by Ashlee Price
Flynn’s pretty upset at me, and he’s not far off. He could have followed me down here, be stalking me, ready to take his revenge.
I walked faster yet. What sounded like a dull thunk grabbed my attention. It had been close, maybe too close. But another look around revealed nothing and nobody except a frightened woman in a parking garage. I turned and walked on at an even brisker clip.
That artist Hellacious P. looked like he wanted to kill me too, and it wouldn’t be hard for him to find my name after he saw me with Langdon. A few phone calls could connect the dots. And I’m a much softer target than Langdon is. Killing me would be a good way to get back at him for destroying something precious and fragile.
I pulled my lips tight over my teeth. Bring it on, Hal, I silently challenged him, I’m not as precious or fragile as your piece-of-shit sculpture.
But I knew Hellacious P. wasn’t the last one on the list, and that some of the others would come at me with a lot more muscle. That frat jerk from the airport? That murderous Lisa Ling? I was suddenly struck with the realization that I’d never followed up with John about her, about whether she was still in custody. He’d been so insistent that it not be discussed, so secretive about where he was disappearing to during the days—and with whom—that I hadn’t thought to push the issue.
But if she’s out there, she could definitely be on the warpath, and she’d know just where to find me. And then there’s Margaret Alister herself, with enough money to hire any number of thugs to come down on me at just about any time.
A cat screeched behind me. I stopped and spun around in a flash, once again seeing nothing out of the ordinary. My heart was racing in my chest. I took a long, slow look around the garage before turning to run the last few yards to the town car.
I approached the driver’s door with the keys already in my fist, peering into the backseat just in case. Seeing that it was empty, I tried to put the key into the lock, but I was so nervous that the keychain fell out of my hand. I bent down to pick it up, glancing around as I managed to shove the car key into the lock and pull the car door open.
Only once I closed and locked the door did I feel more at ease. I took a few deep breaths and collected myself before turning the engine over.
It didn’t make me feel any better knowing that another parking lot just like this was waiting for me back in Brooklyn—if I was lucky enough to find a spot.
***
My folks leaned into their laptop, always looking at the screen and never into the camera at the top of the monitor. I kept telling them not to, but whenever we Skyped I always felt like they were talking to my belly button. My dad opened up with, “Lookin’ good, honey!” Aging with a friendly smile and graying brown hair, he always looked to me like Oregon in the autumn.
“Patrick, please.” My mother rolled her eyes. I had inherited her blonde hair and blue eyes—and, I was beginning to realize, just a bit of her temper as well. “How’s your holiday season this year, dear?”
I didn’t even want to get into it, but of course I wasn’t going to lie to my parents either. The truth was an easy enough fix. “Busy as usual. How are you both? What’s happening in Eugene?”
“We’re fine,” my dad said, turning to my mom. “Erin, why don’t you tell her what happened at the store yesterday?”
My mom explained to my belly button, “I bumped into Carla Scratner down at the Holt Center, and she said that her boy Matthew had been asking about you lately, wondering if you were going to stay in New York.”
Matt Scratner, I thought to myself.
“He’s as handsome as ever,” my mom added.
My father leaned in toward the laptop monitor. “Father still owns the A-Boy downtown. I know Matty’s going to be taking over soon.”
“It’s not glamorous,” my mom said, “but it’s very stable. And at least you wouldn’t be plagued by rats the size of beagle dogs, for heaven’s sake.”
“Mom, it’s not that bad here, really.”
“And what makes you think it’s so bad here?”
It was something I could never really explain to my parents—my need to strike out on my own, to make something of my life, to get the most out of my time on Earth and leave my mark, not just live and die in some dreary college town the way they were content to do.
Not knowing how to say that without insulting them always made me hold my tongue. And I really didn’t want to go into the details of my tryst with Langdon. Lord knows what they’d make of that!
