Turbulence Page 4

  A personal chef was a whole new level of elite that I had no aspiration to achieve. “Of course not. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have fibbed. I’ve had a busy day, Mama. I’m hungry and Steph left a couple of those meals in the freezer.” Liar, liar. “You needn’t worry about me, I’ve got restaurant bookings all weekend.” Pants on fire.

  “Mhmm and you think I’ll believe you after what you just tried to pull over me?”

  “Call the office in the mornin’ and ask Clare if you don’t believe me.” My voice was pure innocence as I leaned over the marble countertop for my work cell, shivering as skin made contact with cool stone.

  “I might just do that.”

  I sent a one-sentence email. If my mama calls, I have 2 dinner bookings this weekend. Clare would know exactly what I meant when she saw it and wrangle Mama appropriately. “Was there anything you wanted, Mama? I’m naked in my kitchen and my dinner is getting cold.”

  “Well, nuke it again in that danged contraption then,” she said drily. “Only phoned to see how you were doin’.”

  I smiled. “I’m just fine.”

  “Okay, I hear you. Go on before you catch a cold. I love you, Bunny.”

  “Love you too. Talk soon.”

  I dropped my phone back on the counter and stared at my dinner. It looked okay, but could you see bacteria? I’d put it in for the same amount of time I always did, it’d be fine. I poked the surface. Hot, but I did not have time to be attacked by E. coli. To be sure, I sent it round for another bacteria-killing minute.

  Chapter Four

  The next morning I was up and in the office by six thirty, having only thought about Audrey Graham four times while being driven in. Not bad. Certainly down from the seven times while I was showering and getting ready. I had a problem.

  Technically, the office didn’t open until seven thirty but I loved being in before everyone else, and made it my daily routine. There was something about the absolute silence that appealed, being able to work with nobody around needing me. The lights were already on, and the coffee machine humming quietly, thanks to building staff who slipped in like magic elves before me each morning. I gave the machine a loving pat. It perhaps worked harder than anyone else at Rhodes and Hall.

  The offshore markets had shifted downward quite a bit overnight. I jotted notes and had my day planned by the time I’d poured my second coffee and eaten breakfast at my desk. People started to come in around seven fifteen, and Mark barged into my office as I was cleaning my teeth in my bathroom. I spat toothpaste. “Morning.”

  “Trying to disguise your pussy breath, Belle?”

  “Don’t be gross.” I eyed him in the mirror. His lighthearted joke annoyed me because no, I wasn’t but I wished I was.

  “You’re calling Tom and seeing HR today, right?”

  I nodded, wiped my mouth and pushed past him. “Fear not, friend. The piece of paper will protect me.”

  Mark followed me. “Stop being so flippant. What if you do it again?”

  “Well, I haven’t thought about that.” All eleven of my earlier fantasies came rushing back to make a liar out of me. I tugged on slingbacks and my voice suddenly grew wistful. “But if it did, does it really matter? Don’t I deserve to enjoy myself?”

  He couldn’t argue. “There’re other options, Belle and besides, if she agrees then she’s unprofessional too.”

  “No. Don’t even start with that shit. You’re getting ahead of everything, as usual. I slept with her once. Well, one night. We’re not dating, we won’t be dating. If anything happens it’d only be sex.” Hot, erotic and extremely satisfying sex. I couldn’t help smiling at the memory.

  His cheeks puffed for a moment before he let the air out in a noisy sigh. “All I’m saying is be careful. Not just with that poor sensitive heart of yours, but for all we’ve built here.”

  Hypocrite. It was all right when he’d done it. I pushed my irritation aside and dismissed him with a wave. “If you’re done acting like a broken record, I have work to do.”

  My morning was spent on the phone trying to put out the usual forest fires. The moment markets moved down, people panicked. I was tempted to make a recording of myself and leave it playing on loop. Ladies and gentlemen, everything is fine, your money is fine, we’re all fine.

  Christopher arrived after lunch with the two gowns I’d chosen, and boxes of shoes on a cart that he wheeled into my office. He kissed my cheek, handed me a gown and shooed me into my bathroom to change, muttering at my dishevelment. I studied myself while climbing into the dress. He was right.

