Just One Night, Part 2: Exposed (10 page)

CHAPTER
11

A
FTER A QUICK
taxi ride I walk into my office with renewed confidence; I’ve tucked concerns about Robert and me into my back pocket and I’ve almost forgotten they’re there. Things are going my way, I’ve chosen my weapons, selected my target. I have a plan. I’m ready for the day.

My team has sent me all their individual reports. Barbara has printed them and left them on my desk. I can see they’ve been working hard. Their reports are more thorough and precise than they were before. Our goal is to help Robert position his company for a public option and now as I study the numbers and strategies of his various divisions laid out in neat detail, I can see how it all fits together. The trick of my job is to know what to focus on. There are always more numbers than you need, problems that don’t need an immediate answer, others that demand attention. But once you know what’s important and what can wait, when you can see with the kind of tunnel vision that allows you to block out the background noise and zero in on the one instrument that needs to be tuned, that’s when your job is practically done. I see it now: the marketing plan that would be best; I can see the path.

I can see the path
. Surely that will be the mantra for the day.

I spend the first half of the day bringing it all together in a single report that will be submitted to Robert.

Tom walks into the office. As usual he didn’t knock or give Barbara a chance to announce him. Barbara stands behind him now, a look of defeat weighing down her features. As usual I wave my hand in a gesture of casual forgiveness and she leaves us, quietly closing the door so we’re alone.

He sits opposite me, his eyes flickering to my outfit. I’m dressed more conservatively than I have been for a while. Beige trousers made of a gentle fabric, a cropped blazer of a similar color closed over a long satin top that’s the shade of platinum. I’ve accessorized with a long silk scarf that I’ve strategically draped and tied around my neck. The only skin that is showing is on my hands and face. But I can tell that’s not what Tom’s seeing. He’s seeing the dress from last night and everything it exposed.

I look down at my desk, squirm slightly in my seat, then curse myself for doing it. I don’t want to be reminded of that torture.

“Is the Maned Wolf report ready?” Tom asks.

I look back up at him, surprised. This is not the line of questioning I expected.

“I’ve just sent a final draft to my team and to you, and in an hour the team and I will have one more meeting to decide which parts of the plan will be presented by whom.”

“Is that what he wants?”

“Who?” I ask, confused. “Rob—I mean, Mr. Dade? Of course that’s what he wants. It’s what he hired us for.”

Tom raises his eyebrow. The question he doesn’t have to ask echoes in my ears.
Is it what he hired us for? Or was it so he could claim you?

The silent question leads me to memories of harsher, spoken statements.

Prostitutes have sex for profit.

Asha’s words. I close my eyes and try to force them from my head. I didn’t even know who he was when I met him. My actions were wrong but my motives had been physical, emotional, never monetary.

“Does he want the entire team to present the report or just you?”

I open my eyes. “I thought we were going to pretend that you don’t know about . . . about my relationship with Mr. Dade.”

“Yes, well I thought about that, and if he asks me to pretend, then that’s exactly what I’ll do because, after all, this is all about what
he
wants.”

“Are you mocking me?”

Tom cocks his head to the side; he hadn’t expected the question. “Why would I mock you? I like you and I respect you, although my definition of ‘respect’ might be different from yours. I’d respect a drug dealer if he did his job well.”

“You have no morals.”

He effortlessly shrugs off the accusation. “Look, Robert is the biggest client we have. I want as many Maned Wolf projects—and as much Maned Wolf money—as our division can handle. I know that I need you for that but I also need you to keep him happy.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that I have to fuck him?” I snap, the profanity coming to my lips a little too easily.

He chuckles. “Of course not. That would be . . . what’s the word you like to use?” He snaps his fingers a few times as if trying to remember. “Ah yes, immoral. No, I’m not saying you have to fuck him. I’m saying you have to
keep
fucking him.”

“You’re out of line.”

“What are you talking about?” He shakes his head; his smile wavers. “I’m only asking you to do what you want to do.”

“And I’ll do what I want to do,” I say simply. “But you have no right to expect it of me.”

“Seriously?” He leans forward. I hear my cell ringing in my purse but ignore it. “Tell me, Kasie, do you enjoy your job?”

I don’t respond. He knows the answer well enough.

“Do you think it’s fair that I expect you to do your job?”

“That’s different,” I say, seeing the trap.

