Chapter Four
I tap my pen on the desk as I wait on the line for the Director of Hospitality to return to the phone. I appreciate that she’s in the office as early as I am and able to take my call, but she’s taken ten minutes already to check her calendar. I’m not asking for space three years down the line. The event is six weeks away.
“Ms. Crowley.” Her voice shakes when it sounds over the line.
Probably new.
“Yes.”
Tip. Tap. My pen bounces like a teeter-totter against my white desk.
“I’m sorry. I thought we had a cancellation, but the bride called this morning to say the wedding is still a go. Lover’s quarrel I guess.” Her voice sounds sweet now, like she’s happy they didn’t cancel.
Too bad I can’t say the same.
“Thank you. If anything changes can you put me down as the first call you make?” I ask, leaving my voice dripping with the sweetness of honey. “Please note I’ll pay fifty percent more.”
I’ve had hard lessons on what gets me what I want and honey and money are always more effective when used in tandem.
“That’s very nice of you, but our prices are our prices.”
We say goodbye and hang up and my gaze veers out the window. The feeling of impending doom over rescheduling the linens, the entertainment, the caterer –everything—seeps into my pores like cold rain on my skin. My office phone rings and since it’s after hours and I’m alone I answer.
“RISE Foundation.”
“Hannah?” The spunky voice of my childhood best friend, Gwen Turner, greets me.
“Gwen?”
“Who else?” she laughs. “Sorry for the early morning wake-up.”
“You called the office. It’s fine.”
“I did?” She pauses for a second. “Oh shit, I’m off my rocker. Sleep deprived and overfucked, drinking every night…lots of fun.”
A rustling sound comes over the line.
“What’s up? You sound distracted.”
She giggles again. “I am. Sorry, but my manager just mentioned booking me another date once I get stateside again. I told him I’m booked the weekend of September fifteenth, right?”
I let out a breath. If Gwen can’t speak, then there’s no reason to have the gala. She’s my biggest celebrity coming and the biggest draw for people to part with their wallets.
“It is. Is there a conflict?” I ask.
“NO!” she screeches. “I told him to piss off. Told him I couldn’t disappoint my girl.”
“Thanks.” The increased pressure to find a place threatens to flatten me like a pancake.
“He even tried to dangle the dollar amount I’d be missing out on. The guy doesn’t understand the value of friendship, ya know?”
Guilt piles on top of guilt. Not that Gwen is by any means poor. She’s rich. Not as rich as me, but she’s earned hers. I inherited mine. There’s a difference. A huge difference.
“Oh, Gwen I don’t want you to miss—”
“Stop it, Montana. You’re worth it. This foundation you’re forming is worth missing out on a few thousand. My manager can suck it.”
She uses her annoying nickname for me, Montana. Not the state, the character, Hannah Montana. It’s the most unoriginal thing she’s ever done.
“Suck your tit you mean.” A male voice joins our telephone party.
Gwen giggles.
“That’s not your manager, is it?” I ask.
She giggles harder and I’m afraid he probably is sucking her tit.
“Maybe, maybe not.” She teases like she did when she was sleeping with her professor during her short stint in college.
“Gwen, what is with you and authority figures?”
She can’t even use the excuse of daddy issues. Her dad is the most involved and loving man who lets her soar on her own, never interferes, but guides her to make smart decisions so she doesn’t end up with something like a celebrity sex tape.
“Oh Montana, slip out of that stuffy business dress and go get laid. Todd sure as hell never fucked you right—it’s about time you find a man who will.”
An image of Roarke Baldwin flickers in my head accompanied with the tantalizing thought of what’s under his suit. He always seems so controlled—his hair perfectly styled, his panty soaking five o’clock shadow trimmed to perfection. What would he be like in bed? A beast? A machine? Could I unglue him as much as I’m sure he’d unglue me?
I shake my head—literally—to clear my thoughts.
“You live in a fairyland.”
“Join me sometime. I promise you’ll never want to leave.” More giggles and rustling echo through the line.
Like the pop of a champagne bottle, I wave the white flag on this conversation.
“Okay, Gwen, time for me to hang up so you can go have your orgasm. Thanks for using me to torture your manager while you delay his rocket ship from exploding.”
“Your humor is back, Montana. I miss you.”
“Is this foundation really worth losing close to a mil?” the deep voice asks.
I grip the receiver in my hand until my knuckles are white.
“Stop counting money and give me what I really need.” After a long moan from Gwen that seems to send a current from Paris to Chicago, I realize—I really do need to get laid. It’s been a while.
Hanging up, a gnawing feeling eats away at my stomach. If I have to somehow cancel this gala, I’m now screwing Gwen, too.
For the hundredth time since Torrio’s Table the other night, Roarke Baldwin’s offer resurfaces to the forefront of my mind.
“What exactly did he mean when he said he wants me?”
“He means he wants you tied up, or maybe he has a red room of pain at his place.” Victoria comes into my office and sits in the chair across from my desk.
“My life is not a movie.”
She smiles sweetly, shrugging her shoulders. “Why are you here so early?”
I shrug, tapping my pen back and forth.
“Reed called a few people and everyone’s booked. The same thing as Chelsea said, weddings.”
I chew the inside of my lip for a second. “Please thank him for me.”
“I will. So what are we going to do?” she asks, moving to the edge of her chair.
Victoria is a fix-it person. The word defeat isn’t in her vocabulary which is what makes her such a great employee and friend.
“I’m going to have to go deal with the devil,” I say with about as much excitement as I feel, which is to say none.
Her smile wipes off her face. “No. There has to be another way.”
I shake my head, my pen dropping to the desk. “I’m not sure there is. Plus, it could be as harmless as him wanting me on his arm for some big event. I’ll do it for all those girls we could help.”
“I hate this. I think we should just reschedule the event. We could do a winter wonderland. Rent some heaters for an outside patio…all the décor inside could be white, silver and blue. It’d be beautiful.”
She paints a breathtaking picture and I might have been on board before Gwen’s call. But speaking with her reminded me of all the speakers who have committed, booked out time from their busy schedules to come. I’m not going to screw them over when they agreed to help me out of the goodness of their hearts. Chelsea’s cousin and her friends are flying in from training in New Zealand to give away a silent auction package of a weekend in Park City with them as tour guides.