Chapter Nine #2
“Yeah, sometimes the snobs working the door give you girls a hard time,” he said, stretching and scratching at his ribs.
It was only then that she realized he wasn’t even dressed for company, instead wearing a white undershirt with yellowed stains under the arms and a pair of joggers that bunched around his ankles like he was the newest arrival at a retirement home.
“My dad was a real hard-ass about letting people in his precious sanctuary. Anyway, we gotta make this quick.”
“I can be quick,” Juliette said, just as Brad dropped his joggers and turned to face her, his saggy underwear doing little to hide the fact that he was already at half-mast. She blinked once in shock as he stood there, hands on hips, looking at her expectantly. “Sorry … what the fuck is going on?”
“Come on, sweetheart, I’ve only got five minutes,” he said.
“Mr. Ellingham,” Juliette said, her voice deceptively gentle, “I am Juliette Winters.”
“I don’t need to know your name, honey, just get to work.”
“I work at Simon Says,” she said, her patience snapping. “The publisher that bought the rights to your father’s memoir?”
“You’re not from the service?” Brad asked. “The girl I ordered?”
“No,” Juliette ground out. “I’m not from any service, and I’m not available for hire in that way.” Certainly not for the likes of Brad Ellingham.
“Hmmm,” Brad said thoughtfully. “So you’re not giving me a blowjob?”
Juliette channeled ice into her veins as she stared him down. “Mr. Ellingham, I’m going to give you five seconds to put your dick away, otherwise I am going to put it away for you. Permanently.”
“All right, shit, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Brad muttered, turning around and stooping to pull his pants up.
Keep it together, Juliette. Eye on the prize. You can neuter him later, after you have the manuscript. She at least had the advantage of catching him with his pants down—literally and figuratively. As Brad fumbled with the suit on the hanger, she pressed her case.
“We have a contract with your father to publish his memoir,” she said, doing her best to power through the fact that he was now taking off his shirt. “It went missing the night of the party, and we’ve unfortunately had a difficult time recovering it.”
“Sounds like a problem for the police,” Brad said, struggling into what was probably supposed to be a clean undershirt but didn’t look to be in any better condition. “You know anything about ties? Where’s that idiot Clayton? He’s supposed to be helping me get dressed.”
“The police have been no help,” Juliette said, ignoring the part where he was still treating her like a common servant instead of the powerful business adversary she was.
“And without that manuscript, we’re technically in breach of contract.
That book was worth millions, Mr. Ellingham, and if it isn’t recovered it could cause a lot of problems for someone. ”
“Everybody’s got money problems, lady, join the queue.
I don’t know anything about my dad writing some dumb book.
If somebody made off with it, I don’t see how that’s my problem.
” He dropped his pants again before remembering the last thing she had threatened to do if he disrobed in front of her.
“Do you mind a little privacy? I’ve got my father’s eulogy to deliver. I’m a grieving son, all right?”
Juliette had never seen anyone go through the five stages of grief so quickly, and Brad Ellingham looked like he’d leap-frogged right over the first four and landed happily on acceptance. Besides which, he still wasn’t getting the point she was trying to make.
“I don’t think you understand me, Brad,” she said, placing a salty emphasis on his name.
“I’m not the one with the money troubles, because I’m not the one in breach of contract.
Your father made the deal through the Ellingham Group, which means the Ellingham Group owes me that manuscript.
And if the Ellingham Group doesn’t deliver, then the Ellingham Group will be the one on the hook to pay the penalty. ”
Brad slowly pivoted to face her, an inscrutable look on his face. At least he’d been able to put his slacks on before confronting her. “Are you … threatening me?”
“I’m telling you the terms of our contract,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height. Which was pretty damn impressive, given his more diminutive stature.
“You want a settlement, is that it?” Brad sneered, coming around the desk and barreling into her personal space like a little yappy dog. “Some hush money to make the problem go away? Made out to cash, and you’ll consider the whole matter closed and settled?”
