“It’s…complicated.”
“He’s not married is he,” she asks, then quickly raises one hand. “You know what? None of my business.”
“No, he’s not married,” I say in a needling voice. “But all the same he, more than anyone else, knows that work comes first.”
“We’ve been at it for a good thirty minutes and the last thing I need is more chocolate,” she says, frowning at the plate of macaroons I set between us. “I’ll look over what we’ve come up with and flesh them out a bit more to see if the ideas have any meat on them.”
She smiles at me again. “Take your phone call, Edie.”
I watch her leave, then grab another macaroon as I pick up my cell phone to call Bryce back.
“Edie,” he says sounding almost exasperated.
“I don’t know why I’m calling back. After leaving this morning without so much as a goodbye kiss before I’ve woken up, you don’t get to—”
“Edie,” he says again, more insistent this time. It’s enough to shut me up.
“What is it?” I ask, now, not even chewing the bite of cookie I’ve taken.
“We were right, it is my Dad who’s behind Cheval Blanc.”
“Well, we knew that much.” I resume chewing and relax.
“And…he’s bought both our magazines.”
That has me sitting up straighter. “What? How can he do that? They weren’t even up for sale yet!”
“Apparently, the little announcement was all the encouragement he needed. And when you have money, it doesn’t really matter if something is for sale yet or not. Hell, he’s probably tried before now and failed.”
I take a moment to ponder that. “I suppose now we know why Conniver has delayed saying anything further after that damn memo. So, what does this mean? What the hell is he after?”
“Me.”
“You,” I say, urging him to expound on that.
“He wants me to join the firm.”
“So he bought both magazines to get you to join? How?”
“Let’s just say he could give King Solomon a run for his money,” he says in a bitterly sardonic tone. “If I join, my magazine stays intact, and so does Contempo Woman. If I decide to stay with my magazine, he’ll dissolve Contempo.”
I fall back into my seat with an exhale that takes most of my breath with it. “That son of a bitch.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
The thought of Mom’s magazine no longer existing hadn’t really occurred to me. Worst case scenario a little bankruptcy reorganization if this thing with Bryce falls through.
“Wait a second, so he still gave you the option of going back to being editor-in-chief at Ideal Gentlemen?”
“Yes, but obviously I won’t be doing it, Edie. Not if it means you losing your magazine.”
Despite everything that’s just been dumped on me, a brief smile touches my face. “Obviously I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Bryce. There has to be another solution. But that wasn’t really my point.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not to knock how much he values you—”
“Knock away, I’m only as valuable to him as far as he can control me.”
“—but I don’t think this is about you. Why else would he have bought Contempo Woman as well?”
“That thought had occurred to me. We both assumed he had an affair or at least did something with your mother at this party way back when. I got nothing from him, except a warning to drop the topic. So of course I’m going to find out everything I can about it to rub his damn face in it.”
“Dad mentioned that everyone had been hush-hush about the whole party after the fact, which makes me think—”
“Nondisclosure agreements.”
“Bingo.”
“But for one party? I mean, even Jodie from Obsessed casually mentioned how…fun my parents were in the eighties. Which makes me think that wasn’t their only rodeo, so to speak.”
“But Dad and Sergio pretty much confirmed it was their last.”
“Which means back to the obvious. Dad and Cassandra had something going on. Something maybe even bigger than a simple drunken, cocaine-fueled—” I can practically hear the glee in Bryce’s voice at this descriptor “—roll in the hay Enough to make him hate your mother even decades later.”
It dawns on me where he’s going with this. “And your dad isn’t talking.”
“Which means only one other person,” he says, in an empathetic voice.
“I guess I’m having another date with Mom,” I say, for once not with a tinge of resignation. “I’m just as eager to know why we’ve both been made sacrificial lambs because of the sins of our parents.”
I’m surprised Mom was able to meet today on such short notice. I tell her as much when we’re settled at a table.
“Of course, darling. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t drop everything for my own dear daughter? Especially in this time of need.” She gives me an overtly sympathetic look that almost reaches the level of maternal.
“You might regret it when you hear why I wanted to meet,” I say, looking over the menu to get our orders out of the way first thing.
“Oh, that sounds deliciously ominous,” she says, her voice greedy with enthusiasm. Cassandra does love a good scandal, even if it’s bad news.
“Let’s order first, I don’t want distractions.”
“Even more daunting,” she says with a broad grin.
I suppose I should be grateful that she will probably be more open to revealing the truth than Bryce’s father was. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. My mother is the very definition of an exhibitionist. Her middle name might as well be Too-Much-Information.
After ordering our meals and drinks—sparkling water for me and her usual dirty martini—I settle in for a very frank discussion.
“I need to know everything about your history with the Wilmingtons. Pierce and Alice?”
“Well, darling, you could have at least waited until I had my drink,” she says in an overly dramatic voice.
“Is it that bad?” I ask, my stomach dropping.
Her eyes glitter with mischief. “That depends on your definition of bad.”
