For All the Wrong Reasons

by Louise Bagshawe

  “They are,” Emma agreed nervously, “in terms of chart positions. But since we stopped the advertising, sales have taken a bit of a dip.”

  “A dip? What kind of a fucking dip?”

  “Twenty-eight percent on Shoshanna, thirty-nine percent on Richards, forty-one on Redde—”

  He held up a hand. “I get the picture. Why the hell has that happened? Why did we stop the advertising?”

  “We have spent heavily,” Davits said.

  “You gotta spend it to make it,” Ernie snapped.

  “Yes. But if we spend at the same rate, the profit from the bestsellers cancels out. We must let them try to carry their own weight. And other sales have fallen heavily too.” Davits plowed on. Nobody else would dare to tell Ernie the way things actually were, but if they lost ground at this rate, he thought, maybe the company would be in trouble, and that would be bad for his career. “The midlevel writers, the genre romances, the ones the agents brought on board … that list is selling very badly. Two of the literary authors we axed, who have advances of no more than a hundred thou, have just had bestsellers for Random House and Simon and Schuster…”

  “Who cares what they’ve done? You’re a bunch of incompetents,” Ernie blustered at them furiously. “If it’s not selling, it’s your fault. I don’t want to hear can’t. There’s no such word as can’t. This strategy worked perfect in England and it’ll work perfectly here, too. Six fucking bestsellers. You make sure they keep selling.”

  “But—” Davits started, and Ernie was forced to cut him off. “But what? Don’t talk to me about but. OK? Just get out. Come back when the figures are right.”

  They got up and hurried out of the conference room. Ernie glared after the retreating backs, noting with grim satisfaction that none of them were dumb enough to look back his way. Peter Davits was last out. He closed the door quietly behind him.

  That showed them, Ernie thought. He wasn’t having that bullshit. He was the boss.

  *

  Michael sighed, pressed the hold button, and switched to another call. He had an ache in his neck from having had the phone glued to his ear all day. The calls from the lawyers, the distributors, the investment bankers, didn’t stop coming, but the result was the same. An IPO would be madness right now. They had to watch the Education Station range. Yada, yada, yada …

  Already he had talked it through with Diana. She was almost as mad as he was. The thought occurred to him that he’d gone almost a whole day without thinking about that Brad Bailey guy she was meant to be seeing. She had rallied the troops. He was going to call a company meeting tomorrow. Michael sighed. Some guys would walk, others he’d have to fire. Right after hiring them, too. Goldman Sachs didn’t come cheap, and now he had to find a way to pay them without market capitalization.

  He hated Ernie Foxton.

  Tina Armis, their receptionist, walked into the room with a cup of coffee and a muffin. It smelled really good, like it had just come out of the oven. Wordlessly, she set it down before him. Michael talked to his distributors and reached out to touch the muffin. Yeah, it was actually warm.

  “Thank you,” he mouthed at her.

  Tina gave him a slow smile. “No problem,” she said.

  He finished the call and jumped back to the first, vaguely aware that Tina was hovering in the background still. Michael let his eyes drift back toward her. She was young, maybe twenty-two or -three. She had long blond hair and large blue-violet eyes, as well as a small, pert pair of tits and coltish legs that rose up toward a skirt that hovered on the knee. Tina was an all-American beauty. Where was she from? He thought maybe the Bronx, Williamsbridge perhaps. Michael’s eye roved to her skirt. It was pencil-line tight on her slender form. He didn’t see any panty line. He thought she might be wearing a thong. A cute babe, for sure.

  He hung up. “You want something, Tina? It’s been a busy day.”

  “Oh, I know.” She twisted her hands nervously. Michael smiled to put her at her ease. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Cicero.”

  “No bother. Anything I can help you with?”

  “Actually it’s kind of more personal.” She blushed deeply. “I hope you don’t think me too forward but I wanted to ask you out. To dinner tomorrow.”

  “What?” Michael said, sputtering. It was so artless. He was used to girls hitting on him, but—

  “You’re laughing at me.” She looked forlorn. “I’m sorry. I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “No. I’m not.” He said it hastily. She was cute, and why the hell should he sit at home pining after Diana?

