‘Who gives a fuck what he wants?’
‘I do. I’m his lawyer. I am, however, willing to give you some free advice, Mr Johnson.’
Edward heard the suppressed laughter, the mocking tone in his voice. Red rage surged up in him, a bilious taste in his mouth. He wanted to curse but found himself gasping for breath, unable to speak. He’d given these fuckers a hundred grand and they’d screwed him over. Just like that, man. Just like Dina Kane.
‘I will take silence as consent. Very well, then: at present, nobody knows you were good enough to pay Dr Green’s legal costs. He is heading back to Europe before questions can be asked. If I were you, Mr Johnson, I would want to keep very quiet about my role in this. Whatever your relationship with Dina Kane.’
‘I don’t care what they think,’ Edward lied.
‘Everybody cares what Joel Gaines thinks. He does not have a forgiving reputation. Now he’s a player in this, speaking for myself, I would get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.’
Edward felt sick. ‘How much?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘How much did she get? For her share?’
‘Not as much as Dr Green, but it came encumbered with a possible lawsuit.’
‘Give me the number, not the fucking footnotes.’
‘Half a million dollars, I believe. A fair price, but not a spectacular one.’
Half a million.
In a year, that whore had gone from coffee waitress to businesswoman. She could pay back her loans, sell another apartment. In his world, here in Manhattan, a half mil only got you to first base. But Dina had made that base in record time. This would be a seed – seed money for something bigger, something better.
A nightmarish vision swam before him: Dina Kane, a big success, famous, rich. Maybe owning a better house than his mother’s. Maybe even moving past him, in the fast lane. Laughing at him. Ruining his life.
It could happen now. She was playing, doing it deliberately to spite him.
Unless he did something to stop it.
Edward forced himself to be calm, to show control.
‘Good advice. Thank you. It feels so unfair, to know that she cheated Dr Green, the way she blackmailed my father. He was gulled into taking less because of her.’
‘Yes. Well.’ The lawyer was discomfited. ‘I can certainly understand that perspective, Mr Johnson.’
‘Destroy all records of our correspondence, then. I will cease to pay your bills as of now. Dr Green should understand that.’
‘His flight to Austria leaves next week. So this whole matter is at a rest.’
The hell it is.
‘Goodbye, Mr Shaman.’
Edward Johnson hung up, put his head in his hands and thought of Dina Kane. His body shivered with pure hatred.
There was a knock on the door. His secretary entered with his coffee in a plain china mug.
‘I’ll just get your croissants,’ she said. ‘Shall I call anybody at the broker’s?’
He looked at her with loathing. Stupid bitch. Like she couldn’t see his stress. He didn’t want coffee; he wanted pussy. Better, he wanted some girl to kneel and give head; no talking, no nothing. Most of all, he wanted a snort or a drink, but that’s where the Kane slut had driven his mother.
Better to find a couple of hookers. Or a sex club, one of the fancier ones, with masks and screwed-up girls who liked to be beaten. He could get into that. Every blow would be for Dina, every thrust for Dina . . .
He was getting hard, feeling sick. He shook his head.
‘Forget the croissants. I have an urgent investment meeting outside. I may not be back today. Cancel lunch.’
‘OK, sure,’ his assistant said, but Edward had already brushed past her to the door.
‘Payment in advance. In full. That’s the policy.’
‘Of course,’ Dina said. She was just so glad that they had space. Johnny had cried the whole drive up, mewled like a cat in the back of the hire car. Twice, the driver had had to pull over so Johnny could vomit.
‘Sixty thousand for a month’s stay. Special interventions may be more – any hospitalisations, operations. We don’t take medical insurance, but we can give you a letter for reimbursement.’
Yeah, that’s likely. Dina nodded in the quiet, plush lobby of the facility, built like a giant wooden lodge, a luxury ski chalet. The difference was the uniformed nurses, and the occasional shouts and cries from within, far away, like somebody being tortured down the hallway. Her dark head lifted nervously.