  It took me ten seconds to realize this was not to be the gown, and it took my stylist even less time. He held up his hand, shielding his eyes as though the very sight of me caused him physical pain. “Ugh, take it off and put the other one on.”

  I swapped dresses and came back out to an approving nod. “Better. Pop your feet into these.”

  Christopher steadied me as I slipped into a pair of Manolos, then offered his hand to help me climb up onto the low box to be pinned. He ran a tape measure over my body, checking nothing had changed since last time he’d fitted me. It hadn’t. The lining of the dress was silky, almost sensual. It felt the same as Audrey’s hair sliding over my skin as she pressed wet kisses to my stomach. Focus, Isabelle.

  My reflection in the mirror confirmed I looked great in this gown, that is if I ignored my hair and the tiredness seeping from behind my makeup. I ran a forefinger under my eye. “I’ve looked over your suggestions for the benefit. I’m loving options six and fourteen.”

  “Excellent choices.” Christopher pinned something in back. “I’ve got you in on the eighth for a fitting.”

  Mark passed by the open door, smirked and kept going. I glared after him, not that it did me any good because he was long gone. Christopher tsk’d me. “Frowning gives you wrinkles.”

  “It’s easy for him to be such an asshole. He just has to rotate through suits and tuxedos.”

  “But he doesn’t look anywhere near as stunning as you do, darling.” Christopher moved around to the front, checking the neckline. “Speaking of tuxedos…the ARF fundraising dinner is next month.”

  I grimaced, thought of wrinkles and let my face relax. “Ehhh, I’m not sure.”

  His eyebrow moved fractionally. He must have been due for a Botox top up. “Sweetie, it works for Angelina.”

  “Angelina has about four inches on me.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’ve got all those lovely curves just begging for a fitted jacket.” He dropped his hands to my hips and sighed happily. “You’re such a study in perfect proportions they should teach you in math class. Though you’re right, another few inches wouldn’t hurt.”

  I never thought I’d be so pleased by a compliment comparing me to something mathematical. “I bet that’s not the first time you’ve said that,” I shot back, twisting slightly to examine myself in the mirror.

  “Very amusing, my love.”

  I gave him a self-satisfied smile. “Thank you.”

  “You know, Isabelle, I have to say it. Aside from this general…” He indicated my face and hair with a forefinger. “Hobo hair and no sleep thing you’ve got going on, you’re surprisingly radiant. Have you found some little secret you’re not sharing with me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  He stared some more, then burst into a brilliant smile. “Noooo. You got laid,” he trilled.

  “Shh!” I glanced around nervously. The last thing I needed was for my staff to hear.

  Christopher brought his hands together and looked to the ceiling. “Oh thank you, mystery sex woman.” He grabbed my forearms. “You know I’m only saying this as your friend but honestly, since Steph left you’ve been acting a little, well, deprived. Whoever she was, you need to hit it again, and quick.”

  I ignored his jibe. “It’s complicated.”

  “Darling, assembling Ikea furniture is complicated. Making cronuts is complicated.” He lifted a finger to shush me and I would have been annoy
ed if it wasn’t one of my most used gestures. “Sex is not. Make it uncomplicated, Isabelle.” Lecture complete, he unzipped the dress. “Okay. I’m done.”

  I twisted around. “Not too much cleavage. It’s a charity event, not a hook up.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said distractedly.

  “I mean it.”

  Christopher stood outside the bathroom door to take custody of the dress the moment I’d shimmied out of it, and by the time I’d redressed his cart was packed. “I’ll have this dropped at your place tomorrow morning, along with the latest wardrobe additions, and I’ll see you on the eighth.” He kissed my cheek and imparted one final gem on me. “Remember, sex is the fountain of youth, my sweet. And you’re not getting any younger.”

  Thanks.

  Halfway along the hall on my way to the kitchen, I met Clare. She held out a fresh coffee and we performed a swap, full mug for empty mug. The woman needed a pay rise. Every day, I wondered how I’d managed to do anything before she became my assistant. Attentive but never obsequious or overbearing, she had it down to a fine art. I performed an about-face back toward my office. “Thank you. Did those settlement papers come through?”

