Chapter Seven

ANNA’S POV

I woke up before my alarm. The AC was humming in the silent apartment. My phone was lying black on the nightstand. I did not have to look to realize that my head was still reliving last night. Michael intruding into my space. The warmth of his jacket on my shoulder. How my breath really caught as he leaned in. I shoved the covers off and stood up. I wasn’t going to let a guy in a tailored suit throw off my morning routine.

I did not take the coffee, but went to the desk. The bid book was open. I opened up a list of vendors on my laptop and began to compare names to the list of guests attending the charity launch. Three suppliers withdrew during the night. Two got substituted with junior reps who would not be able to tell the difference between a logistics manifest and a delivery slip. I entered replacement orders, dispatched them to the dispatch team, and marked the priority routes. I played the keys swiftly with my fingers. Work kept me clean of head.

My phone buzzed. Sofia.

I responded without stopping to type. “Talk.”

Suzanne is at the security desk of the venue, she said an hour ago. She is enquiring about who does press, who is on the VIP list, where the private suites are, she is mapping the floor, Anna.

“Let her look.”

She is addressing the gossip bloggers. Spinning the engagement as a rebound phase by Michael to get a merger. Once the press hears about that, the story turns a business story into a scandal story.

“I’ll handle it.” I shut the laptop, took my blazer off of the chair and looked at the security schedule on my tablet. Just watch the donor tables, flag it in case she attempts to squeeze out of the perimeter.

“You’re not going to panic?”

I have no time to panic. I put my phone in my bag. I will be down at six.

I got into the elevator and pressed the lobby button. The doors were closed. My phone rang once again. Unknown number.

*Drop the bid. Or have your name dragged in the press.

I gazed at the screen. I didn’t type back. I captured a screen shot and sent it to my legal team with a priority tag and locked the screen. The elevator dinged. I stepped out into the morning breeze, and was already working out my next step in my mind. I wasn’t dropping anything.

I returned to my penthouse office and got the last press passes. Before I could prevent it, the security desk allowed Adrian to pass by. He did not have to wait until he was called. He just walked in.

You are fatigued, he said, and rearranged his gold ring. His charcoal suit was more expensive than most automobiles. He was walking as though he was the owner of the lobby.

“Security is going to escort you out.” I did not halt my pace towards my desk.

Your father men have allowed me to be up. They know what I am to this family. He trailed me into the office. The odour of heavy cologne and rain trailed him. I heard about the engagement. Cute. But you and I know how short lived fake things are when the pressure is turned on.

We are in a hurry, Adrian. You have an appointment process.

He turned his back on me, and threw a little velvet box on the glass table. It fell with a gentle thud. He flipped it open.

It wasn’t a ring. It was a brass key. Tarnished. Heavy.

Your safe deposit box, mother, he said. Bank of Meridian. Vault 412. Your father buried the paperwork, when he swept her accident under the carpet. I found the receipt in his old files.

My hands ceased to move. The paper on my desk was heavy to touch.

“Why are you giving me this?”

Because I am over with you waiting till you play pretend with Alonzo. Take the key. Or I give one to the press and have them see what your father actually buried. He wheeled and went to the door. The charity this evening will be interesting. Be careful not to fall over your own words.

He walked out. The door swung closed. I gazed at the key. My jaw tightened. I picked it up. The metal was cold. I put it in my blazer pocket, and picked up the press passes. I had no time to work out the play of Adrian. I just needed to get through the night.

The back stage hallway was stinking of fresh paint and ozone. Crewmen were hurrying along with coils of cable and lighting equipment. I had a clipboard in my arms and compared the press schedule with the real lineup. There were two overlapping radio interviews. I checked one off, reallocated the slot, and went to the catering corner to fetch water.

Suzanne had already arrived.

She was in a black slip dress that seemed costly and totally out of place in a loading area. She was holding a tablet as though it were hers, and was browsing through lists of guests with an indolent smirk.

Didn’t know that security routing was done by volunteers, I said.

She didn’t look up. Just checking that the VIP list is the same as the actual number. Wouldn’t want your fiancee to be mobbed by the press who have not received the memo.

“The memo goes to the press office. Not the guest tables.”

She finally turned. Her glance ran over me, keen and critical. You do a fine job of maintaining the pretence. It is nearly believable the way you are acting not to know where he sleeps at night.

I do not have to know where he sleeps to conduct a charity launch.

“Sure.” She moved nearer, whispering. However, faux relationships do not last through the press cycle. Particularly when the man you are dating also has plans. You believe he is dumping his old contacts to have a merger?

I didn’t raise my voice. I took out my phone, swiped the screen and opened the venue contract. Fourth paragraph, second line. Media uninvited and unapproved vendor solicitation cancels entry. You are not on the staff list or authorized to coordinate press access, I am calling security to take you to general seating, otherwise, you are trespassing.

Her smirk dropped. “You can’t actually—”

“I just did.” I used my phone to tap the security line and held it out. “Two minutes.”

She took her tablet and strolled away. I sighed, pushed the phone back into my blazer pocket and turned around.

Michael was standing at the end of the hallway. He had overheard the latter.

He came up to me, fiddling with his cuffs as though he had all eternity. The noise from the main hall muffled through the heavy doors. He stopped a foot away.

You need not have gone on, he said.

She was angling at advantage. I sliced the line.

“You handled it.” He took out a closed envelope and opened it. Final bid file. You will need it at the donor meeting following the speech.

I took it. Our fingers brushed. I had not moved away quick enough to conceal it.

He didn’t step back. He just watched me. Don’t improvise, stick to the script to-night.

I wrote a half of the script, Michael. I know my lines.

“Then keep them.” His voice fell, less but more solemn. Since when those doors open, you do not get to take a break.

I clenched my hand on the folder. “I never do.”

I walked away to the stage entrance. The double doors were heavy and swung open. My face was struck with flashing cameras. The noise of the crowd came rushing in. I went forward, held my shoulders erect, and did not turn back.

My phone was vibrating on my ribs. One short buzz. Then another. I didn’t stop walking. I just glanced down. To check safe deposit box. The order has more than one signature on it, that of your father.

I read the message twice. The screen was glaring in the dark passage. I put the phone back and remained motionless and walked directly into the lights.