Billionaire Secrets of a Wanglorious Bastard (17 page)

Tech support tittered. “You work with that group, don't you?”

What group? “You got me.”

“I knew it. You probably sent something naughty to Grimes, didn't you?”

Tech support didn't know the half of it. “I am so busted. No, I am. OMG.”

More tech tittering. “What was it this time?”

“I can't say.”

“You can't?”

“It was my first time, you know? I'm so embarrassed.”

“Can I take a look?”

“No!” I caught myself. “I mean, the file was corrupted and could devastate our system if opened.”

“You meant to send it, didn't you?”

A wrong answer could doom me.
Don't think about it, Rufus. Just go with the flow.
“In all honesty? I brought in someone who did.”

“A threesome?”

“I am so embarrassed, but I thought it would spice things up, you know? After all, I'm new here and I had a sense that he was tired of the same old, same old. Problem with that? I really don't know what this person I brought in had in mind. She totally tricked me, and I don't want anyone getting hurt. That's why I called. I made a mistake. A drunken mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. And I need your help.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Hi. I'm just, wow, you know? You guys at Krueller? You're totally wild.”

“So, can you help?”

“Already did.”

“You did?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“So the email?”

“Never opened. Intercepted.”

Thank goodness. “Thank you.”

“That's what I'm here for. Anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

“You take care. And keep fucking those chickens.”

“Will do.” I hung up before realizing what I’d agreed to. What the hell was s/he talking about? Was that a joke?
 

Didn't matter. Crisis averted.

I took a breath of comfort and strolled down the hall.

“Rufus.”

It was Rita Rococo.

“I saw you come in.”

“You did?”

“With her.”

Busted. Was Sif working at the firm before Rita arrived? “Just a friend.”

Rita looked at me. “You're sweating.”

Beads of sweat dripped down my scalp. “I'm not.”

She put her hand on my forehead. “You are. And you're trembling.”

I was. “Too much coffee.”

She leaned in. Locked her gaze with mine and put her nose near my lips. And sniffed. “You've been drinking.”

Busted. “I haven't. Just spaghetti with vodka sauce.”

She stuck out her tongue and licked my lips. “Amaretto Sour. You're a lightweight.”

This could not be happening. This really could not be happening. “Thanks, Ms. Rococo. I'm flattered. Really, I am, but I have a girlfriend I live with and—”

“No you don't.”

How did she know?

“And I don't see anyone here but us.” She whispered in my ear, “I'll be discreet.” She put her hand on my thing and said, “It'll be our secret.”

When did something like this ever happen?

Never.

It was like a harmonic convergence. Rhage and I were done. Sif was a nut job. And I’d just prevented the downfall of a firm. A firm that required protection from a partner.
 

And there she stood.

Could this be the universe telling me that my place was with Rita Rococo? And if so, who was I to reject the universe? I knew my place, so I said, “Discreet, right?”

She nodded.

I inhaled so deeply, my lungs hurt. “Okay. Let's do this.” I took her by the hand, and she smacked it away.

She said, “We're at work.”

“We are?” I totally forgot.

“A car is waiting outside for me. We take it. And wait until we go to my place.”

Sounded good to me. My heart fluttered and my feet felt heavy. It was a weird, surreal experience of expectation mixed with the unknown. As we went down the hallway, side by side, she didn't make eye contact. Not even on the elevator, when we went into the car, or even arrived in her building. No words. No exchanges. Nothing but tension, for me at least.
 

Until we reached her apartment.

55

A FIFTEEN-HUNDRED-FOOT
tower. Had to be home to billionaires.
 

And Rita was one of them.

Her apartment?
 

Eighteen-thousand-square-foot triplex penthouse.
 

You heard me.

Three full floors in prime Manhattan real estate.

On the ninety-fifth floor.

With a private elevator that took twenty seconds to get there.
 

When I got off, I was met by some kind of wooden floors and massive windows from floor to ceiling. And not the small ceilings of my shitty apartment. We’re talking ceilings about three times the height of the largest ceiling I’d seen in an apartment.
 