“Is it?” His posture is relaxed; he’s sure of his footing. “You enjoy your work and I expect you to do it. You enjoy fucking your client? I expect you to keep that up, too. And yes, there may be aspects of your job and your affair that you think are beneath you. Tasks that you find demeaning. It’s the nature of the beast. Work through it.”

There’s a shift in the wind that carries my mood in a new direction. Tom is supposed to be my ally but if he switches sides, I’m prepared to draw blood. “Wasn’t it you who pointed out what will happen if Mr. Freeland finds out about Mr. Dade and me?” I ask. “Dave knows, Tom. You know that better than anyone. You should be encouraging me to find a graceful exit to the affair so we can all get out of this unscathed.”

“Kasie, I’m getting out of this unscathed regardless. If you get fired, that sucks for me. Really sucks. You’re an amazing consultant, hands down the best analyst I’ve got. There’s a chance I’ll be up for promotion next year and if I get it, you’ll be partially responsible for that, and you’ll probably get my job. But empires rise and fall. Kings and queens are overthrown and replaced with others, ones who use different titles, wear different crowns but are every bit as ruthless as their predecessors. We’re all replaceable in the end.”

Out in the hall I hear someone laughing, the hum of activity. “Are you threatening my job?” I ask.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tom’s eyes idly travel the room. “My only goal is to keep the account. I’m sure Mr. Dade told you that he spoke with me last night?”

“He did.”

“He’s going to take care of Freeland, Dave, the works,” he says, as he finally brings his attention back to me. “And if Freeland has a problem with Mr. Dade’s terms, well he is only the
co
founder after all. Mr. Dade will put the right pressure on the right people. You’ll keep your job as long as we keep that account and that means that it’s most definitely in your interest to keep him happy.”

My fingers slide over the surface of my desk. For me it has as much import as any throne. I earned my place here. Dave got me the interview, not the job. I deserve to have the assignment given to me by Robert even if he didn’t know it at the time he gave it. “Mr. Dade and I have talked about this,” I explain. “He will not be
taking care of
anyone. I will. This is my fight and I’m fighting it alone.”

Tom’s expression doesn’t change; his face doesn’t move. The only hint of frustration is in the way he squeezes the armrest of the chair, just tight enough to make the tips of his fingers go white. “That’s not a wise choice, Kasie.”

“It’s the choice I’ve made. I meet with Dave tonight. By tomorrow he won’t be a problem anymore. Freeland will never have grounds to attack me. It’ll be done.”

“And if things don’t turn out your way?”

I press my lips into a thin line of rebellion. I will not entertain that scenario.

“Ah, no plan B? Well then we’ll use mine: if you don’t have it under control, we’ll let Mr. Dade handle this.”

“How? By telling the board of directors that they need to keep me on until he tires of me?”

“If necessary. But don’t worry, Kasie. I doubt any man ever tires of you easily.”

“I can’t believe this,” I growl.

“Really?” He frowns. “You’re the one who got this ball rolling. And it’s a nice ball. We’re all going to get a lot richer because of your talents . . .
all
your talents.”

Again I don’t answer and Tom sighs. “Look,” he says, his voice almost weary, almost angry, “I don’t really care how this is handled, as long as it is. But let’s face it, if you’re handling this yourself, it’s because Mr. Dade’s
allowing
you to do so. That man holds all the cards. Which brings me back to my original question. Does he want the entire team to make the presentation or would he rather you give it to him personally in intimate detail? Because I swear to God, Kasie, if you have to dress up in a G-string and pasties and give him this report while rubbing your ass up against a pole in order for us to keep his business, then you better get out the company card and book it on over to Fredrick’s of Hollywood.”

“Get out of my office.”

“No.”

I lean back in my chair. “You want to keep Mr. Dade happy? Fine. How happy do you think he’ll be if I tell him you’re harassing me?”

And now the smile is back. “That’s my girl. Now you’re thinking like the merciless businesswoman I know and love.” He stands up. “For the record, I don’t want to upset you. I want you happy, healthy, and available . . . to Mr. Dade. I’ll be keeping in touch with him, too, but you’ll always be the main point of contact—”

“Is that supposed to be a pun?” I snap.

Tom blinks, surprised, and then laughs, a full jolly laugh, like a perverted Santa Claus.

“My, my, aren’t we paranoid these days!” he exclaims once the laugh has calmed to a chuckle. “But it’s good.
Point of contact
—I’m sure Mr. Dade will remain very pleased with you.” He shakes his head as he turns to leave, unaccountably amused.

