Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series) (14 page)

BOOK: Annihilate Me (Vol. 1) (The Annihilate Me Series)
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The
one part of me that Alex never would take away was my sense of self, though
there was every chance that he could steal my heart—if he wanted to.
 
I might have been wildly attracted to
him, but I would stick to the limited script he set out for me to
memorize.
 
However, in my soul, I
always would be Jennifer Kent, the poor girl who had the bum parents, and who
struggled to make it through college, and who was struggling to make it now in
New York.
 
That’s who I was, and I
wasn’t about to change that person for anyone.
 
I’d rather give all of this up and be a
server shucking pricy food in a New York restaurant than be untrue to whom I
was.
 
So, at least for now, Tootie
would just have to deal with me, as I sensed others would have to tonight.

“It’s
great to see you two,” Alex said.
 
“We should probably mix.
 
It
appears that everyone is here tonight.”

Tootie
leaned forward, and kissed Alex on the cheek.
 
I saw her whisper something in his ear
as she did so, which caused him to gently pull back, his face an expressionless
mask.

“Have
a fine evening, Tootie,” he said.
 
He looked at Addy, whose face wore a concerned look.
 
“It’s always good to see you, Addy.
 
You’re one of the few here with genuine
class.
 
It’s so rare to find.
 
I’m always happy to see you.”

“And
I’m always on your side, Alex.”

“I
know you are.”
 
And with a
devastating look at Tootie Staunton-Miller, whose face had the look of a woman
who had gone too far, Alex pressed his hand against my back, we said our
farewells, and we moved deeper into the room.

 
 
 
 

CHA
PTER SEVENTEEN

 

For
the next hour, it was more of the same, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t
daunting.
 
As we made our way toward
the Pool Room, where Alex believed Darius Stavros would be holding court with
his son Cyrus, Alex introduced me to dozens of people I’d either read about or
heard about, and each time he told someone that we were a couple, I needed to
remind myself of Blackwell’s advice.

If you get swept up in the moment, if
he touches you and you feel yourself responding, remind yourself that this is a
job.
 
Do that, and you’ll be fine
because I can promise you this, Jennifer.
 
When he’s with you, Alex only will be going through the motions with
you.
 
He’s a good man, but he’s
focused on his work right now.
 
Work
is all he has.
 
Work is all he can
handle.
 
You’re nothing more than an
object to him.
 
That sounds harsh,
but it’s true.
 
On the surface,
you’ll make a handsome couple, people will believe it, and you’ll earn your
salary because of it.
 
What will
ruin this for you is if you become emotionally attached.
 
He’ll sense it in an instant, and he’ll
fire you for it.

I
had to think of him as though he was my brother.
 
I considered that angle during the
interview, but now I needed to embrace it.
 
It was the only way I was going to get through this.
 
My attraction to him was that great.
 
And, frankly, I needed the job.

As
we walked through the crowd, everyone who came our way seemed interesting until
they opened their mouths.

People
complimented me on my dress, my hair, my lovely shoes, my jewels.
 
But once they realized I wasn’t one of
them, no one asked anything meaningful about me.
 
To them, I also was an object, a bit of
arm candy for Alex, and even though I could sense their surprise when Alex said
that we were seeing each other, I still felt like vapor.
 
Most looked straight through me.
 
I was a meaningless nobody at worst, a
curiosity at best, and someone to gossip about later.

But
I remained professional.
 
If the
conversation turned toward business, which it often did, I tossed in a bomb of
surprise and spoke with confidence and knowledge about whatever topic was being
discussed.
 
In some cases, that
earned me a confused look from the men, a second glance from the women, and
sometimes a leading question to see if I really knew what I was talking about,
which I did.
 
Mostly, Alex kept the
conversation light and pressed on, only to meet more people he knew.

And
the process repeated itself.
 

Much
of it was like a series of interviews, and the undercurrent was clear—how
could I possibly have landed Alexander Wenn, of all people, especially when I
wasn’t one of
his
people?

The
questions were routine.

Where
did you two meet?
 
Oh, at an art
exhibit—how nice.
 
What is
your background?
 
Oh, how
charming—you have your MBA.
 
And how unusual.
 
Do you plan
to use it?
 
You do?
 
Goodness!
 
Where do you call home?
 
Maine?
 
How lovely.
 
We summer there.
 
Where do you winter?

When
it occurred to them that Alex might be attracted to me because I had a mind, a
look of consternation came over their faces.
 
It was then that I saw the sexist
limitations still inherent in their society.
 
Men were the thinkers and doers, and
with few exceptions, women apparently were meant to be glittering bobble heads.

It
was as fascinating to me as it was insulting.
 
For the most part, women were expected
to smile and nod while the men spoke about such masculine, difficult subjects
as business.
 
When the women were
called upon to speak, they admired each other’s dresses, they spoke of their
families, whatever rigorous renovations they were undertaking at any number of
their homes, and what part of the world they were off to next.
 
