Beauty and the Blackmailer

by Amorette Anderson

  “I will have it, once I sell my design, but until then, I’m broke,” Danny said, while wringing his hands together. “How foolish of me to leave it here! Some customer must have walked off with it on Tuesday morning!”

  Bridget shook her head. “No, Dad. You’re sure you left it here Monday night. I checked the security video footage, and it looks like it was gone by the time the doors opened to the public on Tuesday morning at 7:00.”

  “So, who took it?” Danny asked, his voice quivering. “Who would do such a thing to me? This is my life’s work.”

  His usually twinkling, bright eyes were clouded with pain and hurt. Bridget knew he was counting on the payment from one of the private investors that were interested in his plastic. He’d been getting by for so long, holding onto the hope of one day striking it big. He was like a gold miner who had toiled in a mine for decades. He’d finally found his payday, only to have it snatched out of his hands just as he exited the dark tunnel he’d been living in.

  She knew that if he didn’t get paid for this invention, it would devastate him. He’d be broken.

  “Dad,” she said gently, “we’ll figure this out.” She was careful to hold back her own tears. She knew she had to be the strong one.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “Who would be so cruel?”

  Bridget bit her lip. She hated seeing her father like this. “Have you called the police yet?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I just spoke with them, right before coming in here to speak to you. They said they’ll assign a detective to my case within seven to ten business days, but they’re not able to spare any officers before then.”

  “A week?” Bridget said. “But it’s Tuesday, and this letter demands payment by Friday—that’s just four days away.”

  “That’s what they said,” Danny informed her. “I’m not sure they believe in the value of my papers. I heard them snickering as I was leaving.”

  Bridget shook her head. “No. That’s not fair. They’ve got to do something sooner than that. If this blackmailer publishes your design to the internet, it won’t be worth anything. We can’t let that happen.” She read the note a third time.

  “Maybe I should just pay,” Danny said. “Is that what you’re saying? I still owe on my apartment. I don't think I could cash in on it even if I tried. You know I had to sell my car last year. But my bike—how much do you think I can get for that? And my lab equipment...? Plus, perhaps a personal loan—if the bank will give it to me. I’ve already borrowed so much.”

  Bridget shook her head. “No, don’t sell your bike or your lab equipment, Dad. I’m saying, maybe we should try to figure this out on our own, rather than waiting for the detective.”

  She glanced at her office door to ensure it was tightly closed. “If the folder was here when you and I left for dinner, and gone by 7:00 the next morning, that means one of my staff is your blackmailer.” It pained her to admit this.

  She lowered her voice even more. “I’m going to try to figure out who.”

  She stood up from her desk and walked to her office door. She opened it and peeked outside. Thankfully, the back room was still empty. Reassured that no one was listening in, she closed the door and spoke, still in a hushed tone. “Christine, Adrienne, and Sean all overheard us talking about how your proprietary blend was worth millions. That was on Monday night. Then on Tuesday, the folder disappears, and they’re the only three in here working before the doors open to the public. Maybe one of them figured that this is an easy way to pick up on a cut of your payday.” She motioned to the printed email, which was now on her desk.

  “But I like those three,” Danny said, his shoulders sagging. “They’ve always been kind to me. Why would they do such a thing?”

  Bridget felt sadness weigh down her shoulders, too, as she said, “Greed can make people do some pretty immoral things, Dad. It’s sad, but it’s true. The upside is that I’m in a good position to try to figure out which of them let their greed get the best of them. I might even be in a better position than the police for ferreting out the blackmailer. I’m an insider here. I’ll start snooping around and see if I can figure out which of them did it.”

  Danny nodded, and placed a hand on Bridget’s shoulder. “Thank you, Bridge,” he said. “I don’t know how I raised you to be such a good kid.”

  “I’m not a kid anymore, Dad,” Bridget said with a rueful smile. “I’m thirty-one.”

  Her dad looked puzzled. “Really? My, the time does fly...” Her father’s eyes met hers. “I really don’t know what I’ll do if those papers get leaked online. It will ruin me, Pumpkin.”

  It was odd to hear her father, usually an optimistic man, say something so severe. But she knew, as she looked into his eyes, that it was the truth.

  “We’re not going to let it come to that,” she said. “I’ll start questioning my employees today.”

  “Be careful,” he advised.

  “You’d better cancel your afternoon meeting with GenSpace,” she told her father.

  “I’ll push it back once again,” her father muttered. “Blast it all.” He was shaking his head as he exited her office.

  Once he was gone, Bridget placed her head in her hands and finally let herself cry. The tears that she’d been holding back slid down her cheeks, and her shoulders heaved up and down. Though she’d been downplaying her reaction for her father—trying to be the strong one – inside, she felt betrayed and confused. She loved her staff. The realization that one of them was trying to blackmail her father hurt her to the core.

  Her father’s words rang through her mind. Who took it? Who would be so cruel?

  5

  The Beast

  Sebastian was still woozy from the bus ride as he stepped into Glitter Cup. The ride had been awful—someone had been eating food with a strong, pungent smell - an unpleasant mix between turmeric and vinegar—and he still felt nauseated.