“You know, you think the two of us are alike, but we’re not.”

Tom turns, waits for me to continue.

“I made a mistake. I got involved with someone when I was already involved with someone else. It was wrong.”

“And I told you, I don’t fault you—”

“But you should,” I say. “The only reason you don’t is because you have no decency. No sense of right and wrong. You’re a womanizing narcissist who probably buys his romance off of Craigslist. I screwed up. You
are
screwed up.”

Tom waits a beat. He’d have a perfect poker face if it wasn’t for the clenched jaw. But then he shrugs with forced casualness. “I’ll call Mr. Dade and find out how he wants the report delivered,” he says as he reaches for the door.

“Tom!” I say. He stops and turns toward me. “You don’t need to call him. I’ve handled his account beautifully up to this point. All the Maned Wolf executives trust me. Do not undermine
the whole team
by interfering.” I cross my arms across my chest purposefully to demonstrate my stubbornness. I think I see a gleam in Tom’s eyes but I don’t know what it means.

Finally he nods. “Very well, do things your way. Like I said, just keep him happy. If I hear from him that you’re not, there are going to be problems. Not just from me but from the higher-ups.” I notice that Tom’s smile is harder now. I hit a nerve with my outburst.

“You really should stop crossing your arms in front of your chest like that,” he adds.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just that it reminds me of when you crossed your arms in Dave’s kitchen. You do remember that, don’t you? When you were trying to hide how hard your nipples were but then the gesture accidently gave me a glimpse of your . . .
contact point
.”

I feel my face burning. I get what he’s doing. He’s angry. He wants me self-conscious, less righteous.

But he also doesn’t want to waste any more of his time. Without another word he turns and leaves.

I sit back down, try to wipe out the last few minutes of the conversation from my mind. Tom is wrong. Robert doesn’t hold all the cards, and, yes, I
will
handle Dave after work.

But now Dave’s only one of many enemies. The war has emboldened the terrorists, and despite the confidence I felt this morning, I still don’t have enough weapons in my arsenal to fight them all.

CHAPTER
12

T
HE DAY MOVES
SLOWLY
.
The phone call I missed while talking to Tom was from Simone. From my recent silence she can sense that something’s off. I send her a text promising to call tomorrow. I know I can’t talk to her now, while I’m still reeling from Tom’s audacity. I get through the meeting with my team. Once again Asha is on her best behavior. She gains nothing by antagonizing me and prefers to wait for her moment. Will it come soon? Will she find an angle that works for her?

But such thoughts are as useless as a straw hat in a rainstorm. I’m in the rain, I’m going to get wet, so what use is it to think about the sun?

I get through the day, get to the restaurant, and immediately spot Dave at a table in the back. I can see he ordered us each a glass of white wine and a calamari appetizer. We’ll probably drink the former, ignore the latter.

I can see he’s worried, sending furtive glances to the left and the right as if he expects an ambush to come in from the window rather than the main entrance. He acknowledges me with a sheepish nod as I sit across from him and offers an almost grateful smile.

“You’re alone,” he says. His relief shoots out of him like steam from a kettle.

“For the moment.” I sip my wine. It’s dry with hints of citrus. Dave looks a little ill.

“I-I went too far last night,” he stutters. “I overreacted.”

The words sound familiar. Not long ago I had tried to be a bit more aggressive with Dave, sexually, that is. I had behaved spontaneously, straddled him as he finished his wine, asked him to take me in words much rougher than the soft enticements he approved of. He had balked. Rejected me completely.

Then he apologized the next day. He told me he had overreacted because my behavior was so out of character. He didn’t want me to change.

I see now how absurd that explanation had been. Everything changes. Everything. And really, all I had done was try to mix it up in the bedroom. If that’s not change we can believe in, then what the hell is?

But there was something sinister there, too. He had walked out when I overtly tried to seduce him. He walked away the moment I tried to propose a new idea, as playful and inconsequential as it may have been. Dave has always tried to control me.

And it had been his controlling nature that had attracted me to him. I was afraid of freedom, scared of my own impulses.

I’ve changed.

“Kasie, did you hear me? I went too far.”

“I heard you,” I say mildly. At the corner table is a woman sitting alone, giggling. It takes me a moment to spot the cell phone she holds against her ear.

Dave gestures toward another table, this one closer to the front. Three men who appear to be wheeling and dealing over drinks. “They’re members of my club,” he says. “I would prefer we not make a scene here.”