  “You’ll actually consider it?” Tina beamed.

  “I’ll do more than that.” Michael thought about those long legs wrapped around his waist. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “I’m really sorry, you guys.”

  Toby Roberts looked at Michael and Diana and started to shift a little on his feet, like a kid caught smoking pot by the principal.

  “I wanted to stay. I really dug it here. We had a blast. But these guys have, like, offered me—”

  Diana glanced at Michael. Toby was the latest of their top talent to desert them for Education Station. The IPO had crashed, they had to move the company out of the West Fourth Street house to a far smaller, regular office on Eighth Avenue and Thirtieth, and there was no way they could compete with Foxton’s offers. Cars, paid vacations and huge salaries were all being dangled in front of Imperial’s best programmers.

  Toby was among the last to succumb. Michael looked resigned to it. He’d told Diana that morning he was grateful Toby had stuck it out as long as he had.

  “I know what they offered you,” Michael told him. “You’d be nuts not to take it.”

  Toby still looked embarrassed. “Man, my girl wants to get married and shit—”

  “That’s great. You take the job. I would do exactly the same thing.”

  “OK.” Toby offered each of them a solemn, rather grubby hand. “I hope you guys are going to be all right.”

  He looked around at the small, cramped office space, the rented fax machines and dwindling bank of phones, and his tone came out more doubtful than he had intended.

  “We’ll be fine,” Michael said in a tone of calm certainty. Toby wondered how the guy could do that. He said it like it was just a fact, like nothing had happened. “You take care. Stay in touch.”

  “Definitely,” Toby promised, blushing again and sidling out.

  He felt like a fucking snake. But a hundred thousand a year and a Mercedes? What was he supposed to do? It was clearly the right way to go. Mike said so. But he hated leaving him. He was the kind of boss you’d follow into battle.

  Diana Verity was sticking with him, Toby reflected as he waved for a cab. Strange, that. The lady was so high maintenance. Who knew how long Michael Cicero would be able to afford her?

  Of course, Michael had some out-of-office consolation. That Tina Armis. Man, she was some piece of ass.

  *

  Michael closed the door on Toby and looked at Diana.

  “Come on. We’ll go to my office and review.”

  “Sounds good,” Diana said, determined to remain upbeat. The company was like a sinking ship, complete with rats abandoning it from every porthole, but she had decided—she wasn’t even sure when—to stick with it. It felt like her own thing. And if Michael was going down, she was going down with him.

  Elspeth had offered to find her another job. “Interior decor, darling,” she suggested. “Your old offices were so stylish. I know plenty of wonderful ladies who would love to take you on. You could start with Brad’s townhouse. Goodness knows what the fee on that would be.” Elspeth’s painted, wrinkled mouth smiled emphatically. “He has no budget limit, you see.”

  But Diana had gently refused. Maybe it was her encounter with Jodie Goodfriend; she wanted New York to understand that her job, her company, was serious.

  There had to be a way back.

  Michael led her thr
ough the front office, where their salespeople were desperately trying to reassure distributors about packaging dates for the new line, to his small private room in the back. Tina Armis had her own little desk just in front of it. She stood up as Diana approached. Diana looked her over. Since she had started dating Michael she had made a big deal of it, Diana thought, annoyed. The girl was barely out of diapers. Glossy long hair, a very unnatural shade of pure platinum, flowed down her back. She wore a business suit, Diana saw, a real short one that let her display long, lean legs in flat shoes—she was so tall she could afford to do that—and probably little else. There were no lines whatever under that suit. Diana imagined her ducking into Michael’s office and flashing him, letting him pull up her skirt and force her over the desk, just the way he used to do to her. Tina was welcome to him, Diana thought fiercely. With her brows plucked so thin she needed make-up to restore them, and her lips lined with a darker color than her lipstick to make them look plumper, not to mention those nails that were far too long …

  “Good morning, Mr. Cicero,” she said.

