Chapter 18
“Vanessa, I am very busy,” I say through clenched teeth.
Vanessa Von Kemp remains rooted in the seat across from my desk.
She won’t leave, despite the fact there are four other people in the room with us, and it is clearly not the time to discuss why I don’t want to get coffee with her on Saturday.
“I just think it’d be so much fun,” she says in a fake-cheerful way, a smile pasted on her painted lips.
Her tall, lean body looks even more angular in the tight, black, faux-leather leggings she’s in, and the matching black halter top. Never mind that it dipped down into the thirties last night, and there’s snow in the forecast for the weekend—she’s dressed as if she stopped by on her way to a nightclub in Miami.
She pouts her red lips. “Come on, Brock, baby, humor me. My trip to Cabo was canceled, and I have been so bored all week. Nothing to do. One cup of coffee, maybe some shopping, and then we could go back and swim in that awesome pool of yours.”
To the left, Diana Stevens, the lead on my design team, catches my eye. “Do you two need a few minutes alone to sort this out?”
“No. No, stay.” I motion to Diana and the other three on her team. “Let’s pull up the spring apparel and start going over each item.” I stand up and walk to the door.
When I open it, I sweep my arm through to show Vanessa the exact route she should take. “Vanessa, leave.”
I know it sounds rude.
But at this point, I don’t care.
She’s been rude for the past twenty minutes. She intruded on my meeting, sat down as if she owned the space, and then interrupted me every time I tried to tell her—diplomatically but firmly—that there was no future for us. None, at all.
It was awkward to have to tell her that in front of my employees, but she forced my hand. Right now, all I want is for her to go.
Not only because I want to get on with my meeting but also because I’m eager to see her depart because of Gwen. Something real has started up with Gwen. I stayed at her house last night and fell asleep with her in my arms.
It felt so good to wake up there on her couch with her.
So intimate.
I don’t want her to catch sight of Vanessa and worry.
I used to be all about women like Vanessa. There was a time when the sight of her in this tight-fitting outfit would make me scheme up a cocktail recipe to impress her.
That was the old me.
The new me—the version of me that spent the night on Gwen’s couch—isn’t impressed by the way Vanessa’s clothing accentuates her curves.
When she passes by me, she stops.
“Goodbye,” I say, hoping it will spur her on.
But her high heels remain planted. Same with the pout on her lips. “You’ll call me, right? Maybe drinks Saturday night?”
“Nope.” I backstep, uncomfortable with being so close.
But she mirrors me as though we’re opposing players on a basketball court, and she’s been tasked with guarding me.
“You’ll change your mind,” she says with what I think is supposed to be a seductive smile. “You can’t work all the time. Everyone needs a break now and then. But I get it—you’re busy or whatever. I’ll let you go.”
Then she darts forward. I’m trapped in a cloud of her perfume as she pecks my cheek. She keeps her angular face close. “I had a great time Saturday. The best. I can’t wait to do it again, anytime.”
Then, finally, she steps away.
I watch her walk to the stairwell. Not because she’s conventionally attractive or anything, but because I want to make sure she follows my orders and actually departs. If she doesn’t, I’m going to have to call in security.
As she nears the stairs, a rock settles in my stomach.
Gwen is standing there, watching me. She looks hurt.
Is it because of me?
My worst fear is hurting her, and yet, right now, I see pain in her eyes, and I know I caused it. She hugs herself, and rather than walk toward me, she hangs back. Then, she retreats to the elevators. She hits the down button.
I glance over my shoulder. “Guys, take five. I need to handle something.”
Diana huffs impatiently. “All right, let’s go over the lycra sets first while we wait,” I hear her order her underlings. “Who has the specs on the open-back tank?”
Her strident voice fades as I stride toward Gwen. She’s standing, frozen, as she waits for the elevator to arrive. As I walk, the doors yawn open.
“Hey, wait a sec,” I say.
Did she hear me?