“Would you?” I ask. “I didn’t come here to make a scene, but I do find it interesting that you would think I would care about what you prefer.”

His eyes snap back to me. “You cheated on
me.
You betrayed
me.
I gave you everything. I got you that job—”

“You got me an interview.”

“Which was more than you could have done for yourself! I bought you white roses, I gave you that ruby that you still wear on your finger! I
cherished
you!”

I shake my head. Clangs from the kitchen, a car honking outside. “You never cherished me. You cherished the idea of me.”

“What are you talking about?” he snaps. “Have you lost it? Is this a game to you?”

“No, it’s a war. I recognize the carnage.”

“I’m going to tell Dylan.”

I smile. In the end he’s a child running to his elders to tattle. I glance toward the host stand . . . and there he is. Robert. He’s speaking to the hostess but looking at me.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I say slowly. “Telling, that is.”

“I bet you don’t!” Dave sneers. “You thought you’d just get away . . .” but his voice trails off, because he sees Robert, too, as he walks toward us. It’s impossible to miss him. Robert has that kind of presence. He reaches the table, his eyes glued to Dave.

“So you’re the man who is about to lose,” he says.

I wince at the words. I don’t mind antagonizing Dave, but I take offense at the idea of someone else doing it on my behalf. I hadn’t minded so much last night when Tom took up my case, but that situation had been more urgent. Here in the safety of the restaurant, restraint would be welcome.

Dave opens his mouth to speak, but instead of intelligible speech he releases a series of fragments, “You must be . . . why . . . when did . . .”

Robert watches him with bemused condescension before placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be at the table over there.” He points to an empty table in the center of the room. It’s a spot that will give him a perfect view of the entire restaurant and the restaurant a perfect view of him. “All you have to do is wave,” he says, looking at me before excusing himself with a parting nod.

Dave’s face is the color of a robin’s breast. He fumbles with the fork sitting before him, lightly tapping it against the table as if testing to see how easily it will scratch.

“You brought me here to humiliate me,” he whispers.

“You taught me well.”

His stares sullenly at the table, taps the fork with a little more force. It’s the metronome that sets the aural pulse for our meeting.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I say. “We could just stop hurting each other. We could call a truce, rebuild our lives, we could move on.”

“Separately,” he says.

I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement. Either way, I confirm it with a nod.

“I needed you,” he says. Again his eyes dart around the room, his gaze lightly landing on the woman with the brightly dyed hair before flitting to the man wearing expensive clothes and cheap tattoos, to the woman still laughing by herself to, at last, Robert Dade. “I don’t like this city,” he continues, his voice vibrating with emotion. “It’s tasteless, brazen, it—”

“It scares you,” I finish for him.

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps.

“No, you didn’t, not in so many words. But you told me as much in a thousand little ways.” He glares at me but allows me to continue. “You’re from a world where manners are quieter,” I say. “Where traditionalism still means something and modesty is an attribute, not a hindrance. You came to LA because of a job offer. You came thinking you could handle the glitter of Hollywood, the vivid diversity, the aggressive women, and the preening men, but you can’t handle any of it, can you?”

Dave shifts in his seat; the fork continues its metrical pulse. I lean forward, determined to be heard. “So you tried to control your little corner of the city,” I say. “You did it by joining clubs that disdain those who don’t fit your old school, ivory tower view of the world. You found a house in a neighborhood where the only diversity that can be seen is between the different makes of luxury cars. You’ve kept your home stark to the point of austerity as if to compensate for the wildness of the city and you chose me because I had the right look, the right mannerisms, and the right education . . . and because I let you control me. You told me who you wanted me to be and I poured myself into your mold and held its form for years.”

He looks up at me now; he’s pleading with me without saying a word.

“I can’t do it anymore, Dave. I’ve changed. You can punish me for that if you like, but it won’t do you any good. At best you’ll embarrass yourself; at worst you’ll become a laughingstock. Either way we’ll be over. I am no longer well suited to live within that corner of the world.”

The laughing woman finally hangs up her phone, and just like that, her smile disappears.

“You’re holding on to me out of fear, not love,” I finally add. “But unfortunately this relationship will never make you feel safe again.”

Dave lets the fork drop back to the table, but he holds his silence. I nod, knowing he’s giving me his answer. He won’t be going to Freeland, he won’t be fighting me anymore. This battle is over. He’s letting me go.

