it comes around to deducting business expenses, doesn’t it?”

  Sal narrows his eyes, glaring at Stephan.

  “Occasionally, to get things done, you have to use cash,” Sal states. “Union electricians and dock loaders move your paperwork to the top of the stack if you give them incentive. It’s how shit gets done.”

  Stephen slides another piece of paper forward.

  “Almost a million dollars in bribes to dock workers in just nine months,” he says. “It seems excessive, especially given the fact that Mr. Rippon hasn’t been on tour this year.”

  “It’s not just electricians and dock workers,” Sal responds defensively. “You think payola went away with Alan Fried? It takes money to make a hit record happen. Cash money. Everybody from club DJ’s, to program managers at Clear Channel and Sirius Radio, expect cash to push a record into the top forty.”

  My stomach twists in knots. This isn’t true, is it? I made this happen. I got the awards. I wrote the music. I made it shine.

  Stephan regards him, coolly. “So your response is that everyone in the industry is involved in a massive criminal conspiracy to defraud the public, recording artists, the IRS, and the FCC?”

  “Exactly!” Sal says. “The whole thing is a racket!”

  Stephan slides another piece of paper toward Sal.

  “Then perhaps you’ll explain how after withdrawing that eighty thousand dollars from Mr. Rippon’s account, a similar amount was deposited the following day to an account in your name? Perhaps you can explain how that’s happened countless times over the last three years?”

  Sal clenches his jaw, flexing the muscles so hard it almost hurts to watch. He takes a couple shallow breaths, then turns his attention back to me.

  “Are you really buying this, Nikki?” he asks. “How long have we known each other? You think I’d steal from you? These guys are making this shit up just so they can skim off you like they’re accusing me of doing. They’re shyster lawyers, Nikki. They’re nobody to you! They’re lying.”

  I smile at Sal. “You’re gaslighting me, Sal. You’ve been doing it for years. I’m just not buying it anymore.”

  “That’s a cute little term you picked up in therapy, isn’t it?” He gives me a Cheshire Cat grin that sends a shiver running down my spine. “I paid for that too, you know. I made sure you had the very best. That costs money, little Nikki.”

  “My mother is a CPA at the top of her field. Her firm led the investigation into the money, Sal. She knows exactly what you’re doing, and she’s made it crystal clear to me. I might be a pop star, but I’m nobody’s fool.”

  “Nikki, this is bullshit. There’s an explanation…”

  “There is an explanation,” I interrupt. “It’s that you’re a thief. A thief and a con artist, who’s spent years manipulating me so I would question my own senses, so you could continue to use me.”

  “Nikki, this is crazy.” Sal’s face softens, and his whole demeanor changes. My stomach churns as I watch the same show he’s put on for me over the years. “If you feel like I’ve misled you, or been over-compensated, we can work it out. I just need these guys to unfreeze my assets, so I can repay you…”

  “Shut up, Sal!” I spit at him. “You’re going to jail if I have anything to say about it. I’m filing criminal charges. We’re reporting it all to the IRS. The FBI is looking at your mob connections. You’re going to rot in—”

  “Fuck you, you little shit!” Sal bellows, leaping to his feet and slamming his fists down on the table. “You were nothing until I pulled your sorry ass up and made you into something. You’ll be nothing without me! I worked my ass off making you a star! I’ll bring you down, you ungrateful little shit!”

  My mom’s mouth drops open, and she puts one hand to her elegant collarbone. My father’s eyes widen, and he grips Mom’s hand. But it’s only my parents are surprised by Sal’s violent outburst. Stephan and Fox observe him without reacting, as do their assistants—I imagine they see dramatic displays quite often. And I’m used to seeing Sal lose his shit anytime someone crosses him. I’ve never been the object of his wrath before, but I’ve seen it.

  “I think we’re done here,” Stephan observes, his tone icy. “We’ll see you in court, Mr. Domenico. I’d suggest hiring counsel. You’re going to need it.”

  “Fuck all of you!” Sal spits, then, pointing his finger at me, he hisses. “You just wait. You’re gonna regret this. This is gonna hurt you. You’ll see.”

  “Let the record reflect that Mr. Domenico has threatened my client,” Stephen says for the benefit of the audio recorder.

  “Go away, Sal,” I respond calmly. “Just go away.”

  Sal stalks out, muttering threats, storming down the corridor like a tornado. When he’s gone, Stephan looks at all of us, a wry smile warming his expression. “I think that went well,” he says. “Mr. Domenico revealed a couple interesting facts we weren’t clear on previously.”

  I’m curious what Stephan heard that I didn’t.