So I said simply, “I’m sure Matty will find himself a great girl there in Eugene.” I actually wasn’t sure of it, but I was sure that I was never going to be Mrs. Matty Scratner.
My father shrugged. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed.”
“Are you sure, dear? Men like Matt Scratner don’t come around like buses, y’know… or subway cars.” I forced a smile, and my mother went on. “We know you had big dreams about New York, and you know we only want for you to be happy. But… painful as it is to say, more often than not in this world, dear, dreams like that just don’t come true.”
Chapter 8
I didn’t love to hear my parents talk that way, but I suppose it was getting harder to doubt it. Even the tantalizing idea of Langdon Cane, and what a future with him might hold, only made me dread the ultimate disappointment that was almost certain to come.
A knock at the door distracted me, and I stepped out of my bedroom to see Ricardo already at the front door with our baseball bat in his hands. In a low, barking voice nothing like his own, as intimidating as he could be, Ricardo shouted, “Who is it?”
A voice I could barely hear muttered something. Ricardo glanced at me as he secured the chain lock and slowly pulled the door open. “Who are you?”
“Sherman Mathers,” the man said, sticking a picture ID and metal badge into the space of the opened door. “Federal Trade Commission. I’m looking for a Miss Sheryl Francis, please?”
Ricardo turned to look at me, eyes wide and frightened. My stomach felt the same way he looked. But I had no choice, so I sighed and nodded. Ricardo closed the door, released the chain lock, and stepped back as the door drifted open in front of him.
When he stepped into our apartment, I recognized his shaved head and milk chocolate complexion immediately. He looked around our little apartment as if assessing everything, taking mental notes to use against me later—and probably only a few minutes later, at that.
I said, “I’m Sheryl Francis. What can I do for you?”
“Sherman Mathers, Miss Francis—”
“Yes, the Federal Trade Commission, so you said. What business do you have with me?”
“That would be federal business, Miss Francis. I’m lookin’ into the business practices of your boss, John Alister of Alister Fashions.”
“Yes, I know who he is.” Ricardo looked at me, impressed, and I had to admit I felt as if I was swelling with some new strength, a new willingness to fight. I wasn’t sure if it was Langdon’s influence or just my own coming of age, but I didn’t want to be intimidated by this man or anyone, in government or high fashion or in any other grim and grimy business.
Sherman said, “Then perhaps you know a little more about some of these shell companies?”
I shook my head. “I’m only his personal assistant, Mr. Mathers. I do his personal errands.”
“You don’t sit in on any of these meetings?” I had to hesitate, knowing he could have bugged the offices and be hoping to catch me in a lie. I wasn’t sure if that was ethical or even honest, but John’s warning from the conference room rang in the back of my head and I knew I had to proceed with caution. I may have been unsure about whom to trust, but I was pretty sure this man didn’t have my interests at heart.
So I said steadily, “I don’t understand much of what’s said at the meetings I do wind up in.”
“Really,” he said with a little smile. “You don’t strike me as the dumb blonde type.”
�
��Even so, these are some of the sharpest minds in the world. And I’d been hoping for a career in fashion design, Mr. Mathers, not business.”
“I see. And how’s that going? Career advancing as much as you’d like?”
“S’not bad,” I said.
“Oh come on, Miss Francis, you’re meant for better things than this. Don’t let that man keep you under his thumb anymore! Don’t let him and the others like him go on abusing the system, getting away with paying nothing while other people are robbed blind of every penny they manage to earn. Shutting out the little businessman, creating monopolies, hiding their money in offshore banks, manipulating the stock market, changing the tax laws. That’s not you, Sheryl, that’s not the person you are. I can tell that you’re a decent, honest, hard-working person. You want to do the right thing, Sheryl, I know you do.”
“I’d tell you anything I thought might help.”
“Just tell me whatever you know. I’ll decide what might help.”
I blinked slowly, feeling I’d already answered his question. Apparently coming to the same realization, he turned to pace slowly around the little apartment. “You’ve been entertaining Langdon Cane, from Australia. Are he and your boss planning some joint venture? That’s the gossip on Wall Street.”