Maybe I should have ordered something stronger. I quickly dismiss the idea. Not only is it a workday, but I need my wits about me to interpret every innuendo, double entendre, and coded word that spills from my mother’s lips. I think back to Bryce a few weeks ago and his many euphemisms for my magazine. She and he would get on famously.
Which gets me back to the topic of my mother and his father.
Our drinks arrive and she takes a long, savoring sip, humming with pleasure before she sets her glass down. “Now, what is it you’d like to know, Edie?”
“Specifically about a party in the eighties. I had dinner with Dad and Sergio last night and—”
“How is your father? I don’t see him as often now that he’s decided to play househusband these days. And to think, he used to be the boy du jour once upon a time. How that grandmother of his ever thought he was meant for the heterosexual world is beyond me, but I suppose we all have appearances to keep up, don’t we? Do give him and Sergio my love, won’t you? It’s so rare I make it to the Upper West Side anymore. Everything hip is moving south. I remember when the Meatpacking district was nothing more than—”
“Mom, about this party,” I interrupt. She’ll go on for ages if I don’t corral the conversation. “Apparently there was a white horse? I need to know why Pierce Wilmington would be upset or embarrassed about what happened at that party.”
Mom just stares at me, for once silent. “Oh, Edie, you do know how to excavate don’t you?”
“It certainly is well-buried. According to Dad, no one has even talked about it since then.”
“I’m sure,” she hums, taking a sip of her drink.
“Mom, I don’t care about you riding on a horse naked,” I say impatiently.
“Nor should you! The human body is a beautiful thing, E
die. You should show more of yours off, though I’m pleased to see you finally taking my advice on wearing dresses.”
“Mom,” I urge. “The party?”
“Ah yes, the party,” she says in a dry tone, raising one eyebrow as she takes another sip, longer this time. She sets it down and gives me a direct look. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, Edie.”
“What?” I ask, truly surprised.
“The fact is…well, I don’t remember a thing. You know what the eighties were like. Well, I suppose you don’t, but surely you’ve heard what it was like. We were all just trying to forget that Reagan was in office.” She laughs in a tittering way. “I myself didn’t follow politics, but I’ve always found Republicans to be the most inventive in the bedroom. No doubt all that repressed energy erupting with—”
“Bullshit,” I finally blurt out, mostly out of irritation and impatience.
“Language, darling,” Mom tuts.
“Okay, bull-fucking-shit,” I spit out. “That should be more up your alley. For all the men I’ve heard about you screwing your way through, you’re suddenly tight-lipped on one man in particular. One who isn’t even worth protecting.”
She patiently sips her drink as though waiting out the temper tantrum of a toddler. “Are you finished?”
“Are you going to tell me the truth?”
She purses her lips in consideration, then sets her drink down with a sigh. “The fact is, let’s say I did remember,” she gives me a pointed look. “I was very strongly encouraged to forget it.”
“When has that ever stopped you? Are you afraid of Pierce Wilmington of all people?”
“Think about the man you’re talking about, Edie. What kind of encouragement could he use to persuade me?”
“Money,” I say, still feeling stupefied. It takes me a moment to put things together. “Oh my God, he was the funding behind Contempo Woman!”
“I never said that,” she says, giving me a hard look, which means it must be true. “Besides, I had several sources of funding.”
Now, Pierce using the name Cheval Blanc makes some sense. Everything ties back to that damn party with the white horse.
“No wonder he bought Contempo Woman,” I mutter, sitting back in my chair.
“What’s that?” Mom says, perking up.
The waiter comes with our food, interrupting the moment. I don’t miss Mom’s suddenly agitated demeanor. I would hate myself for the tiny bit of smug satisfaction I get from it—let her stew with unfulfilled curiosity and see how she likes it—if I weren’t so frustrated myself.
Once he’s gone she leans over the table as quick as a viper ready to strike. “What is this about buying back Contempo Woman?”
I give her a patronizing look. “Yes, mother, Pierce Wilmington has bought Contempo Woman, and he’s threatening to dissolve it.” I decide to leave the tit for tat with Bryce and Ideal Gentlemen out of the discussion. Based on how pissed off she is, she might be more likely to talk if she doesn’t know there’s wiggle room.
“That son of a bitch!” she hisses, her eyes as fiery as I’ve ever seen them.
“Care to spill the beans now?” I prod, hoping that will at least loosen her lips.
Her gaze flits to me, and I can see a final burst of flame in them before it dies out. “I can’t, Edie. I really can’t.” She picks up her martini and downs the rest of it, then looks around for the waiter to order another.
“Mom,” I say with even more disbelief. “Are you kidding me? I tell you that the legacy you built is about to be destroyed and you’re still loyal to him?”
“It’s not about loyalty. He has the power to financially destroy me if I tell, Edie.”
“So that is how he shut you and everyone else up,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
“Welcome to the world of finance, dear. They know how to play hardball.” She lifts up her empty glass, having caught the waiter’s attention, and taps it to order another.
“There’s got to be a way we can play hardball in return. I mean, he’s using his own son as leverage. Which means it must be big.”