‘Heroin withdrawal is very difficult. Methamphetamine is worse.’
‘I understand.’
‘Everybody is here voluntarily. The therapists’ time is booked in advance – that’s why we take payment in full.’ The receptionist allowed a hint of a smile to show through. Gallows humour. ‘Sometimes the money is the only thing that stops them walking out. You’d be surprised – even addicts don’t want to blow tens of thousands.’
‘It makes sense.’
‘Your brother may well need additional treatment. Please sign here for the amount you are prepared to pay.’
Dina wrote down two hundred thousand. Easy come, easy go, she thought. Johnny was all the family she had in the world.
‘Can I visit him?’
‘We don’t allow it during treatment, unless it’s exceptional circumstances. Patients have to progress. Mr Kane may need hospitalisation, intravenous nutrition, physical therapy . . .’
She couldn’t argue. Johnny was a skeleton.
‘Just take care of him,’ Dina said. She signed her name and left.
The next two weeks were amongst the busiest of her life.
After Johnny, there was little money left. She paid the taxes, set aside the cash for his treatment, and renovated her apartment the way she always wanted. The city clerks, the building board and the painters didn’t know what had hit them.
‘Which architectural firm are you with?’ asked the clerk in the permit office, looking at Dina’s beautifully printed plans.
‘Kane and Kane,’ she said, smiling.
‘That’s not the right paint colour. We ordered ecru, not eggshell.’
‘Hang the door exactly on those hinges – you don’t want to lose a millimetre of space.’
‘Make sure the glass is treated against reflection – it lets far more light in.’
‘Jesus, honey, you’re a real hard case. The owner knew what she was doing hiring you.’
Dina smiled and said nothing.
Within a month, her plain, dull apartment was transformed. The kitchen wall was ripped out and the cramped living room combined into the space to form one large living area with a small, chic kitchen alcove. She compensated for the lack of space with luxury: a small counter-top, but Italian marble; a compact fridge-freezer, but SubZero; a microwave, high in the wall; a built-in Viking oven and small range. Every cupboard and shelf was maximised for space. The tiny den was sacrificed, and Dina created a huge single bedroom with a walk-in closet, beautifully laid out with shoe racks, shelves and dress hangers, mirrored walls and overhead lighting. In the loft-like living area, Dina mounted a huge flat-screen TV above her newly installed, remote-controlled gas fire, which produced dancing flames, just like the real thing. The small bathroom was a problem, but Dina ripped out the shower and created a medium-sized wet room, with a stone bench and a steam-free mirror, to make it look larger.
Then she called her realtor.
‘You can’t be finished already. If you want a higher price point, you need serious upgrades.’
‘It’s done. Come and see.’
‘I can’t be in for an assessment until Friday,’ said Laurel Sloane.
‘That’s fine. I’ll find another realtor.’
Sloane swallowed hard. This girl was unbelievable. ‘You know, let me check my diary . . . something might have opened up earlier . . .’
‘My window is two p.m. today.’
Laurel surrendered. ‘Two p.m. That’s fine. I appreciate
your business, Ms Kane.’
When she walked into the apartment, hours later, the lie became the truth. Laurel Sloane was open-mouthed. She had never witnessed such a job, so fast. The cramped one-bedroom-plus-den standard unit was now a luxurious loft, packed with boys’ toys, playing up its spectacular view.
‘My God.’ She didn’t attempt to conceal her surprise. ‘It’s like a James Bond movie.’
The younger woman nodded, and Laurel took another look at her. She was quite something in her tight riding pants, knee-high flat boots and luxurious boyfriend sweater. The hair was twisted into a French plait and her make-up was delicately done in pinks and neutrals; you never saw a twenty-something so polished.
‘This apartment is a reasonable size for two, but big for a one-bedroom. Plus, it’s near the UN; you want to market it to a diplomat or a staffer. They have large budgets, and they want the best.’
‘The best is Fifth Avenue.’
‘Right, but now, for a lot less, they come here, get all the bells and whistles, and walk a block to work. No subway. It’ll sell.’
