Chapter 23
Before my ass could hit the seat, Lacey called on me. “Scarlett, I need a minute.”
“Coming.” I pushed my chair out and stretched. My shirt buttons strained. No more macaroons.
Clarissa eyeballed me as I approached. She’d taken the desk in front of Lacey’s office, hoping to win some brownie points. And to eavesdrop. I’d pointed out it made her look like Lacey’s receptionist, but by then she couldn’t switch without losing face.
Smiling, I closed the door on Clarissa’s sour expression. “What’s up?” She must have seen all the deals coming in for The Crystal.
Lacey stopped writing in her notepad. “Are you any further forward with finding out who planted that New Yorker article? We can’t have a repeat incident, so you need to shut it down.”
“Viv’s on the case, but even with her sources it’s not easy. Journalists have a code.” Which I would break by holding a foot against the writer’s neck when a spare second presented itself.
She tutted. “Keep me in the loop. Your reputation is all you have. If it’s someone close to you feeding a reporter, then you need to cut out the rot.”
Is she saying Jack’s the rot?
“Despite the attempt to undermine you, I see the building is doing well. I heard people were raving about the open house. Such a unique take.”
I took a seat on the stool, planting my feet on either side. “All in a day’s work.” Be humble.
“So where are you with Jack Shane?” She placed the pen in the middle of the notebook to keep the page open.
Nowhere. Well, the bakery. Wait, what has she heard?“You mean on working with him?”
Lacey sighed. “No, I mean on undermining him. If David thinks Shane is incompetent, then he’s bound to come with us.”
“Or he might choose us because I do a good job?” I shifted my weight onto one butt cheek.
“He might, but I don’t like leaving things to chance. You need to get a meeting with David and imply that Jack is a liability,” she explained. Or you’re not making partner.
“He’s having a birthday party this Saturday. He invited both of us.”
She clapped her hands together. “Perfect. Get in his ear and drop some hints. Or get into an altercation and play the injured party. Nothing would sink his career faster.”
When my butt cheek went numb, I switched sides. “I want him off the deal, not arrested.” Does she expect me to punch myself in the eye and claim he did it?
Lacey settled back in her chair like a Bond villain. “However you do it is up to you, but this is what I meant when I said you need to get your hands dirty. Clarissa wouldn’t think twice about pushing herself down the stairs and accusing him.”
“Little extreme,” I commented. Unlike Clarissa, I wouldn’t play the actress or put someone in jail. “But I’ll think of something.”
She picked up her pen again. “Good. I’m counting on you, partner.” She winked.
I liked the sound of it but hated what I’d need to do to get it.
I might throw myself down the stairs to get out of this party.
* * *
Viv looked up from her textbook. “I don’t like that face.”
“Charming,” I replied, running a hand over my unlikeable face.
“Bad?” She folded the corner of the page to keep her place and closed the textbook.
“Not good, I think. It is… and it’s not.” I hesitated.
Viv looked confused. “Well, that answered my question… and didn’t.”
“She wanted an update on The Crystal,” I half lied. Yep, Satan will be waiting at the gates of hell with my room key.
Viv raised her hand for a high five. “Honey, you are smashing it. You’ll have that thing sold out a week early.”
I gave a lackluster high five back. Telling Viv would make her complicit. She didn’t do scheming. Neither did I, but Jack’s dreams weren’t worth more than mine.
A text from Oliver pinged my cell.
Hi, sweetheart, Soooo sorry to do this but I’m afraid I’m leaving for Milan this afternoon and won’t be back till Sunday. Let’s do lunch at Cipriani when I’m back. Oli xxxx
“I take it back. That face is worse,” Viv said.
My fingers massaged my temples, and I could feel the little vein on the left throbbing. “I have no date,” I muttered down to the desk.
Viv leaned in closer. “What?”
I lifted my head. “Oliver pulled out. I have no date. I am fucked.”
“No, if you had a date you would be be fucked. At some point,” she tittered. “Although, you’re not Oliver’s type.”
“I’m not in the mood for your wordplay.” I dropped my head on the desk, not caring if anyone saw me.
She tapped a pencil off my head. “Why don’t you go alone?”
“Because I’ll look sad and desperate,” I answered, wiping a piece of drool away before it dropped onto the desk.
“Since when do you care what people think?” She gave up tapping and braiding a piece of my hair. “Or is it a certain person’s opinion you’re worried about?”
“Can we have a conversation that doesn’t loop back to Jack Shane?” I pleaded. “I’m in crisis.”
She continued braiding. “Do you wanna get a bagel?”
“Quite a U-turn but yes.” I shooed her hands away and sat up.
She cracked her textbook back open. “Great, I’ll have my usual and an iced tea.”
“Nice move.” I grabbed my purse.
“Learned from the best.” She cocked her fingers at me and propped her legs up on the corner of the desk. The pink feathers on her stilettos fluttered as she tapped her heel.
Most days, the walk from the door of our building to the corner bagel cart took two minutes. In today’s heat in the black one-shouldered double-breasted blazer dress that skimmed my thighs, it felt like ten.
I’d beat the lunchtime rush, gliding right to the front. The usual guy stood waiting for his next customer, with floppy brown hair and a red V-necked T-shirt. “Hi, can I have an onion bagel?—”
“And a plain, both with cream cheese and extra tomato?” he chimed. “Iced latte, and… coff— nah, two iced teas. On account of the heat.”
“You know our order?” I gasped, taking in the hazel eyes. How did I not notice those before?
He started to make our food, hands going a mile a minute. “Sure. You and your friend are two of my best customers.”
“My hips could confirm that.” I patted them for emphasis.
“Ahh, nothing wrong with a girl who enjoys her carbs,” he confessed. “Keeps me in business.”
He had to be at least five years younger than me. And he didn’t seem the type to own black-tie attire. Or even a tie. But he looked cute.
I wiped the sheen of sweat from my forehead. “Do you have plans this Saturday?”
Wrapping up the bagels in greaseproof paper, he answered, “Depends who’s asking.” With a flourish, he dropped them into a paper bag and passed it over the counter.
“I am.” I took the bag and gave him the money. “I need a date for an event. Black tie.”
He popped our lattes into a Styrofoam cup holder. “Do you think I own a tux?”
“No,” I answered. “But I’ll sort that out.” Note to self: Rent a tux. “What’s your number?”
Rhyming off his cell, he handed me the cup holder. “So what time will I pick you up for our date?”
“I’ll pick you up, with the tux.” I shoved the paper bag under my least sweaty armpit. “And it’s not a date.” Aware of heavy breathing on my neck, I stepped to the side so he could serve the impatient dragon behind me.
“All right.” He motioned for the next customer to come forward. A huge mountain of a man requested his bagel in broken English, and I took the opportunity to bail.
I dropped the bag and cup holder on Viv’s desk and did a little Irish jig. Or what I considered an Irish jig. I might have resembled someone being electrocuted. “Guess what? I got a date for Saturday.”
Viv ripped into the bag. “In ten minutes while getting bagels?”
“Two birds, one stone. The bagel guy.” I reached in for my bagel then unwrapped the paper.
Her bagel stopped halfway to her mouth. “The bagel guy?”
“The bagel guy,” I confirmed.
She sucked her teeth. “Oh, honey, you have it bad.”