“If John Alister wanted to make an announcement about anything like that, I’m sure he would.”
“But what if he didn’t want anybody to know? Then he wouldn’t make an announcement, would he?” I just shook my head and shrugged. He went on, “What about Cane, what have you got on him?”
“What have I—? First of all, I’m not your spy. I don’t even know you! Second of all, I think you better leave my apartment before I lodge a complaint of harassment for showing up here like this!”
“That’s how you want to play it, that’s fine with me. But I feel like I should warn you that if you were in any meetings where violations or other illegal matters were being discussed, you’re going to be legally culpable, regardless of how much or how little you understood about what you heard.” He turned to Ricardo, who was standing there shocked. “And if she’s conveyed anything to you—”
But Ricardo just hit him with a stream of Spanish before turning and running into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
I said, “Just leave.”
“They’ve got millions of dollars for legal fees, Miss Francis.” He glanced around the little apartment again. “I’m guessing you’ve got… less.”
“Go before I scream rape.”
“Okay, Miss Francis, no need to be uncivil.” He smiled, nodded, and walked quietly across the apartment. “If you change your mind, or come across any new information—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“I think you’ll find that the wisest choice, Miss Francis.” With that, he was gone. All I could do was close the door, lock it, and slide down to sit on the living room floor, head leaning against the door.
As soon as I could pull myself together, I grabbed my phone to call John Alister, but I hesitated, my finger hovering over the screen. Ricardo stepped out of his bedroom and I asked him, “What should I do? If I call John and tell him, will that be a crime somehow? Is that me being complicit in some way? He’s right, John’s got all the money in the world for legal fees, Langdon too. What have I got?”
Ricardo could only shrug.
“But if I don’t tell John and he finds out, that’ll be it for me, out the door. My name’ll be shit all over the industry, even if I don’t spend the rest of my life behind bars.”
“Why don’t you call your man first? You should call him anyway, and he may have some good advice.”
“Ricardo, you’re a genius.”
“That’s what I keep telling everyone.”
The phone rang once and Langdon answered quickly. “Just can’t stay away from me, can ya?”
That was true, but it wasn’t why I was calling.
“Langdon, I just got a visit… in my apartment… from the Federal Trade Commission.”
After a nervous silence, he said, “That so? Y’get a name?”
“Mathers, Sherman Mathers. He’s got a hard-on for John, I think. But I’m a little worried that maybe John’s setting you up to take a fall and get the heat off him for whatever he’s done.”
A little silence passed which did nothing to quell my nervousness. But Langdon finally said, “I looked into it before I came out here, luv. Alister’s not as crooked as a person might guess just to look at him. Never skip the due diligence, Sheryl.”
“Well, that’s great, but… he’s coming after you too, this Mathers guy. And he seems to know something about John’s offer.”
“Okay, take it easy. I know what you’re getting at. Let’s get together, talk in person.”
“What about John? I should call him.”
“Absolutely do, no reason to lie to him either. J.A.’s a likely man, more’n capable. He’ll know how to handle it.”
“But Langdon… that’s what I’m afraid of.”
I followed Langdon’s advice and my own best judgment and called the bossman himself, John Alister. He was very calm about everything, having known that somebody on our team was going to be approached. He even reasoned that he shouldn’t be surprised it was me. I was close to him as his personal assistant, and I was a young woman, fairly petite, an easy mark in the eyes of most men; a lesser creature, low-hanging fruit.
In the end, John told me the same thing Langdon did: remain calm and say nothing and report back if the man returned, things of that sort. I have to admit that I felt a lot better after talking to John. Not that he had any more gravitas or wisdom than Langdon Cane, though he was older by about fifteen years. But John was my boss, and I knew I was more directly connected to him and anything he’d done. If he were panicking, that would give me reason to panic.
