Ignite Me (The Annihilate Me Series) (6 page)

CHAPTER
SIX

Later that day,
after filling out all of my paperwork, handing it over to Margaret, and then looking
through some of the red folders so that I could get a feel for what types of HR
issues rose to Blackwell’s level, it was nearly noon when she called me into
her office.

“Madison,”
Blackwell said.
 
“Would you come
here, please?
 
There are certain
things I need you to do
tout-de-suite
.”

“Of course,” I
said.
 
I stood up from my chair,
caught Brock lifting his head and watching me as I smoothed away any wrinkles
from my skirt, and then, feeling a bit flustered by his attention, I went to
her doorway with a legal pad and pen at the ready.

“Why do you
look flushed to me?” she said.

Not again. . .
.

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“I’m not sure.
. . .”

“Are you warm?”

Apparently, one
look from that man is all it takes for me to become an inferno, Ms. Blackwell.

“Not
particularly.”

“Hmmm.
 
All right, fine.
 
Perhaps you have hypertension—look
into it.
 
But first, two things.
 
I’d do the first one myself, but
obviously, at this point, I trust Tiffany implicitly, so I’ll just leave it to
you.
 
I need you to stop by their
store on Fifth and collect a necklace recently fitted for Jennifer.
 
Then I need you to go to my favorite
little takeout spot on Park, Le Salade, and get me a large serving of
roughage.”

“Roughage?”

“Lettuce
greens.
 
If you weren’t so slim, I’d
suggest that you pick up a salad for yourself and enjoy.
 
But that’s not the case, so be it.
 
However, if you are hungry, I highly
suggest that you try one of their salads.
 
You can eat it at your desk, if you’d like.
 
Here’s what I want in mine.
 
Are you ready?
 
You need to be, because it’s my only meal
of the day, and it can’t disappoint.”

“I’m ready,” I
said.

“First, begin
with a tender layer of baby spinach leaves—and a fair amount of
them.
 
Don’t skimp.
 
Then, it all comes down to an even mix
of frisée, baby red romaine, oak leaf lettuce, radicchio, watercress, roquette,
and buttercrunch, which sounds fattening, but it isn’t.
 
On it, just put a trace of olive
oil—just a trace!—before you add a fair dollop of balsamic.
 
Can you handle that?”

“I’ve got
it—and it sounds good.”

“You have no
idea.”

“Whom do I
speak to at Tiffany?”

“Gordon.
 
But whomever you come upon first, just
say that you are there to pick up a necklace for Jennifer Wenn.
 
They’re already expecting you, though
you will need to show them your ID for security reasons.
 
So, necklace first.
 
Then a salad for me.
 
I’ll expect you back here within the
hour.”

An hour?
 
Was she serious?
 
Or was she just trying to set me up for
failure because earlier I’d told her that I was never late?
 
The traffic alone could screw this up
for me.

“I’m off,” I
said.

“As you should
be.
 
There’s a driver already
waiting for you at the curbside.
 
He’ll recognize you when you step onto the sidewalk, and he already
knows where you’re going.
 
So, if
you’re not to be late, which you never are, I suggest that you go.”
 

*
 
*
 
*

When I left
Wenn and moved onto the sidewalk, I saw a large stretch limo parked at the
curbside in front of me.
 
I would
have dismissed it if a young, handsome man in his early thirties and a black
business suit hadn’t nodded and opened the back door for me.

“Good
afternoon, Ms. Wells.”

I walked over
to him and shook his hand.
 

“I’m Zack
Anderson.
 
I’ll be your personal
driver during your time here at Wenn.”

“I have a
personal driver?
 
And I’ll be riding
in this?”

“Of
course.
 
Ms. Blackwell has a certain
reputation to uphold in this town.
 
I’d imagine that, as her new personal assistant, you will be viewed as
an extension of that reputation, which Ms. Blackwell protects.
 
Because of that, she wouldn’t have you
arrive at any destination in anything less than this.”

What in the
hell have I gotten my self into?
 
Now I’m seen as an extension of her reputation?
 
Oh, fantastic.
 
Oh, calamity!
 
Who better than Madison Wells from
Wisconsin to follow in her storied footsteps?
 
This is a job better suited for Anna
Wintour than it is for me.

And then I just
stopped myself.
 
And checked
myself.
  
And took a deep
mental breath before I slid into the back seat and pulled myself together.
 
Zack closed the door behind me, came
around the front of the car, and slipped into the driver’s seat.
 
The roar of traffic on Fifth didn’t
escape me, because I knew that for the next hour, that traffic would become my
nemesis.
 

“Tiffany and
then Le Salade?” Zack asked.

“Do you think
we have time to do both in one hour?”

“We can if we
hustle.”

“Then let’s
hustle,” I said.
 
“I can’t
disappoint her.”

His eyes
flicked up to meet mine in the rearview mirror before he cut into traffic.
 
“Actually, I don’t think disappointing
her is an option for you.
 
Or for
me, to be honest with you, because it’s been made very clear to me that your
punctuality also rests on my shoulders.
 
We should probably work as a team if we’re going to meet her demands.”

“Then we might
as well make up a name for ourselves.
 