  “First, he showed up here without an attorney, which is demonstrative of either his inability to secure counsel or his stupidity. I suspect it’s the prior. Second, he offered to repay you if the court released his assets. He’s got no other funds hidden away or he wouldn’t have qualified his offer. He would have led with it, bargaining for a settlement. All he had were promises and threats. All of this is good news for us.”

  Fox nods in agreement. He looks at my folks, then at me, speaking for the first time since Sal walked in the door. “We’ve already put everything we have before the DA. We did that days ago. An indictment was issued this morning by a grand jury who evaluated the evidence on fourteen felony counts. An arrest warrant is being prepared and will be executed this afternoon.” Fox sits back in his chair, apparently satisfied with himself. “We have more charges we can bring at a later date. We’re also seeking an indictment against Derek Bowman. We’ve obtained evidence that Mr. Domenico and Mr. Bowman collaborated in a money laundering scheme associated with organized crime.”

  My mother lets out an audible gasp. My father just shakes his head. I feel like a rube, learning all this was going on right under m
y nose and I was clueless to any of it. I made some really poor decisions about who to trust, about who to let into my world. It’s cost me plenty, but those aren’t mistakes I’m going to make again. I’m going to take ownership of my own life from now on. Nobody’s ever going to push me, or cajole me, or guilt me into doing anything I don’t feel right about. I’m not going to be bullied anymore. I’m not going to underestimate myself.

  Henceforth, I’m calling the shots. That starts with trusting family first, including trusting them with the fact that I care a great deal about Fox. He makes me happy, something I’ve never had before. Fox may be right about their initial reaction. I know in time they’ll come to see him like I see him; as a steady soul who builds me up instead of breaking me down. With Fox, I feel like I can’t fail no matter what I do.

  As everyone’s filing out of the conference room, I ask Fox to hang back.

  “I have to tell them,” I say, after my parents are safely out of earshot. “They already know something’s up, and I just need to explain it all.”

  Fox winces, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure?” he asks, almost pleading. “Why so soon?”

  “Because I don’t want to keep secrets,” I say. “It’s lying, and I don’t lie to people I love.”

  Fox regards me curiously, then lets out a big breath, resigned. “Okay,” he says. “I understand.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “There’s one thing you may be able to do to help them accept you, to see you like I do.”

  “What’s that?” Fox asks.

  I give him a slightly devious smile. “I have to be in the studio at nine in the morning tomorrow. Their flight out is at eleven a.m. I could have one of the security guys take them to LAX, but I bet they’d appreciate it if you volunteered first.”

  Fox blinks like a deer in the headlights, then he sees the good sense in my plan.

  “Like right now?” he asks. “Like, ask them if I can?”

  I nod, grinning. “You’re a smart man. Make it happen before we leave.”

  We join Stephan and my parents outside in the corridor where they’re discussing next steps. As soon as there’s a pause in conversation, Fox asks, “So how long are you in town? Will you have an opportunity to see the sights?”

  My father shakes his head, “Not this trip,” he says. “We fly out tomorrow, mid-morning. We’ve got a lot of work to catch up on and more to do with getting Nikki’s business interests situated.”

  Fox nods. “That’s a shame. Maybe on your next trip you’ll have some time to catch a few museums or tour the studios.”

  “Maybe,” my father replies. I can tell he’s had enough small talk.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And they have to leave for the airport at the same time I leave to go to the studio. I guess one of the night crew will have to take them. I’m not trusting an LA cab with my mom and dad.”

  “Good lord, no,” Fox says, then he brightens, turning back to my father. “I’ll drive you. I’ve actually got a lunch appointment down at Palos Verde tomorrow, so it’s kind of on my way. How about I pick you up about eight? That way even if traffic is bad, you’ll still have plenty of time to get through security?”

  Dad looks at Mom, who nods her approval. “Sure,” she says, giving Fox a sweet smile. “As long as it’s not inconveniencing you.”

  “Not at all,” Fox assures her, giving her his most charming smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

  And that’s that.

  Now all I have to do is tell my parents that Fox and I are a couple and hope they don’t react badly.

  BACK AT MY PLACE, after a gorgeous dinner cooked by my mom, I make my move. As mom and dad are about to go upstairs to pack and turn in, I hold them back.

  “I need to tell you something,” I say, just as my father’s turning off the TV. The words spill out before I can lose my nerve.

  My parents are instantly concerned; they know I never say anything that way unless it’s a very big deal. I came out to them that way. I told them I was going to move to LA that way. Other than that, I can’t think of another big reveal I’ve had to schedule that way.

  They hold their breath. If I don’t speak soon, they’ll suffocate.

  “Fox,” I say, sitting down across from them. “Fox and I are together. I wanted you to know that, because I care about him an awful lot, and we’re becoming close, and that’s not something I want to keep from you.”

  Mom breathes first. She nods her head as if she understands, but her expression hasn’t lost its concern.

