The Sandstone Affair (An Erotic Romance Novel) (27 page)

“I can see we still have a lot to learn.”

Blake Stone being trussed up and stuffed in a
police car not only did something good for the city, it enlivened my entire
soul. I spent the weekend in a whirlwind of energy doing laundry, coming up
with layout and story leads, calling employees to tell them they were all
rehired, and writing my editorial column for the next issue of Lynx. I even
managed to go over to Janice’s for lunch and take a quick trip for some new
clothes.

Blake wasn’t out of his cell in time for
dinner, as he predicted, but did manage to get bailed out the next day. I
wasn’t too worried about him. On the advice of his new lawyer, he is staying
home and laying low until trial. Mark spent his weekend at the office, helping
investigators plow through the files and build a strong case. We talked on the
phone a few times. I apologized for leaving angry, and he said we both had to
do what we thought was right.

I didn’t need an alarm clock to get me up
Monday morning. I arrived at the office about a half-hour earlier than normal
to find most of the staff already there. They brought in donuts and juice, and
Janice put up a big banner that said, “Welcome back Miss Sharp.” It had been
purposely written to say “Welcome back Miss Shark” but there was a strike out
through the “k” and a “p” had been put in its place. The staff clapped and cheered
as I opened my office door. There is a flower arrangement from Mark on my desk.
I stand in the doorway and my smile could have lit a small city at midnight.

“Miss Shark is indeed gone,” I tell my
excited staff. “But, Julia
Sharp
is here to stay!”

“Long live Miss Sharp!” someone cheers and
another round of clapping ensues.

“Break up the love-fest,” Janice grouses.
“Let’s get back to work. We have a magazine to put out!”

Everyone scurries to their cubicle or office,
leaving the two of us standing together. I give her a quick hug and go to my
desk. I place the flowers where I can see them and turn the small card over and
over in my hand.

“Welcome back, Julia. I love you, M.S.” It
reads. There’s a part of me that’s a little disappointed because I thought he
might attend my reunion with Lynx. I know he’s swamped trying to keep his own
company out of the mire right now so it makes sense he couldn’t be here.

“Miss Sharp.” Justin, the layout manager,
comes in and plops down for our usual Monday meeting. “I need to know how you
want to pursue the lead. I know a guy who might be able to get a hold of Blake
Stone’s booking photo and that would make an awesome cover, or if you wanted
something more symbolic, like handcuffs on a dollar sign, I can get the
illustrator started on sketches.”

“What are you talking about Justin?”

“The Sandstone Ventures story, of course.
It’s not every day in New York that a major venture capitalist gets arrested
for embezzlement, intimidation, and trying to take over a magazine. If any
publication has the inside scoop on this, it’s us. I figured it would be the
lead.”

“We aren’t covering that,” I say quietly. I
thought about it, naturally. Images of Blake between the arms of those two cops
on the cover of Lynx would give me enough satisfaction to smile for a year.
But, while it may sooth the ego it won’t pay the bills. When you pull outside
of my reality, it’s little else than another “corruption in the city” gig and
it would expose me and Mark to more examination than either of us want right
now.

“You’ve been out a month, our deadline is
this week and we’ve got nothing to lead. I can grab Fatima’s story about school
vouchers, but I don’t think it’s hot off the press material.”

“School. That reminds me. Is Andy busy on
something big? He’s our best street guy and I have an assignment for him right
away. Send him in when you leave.” I wave dismissing him. Then realize that’s a
Miss Shark habit, and I don’t want to be her anymore. “Thank you. I’ll get back
to you soon. Now, go.”

“But, I don’t have anything for the cover!” he
protests. I can’t keep this a secret forever. I’ve got to trust my own staff.

“We have something very special making the
cover. I have an exposé I’ve been sitting on until the time is right. I’ll get
you some copy by the end of the day and you can get working on an image. But,
Justin, it’s all confidential, okay?”

“Of course.” He nods. I watch him walk out
and give Andy the “batter up” signal. Andy quickly scrambles into my office.

“I’m working on an essay about the
gentrification of West Central,” he says quickly as if I’m an interrogating
officer.

“Well, stop. I have something better,” I
grumble. His eyes glisten and I clearly have his attention.

“Something juicy?”

“Down on Lexington and Dale there’s a group, some
kind of house that helps hookers. Walton House or something.”

“Walden House,” he corrects. “They are a
charity that tries to help young sex workers make the transition out of the
trade before they get sick or killed.”

“Fine, Walden House.”

“That’s what they’re called, you know. Sex
workers. It’s less demeaning than ‘hookers’ and not as biblically damning as ‘prostitutes.’
All women deserve some dignity, boss. Most of these girls—”

“Thank you, thank you,” I interrupt his high
horse. “I don’t need you to tell me about dignity or these girls. I’ve met
them. I know them. What I need you to do is get out there and find out why this
charity is so underfunded it can only take two or three women at a time. This
city can do better than that.”

“You know them?” Andy asks, his face a
mixture of awe and confusion. I can tell he’s already sold on the story so I’ll
be getting something good out of him. He turns to leave and I realize the
interruption is again a habit I’d like to change. It’s becoming clear that the
new me is going to have to fight to assert herself over the old habits.

“Andy,” I call to him as he hits the doorway.
“I don’t want an objective piece of journalism. By the time this story is
finished, I want Walden House to be so well funded they might need a new
building to house all their programs. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am!” He beams and practically skips
to his desk.