How about Team Mackison?”

He smiled at
that.
 
“Works for me.”

“How long have
you worked here?”

“A little over
a year.
 
I was reassigned yesterday
and told that I now work exclusively for you.”

“Exclusively
for me?”

“That’s right.”

“That suggests
that I’m going to be doing more running around than I thought.”

“Ms. Blackwell
is a pretty busy woman.
 
What we’re
doing today are things she used to do herself.
 
She must be relieved to have you
onboard.”

“That remains
to be seen.
 
Have you ever driven
her anywhere?”

“All the time.”

Shazam!

“Do you by any
chance know how she likes her salads?”

“In fact, I
do.
 
I’ve seen her make them
myself.”

“I think the
sun just came out,” I said with a sigh as I leaned back against the leather
seat.

“Sorry?” he
said.
 

“It’s just a
metaphor, nothing more.
 
She’s so
exacting, maybe you can help me make my first salad for her?”

“Sure, Ms.
Wells.”

“OK, so here’s
the thing, Zack.
 
There shouldn’t be
any ‘Ms. Wells’ business on Team Mackison, so please call me Madison.
 
I’m just a girl with a dream who might
have stepped into a nightmare.”

“Nice to meet
you, Madison.”

“We’ll get
through this, Zack.”

When he didn’t
respond, I felt my stomach sink.

*
 
*
 
*

Due to the
heavy mid-afternoon traffic, it took us a full fifteen minutes before we
arrived at Tiffany.

“Be quick,”
Zack said when he opened my door.

I grabbed my
bag and stepped out of the car.
 
“I’m on it.”

I might have
lived in Manhattan for two years, but this was my first time ever at Tiffany
for reasons that my bank account perfectly understood.
 
When I entered the store, it was as if I
was in another world.
 

Gone were the
busy sounds of traffic and the noisy thrum of people hustling up and down the
sidewalks of Fifth.
 
In their place
was the quiet murmur of low voices coming from the surprisingly few people that
were in the store.
 

I looked around
for someone who might be Gordon, and as I did, I couldn’t help but take in the
austere surroundings—the deep red tones of the wood-paneled walls, the
illumined, coffered ceilings, the room’s deeply entrenched, symmetrical design,
and especially the two beautiful, towering vases across the room that were
overflowing with fresh flowers.
 

Directly in
front of me, to my right, and to my left were large angular tables, each of
which had sparkling glass tops and fronts, and were lit from within to display
Tiffany’s spoils for the rich.

“May I help
you?” a smartly dressed, chic, older woman in her fifties asked me.

“Barbara
Blackwell sent me,” I said.
 
“I’m
supposed to meet someone here by the name of Gordon.
 
Do you happen to know if he’s
available?”

“I’m sorry, but
Gordon is at lunch.”

Fuck my life.

“But I can help
you,” she said.
 
“You’re here to
retrieve Jennifer Wenn’s necklace, yes?
 
The one that everyone here has been talking about?”

Not quite
fucked yet!

“I am.”

“I’d be
delighted to help you.
 
Come with
me.
 
There are private rooms in the
back of the store where you can view the necklace.
 
You can inspect it for yourself, and
then, of course, I’ll need to see your ID before I can release it to you.”

“I’ve been
given only a limited amount of time to get the necklace to Ms. Blackwell,” I
said as I followed her.
 
“I hope you
understand.”

“No worries,”
she said as we stepped into an impeccably appointed room that had a table in
the corner with a chair on either side.
 
“I’ll get you out of here in ten minutes.
 
I understand the pressure you might be
under. . . .”

She gave me a careful
smile when she said that, and I looked at her with a sense of relief.
 
At some point, Blackwell’s reputation
had extended directly to her—I could tell by the knowing look in her
eyes.
 

“Have a seat at
the desk there,” she said.
 
“I’ll
retrieve the necklace, and you can have a look at it to see if it it suits, and
then you’ll be on your way back to Ms. Blackwell in no time.”

“Thank you so
much,” I said.

“May I ask your
name?”

“Madison
Wells.”

“I’m Sophia
Buhr,” she said.
 
“Hopefully, I’ll
be seeing more of you.
 
I’ll be
right back, Madison.
 
We’ll make
this as swift as possible so as to ruffle nobody’s feathers.”

When she
returned, she had a large, narrow Tiffany-blue box, which she placed on the
table in front of me.
 
Eight minutes
had already passed since I’d first entered the store—and my time was
running out if I was going to get Blackwell her salad and deliver all of this
to her within the hour.
 

As if sensing
my impatience, Sophia lifted the lid, removed the box that was inside, and
placed it on the table so that it faced me.
 
When she opened it, time seemed to stop
when I saw the necklace glimmering from within.
 
It was spectacular, an exquisite display
of diamonds of various sizes and cuts set snugly together in a gorgeous path of
round brilliant and rose-cut diamonds.

“I’ve never
seen anything like this,” I said.
 
“Well, at least not in person.
 
Or at least not right in front of me.
 
Sorry to stammer, but I have never had the
chance to appreciate something this decadent at such a close distance.
 
It’s otherworldly.”