Chapter 4
“I SWEAR, CHRISTINE, I got back from the cruise with your sister, and the first thing people asked me was ‘Where were you during the blackout?’ The Wi-Fi was so bad on the ship I only ever checked my phone for text messages. Are you okay? Where were you when it happened? Wasn’t that the night of your big event, or do I have the date wrong? God—were you stuck in the subway or something?”
Yeah, something like that.
Christine picked at the salad she’d gotten from the to-go kiosk at Walgreens, regretting the laziness that kept her from walking the extra avenue to the pizza place when Meg asked her to tag along. Val’s voice echoed in her ear as she dipped a piece of cucumber into the dressing like the world’s worst potato chip.
Christine’s foster mother, Valerie Clemente—and her two daughters, Nicole and Theresa—tended to spit out several questions at once. After twelve years with a father who seemed clued in to her every thought and action, Christine wasn’t used to a relationship that required so much verbal maintenance. It took some adjusting, but sometime in her late teens, she realized Valerie’s inquisitions were an act of love. Val treated her children the same way. She was sure Nicole and Theresa would carry on the tradition when they had children of their own.
“Yeah, the event didn’t quite go off as planned. The board’s chairman decided to reschedule it to New Year’s Eve.” The word had been officially dictated at a team meeting that morning, and Jessie Skies had been formally announced as the event’s headline performer. The interns and admin staff alike shrieked so loudly at the news, Christine was surprised she hadn’t heard the answering howls of neighborhood dogs. Of the junior staff, only Christine kept her cool. Then again, she knew how the idea came to fruition.
“Well, that’s all well and good for Mister Chairman, but that means you’re gonna be working your butt off during the holidays and your finals season! It just goes to show someone like that wouldn’t think of the people who have to put in the work. Are you even coming over for Christmas?”
“Christmas is more than three months away, and I doubt they expect me to work on Christmas.” Christine wondered if the work excuse would keep her visit blessedly short. Christine loved Val and Val’s family, but they were…a lot all at once. Getting Val to talk about something other than Christine and her life was always the best option. “How was the cruise?”
“Nicole and I had a blast! We went all around the Mediterranean. And in Monaco, we saw Princess Charlene in public with her kids! Everywhere you go, there’s a picture of the prince and princess—even in the McDonalds!”
Christine laughed at Val’s enthusiasm. “You went all the way to Monaco, and you ate in a McDonalds?”
“Don’t be so snobby. I just wanted to see what it would look like, and it was the cheapest place to get a cup of coffee.”
“So what was it like?”
“It was more or less like any other McDonalds,” Val admitted, sounding disappointed. “But we went to the car museum. The prince collects all these fancy cars…”
Christine listened with half an ear as Val continued to describe her adventures in the many cities they visited along the way.
“Christine!” A stern voice interrupted her. Christine looked up to see Cynthia standing over her disapprovingly as she glared at Christine.
“Val, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Talk later, sweetie!”
“Personal calls on work time, Christine?” Cynthia asked with a condescending sneer.
“No, just catching up on my lunch break. Anyway, what can I do for you, Cynthia?” Christine asked with a tired smile.
Cynthia Dobrin was a trust fund child who’d expected an early marriage and a classic six on the Upper East Side. When an early engagement to the scion of a wealthy French family had failed to materialize in the marriage she wanted, she used her connections with the board to get a job at the opera. The way Cynthia behaved, a job at a society nonprofit was a way to fill time until the right husband came along. Christine was sure it was why Cynthia flirted outrageously with the male donors, whether they were single or married. Cynthia was attractive. She had shoulder-length chocolate hair, a charming wide smile, and sparkling green eyes. If only the person underneath wasn’t such a lazy opportunist. Cynthia was fantastic at delegating her work to Christine.
“It’s all about managing an organization’s operations, Christine.” Christine rolled her eyes at the memory of Cynthia begging off a data entry project that everyone from Marie Giry to the interns had to partake in. Only Cynthia exempted herself and passed her share on to Christine .
“Where are you with the donor list?” Cynthia’s snide tone broke Christine from her recollection.
Christine stared at the spreadsheet of gala donors on her computer screen. They all had to be contacted to determine whether they wanted a refund or to attend the rescheduled New Year’s Eve event. There were 500 names to go through, and it needed to be done yesterday.
“I’ve finished compiling the best contact information for each donor. I’ve separated the sheet into table purchases and single-ticket buyers so you and Marie can reach out to our bigger-named participants, and I can call the individuals.” Christine offered a tight-lipped smile.
“Yes, I’ll probably need you to take the whole list. I have lunch with our contact at Bulgari and want to ensure they’ll participate in the New Year’s Eve event. How long do you think it will take you to get through the list?”
