Two For the Show, Page 2

  “Yes, Mother.”

  She looks up from her desk before pursing her lips. “Now, now. Don’t be mad at me because of what I said earlier. I tell you the truth because I love you.”

  “Sure you do.” I fold my arms. “You needed to see me?”

  She tilts her head to the side as she considers me. “How was LA?”

  “It was fine.”

  “You sure?” Cordelia raises an eyebrow. “You know I got a call last night.”

  I stare at her blankly. When I don’t say anything more, she continues.

  “Christian Cox said he had a great time with you.” She steeples her fingers. “Nice work.”

  If she is expecting me to say thanks, she will have a long wait.

  Cordelia stands from her ornate antique chair and walks around the desk towards me. Her off white raw silk tunic barely shifting against her toned form. She isn’t a pound over 130 and does not look at day over forty, even though she has to be at least twenty years older than that. Botox, collagen shots and a personal trainer who makes daily house calls will do that for you though. If looking beautiful is a science, Cordelia has a PhD and is chair of the faculty.

  “I don’t like this tension between us, mon cherie.” She touches my cheek gently. “Things have changed since you moved out. I barely see you, and I think our relationship is suffering because of it. I miss you.”

  “It’s been almost two years, Mother.” I try to keep the edge out of my voice. “You should be used to it by now. You can’t expect that I would live here forever.”

  “No, of course not, but you are only twenty-seven. Amanda is thirty and in no rush to leave. Why the haste with you?”

  I shrug. “It was time. Anyway, I have to go to work. Can we do this next weekend?”

  “Of course.” She squeezes my arm and returns to her chair, her five-inch gold heels clicking as she walks. “Just one last thing. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I suck in a deep breath and try not to react.

  “His name is Sebastien. He’s from London, and he’s here for a few weeks,” she says. “He’s a friend of a friend. I think you’ll like him.”

  “I’ve never met him, and by the sound of it, neither have you, so you can’t know whether I will like him or not.”

  Cordelia rolls her eyes. “Just give him a try. He’s a nice guy I’ve been told. Good looking too. Just wants someone to show him around the city. I gave him your number. He’ll call you this week.”

  “Whatever.” I hitch my bag higher on my shoulder. “Is that all?”

  “Yes, that’s all,” Cordelia smiles. “Have a good day at your little job.”

  I head straight for the door. “I will.”

  As I step outside, I suck in a deep gulp of air, feeling for the first time since Thursday like I can breathe again. I glance up at the three-story Tribeca house and shake my head. Indeed, there is no like place like home.

  Chapter 3

  “Do you think it’s inappropriate to buy your boss vinyl for Christmas?”

  I chew on my lip as I consider the Billie Holiday vinyl box set on display in the vintage record store.

  Morgan leans closer, and I feel her big curly hair brush my shoulder before I hear her gasp.

  “At that price, yes!”

  I give it one last glance before turning away. “You’re probably right.”

  “Are we done in here?” Morgan wrinkles her tiny nose. “This place smells of oldness.”

  I roll my eyes as we head to the door. “Here I was thinking I could get you to appreciate some music culture.”

  “I get plenty of music culture on iTunes, thank you very much.” The bells above the door jingle as Morgan pushes it open. “In fact, while you are in a gifting mood, my playlist would appreciate the new Beyoncé album.”

  “Ugh, you better tell your millionaire boyfriend that one,” I say, making a face. “Because the day I buy a Beyoncé album is the day my credit card melts in my hand.”

  Morgan laughs. “You are such a snob.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but the cold New York air steals my breath away. I turn my collar up and pull my knit hat down over my ears. It may still be November, but it is wintertime for sure. Christmas displays are already up in most store windows and the Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Center is already lit. And if that isn’t enough, it is 5pm on a weekday and the mall is packed with shoppers. The commercialized Christmas spirit was in the air.