  “Yes, Ms. Rhodes, I’ve got them right here.” She passed over a manila folder.

  “No problems?”

  “None.”

  “Great.” I set the mug on my desk and grabbed my tablet. “I sent you my speech. Have you had a chance to look over it?”

  “I did. It looks good but if I may, I’d suggest changing line twenty-three ‘life stability, job and home security and external support networks’ to something punchier. Make it a catchphrase.” She twinkled fingers near her temple, standard brainstorming gesture for her. “Something like, uh…stability, support and security?”

  I tried the phrasing out, mumbling, “With your generous donations, WHSF is able to provide these women much needed stability, support and security.” Hmm. “You’re right. Can you make the change and print for me, please. But make the order security, stability, support.”

  Clare smiled, apparently pleased that I’d taken her suggestion. “Will do.”

  I slid the stylus over the tablet screen. “Debbie hasn’t called about the share offer?” It was a pointless question. If she’d called I’d have spoken to her or had a message to return. But I was feeling out of sorts because of Audrey-sex-on-legs-Graham and Mark’s pushiness about the whole thing. Early on in my therapy career, I learned that when I felt out of control, I got picky and a little overbearing. Okay, fine. A lot overbearing.

  My assistant held her tablet against her chest. “No, Ms. Rhodes. Would you like me to call her?”

  “Not yet. We have two days until it closes.” I tapped my stylus against the screen but the tablet remained asleep. Frustration bubbling over, I tapped harder. Get a grip, Isabelle. Stop acting like a child, throwing a tantrum because you want something and can’t have it.

  But why wasn’t I allowed? Audrey wouldn’t be promoted by sleeping with me, and I’d checked that generous pay increases were already written into her contract. If we scrawled our names on a HR document we could be having satisfying, soul-shattering sex by the end of the week. I was making a big leap by assuming she wanted to. But judging by the way she looked at me yesterday when I’d spoken to her on the tarmac, she wanted to.

  Clare leaned over cautiously and pressed the side of the tablet. It blinked to wakefulness. She looked at me a moment, probably taking in my unruly hair, glasses over tired eyes instead of my usual contacts, two-inch heels instead of three or four and my nitpicky demeanor. “Ms. Rhodes, shall I book you a massage?”

  I sank into my chair. “Please. As soon as possible.”

  I heaved a heavy sigh and called our lawyer. Briskly, I laid out what had happened, skimming over the intimate details. Tom seemed unconcerned—though it did take a lot to rattle him—and reminded me that should the opportunity arise for another dalliance, it would be prudent to have Audrey sign that dreaded declaration.

  Adding a contractual agreement to my personal life was such an appalling thought that I decided, perhaps out of sheer petulance, that I wasn’t going to pursue anything with her. Arriving at a firm decision usually made me feel relieved but this time, I couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that I’d made the wrong choice.

  * * *

  My weekend adhered strictly to Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. Every minute felt like an hour because of my desperation for it to be Monday. Audrey Day. The day of just looking, no touching. Burying myself in work on Saturday morning didn’t help and by the time my dress was delivered that afternoon, along with my regular Christopher-approved hair and makeup team, I was about ready to explode with frustration.

  I was made-up, hair straightened and styled, glued and zipped into my dress then shoved into a car where I ran over my speech again.

  Mark met me at the venue, dressed in one of his damned easy tuxedos. Before we posed out front for photos, I had to straighten his bowtie. Inside, I fell right into more photos and endless networking. I delivered my speech to a mercifully attentive audience and rousing round of applause. I drank a little too much, tried not to be outwardly obnoxious and mostly succeeded. Mark had a keen sense of when Inappropriate Isabelle was about to appear and would deftly steer me away from whomever I was on the verge of inadvertently insulting.

  I couldn’t help myself. Pompous and pretentious, the majority of people at these events only came to get their picture in society pages rather than opening their wallets. Infuriating. It wasn’t like they couldn’t give and I intended to remind them of the fact. One of the best ways to push donations was to guilt people. To accomplish that, I had to suck up and I had to brag. I hated sucking up and I hated bragging.