  Good morning, Mr. Cicero, Diana mocked in her head. She was just like Marilyn Monroe addressing JFK, all breathy and thrusting forward those unimpressive tits. Tina was thin, too. Far thinner than Diana would ever be. Diana reminded herself that she liked her body. She wasn’t going to get caught up in the skinny blond thing, which Michael had evidently had the bad taste to do.

  “And good morning, Miss Verity,” she added resentfully.

  Diana gave her a brisk smile. The younger woman was eyeing her like she was some kind of threat. Why she thought every woman in the world would be after Michael Cicero was beyond Diana. Don’t you read the gossip columns? Diana thought, nodding at Miss Pert Tits. Don’t you know I’m dating the last single millionaire in Manhattan?

  “Good morning, Tina,” she replied. “Could you fetch me a coffee? Decaffeinated. You want anything, Michael?”

  “Not right now.” Michael opened his office door and went in, oblivious to the undercurrent of hostility outside. Diana noted that Tina flounced off to get her coffee. She was one of those women who loved to dance attendance on men but hated having to fetch anything for another female. Diana knew the type; the air hostess who takes twenty minutes to respond to a woman’s buzzer and five seconds to reach the man who calls her.

  She also thought Tina was a gossip. Decaf coffee had to be brewed from scratch. If Michael and she were going to talk about the dire state of Imperial, Diana would rather it wasn’t all around what programmers they had left in the next five minutes.

  “Shut the door,” Michael said.

  Diana slid herself into one of the simple, functional chairs they had bought from Staples. Nothing fancy here anymore. In fact the fanciest thing in the place was probably his director, Michael thought, trying not to look at her legs. Thankfully he had Tina. He let his mind drift back over their session this morning … she loved to wake him up by giving him head, sliding her thin but eager lips over his cock, her fingertips trailing across his balls. Michael loved to fuck in the mornings and Tina could do unbelievable things with those long legs. He liked to put her on her back on the bed and stand in front of her, her slim ankles locked around his neck while he fucked her, letting his cock slide in deep enough just to stroke the G-spot and give her a shuddering orgasm. Tina was undemanding. Not smart, but adoring. She didn’t give him any lip, she liked sex, and then to sit around watching TV. Michael was grateful she’d been there. His stress was instantly relieved, in the bedroom. He told himself he hardly ever thought about Diana anymore. If he chanced to come across a picture of that rich-ass boy scout in the papers, he simply flipped the page and didn’t let it bother him.

  “Things aren’t good.” He pulled his mind back from the subject of Brad before he got really enraged. “We’ve lost Toby, Sarah, Jack and Felix to that fucker your ex-husband.”

  “And your ex-partner,” Diana shot back. “We were both guilty of a misjudgment.”

  He held up his hands. “Agreed. In my view this is deliberate. Not just that they happened to get into the education-software business, but that he has a vendetta. He wants to crush me. Maybe you, as well.”

  “With what they’re paying our people … on our old profit margins, it would eat up most of them,” Diana said slowly.

  “Right. It’s not profit that’s his motive. It’s revenge.”

  Diana felt a flash of anger. “He wants to ruin us?”

  “Looks that way. Let’s consider where we are. We have the new range, the Gecko Math and Science games. All completed before our guys got tempted away. We have some marketing men left. Harry Venture for one. And we also have key talent who refused to walk out. Ernie offered Opie the moon, but he refused to leave.” Michael gave her a rueful grin. “He’s pretty loyal, for an ex-slacker. Our best code writers are still here. We can build on that.”

  “Yeah, but the fact is,” Diana said, “that our distributors are worried and word on the street is we might close down. That means less racking-out in the stores.…”

  “And that’s what we need to counter. The fact is, right now we don’t need our programmers. Not right away.” Michael shot from his chair and started to pace. He looked like a leopard, a jaguar. Feral. Suddenly she almost felt sorry for Ernie. “We actually have product ready to go. We can package it, sell it and use the profit to wipe out the bank debt.”

  “I can talk to the banks,” Diana agreed.