  I tuck my ungloved hand into the crook of Morgan’s arm and direct her towards the swinging glass doors of the mall, hoping one day I can afford a fake fur coat as warm as the one she’s sporting.

  “So am I to take it you still haven’t gotten a gift for Dutch?”

  We step inside, and I sigh in pleasure as warm air surrounds me. “No, not yet. But I have time.”

  “I thought you did all your Christmas shopping already?” Morgan peeks into the window of a jewelry store. “You’re usually done by October.”

  “I am mostly done,” I say, pulling her away before she does more damage to her American Express. “It’s just, his is taking longer than usual. What do you buy for the guy that has everything?”

  “Not an expensive record box set that’s for sure,” Morgan says dryly.

  “It wasn’t that expensive,” I argue. “And it’s the complete Billie Holiday On Verve 1946-1959, factory sealed! Do you know how rare that is? Dutch would die.”

  “And you would die, after I kill you for spending that much money on him,” Morgan says as we walk through the throng of shoppers.

  “Last Christmas, he bought me a first edition Pride and Prejudice, an 1894 Hugh Thomson edition with this amazing illustration—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Morgan rolls her eyes. “You talked about it for three months and wouldn’t even let me touch it.”

  “Do you know why?” I purse my lips at her. “Because it retails for upwards of $500 on eBay! If I ever need some quick money—”

  Morgan snorts. “As if you would ever sell it. I think you love Jane Austen more than your own mother.”

  I scoff. “Of course that’s not true. Maybe more than you.”

  “Hey!”

  “Oww!” I rub my arm where Morgan has punched me before laughing. “You know I’m just joking. The point is, however, I can’t just buy the man a tie.”

  “What if it’s a vintage tie? You both seem to love old things.”

  “Old, valuable things,” I correct.

  “Tomato, tomato.” She grabs my arm, linking hers in mine once more. “I still think the records are too expensive though.”

  “Well, it might be more than a Christmas gift,” I bite my lip, and Morgan quirks an eyebrow. “It might also be a thanks-for-everything gift. I’m thinking of leaving.”

  Morgan stops suddenly, almost causing me to fall.

  “What?” she squeaks, her bright copper eyes going even brighter. “But you love your job.”

  “I know, but I don’t love the pay.” I pull her forward and steer her into the Macy’s Department store to our left. “But I can’t ask for more because I am at the top of my salary bracket. It might look fancy, but right now I’m nothing more than a glorified secretary.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Morgan’s eyes widen at me. “Carrie, you and I both know Dutch wouldn’t be able to find his nose on his face if you weren’t around.”

  “Yeah, and finding his nose? Not such a complicated job,” I reply dryly. “Any 21-year-old out of community college can help him do that. I have a communications degree and five years experience in media planning. I could be doing more. I should be doing more. And I definitely need to be making more.”

  It isn’t that I am greedy. There are things I need to do that I can’t unless I am more financially comfortable. And staying as Dutch’s little helper is not helping me with that.

  Morgan purses her lips. “Please, you are not a secretary. You are an assistant to the CEO of the Prism group. I know you help
him plan those campaigns and pick advertisers and designers. You have more authority than his junior partners and more direct campaign experience too.”

  “So, shouldn’t I be in one of those positions?” I protest. I thought I could convince Morgan of this easily. She has been a part of Prism since they acquired Chrysallis, the image consulting firm she worked for. Before that, we had known each other for years, but more importantly she is a close friend, who happens to have another close friend in HR. It would be good to have her put in a word for me when my resume floats that way.

  “Then tell Dutch that,” Morgan says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m sure he’ll promote you if you want it. He is the CEO after all.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to move up that way,” I slip out of her grasp and walk towards a display of crystal ware. While my own Christmas shopping is mostly done, Dutch still needs to get gifts for a few of the board members, and if I leave it to him... Well, let’s just say his first meeting of the new year might not be a good one.

  “And what way is that?”