500 names? Christine’s eyes widened. “I’ll start with an individualized email to each person on the list and a written letter. Once the mail merge is done, I can start the phone calls. If I concentrate solely on this task, I imagine it’ll take about ten days to complete.”
Cynthia hemmed. “We need a quick turnaround on this. I’d like to see the letters out tomorrow. You can stay late, right?”
So much for catching up on sleep tonight. “Not a problem. I’ll get the letters done by tomorrow.”
“See that you do. This is important if we want the New Year’s gala to be successful. We need to get these save-the-date letters in front of donors before they make holiday plans.”
“Will do.” Christine would call in some of the regular volunteers to help stuff envelopes. She couldn’t help but wonder, if it was so important, why Cynthia was taking a long lunch. On the bright side, she would bet good money Cynthia would use the lunch as an excuse to get out of work early for the day. Christine could get the job done in peace, and the work could drown out the insistent dread of Erik’s threats and the fury in his eyes.
When she replayed the elevator incident, Christine’s mind fell on two distinct moments. The first was the feeling of Erik’s— Mr. Gardner’s —fingers tangling with her own. She hadn’t made that up. It wasn’t a fantasy, nor was the slight tingling sensation his touch had brought on. Even now, it made her breathless to remember how that slight touch made her feel…that it had made her feel at all. There was more intimacy in that touch than on her last five first dates combined.
The second was the sight of his face. How could anyone survive an injury that inflicted that sort of damage? He was hideous—there was no beating around the bush regarding that fact. She wanted to touch the places where angry red skin met tough-looking scar tissue. Did his face hurt? Was there nothing more to be done for him? What had happened and when? Despite his behavior toward her, she felt an overwhelming compassion. He reminded her of those YouTube videos of frightened stray dogs starving in the streets, snarling and biting to ‘protect’ themselves from well-meaning rescuers.
Upon exiting the elevator, Christine was immediately recruited to clean up the mess of party preparations for 500 attendees who never showed up. After gathering hundreds of menus and programs and locking up swag bags and auction items with Cynthia barking at her the whole time, she’d arrived home at 2:00 a.m. She ended up in bed in the red gown, googling anything personal she could find about Erik Gardner.
It had never occurred to her to research him beyond his CV. She knew he grew up in Princeton and went to Wharton for business at the University of Pennsylvania—her almost alma mater. His company bio mentioned he had been an accomplished pianist in his youth, performing at competitions nationwide. His father had died in his early childhood. He had no siblings. That was all she’d wanted to know about him. She’d admired his business acumen. She hadn’t been looking for a date.
Her cheeks burned. And she still wasn’t looking for a date!
But now she hunted details like the most depraved fangirl. His photo on the website was recent—a professional headshot reflected the unmarred side of his face. AI-generated? She wasn’t tech-savvy, but she knew what a good graphic designer could do with basic software.
More interesting were supposedly recent photos in local papers of him on dates. Christine looked at the captions: Erik Gardner and a guest dine at an Italian bistro in the West Village, and Erik Gardner enjoying the Jets game in his company’s suite. Further were gossip items on Page Six of the Post —"Erik Gardner house hunting in the Hamptons.” Glorious bullshit. Photos and stories notwithstanding, she could see they were all carefully curated. It would invite speculation if he was seen as too much of a shut-in. No one was interested in businessmen’s lives unless they were particularly unusual or public-facing. Erik had positioned himself as neither. A few planted fake photos made him easily accessible and thus utterly dull. It was a brilliant strategy.
If only the world knew what was hiding behind his metaphorical mask.
In the days after the gala, Christine had anticipated Marie handing her walking papers. Four days later, she realized they probably weren’t coming. Perhaps Erik had felt his threats were enough to ensure her silence. She reasoned he wouldn’t want to raise further questions by putting her notice front and center. It was up to her to put the entire event behind her. She needed to finish grad school before finding a job anywhere but Gardner Industries. Working there had been her dream for the past five years, and job hunting was something she’d handle when she had the proper time to mourn the loss of that dream.
“Miss Derring?”
Christine snapped out of her reverie. How long had she been staring at the same spreadsheet? She rubbed her eyes and turned around. A tall man with olive-colored skin and graying hair above his temples looked at her from the entrance of her cubicle.
“Yes?” she asked. The man’s face was unassuming, with an air of ease. He looked to be in his mid-thirties. He wore a navy suit and light pink shirt, but the shirt was open at the collar where a tie should’ve been.
“May I introduce myself? My name is Reza Khan. I’m…”
“COO to Gardner Industries,” Christine said miserably, feeling the other shoe drop. She’d been so sure she was safe.
