“Should I?” The last time I talked to Debbie, we both threatened each other. She followed through on hers. I didn’t.
Clara shrugs, but I know that I’ll only wonder if I don’t answer, so I pick up the phone.
“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again so soon,” I say. “If you’re calling to blackmail me again, it won’t work.”
“Aye, I figured that after it didn’t work the last time,” she comments grimly. “I come in peace.”
Sandra starts brushing through my hair, and I grimace as she savagely drags the bristles through the knots at the back. “Peace? I’m not even sure you know what that word means.”
Debbie has been a constant antagonist and occasional friend since I first started working at the New York Union around three years ago. I used to take the stairs up to my office to avoid walking past her desk. The woman can be a nightmare.
“Well, it’s certainly not the first word in my vocabulary,” she admits.
“So, what do you want?”
Sandra starts curling my hair, apparently not bothered at all that my phone is obscuring half of my head.
“I heard the charges were dropped against your man,” she says. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. We’re both very pleased that the police finally accepted his innocence.”
I can hear the sly grin in Debbie’s voice. “Sure you are, hen. But that’s not the main reason for my call.”
“Oh?”
Clara is watching the scene unfold with interest. She has seen me going from cursing the very ground Debbie Harris walks on, to forming a tentative friendship to outright threatening her livelihood. She’s very curious to see how this plays out.
“Yes, as it turns out, I recently found myself in a wee pickle,” Debbie says. “You see, the paper has been struggling as of late. I was looking maybe at having to lay some folks off, and I really wasn’t keen on the idea.”
“Lucky I’m no longer on the chopping block,” I muse. “I would have been first to go.”
“Lucky indeed. Luckier still that a very generous anonymous donation has been made in my name to both the paper itself and the Finn Striker Foundation.”
My mouth goes dry. The Finn Striker Foundation was what started it all for Gabriel and me. He made a large donation, and because of that, Debbie assigned me to interview him. To be fair, I suppose things started between us when we had sex in a VIP booth two years earlier, but our paths might have never crossed again if not for the Finn Striker Foundation.
“That’s very fortunate for you,” I say.
Debbie laughs humorlessly. “Aye, too fortunate. We both know where that money has come from and what it’s for.”
“Debbie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I don’t, though I can guess. I told Gabriel I didn’t want to hurt Debbie, and so he’s taken the approach of the carrot rather than the stick. But will that work on a wily old fox like Debbie?
“I think you do,” she says. “I did consider rejecting this donation; however, I believe it would be easier for everyone if I were just to accept it. What do you think?”
I smirk. “Yes, I should think that’s wise.”
“The reason for my call then, Alexis, is to say goodbye.”
Am I detecting a hint of sadness in Debbie’s voice? Surely not.
“We could still do some great work together, Debbie,” I say. “I’m looking to start producing a nonprofit publication for Bellucci Inc. soon. I could use a sharp mind like yours.”
Debbie snorts. “Not a feckin’ chance.”
“Worth a shot,” I chuckle.
“Have a good life, Alexis. And take care of yourself.”
“You too, Debbie.”
The line goes dead, and I find myself blinking away tears. I set my phone on the desk and take a deep breath. What’s wrong with me? Clara leans over and rubs her hand over my cheek.
“It’s for the best, babe,” she says.
I sniff. “I know.”
“Make sure you get all the tears out now,” Sandra chirps from behind me. “Once I get your makeup on, a single tear will make you look like a swamp monster.”
I’m made up, done up, and dressed. My eyes are outlined in gold and black, and my lips a decadent red. The green dress wraps tightly around my bosom, and the long skirt swishes dramatically when I walk. It also has the added sexiness of a slit high up my thigh on one side.
To top it all off, there was a necklace hung inside the garment bag that I didn’t see before because I didn’t try it on. The string of diamonds twinkles on my neck, bold and beautiful. I couldn’t even guess at the cash value of such a luxurious piece of jewelry.
I can’t stop staring at myself.
There is a knock on the door.
It’s Gabriel. “This is your ten-minute warning.”
“I’m ready,” I call to him. “You can come in.”
Gabriel enters, and his jaw drops when he sees me. I smile coquettishly and do a little twirl.
“I thought I’d try not making us late for once,” I tease. “What do you think?”
He crosses the room, inky eyes swallowing me up with every step. Clara and Sandra take the opportunity to slink out into the hall, and I don’t blame them. It is starting to get seriously hot in here.
Gabriel’s hands skim over my waist, and he pulls me tight to him. I think about that afternoon a few days ago, when we stood in the nursery of our unborn child and confessed our love to each other. Hearing those words was a balm to the part of my heart that still ached from our overdrawn game of push-and-pull. The only problem is that now I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything—I just want to make love and eat Doritos in bed.
“You look good enough to eat,” Gabriel murmurs into my ear.
“Don’t think that you won’t be doing just that once this shindig is over,” I whisper back. He hums appreciatively into the skin of my throat and then backs away. There is a strange look in his eyes, one that I struggle to decipher. It’s almost...guarded. It looks out of place for this tender moment.
“What’s wrong?” I say.
Gabriel’s jaw tics. He goes to the window and looks out, his hands thrust in his pockets. I imagine painting him like that. Portrait of a Mood Swing.
I follow Gabriel to the window and rest my hand on his arm. We both stare out at the rolling green lawn, at the bruised purple sky, and the mist gathering above the grass.
“There is something I have to tell you,” Gabriel begins. “I’m about to crown you queen of the city, and if I’m going to do that, I can’t lie to you.”
My heart stops on a dime. What now?
I picture myself stuffing the words back in his mouth. It’s not that I would rather turn the other cheek when it comes to the horrors of this life, but right at this second, I’m just not ready to hear whatever it is. I’m already vibrating with nerves about this dinner party. Half of the people there probably think I’m some common bimbo who trapped Gabriel with a baby. I bet none of them think I’m the right person for the job.
“Gabriel…” I start to tell him to stop, but he turns to me and places a hand on either arm.