  “Getting a promotion just because my boss is the owner of the company. I want to apply legitimately, interview legitimately and get the position because of what I have done, not because of my relationship with Dutch. That’s why I’m just going to apply for that account executive position in Media and Community Relations.”

  Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You want to work for Susan?”

  Susan is also on the board of Prism. In fact, her company had been another that Dutch brought into the Prism group. And, even though Prism is one company, Dutch’s side handles the marketing and paid advertising, while Susan’s handles the unpaid part of a brand’s promotion, including media placement and promotional events. Combined with Chrysallis’s brand management and image consultant skills, the group is a full-service publicity and marketing machine.

  “Sure, why not?” I shrug. “I’ve worked with her a couple times. She’s pretty cool.”

  “She is,” Morgan tilts her head to the side. “But she’s not Dutch. How you gonna leave the man who gave you your start in the company? Who hired you while you were still in university and let you work those random hours so you could do work and school at the same time?”

  “It’s just a job, Morgan. It’s nothing personal.”

  “You sure about that?” Morgan stops and places her hands on her hips. I can feel her glaring at me over a Waterford Balmoral clear crystal vase. “This is purely career motivated?”

  I place the vase down gently and pick up some gold trimmed wine glasses. “What other reason could there be?”

  “I don’t know, Miss-haven’t-been-in-a-relationship-in-forever.”

  “Morg, I don’t know where you’re going with that, but don’t.”

  Okay, so that is a lie. I know exactly where she is going. Morgan has never been discreet about what she thinks about my relationship with Dutch and its unconventional nature.

  “Okay,” she concedes a little too easily and exactly thirty seconds of peace follows.

  “Does he still call you at one in the morning?”

  “Still?” I screech. “I can’t believe you’re still talking about that one time!”

  It was actually more than once. But after her reaction the first time I told her, I decided not to enlighten her on the other occasions.

  “See this is the problem,” Morgan gestures with her hands. “You all have no boundaries. Your personal and professional lives cross over so much it’s ridiculous.”

  I put down the glasses and walk towards the china. “It was just a phone call.”

  She is right on my heels. “And you helping him pick out a suit for his sister’s wedding…”

  “While on a lunch break,” I add.

  “And him picking you up from the airport when you came back from Florida,” Morgan continues.

  “It was Monday morning,” I protest. “I had a meeting that morning.”

  “He could have sent a car.”

  I actually thought he would have. But I can’t say I was disappointed when I stepped out of the passenger concourse and saw his gorgeous smile waiting for me on the other side. He might be my boss, but I am very aware of how attractive he is. I wasn’t trying to mess with my legit job, though. When I finally cut the cord with Cordelia, I need to make sure I can take care of myself and maybe a few others without her side gigs.

  “I think what you’re feeling is a little restlessness. You need to start dating seriously.”

  I open my mouth to protest.

  “Not those raggedy old geezers your mom is always setting you up with,” Morgan says cutting me off. “Which by the way, I don’t know why you are still letting her do.”

  I shrug. “It’s Mother. It’s hard to say no to her.”

  “Except that it’s leaving you no time to meet a guy you might really be interested in. You need to get out there, enjoy the part of your life that is NOT work,” Morgan insists. “If you start doing that and you still want to switch floors, then I will support you. Otherwise, I’m gonna think you’re just doing this cause you’re madly in love with Dutch and can’t stand to share him with Gina.”

  Morgan laughs at the way my face instantly twists into a grimace. But I can’t help it. Just the mention of that name makes my skin crawl.

  Gina.

  Ugh. She is the girl of the month. Dutch’s plus one to all the events it was more appropriate for him to attend with a female counterpart. I’m not sure exactly when or where Gina and her triple D’s entered Dutch’s world, but she seemed to be hanging on for dear life.

  I can’t stand her.