But back to those windows. Massive. On each side of the room, I could look out and see any side of Manhattan I desired. It was night, so the glow of the city was spectacular and creepy at the same time. What was I doing here? Me, of all people. One parent fresh from Jamaica who was slumming it. The other from a small rez in North Carolina. It made no sense. And what was Rita going to do with me? She’d been quiet and aloof since we left the firm. I hoped she wasn't one of those whip and chains chicks. Or a blood drinker. Maybe she'd pull a Palpatine and toss me out the window, Mace Windu style. I'd be spattered on the concrete, ninety stories below. My parents wouldn't know the truth.
 

No one would but me and Rita.

Rita, who had disappeared and just re-emerged in a white robe. She could tell I was staring at it.

“Elephant tusk.”

“That's made from the tusk of elephants?”

“No, the color. Elephant tusk.”

I felt a little better.
 

“I would tell you the designers and fabrics, but you couldn’t pronounce them.”

“I've seen spendy clothes. I went to Columbia.”

“Ha! Your tweed-jacketed pretenders. Elbow-patch-wearing bastards. What refinery did they have on display? Come.”

She took me on a tour. Every room had a Picasso. Basquiat. And that splotchy
Beautiful Mind
art.
 

“The bathrooms have his-and-hers showers and toilets.”

She took me to her bedroom.

“Wait here.”

I did. And the whole thing didn't make sense. Attorneys can make millions, but not anywhere close to a billion. True, law firms represent multibillion-dollar corporations, but the lawyers are their wage slaves. It's like a higher-paid version of McDonald’s: all about customer service.
 

How could she have all of this money as an attorney? Stack said she made the firm a whole lot of money. But for this, she couldn't just be a rainmaker. She had to make tsunamis. Still, if I could get just a crumb from her table, or, keeping with the water metaphor, a drop of her typhoon, I'd be set for life. I had to know her secret.

Or did I?

I didn't want to end up like the guy with the goose who laid, no pun intended, the golden eggs. I'd just have to enjoy the ride. But the source of her income wasn't the only weird thing. Her bedroom was just as cryptic.

No furniture, no books, no computers, no television. Just a massive fan in the middle of the room. Its blades mesmerized me. So much so that I almost missed what it hovered over, which didn't make sense, since it was the only thing in the room but us.

A huge bed.

Did she want me to stand or sit on the floor? I turned to her, and she was disrobing.

I guessed that was my cue to follow.

So I did.

And since she’d said she wanted to be discreet, I have to respect her and not give you a blow-by-blow description.

But it was awesome.

There was so much I wanted to know about her. How'd she end up with a crib like this? What kind of law did she practice? I meant to ask her as soon as we were done.

But I fell asleep.

56

WHEN I WOKE
up, she wasn't there.

Clothes were there. A suit, shirt with French cuffs, and, whoa, diamond and gold cufflinks?

The suit and shirt looked fresh, but I wasn't a guy who knew fashion. Did Rita leave these out for me?

Someone knocked on the door.
 

“Yes?”

A guy looking like a mix of butlers Jarvis and Alfred came in with a tray of food.
 

“Crumpets, sir?”

Sir? “Sure.”

“Splendid. I take it you like oolong tea?”

I didn't know what that was. Oolong was a fighter in the Yie Ar Kung Fu video game. “Sure. Oolong.”

“You aren't allergic to goat's milk, are you?”

“No.”

“Splendid.” He poured the tea into a cup and handed it to me. “I shan’t ask if you like sugar, as goat-milk-brushed loose leaf is best served without.”

“Of course.” I took the cup from him and sipped. It tasted tangy and sweet. Good thing I didn't put sugar in it.
 

“Sufficient, sir?”

I flashed a thumbs-up. “Where's Rita?”

“When you finish breakfast, I can help you get ready.”

Guess he didn't want me to know. “Sure. Maybe I should take a shower.”

“No. Ms. Rococo requested that you shan’t shower. Tea, crumpets, clothes, Krueller. Understand, sir?”

