Annihilate Me (Vol. 4) (The Annihilate Me Series) (19 page)

At
Wenn, Alex and I had to go our own separate ways.
 
When the elevator doors slid open on
Blackwell’s floor, he gave me a quick kiss on the lips and said, “Come and see
me around one?
 
For lunch?
 
My office?
 
I’ll ask Ann to bring us something
heart-healthy.
 
You know—to
assist with the cardio.”

“I
think we’re both going to need protein after that shower.
 
Now, off to work.
 
Good luck with Henri.
 
I’ll see you at one.”
 
I paused and turned to look at him as I
stepped out of the elevator car.
 
“And by the way—I can’t wait to see you at one.”

When
the doors closed, I went straight to Blackwell’s office.
 
When I peered into her doorway, she
looked up at me and leaned back in her seat.
 
She was wearing a black Chanel suit and
her hair looked freshly dyed and clipped into a rougher, edgier bob.

“What’s
the matter with you?” she said after she sized me up.
 
“It’s as if you have a nuclear reactor
attached to your ass.”

Did
this woman know everything?
 

“And
what does that mean?”

“You’re
glowing,” she said.
 
“From where I
sit, I can see the glow, sense the heat.”

“And
why do you think that is?”

She
waved a hand at the chair opposite her desk.
 
“I have a very good idea, Jennifer, but
we’ll leave it at that.
 
No
details!
 
You know I can’t handle
them.
 
Come on.
 
Sit, sit.
 
That is,
if
you can….”

“Oh,
I can sit.
 
Even though Alex gave me
a spanking this morning.”

“Jennifer!”

“Well,
it’s true.”

“Fine
then.
 
Let’s see you sit.”

I
was a bit sore, but still I sat down.

“Not
even a wince.
 
Your talents never
cease to amaze me.”

“You
should see how talented I’ve become over these past several months.”

“I’d
rather not.”

“I
think I lost five pounds between last night and this morning.”

“Well,”
she said, looking at her nails.
 
“I’m always behind you if you want to lose the pre-baby weight.”

“Pre-baby
weight?”

“At
the rate you two are going, I’m preparing myself for a shotgun wedding.
 
I have a perfectly suitable chapel
chosen for you in Vegas.”

“Very
funny.”

“We’ll
see who’s wrong.”

“I’ll
never be a stick, Barbara.”

“Apparently.
 
You’ve got that hourglass thing going
on.
 
Men love it.
 
I get it.
 
That said, I do enjoy the challenge of
dressing you, and I haven’t failed you yet.”

“True
enough.
 
By the way, I’m starving.”

“Forget
about food.”

“But
I’m hungry.”

“Hunger
is a state of mind.”

“Tell
that to the less fortunate citizens of the world.”

“Oh,
aren’t you clever?
 
And that’s
completely different from anything I’m talking about.”
 
Her eyes widened and she held up a
finger.
 
“Oh, that reminds me.
 
From
New York Magazine
.
 
I read a fascinating article earlier and
immediately thought of you when I finished it.
 
Hold on—where’s the magazine.
 
Here it is.
 
And the article—where’s the
article?
 
Got it.
 
I underscored a paragraph I wanted to
read to you.”

“What
is this about?”

“Juicing!”

“I
refuse to juice.
 
Sorry.
 
I need food.”

“Juice
is food.”

“No,
it’s not.
 
You can’t juice a
burger.
 
Or a steak.”

“Just
listen for a moment.
 
Let me read
this to you.
 
You could learn
something from it.”
 
She cleared her
throat and read in as dramatic a tone as I’d expect from her.
 
“‘There’s something about life in the
big city that’s always required elixirs, tonics, various controlled and
uncontrolled substances (espresso, cocaine, a shot in the butt) to sharpen you
up, or kill the pain, or prepare you for urban combat.
 
Juice, pulpy Eucharistic beverage of a
modern cult, accomplishes this and more, getting its devotees jazzed up, under
control, and certain they’re living right.
 
And, of course, it hastens that other thing that’s so important to New
Yorkers—exceptional, twiglike thinness.
 
Of this you must not speak, though
clearly it is the highest and most sacred goal of all.’”
 

She
put down the magazine.
 
“‘Must not
speak’?
 
Is that writer insane?
 
Of course one should speak about
it.
 
Twiglike thinness should be
bellowed at the world.
 
You should
juice.
 
You should cleanse.
 
I’m convinced of it.”

“I’m
not.
 
How about some coffee?”

She
tossed aside the magazine.
 
“Fine.
 
I knew I wouldn’t
win, but I had to try.
 
Coffee you
can have so long as it’s black.
 
You
have another party at Henri Dufort’s in two days.
 
I’ve had the dress tailored for you
based on your measurements for last night’s dress.
 
Tucked, clipped, cinched.
 
Wait until you see it—it’s the
best one yet.”

“That
sounds swell and all, but I’ll repeat—can I have some coffee?
 
