Handle with Care

by Hunting, Helena

  She has a point. I’ve seen the candid pictures. “Okay, fine, but that doesn’t explain how she knew I went with Lincoln to the penthouse in Lower Manhattan unless—oh my God. Lincoln gets alerts when someone enters that building, and if Gwendolyn knows about it, then she must get alerts too. Is that possible?” Which makes me wonder if she knew about his first visit to the penthouse.

  Dani takes the carafe of wine from me and sets it on the table. “That makes logical sense.”

  I rub my temples, trying to understand how quickly my life has been upended. “I don’t get it. How could she know about the penthouse and be okay with it? How is someone ever okay knowing their spouse is cheating on them?”

  “I don’t know, Wren. Maybe they had some kind of arrangement. She has to be hiding something if she’s throwing out blackmail, though.”

  “Now I just need to find out what.”

  CHAPTER 20

  BAD VIBES

  LINCOLN

  My conference call took three times as long as I would’ve liked thanks to how much Wentworth Williams likes to jerk off his ego. But the end result was positive, so the time wasted is something I’ll gladly forfeit. The deal I struck with Williams Media means I no longer have to fire twenty people, and I’m pushing a brand-new initiative that will focus on things I actually care about, like helping people. It’s a win all the way around. The best part? Amalie—Armstrong’s former fiancée—will be heading up the initiative.

  Financially, we’re putting out more than we’re getting back, but I think it’s a smart decision in the long-term. Also, my conscience feels lighter, especially after I call G-mom and tell her the news. I may be in my thirties, but it still makes me feel good when she tells me she’s proud of me.

  Unfortunately, there’s still a weight in my gut that hasn’t eased up since the visit to my dad’s secret penthouse, and it’s grown exponentially this afternoon.

  I leave my office in search of Wren, because if anyone will share my excitement over the deal with Williams, it’s her. Also, seeing her might help with this uncomfortable, pervasive feeling I can’t shake.

  Except she’s not in her office and her laptop isn’t on her desk. Maybe she had to run an errand or she got pulled into a meeting. I fire off a message and wander down the hall.

  I could ask Marjorie where she is, but then I might get pulled into a conversation with her about whatever healthy blah blah blah she’s into, and I don’t feel like pretending to be interested.

  Instead, I take the long way around to bypass my assistant’s office and check in with Lulu. Everyone has to go by her to leave the building unless they take the stairs. Since we’re on the twenty-seventh floor, that doesn’t happen very often, apart from fire drills.

  “Hey, Lulu.” I smile and glance around the mostly empty reception area.

  She looks up from her computer and gives me her customary wide smile with her too-dark lipstick. “Hello, Mr. Moorehead, how can I help you?” Lulu is always extra polite with me, and nervous, but she’s warming up slowly.

  “Have you see Wren around?”

  She glances at the clock. “She left the office about forty-five minutes ago.”

  “Did she say when she’d be back?”

  “I believe she left for the day. Is there something you need? Anything I can help you with?”

  There sure is something I need, but Lulu definitely can’t help me. “Uh, no. I’m good. Thanks.” I rap on her desk and head back to my office, the unsettled feeling growing. Usually Wren checks in with me before she leaves. I would’ve at least expected a text.

  When I return to my office, I find my mother standing behind my desk, riffling through my files. “I hear you saved twenty jobs today.”

  I can’t tell whether or not she’s pleased by this. I appeal to the business-driven side of her, the part that’s focused on money and company optics. “I thought a deal with Williams would look better for the company than cutting all those people loose and sending them directly to the competition.”

  “It was very smart thinking, Lincoln. I always knew you’d do well if you chose to come back and take over the company.”

  “Well, it’s not really a choice, is it?” Although, even that’s not entirely true anymore. I’m starting to see how I can make changes that will drive this company in a direction I like a lot better. But she doesn’t need to know that right now.

  She smiles and runs her hand across the back of the executive chair. “You could’ve walked away, Lincoln, gone back to Guatemala right after the funeral, but you didn’t. You’ve embraced your role at Moorhead, and you’re showing exactly how capable you are. Your father would’ve been proud.”

  Not once in any decision I’ve made since coming back to New York have I considered whether or not my actions would make my father proud, mostly because I didn’t have much respect for him. “Excuse me if I don’t take that as a compliment.”

  My mother sighs. “Your father wasn’t a bad man, Lincoln.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that, but I fail to see any of the good in him. He was a shitty father, and he certainly lacked a moral compass from what I’ve witnessed.”

  “He had too much of one,” my mother says.

  “I don’t understand how you can say that.”

  She sneers. “Your father was ruled too much by his heart.”

  “I think you mean his dick.”

  She gives me a hard look. “Enough, Lincoln. The crassness is unnecessary.”

  “I honestly don’t get it. How could you stay with him? How could you condone what he let Armstrong get away with? How could you be with someone who was obviously unfaithful to you? Did you know he had a penthouse in Lower Manhattan?” I shudder at the thought and try to suppress the memory of the sex room before it becomes vivid and contains my mother.