Discreetly I take the ruby off my finger and push it in his direction. I’m careful about this. I don’t want anyone else to notice. He scowls at the offensive piece of jewelry.

“I hate this ring,” he mutters. “I hated it when you picked it out and I hate it even more now.”

“Of course you do,” I say; there’s no judgment in my voice. “You want a woman who is comfortable with the easy transparency of diamonds, not the flawed passion of rubies.”

“Silks,” he says. “That’s what the jeweler called the flaws in a ruby. I don’t understand it. Why would you give such a pretty name to an imperfection?”

I smile and sigh. “I know you don’t see the beauty in that. That’s why we don’t work.”

I look down at my hands, now naked of adornment. “I
am
sorry I hurt you. It shouldn’t have taken an affair for me to find myself. I should have figured it all out by myself. I should have been stronger. I’m so, so sorry that you had to suffer for my weakness.”

Dave nods curtly. “Will you leave together?” he asks.

I glance up at Robert’s table. “No. He’ll leave a few minutes after me. If you like, you and I can walk out together, for appearances.”

He perks up slightly at that. It’s the first thing I’ve said during this entire meeting that he’s comfortable with.

He signals for the check and I pull out my cell and send Robert a text.

I’m going to walk out with Dave but then we’re going our separate ways, permanently. Everything has been handled. No need to follow.

I watch as Robert glances down at his phone as a waitress brings him a cup of coffee. He reads as he sips, not bothering to put any cream or sugar in it. He takes it black. I didn’t know that.

It’s funny but that bothers me. How many other little details do I not know about the man who has redefined my life?

His response is quick and to the point.

You shouldn’t be alone with him. I’ll follow.

It’s the response I predicted but I had hoped for better.

Everything is fine. He and I are done hurting each other. I need you to trust me with this.

I press Send as Dave gives the waitress his credit card.

I can see Robert’s frown as he reads. For a moment I question the wisdom of using him as my “perceived threat.” It’s a little like using a mountain lion as a guard dog. You have no real control over who and when it will attack.

But Robert meets my eyes from across the room and gives me a stiff nod before sending yet another text.

If I don’t hear from you in five minutes I’m coming after you.

It’s funny because I know his interest is in protecting me but the text makes me feel like I’m the one he’s targeting.

I put my phone back in my purse, smile at Dave. “Let’s go.”

He gets up first, stands politely by as I gather myself. We walk out side by side, past the tattooed man and dyed-haired woman, past Robert, only stopping briefly at the table filled with the wheelers and dealers who greet Dave warmly and me with the civility required.

Once outside we walk the block to where I’m parked. My ring is in his pocket; my keys are in my hand.

When we reach my car I turn to him. “We have things in one another’s houses. Shall I bring your stuff to your place and pick up mine or visa versa or—”

“I’ll bring your stuff to you, pick up mine,” he interrupts. “If it’s all right I’ll do it while you’re at work; Monday afternoon should work. I’ll mail you the spare key you gave me . . . or—”

“You can just leave the key under that plant—”

“The potted cycad by the kitchen entrance—”

“Yes, the one I bought at Boething last year—”

“I remember.”

We stop. He shoves his hands into his pockets, directs his attention to the passing cars. Good-byes are never elegant. There are always things left to be said, little memories that need to be shoved aside, littering our minds until time finds a way to discard them. Finality, which should be so easy, is always awkward.

“I guess I should go then,” I say softly.

He nods, turns but then stops. “I had an affair, too.”

I drop my keys. Confusion followed by a new sense of indignation. All the righteous anger he had thrown my way and he had been guilty, too? Was he kidding?

When he turns back to me I expect to see the triumph of a man who’s delivered a knockout punch, but instead I just see sadness.

“Years ago and it only lasted a month. She was a college student doing a legal internship at my firm. You were acting a bit moody. When we were together you seemed . . . I guess melancholy is a good word for it. I thought I was losing you. And then this ambitious young woman with dark hair and light eyes . . . just like you, she comes to my firm, looking for role models, looking up at me with admiration . . . I was weak, I thought I was losing you.”

“But when . . .” My voice trails off as a memory creeps to the forefront of my mind. “We had only been dating a year . . .”

“Yes, you remember that time, five years ago. You had been at your job for a few months and all of a sudden you pulled away from me. I tried to reach you with romance, little gestures of affection, but you didn’t respond and I was too much of a coward to face the issue head on.”