Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire #2) (29 page)

“Ah, not so much,” I said, and hurried to add, at his look of surprise, “Give me something to do, though, and I’m sure I can get up to speed.”

“Oh. Well.” He was all but shifting from one foot to the other. “I have some web copy to proof, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. Just tell me exactly what you want me to do.” I was about to give him my I’m-a-lowly-employee speech, too, but I was opening my laptop, he saw my ring, and the conversation was pretty much over right there.

“We’ll have a break at ten,” Simon said. “Introduce you to the team.” And bolted.

I did my best to put aside the idea of a team coffee break to introduce a new assistant. Maybe they were friendly up here, or maybe it was something else. Well, I’d just have to show that I didn’t expect special treatment. I couldn’t expect everyone to get the memo in five minutes. I’d have to wow them with my natural charm, or, more likely, put my head down, do my job, and ignore what anybody thought until they figured it out on their own.

The work, at least, turned out to be all right. The copy was for Hemi’s new line, and even though I hadn’t even seen the designs yet, I was enjoying learning more about it. I’d been there when he’d gotten the inspiration for it, at a restaurant table in San Francisco, talking to me, and wasn’t that a comforting thought?

The copy was all about the land and the sea, about rock and water and sky and trees and timelessness. About New Zealand, in other words. It was a little florid for my taste, but who was I to judge?

At ten, the entire Digital Marketing group and what looked like half of the rest of marketing crowded into the biggest conference room. A command performance, I guessed, or curiosity, or both. A tray of bagels sat virtually untouched in the center of the table as a gaggle of relentlessly stylish and undernourished women, interspersed with a few equally lean men, went straight for the black coffee and the occasional piece of fruit, except for the ones who murmured “Carbs” and passed even on the watermelon. And nobody talked to me, much as I smiled and made eye contact.

The atmosphere was more than awkward, and even the coffee tasted bitter. I set my cup aside and dove daringly into the pile of Evil Bagels. I was starving, and I was weird anyway, so why not?

That was why, though, I had a mouth full of cream cheese when Simon broke into the muted conversations going on around my Cone of Silence to say, “Excuse me, everybody. Announcement. As everyone knows, we have a new employee today.” He gestured to me. “Please welcome Hope Sinclair. I’m sure she’s going to be a lot of help to us, and I’m also sure that everybody here will help
her
in any way she needs while she’s with us.”

While she’s
with
us? It was too bad cream cheese was so gluey, too, because it felt like it took me a full minute to swallow my bite. “Uh—hi,” I finally said with a wave. “It’s good to be here. Thank you for that, um, welcome.”

A tall, striking woman named Gabrielle, an assistant manager of something or other with a daringly close-cut natural hairstyle and Nefertiti features, said, “I can’t help but ask. You don’t mind, do you? Why did you change departments? I’d have thought publicity was—Well.” She laughed, but it didn’t sound mocking, not really. “Perfect for you, right? High visibility? Helpful to the, uh, company? So why the switch?”

“Observation post.” It was a barely audible murmur, coming from a brunette with a faint smile on her face, and I saw a few more smiles being covered by hasty sips of coffee. What, I was a spy?

“Actually,” I said, “I’m here because I’ve always wanted to learn more about marketing. I guess you could say it’s my dream.”

Nobody would look straight at me until the snotty brunette—Maggie, I thought—said, “And I’m sure you’ll be great at marketing.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Why’s that?” Like I didn’t know what she meant. That I’d had something for sale, and I’d sold it.

Gabrielle said, “Oh, don’t mind Maggie. You might think she’s PMSing, but she’s always that way, aren’t you, sweetie?” She ignored the dagger-like glance from the other woman and said, “And since I’m guessing you didn’t get that ring in a gumball machine, I’m taking it as a public announcement. Could we all stop staring at it out of the corners of our eyes and pretending we haven’t noticed? And can I see?”

I’d
known
I shouldn’t have worn it. I felt like I was wearing a big scarlet letter on my chest. G for Girlfriend? S for Spy? F for Freaking Uncomfortable? And what was worse, I could swear I was starting my period.

I’d been on the pill for the past six months, the IUD I’d tried at first having continued to give me painful, heavy periods that hadn’t been any fun at all. But I hadn’t been expecting this one for a couple days. The source of my unaccustomed moodiness, obviously, not to mention all the stupid tears. Great.

But at least Gabrielle was talking to me, which was more than I could say for anyone else, so I ignored the uncomfortable dampness, tried to remember exactly how much white versus red rose print the fabric of my skirt contained, smiled at Gabrielle in what was meant to be a carefree way and said, “Not from a gumball machine, no. And,” I went on, throwing caution to the wind, “yes, Hemi and I are engaged. And I can tell that you’re all wondering why on earth I’m working at this job and whether I’m here to, I guess, report back to Hemi, so let me answer that. Everybody needs a job, right? This is the one I seem to be qualified for. And—no. Hemi doesn’t share much about work with me, and I’m sure not expecting him to be interested in the scintillating details of my work day as an assistant. So unless you’re actually selling proprietary information and talking about it too loud next to my cube, I’m never going to know. How about just figuring I’m a marketing assistant? I appreciate the welcome and all, but I don’t know any secrets, honestly, and I’m just here to do a job.”

“I’ll bet.” The words fell into the dead zone of silence following my speech. They didn’t come from Maggie, at least. They came from a blonde named Victoria and had been muttered
to
Maggie. Neither of them seemed to be angling to be my Bestest Friend Ever.

