“You fucking asshole. You destroyed everything and almost cost me my company. And, did you think about the consequences? Trisha’s a lunatic. A rich as fuck nutcase. When she finds out this story’s been leaked she’s going to lose it. She’s going to go after Effie, I know it.”
The night in question exploded into Zander’s memory. He’d been desperate to break it off with Trisha, for good. His self-esteem was sub-zero.
She’d been texting him at all hours. Watching him from afar when he left for work. He’d catch a glimpse of her car, then, she’d zoom off. She’d tell him they were through, then, fucked him in the dark, all while dating Riptide. It was sick, it was twisted, and he’d been an idiot.
So, yeah, he’d been drinking when he left work early to head over to Marta’s. He’d whiskeyed himself through the afternoon, hiding in his office.
It was rush hour, so it took Antonio forever to make the “thirty minutes on a good day” drive. He’d dropped Zander off in front of Marta’s swanky waterfront home over in Bellevue, near Trisha’s condo.
Zander had asked Antonio to pick up another bottle of whiskey for him and return in forty-five minutes.
Zander squinted, struggling to remember the rest. His memory skipped all over the place, like fragments appearing from his subconscious and falling into place.
Marta had greeted him warmly, dressed in a red dress with a plunging neckline.
He’d asked her if she always wore low cut dresses around the house.
She’d laughed and said, “Maybe I was waiting for you.”
She offered him another cocktail. He accepted and sat across from her on her couch, begging her to help him.
“I have an idea, Zan,” she said, a sly look dancing across her face. Then, she came on to him. Rising from the opposite end of the sofa, she sashayed to stand in front of him. She removed the cocktail from his hands and straddled him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He tried to wriggle away.
“I’m going to make you forget you ever wanted my daughter.” She plastered her collagen plumped lips to his and ground her skanky hips against him. She smelled like Trisha—same perfume—so that for a second, he forgot who he was with and responded to her kiss.
He’d been lonely…heartbroken…struggling to deal with his missing limb…and for a second, he needed comfort. He craved to be with someone who accepted him, without having to hide away to be with him.
But then, horrified by his actions, and yanked from his liquor induced fog, he shoved her away. He hated what he’d done. He’d managed to stoop as low as low could get.
And then, all hell broke out.
Trisha ran into the condo. She’d stopped by to see her mom. She saw the kiss through the window. She raced to her parents’ bedroom and got her father’s gun. When she emerged from the bedroom, she held the gun, pointing it straight at Zander.
He tried to wrestle it from her, but he was so drunk, he tripped and fell.
Trisha pounced, like a lioness, pressing the cold metal of the barrel against his temple.
He knew he was a dead man. But death would be welcome if it meant finally leaving Trisha Banks.
But then, Kent had shown up, blasting through the front door like a Marine.
Trisha turned her head to look and Zander managed to get the gun away from her.
After everything was over and they all agreed to not let this mess leak to the media, he’d managed to get the gun out of the house and into his office with no one being the wiser. He kept it hidden, just in case. It had his fingerprints on it. But, sure as shit it had Trisha’s too.
Zander shook his head, coming back to the present and blinked at Kent. “How was it you were in Bellevue that night?”
Kent stilled, stopping his palpations of his jaw. “What do you mean?”
“You live in Belltown, near downtown. That’s a heck of a drive through snarled traffic to get to Bellevue. You told me you were at work and then you told me you were with a client. Which story was true? What were you doing there?”
Kent’s face blanched. “I was, uh…I had to go see…”
“You were sleeping with Marta Banks, weren’t you? She was all dressed up for you. You don’t care what age pussy your dick explores.”
“That’s bullshit, King, and you know it.” He began to sidle toward the exit.
Zander’s mind came into sharp focus like seeing everything clearly for the first time. “Stay where you are. I saw the way you and Marta used to glance at one another.”
“You can’t prove anything,” Kent exclaimed.