  I plucked another champagne flute from a passing tray, staring at a group of three men nearby. Real estate money, lottery money, inheritance of great-aunt’s fortune money. Easy. I tended to avoid pushing old money into donations because I could always sense their disdain. Old money usually didn’t take kindly to new money like me bossing them around.

  A quick check that all my assets were in order, tongue run over my teeth and I was ready. Mark grasped my arm. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I responded, adding a touch of innocence.

  “You know what I’m talking about, Belle. I see it in your eyes. They gleam when you’re about to devour someone.” Despite his lecture, he was smiling. He enjoyed watching me eviscerate.

  “They deserve it. Are you coming?”

  Mark sipped his scotch, ice chiming against the glass. “I’m good here, thanks. I’ll watch. Please behave.”

  “Suit yourself. Maybe you’ll learn something.” No mention of behaving, or not.

  Real Estate Money Philip was someone I knew reasonably well. There was my in. I waited for a lull in conversation then carefully inserted myself next to him. He turned and placed a soft hand on my shoulder. “Isabelle. Brilliant speech.”

  Smiling broadly, I touched his arm. “Thank you, I’m pleased you liked it. I’m very sorry to interrupt, gentlemen. Philip, will you introduce me to your friends?”

  As he introduced me to Lottery Money and Great-Aunt’s Inheritance, he kept his arm around my waist, high enough that I wasn’t particularly bothered by its location. We made standard small talk, laughing and flirting gently before I decided I’d had enough and it was time to dig in.

  Over the years, I’d learned this situation worked best when I relaxed my usual rule and reconnected with my southern roots. In all my years attending fundraising events, I’d found it was a rare man who could resist cleavage, flattery and a honeyed drawl. Shallow and underhanded, yes but there were causes that relied on me to do what I had to in order to get funding for them.

  I turned my charm up to an eight point five. “Now tell me, gentlemen. Have y’all written a check to help these women out yet?”

  Their exchanged looks told me they hadn’t. Philip chuckled. “Hmm. Well things are a little tight at th
e moment. Sales are down and as you know, the market’s been a little slow.”

  Or you’re just greedy. “Really? I could have sworn I saw you arrive in a new Maserati GranTurismo.” I tugged his tuxedo sleeve. “Come now, Philip. Ladies love a generous man.” I hoped ladies loved generous ladies too. “I’ve already donated one hundred thousand dollars, so there’s your benchmark.”

  He laughed, not seeming at all embarrassed at being caught out. “Isabelle. You don’t miss a thing. All right then. Come on, boys. Let’s go give these deserving ladies some money.”

  I giggled and hated myself for it. “Thank you, gentlemen. We sure do appreciate your support.”

  When they’d moved out of earshot, I gulped champagne. Something touched my back, startling me.

  “Isabelle?”

  Fuuuuck. I turned in the direction of the voice, arranging my face into a smile. The fakest of all fake smiles. I leaned in and exchanged double-ugh-cheek kisses with Wendy Hayward, Steph’s best friend. “Wendy. How are you? It’s lovely to see you.” It wasn’t lovely. It was nauseating.

  She looked me up and down, light blue eyes cold and appraising. “You’re looking well,” she said, voice smooth and still with the trace of an affected British accent.

  I know. “Thank you. And you. I adore that dress.” I gestured with my champagne glass. “Very flattering.”

  A muscle in her cheek flickered. “That was a wonderful speech. I was quite moved.”

  “I’m pleased you enjoyed it.” Already tired of the conversation, I swept my eyes around the room before coming back to her. “I assume you were moved enough to donate.”

  Wendy smiled tightly. “Not yet.”

  I raised both eyebrows, exaggerating my surprise. “No? Well, be sure to write out a check before you leave. I’m sure you can spare twenty grand or so.” I ran my forefinger under my nose and sniffed to emphasize my point. Wendy had a small cocaine problem.

  Cold blue eyes got colder. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked me how Stephanie is.” Nice subject change, very smoothly done.