I’m not sure, but now she’s in the elevator, and the doors are sliding closed. They seal shut, and with a faint whir, the elevator departs. I hit the down button with my knuckle, then pace to the right, trying to burn off some energy.
She saw Vanessa kiss my cheek,I realize. She saw that, and she’s reading into it in ways she shouldn’t.
This thing with Gwen is happening fast. I love that—it excites me. But a drawback is that we both had lives before our paths collided like they did Monday morning. Lives with people in them. Vanessa was in my home mere days ago. Swimming in my pool. Sipping cocktails with me. Kissing me.
I treated Vanessa like I treated so many women before I met Gwen. She was entertainment. I knew there was nothing there between us when we met at the bar. But I invited her over anyway.
I wish my life was a blank slate before I met Gwen, but that’s hardly the case.
And now, that’s making my life complicated.
The lights above the elevator show that it has now reached the first floor. It pauses there, then starts back up to me.
When the doors open, I hope to see Gwen, but I know if the elevator is empty, I’ll ride down and find her.
I have to talk to her about what she saw.
What I don’t expect to see in the elevator is a man. Brian Campbell wears a grimace on his puffy, red-nosed face. The bags under his eyes hint at some late nights, maybe even on my account.
“Good. Great. You,” he says as he steps out.
I step past him. “Hey, Brian, two minutes, okay? I have to go down to the ground floor and clear something up.”
I make it into the elevator, and the doors start to close.
He puts his arm out, to block the elevator doors from closing. “You’re going to want to hear this,” he tells me grimly. “Big news, Brock. Big news. I’ve got a name for you. One of your own.”
Feeling frustrated, I eye his hand. He stubbornly continues holding the door.
The clip-clop of heels, louder by the second, makes me look over Brian’s shoulder.
Diana is striding toward us. She taps her sleek, silver watch. “That was five, Brock. I hate to do this, and I mean no disrespect. But the timeline is tight on this. We have to get the final cuts over to the team in the factory by noon, if we want to stay on track.”
“I know.” I nod at her. “I just need another few minutes. Hang tight. Get them rolling, I’ll be in soon. I’ve gotta run down to the first floor and catch up with Gwen for a sec.”
She’s not happy, but she departs.
Brian’s grimace turns more severe. He won’t get his ham-hock hand away from the elevator doors, which is annoying me. “Gwen… Gwen Temple, you’re heading down to see?”
Is this guy dense, or what? “Yeah. She’s my assistant.” And much more. Not relevant.
Rather than release the doors, like I want, he keeps them pinned as he enters the elevator with me. “Brock, stay away from her,” he says as the doors close us in.
I jab the button for the ground floor and barely register his words.
I can’t stop thinking about the hurt in Gwen’s eyes.
She thinks Vanessa pecked me on the cheek because I invited it.
It’s hard to believe my date with Vanessa was mere days ago. Of course, Gwen’s confused. Uncertain. She has every right to be.
Days ago, I was on a date with another woman.
Now, I only want Gwen.
I’m so caught up in worry about Gwen’s feelings that I barely listen as Brian rattles off another ominous-sounding warning about how I shouldn’t talk to Gwen.
Why not? What’s he going on about?
When my brain finally catches up, I shake my head. “Nah. Not an option.” Me, stay away from Gwen? Yeah right.
She’s honey, I’m a bee.
I will be drawn to her for the rest of my life.
“You better, son,” the silver-haired detective says, his bushy eyebrows converging on his red-tinted brow. “She’s the root of your problems.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I found out yesterday, then confirmed it this morning. Got over here as soon as I could. Tried to call, too, but of course, she wouldn’t put me through. She probably knows I’m onto something.”
“Man, you’re not making sense.”
“I talked to rock-solid sources over at Fit For Life, Brock. That took some doing, believe me, finding sources. Those employees, they didn’t want to open up. But I put in my time, got to know ‘em. Finally got one to talk, then another. And they said the same thing. Confirmed with a third this morning.”