“Can’t I? Mrs. Banks might be hard up for money. She might be willing to talk if the price is right.”
“You can’t pin this on me, King. You’re delusional.”
“Hardly. I think I’m seeing things crystal clear.”
Zander barreled across the room, blocking Kent’s exit. He shoved Kent against the wall.
Kent cringed, pinned in place. “What the hell are you doing?”
Zander hauled back his high-tech fist and slugged Kent in the jaw. The plastic and metal hit with a satisfying thud.
Kent’s head whipped to the side. He staggered against the back of one of the burnt orange couches and fell onto it, clutching his face. “Fuck, King, what the fuck did you do to me?”
“I’ve only started, Manning. You’re fired. All your stocks are revoked. I own your ten percent share of the company which means I own the lion’s share.” He raced around the couch, torqued his arm and struck again, this time clocking Kent in the eye.
“Shit,” Kent said, trying to defend himself. He pulled his legs into his abdomen. “You’ve gone off the rails, King.”
“Have I?” Zander whipped his phone free from his jacket pocket, noting that his hand didn’t hurt because it was, well, honed by technology. He took some small measure of satisfaction in that. He pressed the number for security.
When they answered, he said, “I need a team up here right now to remove a former employee. Kent Manning. Right. He can’t get anything out of his office. He’s done here. Then, round up another team to guard my girlfriend, stat.” He gave them the address.
After disconnecting, he said to Kent, “They’ll be right up. You can wait here, wait in your office, I don’t care. What I do care about is that I never want to see your face again, got it?”
“You’re going to pay for this,” Kent said, rubbing his swollen eye.
“Am I? I’d say you’re the one who’s paying,” Zander said. He glanced at his whiskey and thought better of draining it. Only one mission loomed in his brain.
As soon as he saw to Kent’s departure, he was headed straight to Effie’s dorm.
Chapter 42
Effie
Shortly after Antonio dropped her off, insuring the made it safely to her dorm room, Effie peeked into the hall, looking right and left. No Antonio. No guard. Practically no one at all since students had moved out for the summer.
Zander’s being paranoid. His girlfriend knows nothing about me and probably isn’t interested, anyway.
She wanted to get to work, to be somewhere normal for a moment, away from all the bullshit media.
She slinked toward the library like a frightened rat, wearing dark glasses, frumpy clothes, and a hoodie pulled over her head. Never mind that the temps pushed into the 80s. She didn’t want to be seen.
Her toe caught on the uneven sidewalk, and she nearly fell. After looking around anxiously, she increased her pace, beelining for Building B. As soon as she stepped through the foyer into the library, Todd and Roy confronted her.
“How much do you cost, Effie?” Todd said, leering.
“I’ve got five bucks. What will that get me?” Roy said, waving a five-dollar bill in her direction.
“Who knew you were a slut?” Todd said, holding up his hand to give Roy a high five. “Oh, right. That Saucy Lady video clip was a clue.”
Tears pricked Effie’s eyes. She pushed past them and made her way to her
desk. After removing her sunglasses, she wiped her eyes.
Todd and Roy followed her, and then hung over the counter where she sat.
“Come on, Effie, take the money.” Roy pushed the money in her direction. “What will that get me? A good blow job?”
“It better be good for five dollars,” Todd said, laughing. “I’ll add fifty cents if we can come on your face.”
Effie longed to melt into the floor. She hunched her shoulders around her ears and tried to appear very, very small.
Mrs. Schneider marched around the corner from her office. “Boys, leave. Now.” She pointed toward the entrance. “Leave Ms. D’Archangel alone. Or, I’m calling security.”
“Fine,” Todd said. “Let’s go, Roy.”
Still laughing, they ambled out the door.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Schneider asked, directing a compassionate gaze at Effie over the top of her red polka-dotted reading glasses.
“I’m fine,” Effie said. She hoped Mrs. Schneider didn’t know about the social media storm. “Bad night. I didn’t sleep much.”