  “Of course I knew. I’m not stupid, Lincoln. I’m pragmatic.” Her expression shifts to disgust. “What that penthouse represents is a disgrace to the Moorehead legacy, but I forgave your father for his transgressions. I let it go, and you need to as well. It doesn’t do anyone any good to hold onto the kind of anger you harbor for someone who’s not here to receive it.”

  “But he chea—”

  She slices an angry hand through the air. “I said enough, Lincoln. Everyone makes mistakes. Take a look at what you’re doing. I may not approve of this tryst you’re having with Wren, but clearly your physical needs require attention.”

  “My physical needs? That’s not what this is about.”

  Gwendolyn turns to the mini fridge. She frowns at the contents, which consist of still and sparkling water in recyclable and reusable bottles. “I hired Wren to manage you and your social media, not your personal needs. But I imagine she must look fairly appealing after the last couple of years. Just remember who you are and who she is.”

  That hot feeling in the back of my neck crawls down my spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She gives me a look as she paces the office. “Oh, come on, Lincoln, don’t tell me you’re so blinded by lust that you can’t see what she’s doing.”

  I cross my arms. “Please, enlighten me.”

  She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Men, so driven by your libidos that you fail to see when someone is using you for their own personal gain. Wren is the daughter of a senator, and she’s taken a job working for the top media company in the state. She could’ve found a position in a charity organization if she wanted to. She didn’t have to sign the contract to work with you, but she saw an opportunity and she took it. I can’t blame her. Look at you.” She motions to me, and her mouth approximates a smile. “You look so much like your father when he was your age. So handsome and charming. It’s no wonder Wren stayed on, but don’t be fooled by her interest in you, which I’m sure seems quite genuine. She’s like everyone else out there, looking to climb the ladder the quickest way she knows how.”

  My mother settles a palm on my shoulder. For a moment she meets my gaze, looking almost sad.
“Everyone uses everyone else to get where they want to go, Lincoln. No one’s motives are pure. Don’t mistake lust for something it’s not.”

  “Of course you’d believe that, since that’s how this whole family operates, isn’t it?” I don’t believe what’s happening between me and Wren is simply based on lust. And now I can’t shake the horrible feeling that Wren’s sudden absence this afternoon and this conversation with my mother are somehow connected.

  On my way out of the office, I finally get a message from Wren.

  Left work early. Didn’t want to interrupt your call. With Dani. Chat later.

  It should assuage me, but all it does is ramp up the worry. I respond with: Everything okay? It takes far longer than it should for her to reply with a thumbs-up. Wren never responds with emojis, which means that the unsettled feeling grows even more.

  I leave the office early and pick up pizza on my way home, hoping when she’s done with dinner and a movie with Dani that she’ll come over, spend the night, and alleviate my anxiety.

  Except I still haven’t heard from her by ten o’clock, which is atypical. At ten thirty I’m debating whether it makes me look slightly desperate if I text for an ETA, when my phone finally buzzes on the coffee table.

  It doesn’t even make it to the end of the first ring. “Hey, baby, when are you getting your fine ass over here?”

  “I didn’t realize we were in the pet names stage in our relationship.” The voice on the other end of the line is not even remotely feminine.

  My excitement deflates like a sad puffer fish. “Oh, hey, Griffin. I thought you were Wren.”

  “Yeah, I figured with the fine-ass comment. I mean, my ass is pretty amazing, but you acknowledging that would be crossing some lines I’m not comfortable with.”

  I laugh, but it comes out flat.

  “You okay, man? You sound morose.”

  “Screw you and the morose bullshit.” Although he’s probably right.

  “Seriously, what’s up? Things okay there?”

  “Yeah. No. I don’t know. Things are screwed up as usual in my family.”

  “The same as usual, or something different this time?”

  I fill him in on the new developments with my dad’s secret penthouse, the conversation I had with my mother about letting it go, and what she said about Wren being a ladder climber.

  “Wait. What? Why would she contract Wren to work with you if she thought she was a ladder climber? That doesn’t add up.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I don’t know why she’s pushing this angle all of a sudden. It doesn’t make any sense. None of this does. I don’t get why my mother would accept that my father was cheating on her, let alone forgive him for it. I get that maybe theirs was a marriage of convenience or whatever, but it’s like he didn’t even try to hide it from her. And she’s adamant I let it go. Everyone says my father wasn’t a bad man, but he never made an attempt to be part of my life until I had an MBA from Harvard, and everything I’ve seen points in a very different direction. Nothing adds up.”

  “I get where you’re coming from, Linc, but knowing doesn’t always make it better,” Griffin replies carefully.

  “You’re not the first person to say that.” I look up at the ceiling, wishing revelations were written there. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”

  “If it’s eating at you this badly, then you dig, even if Gwendolyn doesn’t want you to. Just be prepared to get answers you might not like.”

  * * *

  At eleven, Wren finally calls. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”

  I don’t know if it’s my state of mind or what my mother said or the conversation I had with Griffin, but I’m hyperalert and she sounds off.

  “You don’t usually leave work without saying goodbye.” It comes out sounding more like an accusation than a question. I need to be careful how I tread with Wren on this. I can’t project my own insecurities onto her.

  “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt your call, and then Dani and I got talking and I lost track of time.”