  Dad’s brow furrows. He purses his lips. “He’s almost my age,” he says. “What could the two of you possibly have in common? You live in different universes. What do you talk about?”

  “Life,” I respond. “And better ways to manage it than I have been. We talk about a lot of other things too. He’s smart and knows everyone in this town. He’s kind and generous—and he genuinely cares about me. That’s not something I’ve had a lot of. It’s hard to get close to anyone in this town, and because of what I do. It’s just hard…”

  Mom reaches forward, taking my hand firmly. “I know, sweetie,” she says, “He seems like a nice man, along with being a good attorney.” She hesitates a moment before asking, “He’s not your attorney anymore, is he?”

  I shake my head. “No. He handed me off to his partner Stephan when we started seeing one another. He wanted to avoid any appearance of conflict of interest.”

  My father’s eyebrows arch high. “Is he getting a consulting fee?”

  I shake my head again. “Nope,” I say. “You guys can check all the billing records. Fox’s only involved because I want him to be, and because he wants to make sure I’m taken care of, but he’s doing it on his own.”

  My parents still seem skeptical.

  “I know you’re worried about me,” I tell them. “I’m glad you’re worried about me. The one thing you don’t need to worry about is Fox’s motivation. He’s one of the most successful entertainment lawyers in LA. He could buy and sell me three or four times over, at least. He’s not after my money. He’s interested in me for me. Not because I’m famous. Just because I’m me. He likes me. At least I think he does.”

  Mom nods again. “Of course he does, Nikki, because you’re beautiful and brilliant and fearlessly you. That’s why everyone who knows you loves you.”

  Not everyone. Not Sal. Not Derek.

  “I want to bring him home with me for Easter,” I say. “Would that be okay with y’all?”

  Dad cocks his head slightly as if he doesn’t understand the question. “Nikki,” he says, slowly. “We trust your judgment. We’ve been skeptical since he’s… well, he’s older. He’s working with you, or he was, anyway. But if you’re that serious about him, we want you to bring him home. We want to get to know him if he’s special to you.”

  How did I luck out with these people as my parents?

  “I love you guys so much,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. “So much.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  FOX

  There’s something refreshing and earnest about Nikki’s parents. They’re unpretentious in a way you rarely come across in LA. Mr. Rippon insists on sitting in the back seat with Mrs. Rippon up front.

  “Molly gets carsick if she doesn’t have a clear view of the road ahead,” he offers by way of explanation, as we drive away from Nikki’s place.

  Mrs. Rippon nods, smiling awkwardly. “I’ve been that way since I was a child. Never outgrew it.”

  Nikki called me last night to let me know he told his parents about us, and that it went even better than he expected, but I’m still cautious about the whole thing. I don’t have children, but I can imagine how I might react if my twenty-something kid told me they were involved with someone almost twenty years their senior. I wouldn’t trust it. I know how this must look to his folks. Even if they’re supportive of Nikki, they probably still believe I’m a predator.

  “So where are you from, Fox?” Mr. Rippon opens, beginning an in
terview that will last the entire hour-long drive to LAX.

  “Born and raised right here in Beverly Hills,” I reply. “My father was a contract attorney for the film studios. My mother was a bookkeeper at the Beverly Wilshire.”

  “That’s interesting,” Mrs. Rippon says. “You must have grown up surrounded by a lot of famous people.”

  I chuckle. “Mostly I grew up surrounded by the bratty children of famous people, and people—like my parents—who worked for them. Only a tiny percentage of the population of the Hollywood and Beverly Hill community are famous. The rest are just support personnel, like I am today.”

  Nikki’s parents listen thoughtfully to my responses to their questions. I’m being assessed. They’re trying to determine if I’m ‘qualified’ to be their son’s boyfriend.

  Before we’ve made it to Sepulveda Boulevard, they’ve gleaned all the essentials of my background: from where I went to college, to what kinds of music and films I like, to how I met Nikki. This last bit of information, I learn, Nikki failed to impart to his folks. They’re genuinely surprised when I tell them about the chance encounter at the club, and his run-in with the paparazzi.

  “What were you doing at a club like that?” Mrs. Rippon asks, looking at me like she wants to say, ‘Aren’t you a little old for that nonsense?’

  “I was trying to sign a new client,” I say, recalling the weirdness of that night. “An up-and-coming actress with some issues, mostly having to do with substance abuse and her propensity for firing everyone who works for her. I had a meeting with her, which she insisted on taking to the club. Anyway, I gave up on her and was waiting at the valet stand for my car when Nikki comes bursting out of the club, right into a phalanx of paparazzi. One of his more fanatical admirers was there too,” I add. “He and I had a bit of a confrontation.”

  “What happened?” Mr. Rippon asks, genuinely surprised with this intelligence.