“Well, try to not let it affect your work here. The summer semester is nearly over. Only a couple of weeks left. We’re in ‘getting ready for school’ mode, so it’s going to be a busy day.” She pushed her glasses up her nose and walked back to her office.
The entrance door opened, and Effie cringed, hoping it wasn’t Todd and Roy. Instead, a couple of female students shuffled in.
They made their way to her desk, tittering and giggling. One of them, a long-haired brunette wearing short-shorts and a football jersey, placed her forearms on the counter and grinned. “You’re the sugar baby, aren’t you? Your sugar daddy is hot. Is he available when your contract is up?”
“Probably,” Effie mumbled, her face burning with hot shame.
He sure won’t want to be with me. I’m the mistake which cost him his company.
She woke up her computer and pretended to read the screen.
The blonde friend snorted.
“I’m busy,” Effie said. Her hand shook as she moved the mouse around, making loops and arcs with the cursor.
“How can we become sugar babies? Where do we sign up?” Short-Shorts said.
“It’s a secret. They’ll kill you if I told,” Effie said, clicking the mouse frantically.
The blonde gasped.
“She’s kidding,” Short-shorts said, smirking. “You’re kidding, right?’
“Not kidding. And I’m busy.” She stared at nothing, trying to will away the tears.
“Whatever,” Short-shorts said, with a wave of her hand. Her face showed something like doubt. “Let’s go, Sandy.”
They sauntered toward the door and pushed it open, disappearing from sight.
Glancing at the push-cart next to her filled with books needing to be shelved, she rose to her feet. She longed to hide as much as possible today. Right as her hands curled around the cart handle, the phone rang.
Sighing, she leaned over the desk and picked up the phone. “Effie D’Archangel, PIM library.”
“Hello, Ms. D’Archangel. This is Wendy Cao, in the Dean’s office. The dean would like to have a word with you. Can you please stop by?”
Arctic chills shot up and down Effie’s arms. The dean? What does he want? My grades are stellar.
“I, uh. I have to work all morning.” Are they going to shame me? Give me the boot? What’s going on?
Silence met her ears.
Effie clenched the phone.
“I’m afraid this is urgent,” Wendy Cao said. “It won’t take but a minute.”
The words sounded like a pleasant request, but the intent behind the words conveyed, “Get your ass over here, now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Effie said. She blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging. After hanging up, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie and shuffled toward Mrs. Schneider’s office. She cleared her throat, and croaked, “Mrs. Schneider, I’ve, um…I need to run across campus to see someone…an administrator. I’ll only be a sec.”
Mrs. Schneider turned from her computer monitor and frowned. “Is everything okay, Effie?”
“It’s fine,” Effie said, in a warbly voice. She cleared her throat again, trying to think of something to say. Her brain failed her, so she said, again, “It’s fine. I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and dashed toward the entrance.
Her world seemed to be caving in, an implosion gaining speed. Everything she hoped for, longed for, and dreamed of was being swallowed up by the mouth of scandal. This is why I’ve always kept to my cave of isolation. Being public is risky.
The closer she got to the Dean’s office, the heavier her heart became. By the time she pushed through the doors, her body seemed to weigh a ton.
An angry student shoved past her on his way out. Effie barely looked up.
The room smelled like office supplies and dirty socks, as if the guy who just left never washed his feet. She approached the counter, placing her shaking arms on top, knocking over the little bell meant to get someone’s attention.
The dark-haired woman at the desk in the corner flinched. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Effie D’Archangel.” Her voice came out in a raspy whisper. She cleared her throat. She started to say more, but the woman cut her off.
“Oh! Yes. Let me show you to Mr. Morrison’s office. I’m the one who called. I’m Ms. Cao,” the woman said, a stern set to her mouth.
Effie’s heartbeat amped as she shuffled behind Ms. Cao.