Alex and I enjoyed an all-nighter, then
there was this morning, and we had quite a time in the shower after that.
 
I need the caffeine.”

“You
need restraint.”
 
She picked up her
phone and asked her assistant to bring us two coffees.
 
“Black,” she said.
 
“And Margaret, if you can find a way to
offer us negative calories, I’ll give you a promotion.
 
Thank you.”

“Who’s
Margaret?” I asked when she hung up the phone.

“New
girl.”
 
She fluttered her fingers at
her sides.
 
“I have a good feeling
about this one.”

“That’s
rare.
 
And by the way, nice suit.”

She
raised her chin at me.
 
“It’s four
years old.
 
Still fits
perfectly.
 
I think you and I both
know why.”
 
She eased back in her
chair and I could tell by her expression that playtime was over.
 
Now she was serious.
 
“I was worried about you last night, so
much so that I couldn’t sleep.
 
This
morning, I heard from Tank that there were no major incidents at the party,
with the exception, as I understand it, of the fact that you took down
Bomba.
 
I would have loved to have
seen that.
 
Nasty woman.
 
And, though I believe the takeover of
her company was a good investment on Wenn’s part, frankly, I never could stand
her perfumes.
 
Now let’s hear your
side of the story.”

I
told her everything.

“You
actually used the Yawanaw
á
people in a sentence?”

“I
did.”

“Where
did you come up with that?”

“You’re
not the only quick one sitting here.”

“Apparently,
I’m not.”
 
She put a hand to her
chest.
 
“Oh, my dear.
 
The Yawanaw
á
people.
 
Brava.
 
Kudos.
 
Glamour.
 
Amour.”

“I
thought you’d approve.”

“And
you are correct.
 
What was the
fallout?”

“Let’s
just say that I dismantled her as I was asked to do.
 
That’s the good news.
 
The bad news is that when I did, she
threw in a dig about me never being Diana.”

That
stopped her.
 
“She went there?”

“Oh,
she went there.”

“I
loathe that woman.”

“She
said everyone was talking about me, comparing me to Diana and dismissing me.
 
Alex was furious and wanted to say
something to her, but I urged him to just show her our backs as we walked
away.”

“Well
played, but I’m sorry for you and for Alex.
 
Neither of you deserved that.”
 
She studied me for a moment.
 
“Did the comment bother you?”

“Personally?
 
Not really.
 
But it did Alex, which of course
bothered me.
 
Last night, for the
first time since we’ve been seeing each other, he opened up to me about
Diana.
 
This was nothing
superficial.
 
He really went there.”

“That’s
promising.”

“In
a way, it is.
 
But I hated to see
him so upset.”

There
was a knock on the door, a pause, and then a striking young woman with a
flawless red suit and gorgeous brown hair came in with two coffees on a tray
that she placed on Blackwell’s desk.

“Thank
you, Margaret,” Blackwell said.

“My
pleasure, Ms. Blackwell.”

“This
is Jennifer Kent.
 
Jennifer, this is
Margaret Fine.
 
She’s new here.
 
Front office.
 
On probation, but I have to say that, so
far, her work lives up to her last name.
 
I have a feeling that soon she’ll be running the front office.”

“Welcome,”
I said.

She
shook my hand.
 
“It’s so nice to
meet you,” she said.
 

“And
it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ve
heard so many wonderful things about you from Ms. Blackwell.”
 
And without lingering, she said, “Please,
enjoy your coffees.
 
Let me know if
there’s anything else you might need.”

She
left.

I
raised my eyebrows at Blackwell while I sipped my coffee.
 
“You’ve said good things about me?”

“It
might have slipped.”

“She’s
a pro.
 
I liked her at once.”

“And
she’s sincere.
 
There is real
potential in that one.
 
But back to
what we were discussing.
 
I’m sorry
that Alex was upset, but the fact that he opened up to you about Diana is
encouraging.
 
He rarely does
that.
 
I don’t want to break any
confidences, so we’ll just leave whatever he said between the two of you.
 
What’s important is that he’s
communicating about her.
 
For a man
who pretty much shut down emotionally for four years, that’s a positive step,
especially because I know it’s hard for him to go there.”

“Which
is what concerns me.”

“Don’t
let it.
 
He’s had four years to
process what happened to her.
 
And
by the way, I know that you’ve been concerned about how Diana died and whether
her death is linked to what’s happening to you now, but it isn’t.
 
I’ve talked with Tank, and we both
seriously doubt it.
 
Diana was on
her phone when she crossed into oncoming traffic.
 
She was distracted.
 
There were many eyewitnesses who went on
record.
 
The accident was her
fault.”

“All
right.”

“Alex
wanting to talk about her means he’s ready to deal with her death in a healthy
way and move beyond her.
 
Remember
that.
 
Just listen to him when and
if he brings her up again.
 
That’s
the best advice I can give.
 
Too
many people don’t listen, Jennifer.
 
They might hear, but they don’t
listen
.
 
There’s a big difference.
 
So, listen.”