“What?” Juliette said, taken aback. “No, that’s not—”
“You think you’re the first person at this funeral to threaten me, lady?” He gave the word the same nasty inflection she’d put on his name. “You thought you could show up to my father’s memorial service and squeeze me out of my hard-earned money just because you caught me with my pants down?”
“I’m not squeezing anyone,” Juliette said, fury rising as she leaned toward him. “And I’m not threatening you, either. Though it’s telling that you can’t make it through a funeral service for your own father without someone wanting to put you through the wringer.”
“Hey, I’m in mourning here,” Brad said, looking more belligerent than bereft.
“I can’t keep up with everybody looking for a piece of my dad’s estate.
The old man left it all to me because he trusted me.
Well, everything but the art, but only Clayton gives a shit about that stuff.
And Dad might tell that cute story about how he built this place on his back, but he was getting old.
A little senile, if you ask me. The Ellingham Group needed a shake-up, and the old man didn’t know when to say ‘retire.’ I’ve got a body to bury and a company to run, and I don’t have time for little barnacles like you looking for a free ride, babe. ”
“I want that manuscript, Mr. Ellingham,” said Juliette. “It’s in both of our best interests to avoid the courts and lawyers, I’d say, which means you need to work with me. You can get me access to Pacific Pines, where I can question—”
“Pacific Pines?” Brad snorted. “So that’s what this is about? You’re angling for a membership at my dad’s boring old country club?”
“I don’t want a membership,” Juliette said, throwing her arms wide in exasperation and accidentally catching Brad across the cheek.
Was it accidental, though? Her mother would say it was an unconscious emotional trigger.
Her parents had always said Juliette was a hothead, that she could never keep her anger in check during moments of high stress.
“You scheming little bitch,” Brad said, holding both hands to his cheek as if she’d taken a razor blade to him instead of accidentally grazing him with her fingernails.
“I’m sorry,” she faltered, furious with herself for giving away the advantage. “It was an accident, I swear.”
“Fuck you and your accident,” Brad said, storming toward the office door and wrenching it open. “Security, get the hell down here!”
Juliette’s heart hammered away in her chest. Hopefully Detective Marks wasn’t within shouting distance. “Mr. Ellingham, I don’t think—”
“You certainly don’t think, if you thought messing with me was going to get you somewhere special.
” Brad lowered his hands, showing three angry red streaks across his cheek.
The girls at the nail salon had promised her exceptional results with the last dip, and they really hadn’t lied.
“You think I’m scared of lawyers and courts?
I’ve been in more courts in more countries than you’ll ever visit in your pathetic lifetime, and I’ve got enough lawyers to drown a man in paperwork.
By the time I’m done with you, some stupid missing manuscript my dad supposedly wrote will be the least of your worries. ”
Juliette blinked rapidly, cycling through a number of options and tossing them out as the thundering of footsteps grew closer.
Could she take Brad hostage? No, that would involve spending more time with him.
Jump out the window and make a run for it?
She wasn’t wearing the right heels for a jailbreak.
Stab him with a letter opener for the satisfaction of it?
Her gaze swept over the desk, looking for any solution, when she saw it.
The autopsy report.
Brad had taken it out of the envelope and left it strewn on the desk, and before she could talk herself out of it, Juliette snapped a picture of the report. She tucked her phone away quickly, hands steady as a rock despite the arrival of the security guards.
“Her,” Brad snarled. “She attacked me, unprovoked. Get this bitch off my property now, and if you see her within a thousand yards you have my permission to shoot with prejudice.”
“I can see myself out,” Juliette said, but the goons were already seizing her by the arms, hauling her toward the door. “This isn’t necessary! I just want the manuscript!”
“You’ll get that manuscript over my dead body,” Brad said, slamming the door closed as his parting shot.
She might not have the manuscript, but at least now she had somewhere to start investigating.
Because now more than ever, she was sure Warren’s death had been no natural heart attack.
Not with the cagey way June Piedmont was acting, or the mysteriously absent Chipper Floyd, or Brad Ellingham practically declaring he wanted his father out of the way at the Ellingham Group.
Someone went to great lengths to engineer his death; she would stake her own life on it. And she planned to prove it.