“Yes.” Reza smiled as though he weren’t a proverbial firing squad. “Erik mentioned you followed the organization. I wondered if I might steal a moment of your time in the conference room?”
Christine looked around. Reza Khan had picked his moment well. The interns and volunteers were at lunch, and Marie was at a meeting with the accountant about the upcoming annual audit. “Sure.” She motioned toward the conference space in the rear of the office. “This way.”
“Thank you.” Reza Khan spoke with a booming voice. The man could summon something like regret if she were about to be fired. Mr. Khan had an air of utter calm; just another day at the office. He sat down comfortably when they entered the conference room and directed Christine to do the same. Christine fell selfconsciously into a seat across the table. Wasn’t this how people always got fired on reality television shows? She watched as Reza took out a plain manila folder and placed it before him. She felt her throat close .
“Miss Derring, I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice, and I’m sorry to have caught you unaware. I know you must be quite busy rescheduling the gala after the blackout. Erik also mentioned you’re in graduate school. I have to say, I admire anyone with that kind of work ethic.”
“Thank you,” Christine whispered. Her heart raced as anxiety promised to overwhelm her. She wouldn’t cry. She’d keep it together. She stared at her hands, loosely folded on the table.
“Yes, well, Erik mentioned you take your work and studies seriously. He also knows you recently acquired some information he would rather keep private.”
Christine’s eyes widened, and she looked up at Mr. Khan. Is that how Erik put it? Her eyes darted around the table, and she struggled to find the right words to respond.
“I don’t know what was said in the elevator last week, but I can tell you Erik deeply regrets his loss of temper. I mean that sincerely. I think you must now understand that Mr. Gardner doesn’t circulate with people he doesn’t know. His reaction was inexcusable, and he knows that. He’d like to make it up to you.”
“He wants to…what?” Christine shook her head and looked up at him in confusion. “I’m not fired?”
“Why would you be fired? I’m told you work hard here, and the opera staff is lucky to have you amongst its ranks.” He opened the folder. “But Erik is an exceedingly private man and would feel more comfortable if he could ensure your silence and help support your efforts at the same time. If you’re willing to sign a nondisclosure agreement about your experience with Erik, he’ll make you a one-time payment of one million dollars. You can use this for your schooling, the purchase of an apartment, or whatever you prefer. Further, after you’ve completed your degree, he guarantees you a position at Gardner Industries with a minimum two-year employment contract and a six-figure salary.” Mr. Khan pushed the folder across the table for Christine to review.
“Mr. Gardner wants to pay me?” Christine asked, astonished. She was so shocked, she forgot to be tongue-tied. Her head was rushing. She looked at Mr. Khan incredulously. “Why? I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Reza looked at her evenly. “Mr. Gardner prefers insurance.”
“And if I sign this and get drunk one night and blurt something out?”
Mr. Khan’s eyes became steely, protective. “Mr. Gardner would sue you.”
“I see.” Christine pressed her lips together.
“Is that a risk where you’re concerned?” He looked at her as though she were a puzzle he was putting together.
“No, but I don’t like the possibility of being sued either.” Her mind was reeling, and for a moment, she tried and failed to identify her feelings. Recognition came in waves. Na?ve in this way of the world, her emotions had been a tangle of fear, confusion, and sympathy for days. For Erik Gardner, she was a minor inconvenience to be handled by a lackey and a check. She’d imagined their connection. She felt small and insignificant.
Unbidden, her lip curled up in disgust. “I’m just a problem to be handled. I suppose I should be ‘grateful’ I’m being offered a generous golden parachute instead of a pink slip.” She pressed her lips together and her chin tightened. She swallowed forcefully.
“Not so much a problem as a loose end. Erik doesn’t like loose ends, and neither do I. They can make things messy. This way, everyone wins. Erik maintains his privacy—and you—you walk out of here a wealthy woman. It’s simple—really, this is your lucky day.”
“Doesn’t feel lucky. Feels like my principles are for sale. ”
Mr. Khan looked at Christine with a shrewd stare. “Can you tell me what happened with you and Erik?”
Christine narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Didn’t Erik tell you?”
“I’d like to hear your version of events.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it was none of his business, but frankly, she was desperate to tell someone, if only to prove to herself it was real and not some blackout-induced dream. Mr. Khan’s piercing gaze provided some indication of why he was given the task of ensuring she toed the line. He was waiting, patient and immovable.
Christine sighed and looked down as she spoke. “It was pitchblack in the elevator. At first, I didn’t even realize Mr. Gardner was there. When he introduced himself, I felt so embarrassed but also in awe. The Erik Gardner—and I had an opportunity to speak with him.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes at her stupidity. “We talked on and off the whole time—about business, music, even our childhoods.”
