Chapter 40
Alessa
Life has a funny way of coming full circle, doesn’t it?
Here Julianna and I are, in the back of her car heading toward Presley’s house near Washington Park. It’s not our first time here together. It wouldn’t even be my first time coming here by myself, since there have been a few occasions when either Julianna or Presley asked me to pick something up. Or drop it off. The story changes every time.
She has a nice house, I guess. Not as big as you may think a wealthy heiress like her would have. We don’t care about that right now, anyway. What we care about is why Julianna and I are heading up to Ms. Bradford’s house.
Apparently, Cher had told the truth when she said that she was dating Ms. Bradford. Apparently, they’re still together.
Granted, I haven’t talked to Cher since I bumped into her at the teahouse. So, who knows what’s going on. Maybe she and Ms. Bradford had an affair still going on when I last saw her. Or maybe she told the truth when she implied that it had ended with her termination as well.
I guess we’re finding out.
Julianna is righteously pissed about the whole situation. Since she told me on Wednesday afternoon what’s going on, I’ve heard nothing but derision hurled at Ms. Bradford behind her back. It’s not unusual for Julianna to be exasperated with people to the point she’s always muttering under her breath, but this is a bit much even for her.
I get it. I do. It was bad enough – and super hypocritical – of Ms. Bradford to say what she did only to hook up with Cher. But beyond that, I don’t see what the big deal is. I’m a huge example of how office romances are a fact of life, especially in Portland.
Although I’m not sure what’s supposed to be accomplished by dinner. Are Cher and I becoming better friends because we’re openly dating billionaires we’ve worked for? Or is this creating a bigger rivalry between us? Oh, God, what if we don’t get along? What if she turns into a bigger diva and decides I’m not good enough to run in her realm? It wouldn’t affect my relationship with Julianna, but it could make parts of my personal life hell.
I’ve almost worked myself up into an anxious furor when the car pulls up before Ms. Bradford’s picturesque manor surrounded by evergreen trees and sporting a colorful flower garden that she may or may not have had a hand in planting.
Ms. Bradford immediately comes out to greet us with a large smile on her face. No wonder. Behind her, lurking in the foyer, is Cher bedecked in a baggy white blouse that somehow enunciates her breasts… and a pretty yellow skirt that may be floor length, but has a giant slit going all the way up to her thighs. She knows how to dress herself, that’s for sure. As for me? I need someone to dress me.
Oh, do I wish I could say that this is a normal dinner with Ms. Bradford.
Everything about it is lovely. The four of us sit at a table on her balcony overlooking the picturesque hills of West Portland. The air is a warm eighty-five degrees, perfect for me to sit in nothing more than a blue summer dress and a light shawl over my shoulders. Julianna takes off her jacket and undoes the top button on her dress shirt. Occasionally, she loosens up. A little.
Ms. Bradford and I make the greatest effort. I gush over Cher’s sleek hair and the gorgeous diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist – she makes sure we all know that Ms. Bradford gave it to her upon their reunion. I open my big mouth and ask, “When was that?”
They glance at each other. Cher has a smirk of second-hand embarrassment while Ms. Bradford grins like a teenager. “A week ago, wasn’t it, snookums?”
Beside me, Julianna grimaces. I don’t blame her. Who the hell says snookums?
“Yes. I was shocked when she came by my apartment Saturday night.” Was that the Saturday night Julianna and I were in New England? Had to be. “She had a bouquet of pink roses and an invitation to take me out to dinner so we could discuss what we meant to one another. I took the flowers but rebuked her invitation. I didn’t want her to take me for the wrong kind of woman.”
“And what kind of woman are you, exactly?” Julianna asks.
Ms. Bradford is the only one not steeling herself. “One who would rather hash things out in private, Ms. Marcon. I invited Presley into my apartment. I had already made dinner, anyway, and wasn’t about to let it go to waste.”
“This woman makes a mean homecooked lasagna.” Ms. Bradford clasps her hand on Cher’s shoulder. “She’s promising to make me some every week for the rest of my life.”