Obviously, I knew nothing about society
or its rules, but I was damned if I was going to be the pretty village idiot.

Later,
when we moved farther down the hallway that led to the Pool Room, Alex squeezed
my hand and asked if I was having a good time.

“It’s
an interesting crowd,” I said carefully.

He
laughed at that.
 
“I love how you’re
making them squirm.
 
None of them
knows what to make of you.”

I
looked at him.
 
“Sorry,” I
said.
 
“I can’t help myself.”

“Why
should you?
 
I want you to be
yourself.
 
Look.
 
They’re either of a different era, or of
a different upbringing.
 
Or
both.
 
Most of the people here are
in the book.
 
You know about the
book?
 
I thought so.
 
Very little has changed in their
circles.
 
This is exactly why I
loved my time in Maine.
 
I was
surrounded by real people.
 
The
women I came to know through my friends were strong-willed and smart.”
 
He shot me a sidelong glance.
 
“Not unlike you.”

“I
can’t play dumb,” I said.

“I
don’t expect you to.
 
And by the
way, most of the women here went to Smith or Vassar.
 
They’re just playing the game.
 
They come to these events first as
packages of elegant subservience designed to bolster their husbands’ careers,
and second as a women who are able to talk airily about absolutely nothing of
substance.
 
I’m used to that.
 
You’re not.
 
And I can tell that it’s wearing on you,
which I get.
 
Do you want some
advice?”

“Please.”

“Keep
screwing with them.
 
Play the game,
but do it for your own entertainment.
 
I don’t care because I know that you won’t insult them.
 
When they talk about visiting Bora Bora,
tell them that you found Mount Merapi in Indonesia more interesting, and that
you’d go back to the Celebes Sea in a minute.
 
Their eyes will cross.”

“Have
you been to those places?”

“Awhile
ago.”

“Did
you climb Mount Merapi?”

“I
did.
 
At night.”

“But
that’s an active volcano.”

“So,
it is.”

“Are
you some kind of jock?”

“I
used to be.
 
Now, I just like to
work out.
 
It’s a good distraction.”

From what?

Talking
to him alone put me at ease.
 
I was
starting to understand how he worked this crowd.
 
He put on a show for them, they put on a
show for him.
 
Apparently, that’s
how it worked.
 

“Shit,”
he said.

“What’s
the problem?”

“Just
do your best.
 
Red dress.
 
Black hair.
 
Coming our way.”

“One
of the wolves?”

“She
could be a pack of them.
 
Be ready
for her.
 
She won’t be kind to
you.
 
She’ll try to slay you.”
 
He paused and put his hand even more
firmly against my back.
 
“Immaculata,” he said as the woman stopped in the middle of the hallway
to stare at us.
 
“How are you?”

She
was gorgeous—tall and statuesque, but older than Alex and me.
 
Probably late thirties, but I wouldn’t
have been surprised if she was in her early forties, regardless of how
beautiful she was.
 
It was tough to
tell.
 
She looked at me, absorbed
me, and then she turned to Alex with betrayal in her eyes.
 
“Alex,” she said.
 
“What a surprise.
 
I thought you said you were coming alone
tonight?”

“That
was last week.”

“Oh,
last week.
 
Last week.
 
You make it seem so long ago.
 
You make it sound like it was years ago,
but it was only last week.
 
Seven
days ago.
 
Just seven days since we
last spoke.”

“Things
have changed since then.”

“What
things?
 
Why haven’t I heard?
 
I hear everything.
 
People call me.
 
What could have changed in a week?”
 

Alex
was about to speak, when she turned to me.
 
“Who is this?”

“This
is Jennifer Kent.
 
Jennifer, this is
Immaculata Almendarez.”

Who in the hell has a name like
that?
 

When
she finally closed the distance between us, I extended my hand, which she took
lightly in a dismissive way before dropping it.
 

“It’s
nice to meet you, Immaculata.”

She
raised an eyebrow at me.
 
“Isn’t
it?”
 
She put her hand between her
formidable breasts and laughed.
 
“Just joking.
 
Please, don’t
look so serious.
 
It’s just my sense
of humor.
 
It’s a pleasure to meet
you, too, Jennifer.
 
Cute
dress.
 
What are you doing with
Alex?”

This
broad held nothing back.
 
I was
beginning to see why Alex needed me here.
 
He had to get to Darius Stavros before he left.
 
If I wasn’t here, I had no doubt that
she’d hold him up and he’d miss that opportunity.

Before
I could answer, Alex intervened in an effort to shut her down.
 
“We’re seeing each other,
Immaculata.
 
I hope you’ll be happy
for us.”

“You’re
what?”

“Seeing
each other.
 
Just over two weeks
now.”

“Which
means you were seeing each other last week?”

“We
hadn’t made it public yet.”

“I
see.
 
How mysterious.
 
How smoke-and-mirrors of you.
 
Where did you meet?”

“At
MoMA.”

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