  He kept his head down as he walked into the café area. He didn’t want to make eye contact with his coworkers. Why should he? He couldn’t remember their names. It’s just a week, he reminded himself as he opened the hinged countertop so that he was behind the café bar.

  “Hey, Sebastian! Bridget’s in the back, in her office,” he heard one of them—was it Amanda? Or Adelle? Something like that—say. “Better check in with her and see where she wants you to—”

  He passed into the back room before she finished talking. He walked straight up to Bridget’s office and knocked three times on her office door.

  When she opened, he saw that her eyes were red and puffy. “What is it?” she asked flatly.

  Her face was heart shaped, and her eyes large and ringed with a fringe of lashes that were still damp with tears. She had brown wavy hair that was pulled back in a ponytail today, just as it had been yesterday. He found that he longed to see it down, and that startled him. She’s pretty, he realized. He’d been too preoccupied with the horrors of actually reporting to work yesterday to notice.

  He pulled himself from this sudden realization, cleared his throat, and then spoke. “Someone—what’s her name? Adelaide—she suggested that I check in with you, so...” he let his voice trail off.

  She wiped her eye.

  He wondered why she’d been crying, but he wasn’t curious enough to ask. Besides, what if she told him? Then he’d have to actually listen to her answer. It all sounded rather uncomfortable. “If this is a bad time, I’ll just go figure it out myself,” he said gruffly. “It’s not rocket science.”

  “No, no, it’s not a bad time...” she said, giving her eye another wipe. She sniffed, then looked past him, as if checking that he hadn’t been followed. Then she beckoned him in.

  “Actually, Sebastian, I’d like to talk to you,” she said. “Can you come in?”

  He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him. The space was absurdly small. He could hardly believe it was considered an office. It felt even more claustrophobic to Sebastian than the bus had. It was s
tuffy, and made him feel like he had stepped into a coffin. How did she stand it?

  A few photos were pinned to a bulletin board above her desk. He noticed a frame with a rainbow-striped piece of cardboard with the word “family” printed on it in large capital letters. The frame surrounded a photo of a big group shot of people at a long table, all wearing ridiculous paper hats and holding up drinks.

  “That was last year,” Bridget said, apparently seeing him eye the photo. “Sean’s birthday. We all went across the street to Big Bobby’s.” She reached for a tissue and used it to dab her eyes of any remaining salty residue. “Have you been?” She sat down in her chair.

  He shook his head. Now he recognized Sean, one of the baristas he’d worked with the day before, in the shot. Everyone in the picture had big grins on, though Sebastian couldn’t see why. And why did the frame say “family?” These people weren’t family, they were coworkers.

  It struck him as sort of lame that the guy Sean went out to eat with his coworkers on his birthday, anyway. Didn’t he have other friends?

  “Oh, you’re missing out,” Bridget said.

  It took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about.

  “Bob serves up a good burger,” she said. Her eyes were very kind. Her voice was gentle.

  The thought of eating at some greasy dive of a burger joint made him grimace. Now, a steak prepared by his private chef and served in the captain’s cabin of his yacht—that was an entirely different thing. That actually sounded good.

  He thought about his father’s rules. He was to buy groceries with his tip wages, which had amounted to a meager seventeen dollars all told the day before. How was he supposed to survive on seventeen dollars a day?

  Bridget went on. “You’ve really got to try it. We try to go out as a staff once a week or so, usually on Friday nights. It helps us work as a team when we’re here at the café if we spend some time together outside of work, too. You’re welcome to join us one of these days... oh, and they have an awesome Thursday night special of fish tacos, too. They’re to die for.”

  He highly doubted that. “No thanks,” he said.

  He caught her studying him. He reached up for the strands of hair that the barber had maliciously butchered on his head. It was such an awful cut. It made him cringe to look in a mirror. He wondered what Bridget, so beautiful and well put together herself, thought of his appearance. Most likely, she was disgusted.

  She’s only being nice because I’m her employee, he thought. That was clear, and he didn’t blame her.

  Again, she went on. “No problem,” she said. “It’s not a requirement or anything, just something we do for fun. Maybe once you’ve been here for a little while, you’ll feel more comfortable...” She looked down at her desk. There was a paper there. It looked like a short, typed letter.

  She shifted it around a few times. She was nervous about something, it seemed. “I have a sort of odd request for you,” she said.

  He waited.

  She looked up, as if waiting for him to say something. He set his jaw and waited for her to go on.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re new here, and I hate to put you in this position right off the bat. If I could think of another way to approach this, I would...”

  “Why don’t you get to the point?” he asked gruffly. He didn’t like the way she was looking at his hair and the scar on his cheek when she spoke. He felt uncomfortable in the ugly sweatshirt. He just wanted to get out of that little room, so that he could stop feeling so much shame.

  “Right,” she said. She looked down at the paper on her desk and spoke quickly. “My father is in trouble. He’s an inventor, and someone stole a design he just came up with. It was someone who works here—in the café—I’m almost sure of it. You weren’t here on the morning it was stolen, so I know it wasn’t you.... which means I can trust you... I hope.”