The doors glide open.
Now I see the Shipping Department up ahead. I can’t catch sight of Gwen’s desk, because of a little knot of people standing and talking in the corridor.
“What you got is a rat,” Brian Campbell says, his voice hushed.
I step out of the elevator.
He follows. “See, Clarice set you up. I talked to one gal over there, part of Fit For Life, who overheard Clarice plotting it out, how she’d get you romantically involved with a spy. ‘Course, I don’t take one person’s word and call it truth. I questioned another fella, got the same scoop: Gwen Temple’s been meeting with Clarice, on the down low.”
My teeth are now on edge.
I grind them together.
My eyes dart toward Gwen’s desk again. She’s there, head bowed over some paperwork at her desk.
As I catch sight of her, I wonder: Am I an idiot?
Have I been duped?
This is hardly making sense. What was happening with Gwen felt so real.
Then again, I knew I was under some sort of spell. Not thinking straight. Did I let my guard down because of her innocence and let her take advantage of me?
I feel sick.
“Lemme ask you this,” Brian says. His teeth are stained yellow, and I don’t like the smell of his breath. “That Gwen. Did you have something going on with her? Something romantic, like folks over at Fit For Life, are saying?”
“Yes… but?—”
“Did you let her into your home?”
“She has a house key, Brian.”
“Ever unsupervised? Times when she could sneak around, get into your computer, that sort of thing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there you have it. She was working for Clarice. I bet there was money changing hands. If she’s like so many folks these days, she’s got bills piling up, and she needs the extra income.”
I think of the bills I saw last night stacked on Gwen’s kitchen counter.
Everything she’s ever said to me about money indicates she doesn’t have enough of it.
How far was she willing to go to get more?
Did she let me believe she was into me so she could steal information from me and make a side income from Clarice?
The sick feeling churns my gut. I clench my jaw tighter.
“Seduction is a spy’s best tool, Brock,” Brian says, his voice now dripping with pity.
I hate being pitied.
“If she got you, don’t blame yourself,” he drones on. “It’s a nasty business when romance is mixed with something as cold and calculated as spying. But that’s how it’s always been. Heck, during World War II, the British domestic counterintelligence agency made a whole science out of it. And I suppose business is war, in a way. It’s a fight for profits, am I right? A battle when you come down to it. There’s only so much money to go around. That’s why we see these aggressive tactics come up sometimes. It ain’t pretty, but there you have it.”
“I need you to stop making theories about the nature of business and give me facts. Your sources—they’re trustworthy, you say?”
“I know they are. Like I said, hear a story from one, and you can’t quite call it a fact. But two or three, like I’ve done? That’s a scoop you can count on. That’s why I put in the groundwork. Pound pavement. I put in the hours, Brock, believe me. Heard it from multiple people: they all said they’d seen Gwen Temple with their own eyes, right there in Clarice’s office… the two of them scheming away, thick as thieves.”
“I don’t believe this.” I scrape the back of my neck with my fingertips. “You’re sure.”
“Positive. Take my word for it. You said you have a lawyer involved, right? I recommend you call her immediately.”
He claps my shoulder, then launches into the logistics of how to pay him—as if I can think about invoices right now.
I can’t.
I’m filtering the last four days through my mind, trying to figure out how I got tricked.
Fooled.
Blindsided.
I let her into my home, into my life, into my heart.
Brian leaves, and I stumble back into the elevator. When I get to my office, I snap at Diana, get her and the team out, and close the door.
For the next two nightmarish hours, I conference via telephone with my lawyer, who works out of her office in Manhattan.
By the end of the call, I know what I have to do.
I have to fire Gwen Temple.
Not only that, but my lawyer advised me to have HR pull the trigger rather than have the discussion myself. I was honest with my lawyer about the complicated situation with Gwen and how lines had been crossed.
Her advice to keep my distance is logical but heartbreaking.
It’s with a heavy heart that I pick up my cell and ring Elizabeth Rixon.