Mr. Khan’s eyes went wide at her statement, and he signaled her to continue.
“He was nice to me until the lights came back on. I didn’t expect him to be…nice. Who expects someone as powerful as Erik Gardner to be kind? After…I saw his face; before I could even say anything, he became angry. All I wanted to do was to impress him so he would possibly give me a job when I graduated or maybe write me a letter of recommendation. But I thought we connected somewhere in those four hours on the elevator floor. I feel like such an idiot.” Christine realized her tear ducts were flooding, and she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep them from spilling over. She wouldn’t say the quiet part out loud, that Reza’s offer made her feel easily dispensable. She’d faced enough indignities of late .
Mr. Khan looked at her with discernment and sighed. She could have sworn she heard him mutter, “Dammit, Erik,” under his breath. He tapped a pen on the table before seeming to make a decision. “This must be a lot for you to take in. Perhaps you’d like a few days to think about it?”
Christine blinked at him. She was sure this man was sent to give her the full-court press. She anticipated threats. To ‘sign this contract or else.’ She nodded. Mr. Khan reached out to shake her hand. She stared at his hand for several seconds before taking it with a slight tremble. He gave her a smile that reassured her.
“Read over the contract carefully before you decide. My phone number is on the paperwork if you have any questions. I’ll be in touch, Miss Derring.”
“Thank you, Mr. Khan.” Was it her imagination, or had his tone gentled in the last few minutes?
“Please, call me Reza.” He nodded at her before leaving her in the conference room, her thoughts running in circles.
“What do you mean, she wouldn’t sign?” Erik stared at Reza, agog. “You’re my closer. You close. You’re my Mariano freaking Rivera!” Erik wasn’t angry so much as shocked. Reza was usually much better at making things happen.
“She was extremely resistant. Wouldn’t put pen to paper. Said she wanted to think about it.”
“What could she possibly have to think about? It’s a million dollars and a job offer. I’m making her fucking dreams a reality.”
“Maybe they aren’t her dreams anymore. Maybe if you hadn’t lost your temper…” Reza spread his hands and gave Erik a significant look .
“I’m giving her over a million reasons to get over that,” Erik responded sarcastically. He narrowed his eyes at Reza—who appeared to be fighting a grin—suspicious of his friend’s lax attitude about the circumstances.
“Not every person can be bought, Erik. Perhaps if you apologize to her, you might get her to sign the NDA?” Reza shrugged. “The offer might be more effective if it came from you.”
“After how I treated her? You think the best option is for me to terrorize the poor girl further?”
“Here’s the thing, Erik. Miss Derring told me how kind you were to her in that elevator. Isn’t that strange? Here I am, trying to buy her off with a life-changing amount of money, and she’s barely holding back tears andtalking about how kind you were to her.” Reza looked at Erik. “You…kind.”
“I sense you’re trying to slow-walk me to some realization. Would you mind giving me the TL;DR version?” Exasperation bled into Erik’s voice.
“Meet her again. Apologize. Then politely ask her to sign the NDA.”
The idea was laughable. If Christine Derring hadn’t accepted his offer, the right offer simply hadn’t been made. The pained expression on Reza’s face suggested there was something more Erik was missing, but he wasn’t filling in any gaps for Erik.
“So…I should just call her?”
Reza shook his head. “Bad idea—too easy to hang up the phone or to record the conversation. You need to meet her in person.”
Erik almost laughed at the absurdity. “Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Should we do the Starbucks on Eighty-Sixth or the Barnes & Noble on Eighty-Second?”
“Didn’t the Barnes & Noble on Eighty-Second close during the pandemic?” Reza ignored Erik’s sarcasm while flipping through his phone. “Nope—it’s still there. Oh, and Julie Soto is speaking there next week. I need to tell Sarah—she’s a fan.”
“You’re not helping.”
“If you’re not smart enough to figure out how to get a woman who works for your non-profit to meet with you, I’ve severely underestimated your intelligence these last twenty-plus years.” Reza raised his eyes to look at Erik and snickered. “I love watching you argue with yourself. It always looks like you’re eating a Sour Patch Kid.”
Erik sighed. “You’re right. It can’t be at the opera though—too risky. We could be overheard. I’ll need to get her to come here.”
“For God’s sake—just have Marie send her here with some documents you need to ‘urgently sign.’ How did you do better than me in college?”
Erik regarded his friend with something like an off-kilter grin, an expression that hadn’t crossed his face for longer than he cared to admit. Why was this so amusing to Reza? And why was Erik amused in response?
With significant effort, he pushed away the answer that resounded in his brain: Becausenow, you get to see her again .