“That’s a long time.” Julianna’s tone implies it may be shortened if Ms. Bradford pisses her off enough. “But congratulations on already committing to that.”
These two shuffle in their seats so much that it takes all my composure to not snicker. Luckily, we’re saved by the maid bringing out our dinners. No, it’s not Cher’s homemade lasagna.
Julianna doesn’t bother beating around the bush now that she’s got both Presley and Cher in front of her. “So,” she begins, cutting into her parmesan chicken, “when’s the wedding?”
Ms. Bradford almost chokes on a piece of chicken. Cher reaches over and pats her on the back until she’s swallowed enough water to wash the food down. “Says the woman who hasn’t once shut up about her girlfriend since she started dating her.”
“Never let it be said that we take the same paths to reach the same destination, Presley.”
“Indeed.” Ms. Bradford glances at Cher, who spares her a timid smile.
Honestly, I don’t believe it for a second.
“Like you and Alessa, we’re taking things one day at a time,” Ms. Bradford continues. “Who knows. Maybe we’ll hold a double wedding day in the office where we all met.”
“You tell me the date, Presley, and we’ll get right on it.”
“I’ll get back to you about that.”
I put my wine glass down before I choke on it. “Anyone mind telling me where the nearest restroom is?” I gotta get away from this awkward mess for a few minutes.
Cher is the first to toss her napkin down and scoot back her chair. “I’ll show you. There’s one down the hall.”
Ms. Bradford only pays her little attention. “The one next to my office?”
“That’s the one. It’s fine, right?”
She waves her off and talks to Julianna about how to approach an upcoming meeting.
I follow Cher back into the airy manor. One maid walks toward us with a tray of cut fruit, but otherwise, nobody interrupts us as we head down the hall toward Ms. Bradford’s office and adjacent bathroom.
Cher opens the door from the hallway. “Careful with this door,” she says as I go in. “Sometimes it sticks. If that happens, you can go through Presley’s office. She won’t care.”
I don’t think anything about it as I shut the door behind me and lock it for good measure. I hear Cher’s footsteps go back down the hall, and I’m left to do my business.
As if it had been planned all along, I can’t get the damn door open again.
Trust me, I’ve jiggled this handle a billion times. A time for every dollar in Julianna’s coffers. Sheesh. You’d think with all her money, Ms. Bradford could get this fixed. Oh, well. Cher said I could go through the office, so I think I’ll do that. The other door in here – or at least the one that doesn’t open to a linen closet, as I discover – leads to the immaculate parlor of a woman who doesn’t use it a whole lot. I bet the upstairs office is way messier, based on what Julianna has said about Ms. Bradford’s habits.
It’s small, but well-lit thanks to the alcove overlooking a tulip garden. The large desk is cleaned off aside from a small stack of journals and an assortment of fountain pens. No laptop, not that I should be looking.
There is, however, a small box on one of the chairs in front of the desk.
A box with a familiar pair of underwear in it. I would know, because they’re mine.
The lingerie I was wearing when Julianna and I first hooked up. I had let her keep them as some stupid token. At the time, I thought she was keeping them as a trophy, and I was so addled that I didn’t think twice about it. After all, they are simple undies.
But I know they’re mine because of the neon yellow stamp on the back saying who made it, the size, and proudly announcing how they were created right here in America.
What in the world are they doing here?
Wait…
Hadn’t Cher said…
I had completely dismissed it at the time, and honestly, hadn’t thought of it until now.
What had she said? Something about Ms. Bradford betting Julianna that she couldn’t bed whatever woman was sent to her? That I was the lucky candidate? That she had kept my undies as proof that she fucked me?
No way. That was Cher being Cher. But if she had been right about being in a relationship with Ms. Bradford…
I find a handwritten note beside my underwear. By now, I know it’s Ms. Bradford’s penmanship. “Return to Jules next time she comes by. Don’t forget this time, Pres.”
I feel sick. Really, really sick.