  She looked up then, and he found himself staring right into those big, brown doe eyes.

  A shiver ran through him. He felt captivated. How long had it been since he looked into someone's eyes like this? Had he ever? He wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t think clearly enough to figure it out. Something primal was happening within him, as he focused on the dark pupils at the center of her brown irises. It was like he was looking into her. Shocked, he realized that she must be having the same experience. She was looking into him. What did she see there? What was inside of him—at a deep level?

  “Can I?” she asked.

  He felt himself nod. She nodded too, and then looked back down to the paper. The spell was broken, and he shivered involuntarily.

  “If you could just keep your ear to the ground while you’re out there working with the others, that would be really helpful. One of them might let something slip—maybe about a large sum of cash they’re about to come into, or something like that. They’re blackmailing him, see? If you hear anything, I really need to know about it. I know it’s a lot to ask...”

  He shook his head. “It’s not,” he said. “No problem.”

  The corner of her lip raised, and she smiled. Then she sniffed, and wiped her eyes again. “Thanks,” she said.

  It was the smallest gesture—just a slight smile and a murmured expression of gratitude, but Sebastian felt something stir inside of his chest. It was a little flutter—like a feather tickling his heart. He wanted to help her, just so he could see that faint smile again.

  This feeling made him nervous. After all, he was only going to be around for a few more days, and this woman was a total random stranger. What did it matter to him if she caught the blackmailer or not? His life would go on just the same, no matter what. He just had to worry about helping a customer—and that was all. And the sooner he did that, the sooner he could put all this behind him. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “So, you want me on the register again?”

  He’d been careful to mess up almost every drink that he tried to make the day before. Okay, some of them he messed up on accident—but most of them, he botched on purpose, because he didn't want to be stuck behind the espresso machine for entire shifts. That would significantly cut down on his interactions with customers, and he didn’t want that. He’d quickly realized that the person at the register talked to each customer the most—so that was where he needed to be if he wanted to win the bet with his father.

  “I think it’d be best for you to train with Adrienne on food today,” Bridget said. “She’ll show you how to heat up sandwiches.”

  Sebastian furrowed his brow. This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “How hard can it be?” he asked. He saw her flinch, and that made him aware of how his question may have sounded rude or condescending. He quickly tried to make up for that. “I... yeah... that’s fine,” he said.

  This is torturous, he thought. Am I seriously going to spend the next six hours heating up sandwiches in a microwave?

  Bridget was watching him carefully, and it made him feel anxious. He wanted to get out of there. He reached for the door. Before he could step outside, Bridget spoke.

  “Sebastian...” she said, in that gentle voice she had. “You seem like you don’t want to be here. If you don’t mind me asking—why are you here?”

  He couldn’t answer that, at least, not honestly. He opened his mouth to make up a story, but quickly closed it again. He found that he didn’t want to lie to this woman—Bridget. Not after looking into her eyes like that. Not after she voiced her trust.

  Have I ever been trusted before? he wondered. Am I worthy of it?

  She was waiting for an answer. “It’s a long story,” he said simply. “Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”

  “I’d like to hear it,” she said kindly.

  He felt her eyes on him as he walked away.

  6

  Beauty

  Bridget watched Sebastian cross through the back room. He walked with a confident stride: head high, spine straight, shoulders back. He still had not put on his employee shirt, and she wondered if he was planni
ng on talking to Adrienne about helping her with sandwiches before getting into his uniform. That was fine, but if he did start working without his shirt or apron on, she’d have to have a word with him.

  She closed the office door and took a deep breath, trying to sort out her feelings. There was something about Sebastian that was strangely appealing. She was surprised at how attracted she felt to him, despite his odd appearance and gruff demeanor. He was so surly, and at times rude, but behind all that she sensed more. What was it? What was he holding back?

  She felt a shiver run up her spine as she recalled the way it felt when he looked right into her eyes. There was so much depth there, and a subtle eagerness to connect—like some part of him was begging to be known and seen.

  What was his story?

  She wanted to find out, but could think of no way except to ask him, and he’d just shut down that avenue of inquiry. He didn’t want to talk about his history or his connections within the company, and that had to be fine with her.

  I can’t think about his deep brown eyes, she told herself. He’s my employee, for goodness sake! Plus, I’ve got a mystery to solve.

  Who is blackmailing my father?

  How am I going to find out?

  She read over the anonymous email again, trying to sense a familiarity within the words. Maybe a phrase will jump out at me, or a speech pattern, or a word, she thought.

  Nope. Nothing in the email stood out to her as indicative of one of the three suspects.

  I’ve got to go talk to them, she realized. And I have to tread lightly.

  She folded the note, placed it in the top drawer of her desk, and stepped out of her office. On her way through the back room, she grabbed the apron with Sebastian’s name tag on it off of a hook.

  When she joined the staff behind the counter, she noted that business was cranking, and everyone was working hard—everyone except Sebastian. He was leaning against a counter, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t have his uniform shirt on, nor an apron.