I lift the flap again, ever so carefully, as if I might trigger a remote spy cam installed to catch nosy assistants.
And, yes, again. I have already looked. I just want it to be different. To say something different.
But there, in perfect, pointed script was the source of my problems.
To: Diana Fralin
No “From.” Just her name.
Not blank, but no signature. Do the same rules apply to her? He doesn’t know what sort of sentiment to use when signing a card for her either?
I know what he said. I really believe him. I do. But the gift…Why?
The card is staring back at me. Mocking me. Making me want to take that damn box and wing it at her so it falls down into her abyss-cup bra and possibly aligns with Aslan in the battle for Narnia.
I can hear Ms. Fralin make her way toward her office. I picture her sauntering and laughing and adjusting and touching up her lipstick all at the same time.
I jump up and away from the box…but not before moving it a fraction of an inch, trying to imitate its exact position pre-nosy fingers.
“Oh, hello, Emma,” she says, stepping into her office. “I had nearly forgotten about our little meeting.”
I gathered as much since you’re nearly thirty minute late for it.
“Do tell. What sort of illicit dealings are you here to meticulously detail for me today? A dinner meeting in Portugal? Free Post-its in Luxembourg?”
My jaw clenches. “Actually, I have generated reports of several now-questionable practices and cross-referenced them with companies who have been on the line for doing similar activities. The results are everything from heavy fines to disgorgement of profits. Some also result in jail time.”
“For steak dinners with officials and palm money to set up phone lines? Please. You make it sound positively salacious.” She rolls her eyes back so far I would expect she might have hit gray matter. Seeing as how eye rolling is about the fastest way to torque me off, I may crack a bicuspid. “We are hardly arms dealers, Emma.”
I didn’t really expect her to be receptive, but it was necessary to at least attempt to talk to her before saying she wouldn’t listen. “I am not saying or even implying that you are deliberately breaking the law. It’s just that the global business climate is quite different in the wake of the Wall Street failings. The SEC and the Department of Justice are now far more aggressive and far less lenient than in the past. You cou—”
“I will look it over,” she says and snatches the papers from my hand. “Now, you will need to leave. I have to get ready for a party tonight.”
She slings her bag over her shoulder. It’s huge. I recognize the brand.
“Ms. Fralin, what a beautiful bag. Is that a Dooney & Bourke?”
She glances back at it dismissively. “Yes, it is.”
I continue toward the door, then stop just before I exit. “I would hang onto that bag, if I were you. It’s a potential collector’s item. That Bourke guy thought what he was doing was no big deal, too.”
There is no chance she’s even going to bother to bend back the pages of that report. There is even less chance that she will Google Bourke and find out a whole team of high-powered attorneys couldn’t keep him out of jail on bribery charges during this new crackdown.
Turning on my heel, I make for the door rather than waste more time on her.
“Emma,” she calls out behind me. “Do tell Alaric how much I love his gift.”
Oh, I’m sure he would much rather hear it from you.
7:25 p.m.
“IT’S A REPLACEMENT MORE THAN A GIFT.” The steering wheel turns fluidly under his palms. “And she is a shrew to imply otherwise.”
I stare out the window. Christmas lights dot the landscape.
This is not a feeling I like. Jealousy. Especially since I think it’s unwarranted. I remain quiet.
“I’m not used to explaining myself,” he says.
I shrug softly.
“The other day when I left with her, we worked for a few hours. Then I left.” He coughs and grabs the steering wheel a little tighter. “In an unusually optimistic move, I left to pick out your dress.” He looks flushed, maybe a little embarrassed.
“I went back to collect things from her office, and she, once again, thought I was making an excuse to see her. That is when you called and between talking to you and thinking about changing hotels and Diana stalking me around her office, I knocked her business card holder off her desk. A hideous crystal thing. I replaced it. I am merely trying to keep the peace.”
I nod a few times and glance over at him. He watches me nearly as much the road.
“Why did you put her name on the card? My card was blank.”
“I had no desire to be with her when it was delivered or at any other time.”
We twist a few miles further toward the hotel.
“How ‘fun’ were you on other trips?”
“Pardon me? ‘Fun’?”
“She said you used to be ‘fun.’”
“I’m the same life of the party I have always been. Though I didn’t avoid her so much initially, before I knew what she was like. Emma, I have told you I don’t want anything to do with her.”
Big girl panty time. “I know you did. I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you. It was just so hard to understand.”
He pulls the car into a space outside the hotel. “You can ask me anything, Emma. I’m never going to lie to you.”
This knowledge doesn’t make me feel better like I had expected it to. Of course he won’t…but I feel like I have been play-acting so much.
I am not the least bit consoled. All I am is one big lie with him.
9:25 p.m.
*
Location
: Hotel ballroom.
*
Dress
: Last one. Blue silk.
CHRISTMAS EVE OFFICE PARTY.
I’m at least one “party” over quota for the year. I’ve begun to think no one at this company has children. Then Lance Rowe sidles up to a tipsy woman. He is a prime argument for asexual reproduction.
Dinner was hours ago, and now almost everyone is pretending they still want to talk to the other people here. As if everyone doesn’t get enough of their co-workers during the week.
On the way here, I tried to talk more with Canon about the report I had made. His phone kept ringing. Then he needed to make a call. Then another. When we arrived, we were late and had to rush in.
Alaric went missing shortly after we arrived. I took up residence in the corner, holding up the wall, as that seems to be all I do lately.
After well over an hour, maybe two, I have actually begun to partake of the open bar. I have made a sizeable dent. If one considers the Grand Canyon a dent.
Blessedly, the occasions for small talk have diminished as the night wears on.
Now my primary companionship is in the form of a white poinsettia pyramid.
They actually are better conversationalists than Lawrence Peters. Plus, as an added bonus: poinsettias do not have prostates.
I weave through the masses but cannot find him.
Eyeing the crowd, I catch Mitchell’s attention. He seems to understand who I’m looking for and nods toward a set of side doors near a champagne glass tower.
I smile in thanks and head that way.
1:15 a.m.
CANON, DIANA, AND THE OWNER, Mr. Samuel Dowry, stand huddled in the hallway outside the ballroom.
Hold back and wait. Do not draw attention. That is the name of the game. My role.
“Congratulations, Alaric,” Diana purrs, placing her hand on his arm. He stiffens, moves, but continues to speak with Dowry until they shake hands.
“Closing this deal early is the ideal Christmas gift, don’t you think?” Dowry booms as he leaves.
Wait, what? No. Not yet, this is too soon.
I didn’t tell him. I didn’t convince him.
I have been so busy worrying about my plans and my hormones and my concern with what it is about me that he likes, that I have ultimately failed. I have failed him.