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That was the worst thing I’d told him, and something I wouldn’t be able to get past with Alexa in any scenario, so I reached in my drawer. “And how are you going to explain this to your dad…” I held up a copy of the letter. “this letter from the Northern Aerospace chairman basically accusing you of date rape.”
His hand came off the handle in a flash, jaw open, he froze for a second. “How do you have that.” It was a stupid thing for him to say.
I looked at the letter and back to him. “It’s addressed to me. Why shouldn’t I have it?”Checkmate.“If you say one single thing to Alexa, or communicate with her in any way, this…” I waved the piece of paper. “Will go to the papers and your father.”
“She wanted it. She’s trying to cover with her father for her own mistake and make me look like the bad guy.” His voice faltered and I knew I had him.
“I’m staying on the board and neither of us is airing dirty laundry.” It was half statement and half proposal. We had a standoff.
The letter was my ace and he knew it. He left with nothing but a sneer.
* * *
Alexa
After the debacleof the gala, I’d decided to work from home Monday, and yes this palace felt like home now much more than my dingy apartment did. The fresh air of the terrace was also a bonus. I’d also probably stay away from work for the rest of the week.
Giving out my full name at the gala and then making that tongue comment to the blogger had unleashed the hellhound squad of paparazzi to seek me out and I didn’t want to create a circus outside the Perlmutter’s building.
Sydney had been good enough to not complain directly when he suggested that I wait until things had “quieted a bit” before coming back in.
The rain started just as was about to set up outside, so I moved to the office.
That stupid bottle of mezcal was still on the shelf. It even had a yellow sticky note on it that said ‘DON’T’ twice in large letters. A double reminder from the fountain debacle Evan had told me. Don’t drink to excess, and don’t drink mezcal ever again.
After finishing my latest spreadsheet, I used his printer to make a hard copy. His stapler was empty, so I tried the drawers and found a box of staples in the first drawer I tried, along with several folders with military-like names—Operation Overwatch, Operation Fedora, and Operation Spike.
They made sense in a way. He told me how he’d planned a few of his acquisitions, and he approached them with military precision, down to planning contingencies.
I moved on to the next client.
CHAPTER37
Evan
“DoI really have to go to this?” Angela complained for about the fiftieth time this week.
I laid the garment bag quietly on the dresser and peeked into the walk-in closet. “Of course not. It's up to you.”
She was trying on the black dress she'd worn to one of our dinners previously. “Yeah,” she said smoothing down the sides of the dress. “If I don't, everybody will be like, where is your girlfriend Evan? Breakup with her already Evan? Grow tired of her already Evan? I'll be ruining your wholesome image for you.”
I leaned against the door jam. “Not everybody will be thinking or saying that.”
“Right,” She snorted. “I forgot your father will be there. He'll say something like I told you she couldn't fit in.”
Her judgment on the conclusion Dad would draw likely wasn't far off. “If he does I'll let you hit him or stomp on his toes.”
“Hard to do if I'm not there,” she quipped. She turned in front of the mirror with a grimace. “And, in this dress, they're going to see right through me, as the poor girl from Brooklyn who didn’t know how to dress for a gala.”
“I have a solution for that.”
Her face brightened. “Please tell me it involves staying here in sweats with the box of greasy pizza in our laps.”
I grabbed the garment bag and held it up in front of me. “Maybe this dress will make you feel more like you fit in.”
With a hand on her hip, she shook her head. “I thought we agreed that you were going to stop buying me shit.”
I pulled the zipper down the side of the bag and stepped forward with it hanging from my fingertips. “Good thing this isn't shit then.”