Mr. Morrison sat at his desk, his face looking as somber as an executioner’s. His arms rested on his desk, hands clenched into tight fists. His thick hair had been brushed straight back from his forehead in unruly waves. A pencil-thin mustache hovered above his lips, giving him a John Waters kind of appearance.
Effie didn’t know whether to sit or stand. But, when Ms. Cao shut the door behind her, Effie practically fell into the wooden chair, unable to support her weight.
“Ms. D’Archangel,” Mr. Morrison said, his voice an abrasive bray. “You’ve brought shame upon the institute.”
Her breathing stuttered.
“Your misconduct is all over the news in connection with Zander King. You picked the wrong fish for your dalliance, Ms. D’Archangel.”
It was hardly a dalliance. The hardwood beneath Effie’s behind seemed to be at war with her sitting bones.
“Mr. King is a high-profile individual. While he can get away with this sort of behavior, you can’t.” He stopped speaking, maybe waiting for her to say something.
Her eyes shifted right and left, unable to focus on his face. What’s that supposed to mean? He’s going to lose his company because of me. She started to feel light-headed. Then again, he might lose his company because he screwed Trisha’s mother. A burst of rage shot through her body. She couldn’t imagine how horrible she’d feel if Zander—or any guy—had sex with her mother to prove a point.
She gripped the edges of the chair for support, unable to utter a word.
“I’m afraid you’re going to be expelled from this institution. For misconduct. Effective immediately.”
Expelled. The word hit Effie like a bullet to the brain. She feared to lose her breakfast, what little she ate, all over the white linoleum floor. Still, she couldn’t speak. Her head nodded of its own volition.
“You do know what expelled means, right, Ms. D’Archangel?” He peered beneath his bushy eyebrows.
Again, she nodded.
“I said, right, Ms. D’Archangel?” He tented his fingers before his face, resting on his elbows.
“Yes,” she said, in a small, shaky voice.
“Well, then. Pack up your bags, because you and your disgusting behavior are no longer welcomed at this fine institution.” He waved his hand like a fluttering flag.
Even her legs bailed on her. She sat, frozen, glued to the seat.
“You’re dismissed, Ms. D’Archangel.”
He might as well ha
ve said, “you dirty, filthy whore.” Effie knew that’s what he thought. She managed to push to standing and somehow, found her way out of the building. As she crossed the parking lot, her legs shook, her body hunched. She hurried behind a dumpster, crumpling to the ground, and sobbed.
My life’s ruined. No school’s going to accept me. All because I had sex for money.
Finally, she gathered a breath, then retrieved her phone from her pocket. With shaking hands, she started to press Zander’s number. Then, she thought better of it. He’s in enough trouble because of me. She thought of calling Haley, but shame bubbled through her veins. She couldn’t even face her best friend. Instead, she dialed the only person she could think of—her mom.
“Mom,” Effie stuttered into the phone when Mom answered. Her voice cracked. “I’ve been kicked out of school. I…I’ve got nowhere to go.” She seemed to float outside herself as she spoke.
Her mom said something about, “You’re coming home,” and, “your father and I will help,” and, “we’re on our way,” and, “this is God’s way to help you see the error of your ways.”
She disconnected and zombie-walked to her dorm to pack.
When she entered her room, she paused. Something seemed off. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed something.
The door slammed behind her.
She yelped and whirled around, hoping, for one split second, that Zander was here, and they’d talk, and he’d explain everything, argue with the dean on her behalf, and all would be well.
Instead, there stood Trisha Banks. With a scarf wrapped around her head, sunglasses in place, and some non-descript garment draped along her skinny body, she pinned a look at Effie—the kind a reptile might possess before she ripped your head off—that made Effie’s blood run cold. Worst yet, she gripped a gun, pointed directly at Effie.
Chapter 43
Effie
Trisha, looking eerily calm, kept the gun pointed at Effie’s head. “You tried to take him from me. You tried to take my Zander. You and your fairy princess charm.” She stepped closer until she stood about a yard away.
Sugar Love Page 32