“Wait a second, he’s what?” Mom says.
I figure there’s no point in not telling her everything now, so I reveal the part about Bryce’s father giving him an ultimatum—choose one or the other.
“And if you think I’m going to encourage Bryce to give up working for the magazine he created, you can forget it, Mom. I would never ask that of him.”
A smile appears on her face. “So, Bryce Wilmington, hmm? This is a new development. Despite the odious family name, I can’t say I disapprove.”
“Mom, don’t,” I sigh, feeling tired all of a sudden.
“You two are dating?”
“We…yes, we’re seeing each other,” I confess. I might as well get it over with.
“And he cares about you?”
Despite myself, a small smile appears on my face. “Yes, I suppose so. Enough to consider working for his father.”
“Interesting,” she says.
“Make all the suggestive remarks you want,” I say, waving a hand in the air. I suddenly realize neither of us has touched our food. Just staring down at my salmon salad has me suddenly ravenous. I might as well eat.
“That isn’t at all where I was going with this, Edie,” Mom says. Something in her voice has me forgetting about the bite of salad I’ve just taken and focused on her again.
“What?”
Her smile is as cunning as anything, which sparks a tiny bit of hope in me. “Alice Wilmington and I may have parted ways a long time ago, but there’s one thing I do know about the woman. She is devoted to her family, and she cares an awful lot about those boys of hers. I’m almost certain she’s the only reason they didn’t grow up to be a couple of psychopaths.”
“What’s your point, Mom?”
“If you want to know about that party, she’s the one to ask. I don’t think she’ll be too happy about her husband using their youngest in such a foul manner. Considering what happened back then, I think she’ll be more than willing to spill the beans.”
“You think?” I ask, though the answer is obvious. A wife who was cheated on definitely might be all the more inclined to talk.
“Though, I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to have his own wife sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” I say, feeling optimistic enough to resume eating. Not such a wasted lunch after all.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Bryce
Edie and I are in my apartment. She called me after her mostly unproductive lunch with her mother and told me what was discussed.
The idea of calling my mother ate at me for the rest of the day.
Now, we’re sitting on my couch, Edie’s bare legs draped over mine. She’s wearing my shirt, which would usually distract me enough to forget about the pint of ice cream and liquor we’re sharing. But tonight, I’m feeling punishingly gluttonous.
“There’s no reason to confront her, Bryce. Not if you don’t want to. It’s obvious what happened at this point. Why drudge up old, painful memories for her?”
“Because, as your mother put it, she’s the one person who can get through to Dad.” I stare at the wall, still imagining how the conversation with Mom will go.
“Hey,” Edie says, taking hold of my chin and turning my head to face her. “Whatever you decide, do it because you want to. Don’t make decisions based on what you think is best for me.”
“Of course I’m going to consider you, Edie. That’s what you do when you care about someone.”
A smile comes to her lips. “Well, as someone who cares about you, I’m telling you not to worry about me. Worst case scenario, I’ll…start something new like Mom did.”
“Oh,” I say, raising one eyebrow. “And, um, how do you plan on funding this new venture of yours?”
Edie pouts and looks off to the side in thought. “I guess I’ll just have to find wealthy, generous men to take advantage of
.” Her gaze rolls back to me and a wicked smile touches her lips.
Suddenly her legs swing off my lap and she takes hold of the pint of ice cream. Next thing, I know, she’s straddling me. I lean back with a grin, suddenly forgetting about my current troubles.
“So, Bryce,” she says, digging the spoon around in the tub. “Do you think you could spare five dollars or so?” The spoon comes up to my lips and she pulls it back just as I open my mouth to take a bite. “I promise to make it worth your while.”
I arch my neck forward to reach the spoon and swallow the cognac flavored ice cream. “I think I may have five dollars or so hidden away somewhere.”
My eyes scan her wearing my shirt, the top few buttons undone just enough to show a hint of cleavage peeking out from her bra. “Where do you want me to stick it?”
“Oh,” she purrs, her eyes rolling up to the side as she swirls the spoon around, then brings it up, coated with melting ice cream, to her neck. She trails one pecan, bourbon, and cognac flavored line down to her cleavage. “I think right here will do.”
I fall in with a smile on my face. I start in between her breasts, my tongue tracing its way up to her neck where I linger, mixing the swirl of liquid sugar and booze with the taste of her skin.
Edie moans, her throat vibrating against my mouth.
“This is easier than I thought it would be,” she muses, a low laugh throbbing against my mouth.
I pull away and stare at her. “Don’t think I won’t make you work for it, ma’am.”
“Ma’am? Just for that, I’m charging twice as much.”
“In which case, we’re definitely going to need more ice cream.”
I stand up, taking Edie with me on my way to the bedroom. I’m already putting what’s left in that current tub of ice cream to use in my head. I’m also cognizant of the fact that it’s much easier to clean sheets than upholstery.
Because we are about to get filthy.
I grab the ice cream from her hand and toss her on the bed. The shirt rises just enough to show off her lacy underwear.
Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance Page 21