  “Right. That keeps us afloat and buys us time. Meanwhile you look for new code writers. There must be some out there that are untapped. And we wait for Ernie to fuck up. The fact is, he’s going to.”

  “How do you know that?” Diana asked.

  Michael looked at her, and she had the impression he was looking straight through her, into the future. He was focused like a laser beam.

  “Because he doesn’t understand children,” Michael said. “He doesn’t care. He just wants money. It’s why the new Green Eggs line of books was such a bomb.”

  “It was a bomb?” Diana repeated, surprised. “How do you even know that? We’re not in the publishing business anymore.”

  “I keep tabs on him,” Michael said, and his voice was cold. “Know your enemy. Now, you go out there and rally the marketing guys and go tap-dance for the banks. I’ll handle the distributors. We’ll take it slow, and we’ll get through this.”

  *

  Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. The golden, sunny fall in Manhattan deepened and hardened into winter. Diana bought warm clothes and went dancing with Brad, but Imperial occupied all her time. Little by little, under Michael’s leadership, they clawed their way back from the brink. The Gecko games were another small success. Suddenly they could pay their bills.

  Diana scouted for code-writing talent, but she looked in different places this time. Hackers with criminal records, designers of board games, females who were locked out of the computer boys’ club, all came on board. Michael didn’t care. He said they were in the second-chance business. “These guys get one and it means we get one,” he said.

  By the time December blasted down across the skyscrapers, a third line was in production. Imperial was back.

  *

  “What are you doing Friday night?”

  Diana looked up from her screen to see Michael standing over her with a pair of tickets in his hand. She lifted a brow. “Asking me out on a date?”

  “Since I’m dating Tina, I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” he said easily.

  Diana looked across the room at Tina. Since the weather had turned bitter, she no longer skipped around the office in her itsy-bitsy skirts, but she still managed to be fully clothed and looked like she was wearing next to nothing. Today she wore a pair of thin, black leather pants that hugged her flat stomach and tiny butt, and a matching silky jersey top with a plunging neckline, about as daring as Michael’s dress code would let her go. Diana couldn’t stand Tina, which meant that she had to make an extra
effort to be nice to her. It was annoying.

  “Not for Tina, anyway,” she muttered.

  Michael said, impassively, “And you’re still seeing Brad?”

  “Of course. You know I’m still seeing Brad,” Diana snapped.

  “Not really. I’m not that interested in your private life. I guess that means he’s flying you somewhere in his personal jet on Friday?”

  Diana bristled. “We have plans. We were going shopping.”

  “So he can pick you up a million-dollar trinket at Tiffany’s,” Michael sneered. “I understand. Forget I mentioned it.”

  Diana chewed on her lip. The goddamn guy was as insufferable as ever. “Wait! Michael. What is it? I can cancel.”

  “It’s the New York Public Library Benefit Dinner.” Michael tossed her a ticket. “Publishing’s biggest event this season. I’ve taken a table. If Ernie Foxton comes after me on my territory, I’m going to come after him on his.”

  *

  Diana dressed with more care than usual. She wanted to look good, but not too good. It wouldn’t do for that arrogant man to think she was chasing him. This was an important evening for the firm, she told herself. A statement of intent. That was what counted.

  “I think that’s the one,” she said. She held up the plainest dress in her wardrobe, a silk jersey knit with a square neckline in gun-metal gray. “What do you think? I could wear my Paul Smith flats…”

  “Right, and why not add a pair of granny spectacles to complete the look?” Claire said sarcastically. “You act like you’re afraid of something.”

  “Of course I’m not. I just don’t think I should overdo it,” Diana protested.

  Her friend looked at her quizzically. “This from the girl who wore a golden-mesh chain mail Versace number to the Fire and Ice Ball last month?”

  “So? I was being fiery.”

  “The fact that Felicity Metson and Jodie Goodfriend were there had nothing to do with it, right?”

  “Sometimes I do like to dress up.”

  “You could say that. You know you’re driving poor Brad crazy. He feels like he can look at you but not touch.”