Of course, I had to tell myself, that’s all the more reason he would pretend to be calm, to lure me into a false sense of security before throwing me under the bus!
I leaned back and sighed, the smartphone still in my hand. No, I urged myself, don’t do this, don’t let yourself get carried away by all this. It’s probably all in your mind!
I had to smile when I realized my inner voice probably had it right.
Being stalked through the subterranean parking lot at the A.F. building? Paranoid delusions. Thinking Langdon Cane was ultimately going to settle for some townie from Eugene, Oregon? Pie in the sky! Imagining John Alister is scheming to overthrow his greatest rival and relying on his dupe of a personal assistant to make sure it gets done? Yeah, right! That’s not John Alister, that’s not the kind of man he is. He doesn’t leave things to chance, he doesn’t take risks.
Or does he? And there could yet be some truth to Langdon’s feelings after all…
Ricardo walked up to the couch and stood with his hands on his hips. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are they coming for us or not?”
I broke into a relieved smile. “Neither John nor Langdon seems very worried about it, so I guess we shouldn’t be either.”
Ricardo spat out a hiss or relief, waving his hands in front of his face and shaking his head. “Girlfriend, that kind of excitement, I do not need!”
“I hear you, Ricardo, loud and clear.”
We sat in the quiet of the moment, relief puncturing the tension in our little apartment. Ricardo looked over at me, eyes glancing up and down at my wrinkled, tired business attire. “You still goin’ out on that big date?”
I didn’t have to give it much thought. “I’m pretty sure.”
“Then you can’t be sitting there looking like that!”
I had a few things, and Ricardo had a few more, but ultimately we had to go down to his friend’s photo studio, where they had racks and racks of model-ready clothes in various smaller sizes. I felt like some kind of fashion model myself, though more along the lines of a Cinderella version, townie-girl-turned-princess, wearing the m
ost fabulous gowns in the world. The Stella McCartney cocktail dress made me look very sexy and sophisticated, hugging my curves, the spaghetti straps revealing my shoulders and cleavage. The Vera Wang full-length strapless made me feel like a starlet from the nineteen-twenties.
But ultimately Ricardo and I agreed that a backless blue silk dress would look just perfect with my hair piled up and ringlets dangling over the sides. Ricardo and I were having so much fun, and it’d been so long since I’d just indulged in something frivolous and fashionable.
Anyway, I tried to silently justify it, I’m in fashion; shouldn’t I eventually be in some actual fashion? How often do I ever try on the things people design the way a model would? This is research, that’s what it is!
But something else kept creeping into the back of my mind, and Ricardo could tell. “What’s wrong, Sher?”
“Well, it’s… there’s nothing wrong, exactly, but… these outfits… I’m really grateful, Ricardo, don’t get me wrong, I mean, they’re amazing, and you’re amazing…” Ricardo just rolled his eyes. “I’m just not sure Langdon’s gonna go for the fancy thing. He’s a down-home kinda guy, y’know? Rustic, natural, honest. I think that’s what he likes about me.”
Ricardo shook his head. “Honey, I’ll bet there are all kinds of things he likes about you. Do you think being stunning is gonna be a turn-off?”
I said, “C’mere,” and led Ricardo to my laptop, which happened to have the internet already pulled up and turned on. I clicked the keys a few times, pulling up a video on YouTube. It was a series of clips with Langdon in various adventurous surroundings: eating bugs with some tribe in Africa, climbing a snowy mountain in the Himalayas, in a celebrity boxing match against Virgin’s Richard Branson.
A narrator’s brassy young voice rang over the clips. “From the windswept peaks of the Himalayas to the depths of the Marianas Trench, the CEO his colleagues call the Australian Widman has seen and done it all.”
More clips included Langdon chopping trees with lumberjacks in the Great Northwest and working the high steel on Australia’s famous Sydney Harbor Bridge, orange hardhat failing to stop the strong breezes from toying with his flowing brown hair.