It sure would. Laurel Sloane put aside her jealousy. This girl was a natural. She had zeroed in on the buyer perfectly. If she stuck with her, Dina Kane could make her tens of thousands, maybe more, in commissions. It was all about the deal.
‘How much do you want for it?’
‘One and a half million,’ Dina Kane said.
That would mean it had doubled its value in six months.
Laurel didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes, ma’am. No problem.’
Dina was home, trying to relax. Until it sold, this was her place now. Johnny was in rehab. Hector had gone. The last of the workmen had departed. She had some money, not much, and things were expensive here.
I’ve been pushing myself too hard, she thought, pouring out a large glass of fresh pomegranate juice. I need security. A home. I need to stop.
Joel Gaines drifted into her mind. The way he looked her over, his dark eyes assessing her – so different from the boys, those immature, mocking youths her own age.
He’s married. Get over it. Stop.
I need a more normal life, Dina thought. A normal life, period. It’s not like I’ve ever had one.
Ellen – barely a mother. No father. No love. Her talent stifled.
The teenage girl appealing to the Mafia don.
Her escape to the city. Working round the clock. Trying to change her life. And then Edward Johnson taking her virginity, her self-respect – mocking her like it was a game.
Shelby Johnson – hypocrite and letch. Her anger had been enough to get her into his bed. Anything to confront that rich, powerful, selfish family that she hated so much.
Hector Green – success, opportunity . . . then another man she’d trusted turning against her.
And nobody in her life – nobody since Edward. No wonder you’re getting a crush. A stupid, infantile crush. If you don’t stop pushing yourself, you’ll crack up . . .
Dina tried to be logical. There must be guys out there, guys her own age, marriage material, guys who weren’t Edward Johnson. She needed to date, find a nice guy, get married, have some kids. Make that real family her momma had denied her.
People do that, she thought. They meet at college – or socially.
Only Dina Kane had no social life.
Then there’s the job . . .
The obvious thought occurred to her, out of the blue: it was time to give up on the dream of being some kind of mogul. If this apartment sold, she could be comfortable. Time to get an enjoyable job, one she’d be good at, but where she could leave work at five p.m., make friends, have a life. Have a chance to meet guys. Catch up on her sleep.
Slowly, as she sipped, Dina thought it through.
Hector hadn’t sued – Joel Gaines changed all that. So all that really happened was she’d sold her half of Meadow. The companies who’d been buying it all knew her. Her reputation was good.
Dina loved beauty. But, right now, the only person that appreciated it was herself. She wanted to run a boutique, to run it successfully – but for somebody else, for a big salary. Maybe she’d have to work her way up, but Meadow’s success should get her through the door. Meadow was her reference, her college degree. The University of Gorgeous.
Dina laughed to herself. Saks, Glamour, Bloomingdales . . . She’d go to work in one of these places, and she’d show the store what the beauty business was all about. And after the job, she’d pick up a lover. And stop thinking about Joel Gaines.
Definitely stop thinking about him . . .
The punching bag reeled from the force of the blow.
‘Man!’ Shamek Ahmed, his trainer, stumbled back a little. ‘That’s good. That’s real good. Something got into you?’
Joel Gaines was stripped to the waist. Beads of sweat dewed the muscles of his back and legs. Outside the walls of his office, the sun was low in the sky as it rose.
New York City was just waking up. Gaines had been working for nearly an hour.
Shamek liked Joel better than most of his celebrity clients. They said he was a son of a bitch, and he didn’t tolerate lateness. Or softness. But he worked himself harder than he worked the staff. By seven thirty a.m., this workout would be done and he would have showered and changed into one of those limey-cut suits and be kicking Wall Street ass.
‘Nah.’ Another flurry of blows – like the punchbag insulted his mother. ‘Same old shit, different day.’
‘I hear ya,’ Shamek said. He didn’t do Yes, sir and Gaines didn’t ask him to. When you bellowed at guys all day long, deference didn’t come natural.