  Since the moment I met her, I knew exactly what she was about. After all, I know her type very well. I have grown up with it and called it mother. But whatever, it isn’t my problem. Dutch is a big boy. He can handle it. I hope.

  “Gina and her silicones can have Dutch on non-company time,” I say. “But if she keeps showing up like she has been and creating chaos with my work schedule, it’s gonna be a problem.”

  “Please,” Morgan laughs. “You are just looking for a reason to go off on her. Why don’t you just admit that you’re jealous of the attention Dutch gives her?”

  “Whatever,” I push my purse higher on my shoulders which are almost at my ears. “Ain’t nobody here want anything she got.”

  “Mhmm,” Morgan smirks. “Did Dutch ask you to pick up her gift too?”

  I snort. “He knows better than that.”

  Morgan shakes her head. “You and Dutch. The saga never ends.”

  “There is no saga.” I choose a hand-painted teapot and matching cups and bring them to the checkout. “I am Dutch’s employee. He is my employer. End of story.”

  * * *

  I am still trying to convince myself of this as I lie in bed later that night when my cell phone rings.

  “I can’t figure out what to pack for the conference. Five suits and pajamas should be fine, right?”

  I slap my forehead. “Dutch, it’s 11:25pm.”

  “I know, and I have to leave right after work tomorrow so I have to get this done now. Which reminds me, can you drive me to the airport?”

  “What about Gina?”

  Ooh, that came out a little catty.

  “She hates driving that far,” Dutch continues, sounding distracted. “Plus, I want to run the talking points for my speech past you.”

  “Your speech was fine when I looked over it earlier today,” I flip on my bedside lamp resigning myself to the conversation.

  “I know, but I want you to hear me say it. Let me know if I’m getting the emphasis right,” he says. “Care, I really can’t pick a tie. Can you come over?”

  “Dutch, it’s 11:25!”

  “So, I should come over?”

  “Do you know what they call it when men come over to women’s houses at midnight?” I ask dryly.

  “An emergency?”

  “Nice try. Your outfit choices are not an emergency, and you
are not coming to my apartment at this time of night, Dutch. I would have to file a harassment claim at Prism, and the crackheads would steal your tires and rims.”

  I live in a rougher part of Brooklyn where the rent was cheaper but the chances of getting home alive were lower. But I have been here for a couple years now and have formed a tenuous relationship with the colorful characters that hang around the front doors. The truth is, while they are scary to most, many of them are just people who have fallen on bad times and ended up in some bad stuff. There is not much separating me from them except a missed paycheck or two. But I can’t expect Dutch, who had spent most of his life in Soho to understand something like that.

  “Care, you really need to move out of that neighborhood,” Dutch says, real concern saturating his voice. “I know we pay you enough for a better place.”

  “I like the place I have. It has character,” I say defensively.

  “The character of a Criminal Minds episode,” Dutch mumbles.

  “If you are done critiquing my place of habitation, I’m going to hang up now!”

  “No wait! FaceTime. I need you to tell me what matches.”

  I sigh and switch to the FaceTime app so we can see each other. If Morgan saw this she would have a fit.

  His copper eyes twinkle through the screen, and the dimple in his right cheek seems even deeper as he grins at me. I swallow hard the lump that has suddenly stopped my breathing.

  “Ugh, if you’re gonna want me to do this, you’re gonna have to turn down the sunshine.”

  He laughs. “Carrie, Carrie, always the early bird. Okay, I’ll make this quick. Brown suit, white shirt—”

  “No brown suit. It makes you look like a door to door salesman. Wear the slate gray suit with the white shirt and the light green tie. It brings out your eyes.”

  “Okay, got it. A navy suit, couple of shirts. I’m thinking this tie with the blue shirt,” he says holding up a purple tie checkered with small white squares.

  I sit up, a little surprised at the good choice. “Ooh, I like.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” he replies with a pleased grin. “And then standard black tie for the dinner, plus an extra dark suit. Okay, I think I’m done packing.”