  “Are you on your way over now?”

  That off feeling I’ve had all afternoon grows when Wren’s silence stretches out before she finally answers. “I’m already at home.”

  “I thought you were going to Dani’s.”

  “I was, but we had a change of plans and ended up here.”

  “Oh, okay. Want me to come to you tonight, instead?”

  “Coming here isn’t really a good idea, is it?”

  Normally I’d say she has a point, but my mother clearly knows what’s going on, so I’m not sure we need to hide it any longer. However, Wren might not know this, and it’s definitely not a phone discussion. “I could send a car to pick you up, then.”

  “That’s really sweet of you to offer, Linc, but I’m pretty beat and I’m not really feeling one hundred percent.”

  “Is everything okay?” It seems like that’s the only question I’m asking lately.

  “I’m just feeling under the weather. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I don’t want to pass it along. We have that big meeting early next week, and I don’t want to risk getting you sick. I’m going to take some vitamin C and go to bed. Try to get a solid seven, which definitely hasn’t been happening lately. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” She yawns.

  “Okay. Sure. You’ll spend the night tomorrow, then?” Other than nights like these, when she’s with Dani or her mom, she’s been sleeping in my bed.

  “We’ll see how I’m feeling tomorrow. Night, Linc.”

  “Night, Wren.”

  I’m even more off after she ends the call. She’s noncommittal about tomorrow night, and she didn’t even ask how my conference call went, which is very unlike Wren. She’s usually all about the business and making sure things are going smoothly, so maybe she really isn’t feeling well.

  Even still, I can’t settle, so I end up going through more of my father’s files from the penthouse. I stumble on a cellphone bill, but when I call the number associated with the account, it’s been disconnected.

  I fall asleep on my desk and wake up to the sound of birds chirping, with a stiff neck, a sore back, and the same bad feeling from the night before.

  My morning doesn’t improve when I find Wren’s office empty at work. Her laptop still isn’t on her desk, which I assume means she’s either not here or already in a meeting.

  I fire off a message and pop my head into the conference room, but it’s empty as well. Wren still hasn’t messaged back—although, to be fair it’s only been a minute—so I stalk down the hall to my assistant’s desk.

  “Good morning.” It comes out more bark-like than actual greeting.

  Marjorie startles and knocks her jar of pens over, spilling them across her desk. “Oh! Good morning, Mr. Moorehead. Can I get you a coffee?”

  Of course that’s the first question out of her mouth. “I’m fine, thank you,” I grind out with a smile. “I’m actually looking for Wren. Have you seen her this morning?”

  “Oh, uh, no, I haven’t. Would you like me to check her office for you?”

  I tap on the edge of her desk, unhappy with this information. “I’ve already done that. I’ll check with Lulu.”

  “I can call her for you. Right now. Let me call her.” She picks up her phone before I can argue and punches in Lulu’s extension. “Hello, Lulu, it’s Marjorie. Mr. Moorehead is looking for Wren, have you seen her yet this morning?” There’s a brief pause while Lulu asks her something too muffled for me to catch. “Lincoln not Armstrong … ah, okay. I’ll let him know.” She hangs up, that odd smile of hers still stretched across her face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Moorehead, but it seems Wren has called in sick this morning.”

  “She never calls in sick.”

  “Until this morning, that statement would be correct.” Her eyes light up with some sort of odd excitement, and her smile widens. “Is there something you need help with? I’d be happy to be of assistance.”

 
I wave her off. “No, no. It’s fine. It can wait until Wren is back.” I turn on my heel, phone already in my hand, thumbs flying across the tiny, stupid screen. I have to delete half the message thanks to autocorrect mistakes. I abandon the message entirely when I reach my office and call her instead.

  Of course it goes to voicemail.

  My stomach twists with anxiety. First, that conversation with my mother yesterday, then Wren bailing on me last night, and now she’s calling in sick.

  Something’s going on, and I’m almost positive it has to do with Gwendolyn.

  I send a text to go with the voicemail and wait for a response.

  And wait.

  And wait some more.

  It’s fucking infuriating.

  I suppose now I know how Wren felt every time I ignored her calls and messages in the beginning. I can’t say I like it very much.

  CHAPTER 21

  PICKLE

  WREN

  After a restless night and a headache that’s likely a result of the lack of sleep and the four million grams of sugar I consumed last night, on top of a half a bottle of wine, I called in sick this morning.

  I need to tell Lincoln what’s going on, but first I need to give my father fair warning. While I’m not responsible for my parents’ choices, I can at least let them know what they’re about to be up against. There are enough secrets being kept; we don’t need them between us as well.

  My stomach twists uncomfortably as I walk up the front steps to my parents’ house. It’s ridiculously early, as is the plan. I wanted to catch my father before he left for work.

  “Hey, sweetie, this is a surprise.” He opens the door and ushers me in, pulling me into a hug. When he backs up and takes me by the shoulders, I force a smile, but I’m sure it looks as flat as it feels. His own falls. “What’s wrong? You look exhausted.”

  My shoulders curl forward, and I drop my head, unable to hold eye contact as the tears I’ve been fighting a losing battle against fall. “I have a problem.”