I sure did. “Yes.”
 

“Splendid.”

No shower? Maybe she marked her territory, which was me, and didn't want me to remove her scent from my body.

I felt like Goldilocks. Inside someone else's place. Without the choices. I finished my tea and crumpets and put on the clothes.
 

Man, did they feel good.
 

My only problem was the cufflinks. I'd never put them on.

My parents were kind of bummy. I knew how to knot a tie, but that was pretty much it.

The door knocked.
 

“Need help with the cufflinks, sir?”

“Sure.”

He came in and tried to remove my jacket. That's right. I guess the cufflinks go on before the jacket. And he redid my tie so it had a dimple in the knot. Looked spiffy.

He bent down and tapped my left foot. I raised it and he put on a silky-feeling silver sock. Then put on a soft shoe, which surprisingly fit. How did everything fit?
 

Golden Egg Goose, Rufus.

I wasn't going to ask.

Both my shoes were on. Brown and sharp looking. Alvis (combo of Alfred and Jarvis) smoothed my shoulders. Lifted my arms and inspected every nook and cranny.

“How does that feel, sir?”

“Perfect, Alvis.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Nothing. Sorry. Thanks.”

“Right this way, sir.” He guided me to the apartment. The ceilings were just as high as the night before. But the views were different. I could see Central Park on one side. And when I turned in the other direction, there was some ocean.
 

“This way, sir.”

Right. I entered the private elevator, and twenty seconds later, I was on the ground floor.

A car and driver greeted me and drove me to work.

I looked back at the to get there.
 

A fifteen-hundred-foot tower. Had to be home to billionaires.
 

And I’d slept with one of them.

And loved every minute of it.

I took a deep breath. I knew I'd never see it again.

She'd probably hit it and quit it.

At least I got a sweet suit to go with it.

She said she would be discreet.

And I trusted she would be.

57

I CHECKED MY
work phone.

And had eighteen new messages.

I pressed play.
 

“Message one, new, received Friday, 9 a.m.”
 

It was Grimes. “I put something on your desk this morning I need done today.”

He did?
 

“Message two, new, received Friday, 9:05 a.m.”

“Rufus, we have an emergency closing this afternoon. Come by my office today at lunch.”

Lunch?

“Message three, new, received Friday at 9:15 a.m.”

I couldn't listen to any more. I went to the bathroom to wash the nervousness away.

When I arrived at work, I was in a daze. I stumbled into my office.

And noticed someone at my chair.

“Close the door behind you.”

It was Grimes.
 

I felt like running out, but also wanted to know what the hell was going on.
 

So I closed the door.

He said, “I know what you did.”

“You do?”

“I have to admit, I never suspected you would be capable of such wickedness.”

He knew. And it wasn't a joke.
 

Grimes said, “Get your things. We have no need for someone like you here.”

I was doomed. “What about all those messages? You know, the emergency closing. It's still going on, right?”

“It sure is. Just not with you.”

“Why not?”

“You're working on bigger things. From home.”

“I don't understand.”

Grimes smiled and rose from my chair. “Rita, is she chatty. She believes you are more effective working from a remote location. That out of the office you are more productive, more focused, like a machine. She kept on yakking about you and your performance on that research assignment. If you keep it up, your career will have tremendous upside.”

Grimes vigorously rubbed his hands.

He said, “You finally understand that we are a service firm. Please one partner and you please us all. Good work, Rufus.”

“What about Stack?”

“Who?”

“Stack?”

“I don't know anyone by that name. Do you?”

He was staring with an intensity I'd only seen in feral dogs.

I said, “What name?”

And just like that, Grimes smiled. “My word, that is a nice suit. Looks just like a Dormeuil, but I couldn't be, with your salary.”

He walked around me and left.

58

“GODDAMN, LOOK AT
that outfit. Straight pimpin'! Told you.”

Enos beamed at my confusion.

I said, “I didn't do anything.”

He raised a fist. “I would pimp-slap you for lying like a motherfucker, but I don't want to get blood on that sweet-ass suit.”