I found myself flushing despite my best intentions. “So…that went well,” I said, and Gabrielle actually laughed. “I’m all out of ideas for how to be a Popular Girl, and I’ve got this bagel here, so…”

I got a few genuine smiles, at least. “Well, then,” Simon said, his fidgeting having cranked up a notch, “let’s get back to work, then, shall we?” And I went to my cube, grabbed my purse, headed to the ladies’ room to deal with my hygienic emergency, and thought,
Day One’s always the hardest.

But I sure wished Nathan had been available for that glass of wine. Especially since I
wouldn’t
be able to tell Hemi about my day, at least the uncomfortable parts of it. My period was light, but I still felt achy and weepily PMS-y.

I got even grouchier, too, because when I finished the tasks Simon had assigned me at four-thirty and asked him for something else to do, he said, “That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you to be done already, and I don’t have anything for you right now, actually, so why don’t you go on home? I’ll come up with something for the morning.”

Nobody else had left, from what I could tell. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m happy to stay.” I’d already gathered, from overheard snatches of conversation, that the work on the new line was hot and heavy, and was going to get more so. It was going to be introduced in October, at the Paris show, and it was a Very Big Deal. In fact, it was amazing that Hemi had taken time out to show Karen and me New Zealand, except that I knew the line was already designed, and he’d passed the work on.

That was about all I knew, though. Hemi wasn’t exactly good at sharing. But the buzz around Marketing was palpable, and now, I’d be part of it.

Maybe. Or maybe not, since Simon’s gaze slid away from mine, and he said, “Nope. Nothing I can think of. See you at eight tomorrow.”

Hemi texted me five minutes later, naturally, and I didn’t even bother asking him about his suspicious timing. I had to admit I was done with work, and he promptly informed me that Charles would be outside at five, and even managed not to sound smug about it.

Part of me was more than happy to go. The physical part. My day hadn’t been hard, and yet it had been exhausting. Sore muscles, hormones, trying not to screw up, new-job jitters, even meeting Inez…it had all added up, in that way days can do.

It was weak to climb into an air-conditioned car and be so glad of it. It was more than weak to get home to a penthouse apartment, find Karen buzzing over the chicken mole she and Inez had made, and barely be able to taste it before I was in the shower and climbing into bed. It was weakest of all to feel like crying, when I had everything in the world a woman could possibly want, just because I was hormonal, sore, and tired, and my man wasn’t there to hold me.

But I did it anyway.

Hemi

I got home a little after eight-thirty. Not much later than my normal schedule, and if I’d wanted to leave earlier—well, that was weakness, and I needed to get over it.

Partly, it was Hope. And partly, it was Anika. The call I’d had from Walter the day before while Hope had slept, to be exact, telling me that Anika’s lawyer had filed the paperwork, and it was official.

“She’s gone for it. Half,” Walter had said, and every one of my muscles had tightened. It had taken me long seconds of breathing to let them loosen, to set the emotion aside and focus again, stepping out of the red mist that was rage, evil and uncontrolled. It wanted to cloud my vision, but I wasn’t going to let it. That was how Anika won.

The black cloud, though—that was fear. Fear of losing…things that mattered. That one, I shut down fast. That one would break me.

“Explain,” I finally said.

“Her attorney’s filed discovery motions,” he said, “to see what ‘half of your assets’ amounts to. And he’s got three affidavits from what are supposed to be mutual friends, swearing that she was living with you in your apartment before you officially moved in together. Which makes it just over three years.”

“Not possible,” I managed to say after another few moments of visualization. I breathed the hot red lava out of my head and body with every exhalation, breathed in cool blue liquid with every inhalation. It didn’t make the anger go away, but it allowed me to function despite it. “I had flatmates,” I went on. “I had a roommate. That’s why Anika and I got a place together, because we couldn’t have sex at my flat. That was the whole point. Anybody who’s filing an affidavit is going to remember that. We weren’t what you’d call discreet.”

“Which is why we need to counter that with our own affidavits,” Walter said. “But one of those affidavits
did
come from one of your flatmates.”

“Which one?”

A pause, then Walter said, “Beauden McAllister.”

“Who she’d have been sleeping with as soon as I left for the States.” More of the red cloud at that, more rage to breathe through.

He’d been a mate. And the minute I’d been gone…I’d never let myself think about it, but suddenly, I was sure it was true. “She could have gone for him again now, for that matter,” I realized. “To get him to sign that. He’d do it, too.” Fifteen years or not. People didn’t change. “Put a detective on her. Him as well. And then you’re going to go over there and do your own questioning. I want him on tape. He was always a weak bugger. Put him under the pump, and he’ll admit it. We have our own affidavits, and we’ll have whatever that detective finds. There’ll be something. Count on it.”

Violet had come through with an affidavit, of course, and she’d rounded up a couple more of our fellow students who’d spent time in my flat. That was three on our side as well. Pity my onetime roommate, Rog Harris, was proving elusive. He’d had a drink problem—another reason I’d wanted to move, because I hadn’t needed to live with that again. And another reason I hadn’t kept in touch.

“I’ll be there in an advisory capacity only,” Walter said. “I’m not licensed to practice law in New Zealand.”

“Don’t need you to practice law, do I,” I said. “I need you to intimidate them.”

Walter cleared his throat. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t advise you again that this could get very messy, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that ‘messy’ means ‘costly.’ Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I fly over there and negotiate a settlement instead? We slap a deadline on it, use it or lose it, all this could all be over in a week or two, and you could be planning your wedding. The further into it your wife gets with her attorney, the more she’ll feel she has a chance, and the more she’ll have invested in all senses of the word.”