I spend most of the afternoon rewriting the
Wall Street piece to give to Justin. I double check my facts and make sure I
have some kind of backup for every claim I make. I’m quivering with excitement
when Janice knocks on my door.

“FedEx Priority Mail, certified letter,” she
says, dumping the letter size package on my desk. “I had to sign for it and
sign away the souls of my children.”

“I thought you already sold those, for yoga
pants.” I laugh. Things aren’t just back to normal, they are better than
normal.

“Well, at least my butt is smaller than my
kids now.” She joins in the fun but doesn’t go back to her desk.

“And?” Certified letters aren’t something new
around here. She knows I’ll get to it when I can get to it.

“It’s from Sandstone Ventures. I thought it
might be important.” She shrugs. I save what I’m working on and open the package.
It’s probably just a notice about the next board meeting or something. But,
when I open the package the envelope just says, “Julia” in Mark’s handwriting.

I rip open the envelope to find a letter,
typed on his letterhead, copied to his assistant and his attorney. Janice turns
to leave.

“Wait,” I call to her. “You’ve got to see... you’re
not…. oh fuck. Oh my fucking… oh fuck! How could be I be so stupid? They aren’t
just Valerie’s friends. They’re his too! How could I be so damn dumb?”

“I don’t know what this is about, but it
can’t be that bad,” Janice says, taking the letter from my hand and give it the
once-over. “Oh my god.”

Pushing my chair back from my desk, I turn so
she can’t see how pale my face has gone. I ask her to read it again so I can
hear it and formulate some kind of cogent thought before my head explodes.

“Dear Miss Sharp,” she starts reading with a
distinctly snotty tone, which doesn’t help. “It has come to my attention that
among the assets of Lynx Magazine is an as-yet unpublished story about the
brokerage firm of Tilden-Jennings. As you know, by court order Lynx remains a
part of Sandstone Ventures and you are subject to your original contract. Part
of that contract stipulates Sandstone’s ability to make and override business
decisions we feel are prudent to the long-term health and profit of Sandstone
Ventures. As such, I declare the Tilden-Jennings story to be detrimental to our
interests—”

“
His
interests,” I add unhelpfully, my
blood already boiling.

“Henceforth,” Janice continues reading. “I
forbid you to print, use, or disseminate to anyone else the article, its
research or its conclusions. This story will not be printed as long as you and
Lynx Magazine remain property and have ties to Sandstone Ventures. Sincerely
Yours, Mark L. Stone, Acting CEO, Sandstone Ventures.

“Can you believe this shit?” I ask Janice.

“He has a written note on the back, in case
you didn’t see it,” Janice adds helpfully. She turns the paper around and on
the back written again in Mark’s precise script are two words. “Bury it.”

Janice places the paper down on my desk and
gently walks toward the door.

“Tell Justin to go home,” I tell her. “I’m
not going to have anything for him today.”

“Yes ma’am,” she says quietly.

Submission, subjugation, surrender, where
does it end? When does what’s good for me become what’s bad for me, and how
will I know when I’ve crossed that line? What am I giving up, and why would I? All
the questions come swirling around me so fast I can’t answer any one of them.
But I don’t have to because raw blinding anger is soon replacing any rational
or philosophical thought in my head.

“Dear Mr. Stone,” I write in an email sent to
both his personal and business addresses. “You’ve got a lot of nerve telling me
what to print and what I can’t. Haven’t you heard of freedom of the press? You
can’t stop me, and you shouldn’t try. What are you going to do? Sue me? Go
ahead; I’ve got about two-hundred dollars left in savings. Fire me? Been there.
Arrest me? Done that! Get out of your fucking ivory tower and explain yourself
or I’ll not only publish this story, I’ll publish this letter and burn what’s
left of your business down!”

I sign it “J. Sharp” just to let him know
that no lovey-dovey conversation is going to happen over this travesty. If he
wants to play ball in my court, then he better come equipped with a helmet, and
a cup!

I fume and stomp around the office. I try to
think of any way to appeal this decision without ruining my career. Just what
do the Stone brothers have against a girl making a living anyway? I alternate
between fury, self-pity, and revenge every few seconds. It takes forty-five
minutes for my email to chime a response. It’s not very long.

“I will be at your office at seven p.m. to
discuss. Be alone.”

I distract myself with other duties until
five when the staff starts filing out. They all have a comfortable smile
because the sight of me clomping in my office in circles and pulling out my
hair tells them everything is back to the way it used to be. I force Janice to
leave at six. The elevator dings at ten minutes to seven.

I run behind my desk, pull out some papers
and pretend to be working on them when he walks through my office door, closing
it behind me.

Mark walks in, his eyes on fire and his jaw
clamped shut. “Who do you think you are?”

“Me? Who the hell do you think you are?” If
he wants to come in here with a head of steam, I plan to meet him just the same
way.

“I’m the CEO of Sandstone Ventures and you
will listen to what I say!” Mark hisses. His tie is hanging open around his
neck and his top button is undone. I can tell he’s had a tough day and I’m sure
my tirade isn’t making it any nicer. But dammit, I worked too hard to let him
do this to me.

“You’re only the President because I helped
you get rid of your asshole brother so you can take the reins. And what do you
do? What is your first act in charge?” I pick up his letter and fling it at
him. “This!”

He dodges the letter and turns on me in a
fury.

“Oh yes, Julia. You were such a help in
saving my company. What did you do? Get arrested not once but twice? Tip off
Blake and everyone else on the planet that we were trying to gather evidence
and accuse me of fucking Valerie James! You were a
big
help.”