For the last month, Joel Gaines had been coming to the city earlier. Working harder – much harder. There was a gym set up in one corner of this cavernous office, better than many professional places Shamek worked. And it wasn’t just for show, either. Gaines went for it. This morning he had piled on the weights, grunting, pushing, hefting everything up; thirty minutes fast on the treadmill – six, seven miles an hour; a hundred push ups; working the barbells, now the bag. He was like a man ten, fifteen years younger. Or like somebody very angry, very frustrated.
None of Shamek’s business. He admired the dorsal muscles in Gaines’ back, knotting, releasing.
His timer buzzed. ‘OK. You’re done. Make that shower hot, and get some aspirin. You’re going to be pretty sore.’
A dark smile. ‘That’s how we know we’re still alive, right?’
‘Right.’ Shamek grinned. ‘Stretch.’
‘No time.’
‘At least five minutes or I’m cancelling tomorrow’s session.’
‘Fuck you!’ grunted Joel, but he started stretching.
Shamek slapped his client on the back. If only they were all that way . . . ‘Well done, Joel.’
Bob Goldstein looked at the spreadsheets projected on the wall in front of them. ‘This was really first rate.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Leo Tsardis, L’Audace’s interim chairman, spoke up. He had the face of a drowning man who’s just been thrown a lifejacket. ‘Meadow is a lead product already. Our early production run is sold out. The new factory is going to ship fifty thousand units for spring. We have a team of chemists taking the formula and working on a range.’
‘It’s rebranded Meadow – Audace,’ chimed in his colleague, Tamara Miller. She ran the company PR, and that haunted look was gone from her face. ‘The industry loves it; they’re saying it’s an extraordinary acquisition. Really, the business pages are full of it.’
‘Stores are taking everything we can ship. We estimate five million in sales in the first six months.’
Goldstein thumped the table. ‘Anchor product. Bought for peanuts.’
‘The initial marketer made good contacts. Very young kid: Dina Kane was her name. Knew how to sell. We had an easy time going in.’
‘Maybe we should hire her,’ Bob Goldstein said.
‘No.’ Gaines spoke up. ‘Definitely not. She’s far too young.’
Goldste
in arched a brow. ‘I remember when they said that about you.’
Gaines shrugged. Dina Kane had been on his mind far too much. Nothing he did could erase her image. Not sex with his wife, beautiful and mundane as she was. Not work. Not the way Meadow was flying off the shelves. Everything brought her back, reminded him of her. If she came to work for the company, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. And Joel Gaines was always in control.
‘She’s not the corporate type. She got more money than she ever dreamed of with Meadow. Leave it at that.’
‘Maybe she needs a job,’ Tamara volunteered. ‘It would be a great story.’
Gaines’ fingers curled into a fist. ‘Drop it.’
She dropped it.
‘We need some more products to sell – maybe not another Meadow, but still higher quality. The brand was pimping itself out; it lost its reputation for high-end. Do you have any more tricks up your sleeve, Joel?’
‘L’Audace is our major focus for the year,’ Goldstein said. ‘You guys concentrate on cutting costs, making Meadow, growing the line. Other products will be joining it.’ He looked at his partner. ‘Joel will make that happen. We want to have the company healthy for sale by the end of the year.’
‘Sure. No problem,’ Gaines said. ‘Let’s wrap this up. I’m seeing our bankers in forty minutes on the airline deal. Car’s waiting.’
The limousine purred through the traffic.
Gaines glanced out of his tinted windows. He enjoyed these rides, the cavernous seats, the buttery leather, not having to think. It was a small vacation from the chaos of his day. His habit was to switch the cellphone off and stare at the traffic flowing silently past his soundproofed car.
It was hypnotic. Meditation.
Maybe he shouldn’t have done that – stopped the girl from getting a job. She was a good kid; ballsy as hell, hard working, inventive. And he’d spiked her just because he found it uncomfortable thinking about her. Because he, Gaines, feared a lack of control.
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