Park Avenue (Book Six in the Fifth Avenue Series) (14 page)

“You can see me tonight, if you want.”

Jesus fucking Christ.
 
“Two weeks,” she said.
 
“And two weeks after that, it’s going to
be more than just dinner and a fuck. Though I hope there’s time to squeeze the
last part in.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say ‘fuck.’
 
You make what we have seem so
mechanical.
 
What’s going on?”

She told him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?
 
That’s incredible.
 
And on Fifth?”

“On Fifth.
 
I’m
trying to keep it under wraps until a formal announcement is made, which should
be any day now.”

“And you want me to be your escort that night?”

“Why stop now?”

He smiled at that and she could tell that she’d just made his
day.
 
“I’ll need a tux for this,
right?”

“You will and I’ll pay for it.
 
Just send me the bill.”

He came over and put his arms around her.
 
“I’ll pay for it.”
 
He paused.
 
“You know something?
 
I think I—”

“Don’t say it, Parker.
 
I don’t feel the same way.
 
This is just business.
 
I
just need you to stay in the gym and look pretty.
 
That’s all.
 
I’ll do the same.
 
Other than a good lay, that’s all I want
from you.
 
Nothing more.
 
I hate to sound harsh, but right now, I
need to be direct because I need to reel you into the reality of our situation.
 
It will never, ever lead to anything
more than what we have now—an arrangement.”

She
squeezed his hand but he didn’t squeeze back.
 
She walked him to the door, said she’d
see him soon and then, when the door finally clicked shut behind him, she
rushed to the shower.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

High above the Redman International Building in his penthouse
suite, George Redman jogged on his treadmill while he watched the news on the
television opposite him.
 

Whichever channel he chose, it was unavoidable.
 
The news was all about the three deaths
on Anastassios Fondaras’ yacht and the message that was spray-painted on the
tarp covering his daughter’s new hotel on Park.
 

The papers he read this morning showed photographs of
Fondaras, his ship and also his daughter.
 
Whenever she was mentioned, what once happened to the Redman family was
noted, with some writers and commentators wondering if they were being targeted
again in spite of the fact that Louis Ryan was dead and that Leana was shrewdly
saying the message on the tarp was just a prank.

But George wasn’t so sure.
 
If it had just been the message on the
tarp, he might have agreed.
 
But
murdering two people who once sat on Ryan’s board cast this situation into a
darkness that made him uncomfortable.

When he finished his jog, he called his daughter.
 
Leana picked up on the third ring.

“This is Leana.”

“How are you this morning?”

“Have you seen the papers?”

“Yes.”

“Television?”

“Yes.”

“The Internet?”

“Not yet.”

“It’s all the same and I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t
overwhelmed.”

“You have every reason to be.
 
I assume you know that Holt and Stout
were once on Ryan’s board?”

“I do know that.
 
I also know that in the bathroom where Holt had her face shot off, a
note was found that had their names on it as well as eight others.
 
According to Fondaras, it’s unlikely
that the other eight are connected to Ryan.
 
A movie star was on the list.
 
So was an author. They say it might have
been left there on purpose to throw off the police, because it was a random
list of people.”

“Louis Ryan was a random kind of guy.”

“He’s also been dead for three years.”

“In theory.”

“What does that mean?”

“Probably nothing.
 
Don’t worry about it.
 
The
police will look into those eight remaining names, they’ll interview the other
people today and if there are connections, they’ll make them.
 
Are you going to be able to find
out?
 
Because if you can’t, I can.”

“I can find out.”

“Let me know when you do.”
 
He checked his watch.
 
“Look,” he said.
 
“What are you doing at noon today?
 
I know you’re busy, but I was hoping to
see you last night and would like to see you today.
 
I really need to discuss something with
you soon, because what I have to tell you is only fair to you.
 
We can have lunch.
 
Something light.”

“What’s only fair about it?”

“It’s best that we talk in person.
 
Does noon work?”

“I can do that.”

“I’ll send a car for you so you can bypass the media and just
step into the backseat.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“See you at noon.”

*
 
*
 
*

Just before noon, Leana stepped out of her building, smiled
and waved at the media awaiting her exit, and ignored their questions and the
many photographs they took of her as she slipped into her father’s waiting
car.
 
She thought she’d be
alone.
 
She was surprised to find
that she wasn’t.
 
Another person was
in the car, sitting opposite her.

It was Pepper Redman and she was dressed in a way that Leana
wasn’t dressed. It was, after all, a Sunday, and she wanted to look casual when
she left her building because she knew the press would be there and she wanted
to be herself.
 

Pepper was wearing a white Chanel suit that complemented her
shoulder-length red hair and sported a glowing face that looked as if it held
the secrets to the world.

“Penelope,” Leana said.
 
“I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Your father didn’t tell you?”

“He didn’t say a word about you.”

“That’s odd, especially considering how closely we’ve been
working together over the past several months.
 
Still, it’s good to see you again,
Leana.
 
It’s been a long time.”

“I hardly recognized you.”

“I re-imagined myself.”

“You what?”

“I saw myself the way I always wanted to see myself, and I
made it happen.”

“Naturally?”

“Of course, naturally.
 
You think I went under the knife at my age?”

“In this town, people go under the knife when they turn
nine.”

“Not me.”

“Good for you.
 
You look great.”

“I lost weight, I worked out, I graduated with honors from
Wharton, and I’m ready for my next step.
 
I also changed my name to the one my friends gave me at Wharton.
 
I go by Pepper now.
 
Pepper Redman.
 
Isn’t that fab?”

“It’s certainly spicy.
 
When Dad told me, I thought he said
Pippa.”

“Pippa?”

“As in Pippa Middleton.”

“You thought I was Pippa Middleton?”

“We had a bad connection.
 
But Pepper works, if that’s what you
want to call yourself.
 
It does
complement your hair.”

“I haven’t heard that before.
 
I’m sorry about Celina.”

“We all are, Pepper.
 
Thank you.
 
I didn’t see you
at the funeral.”

She waved her hand.
 
“Crazy schedule.
 
I’m also
sorry about your mother.
 
The family
was shocked when we heard the news.
 
I had no idea that she was capable of such a thing.”
 
She stopped.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
I don’t have a filter.
 
Wharton beats it out of you.
 
They want harsh, harsh, harsh.
 
Kill, kill, kill.
 
Crush, crush, crush.
 
Destroy, destroy, destroy.
 
It’s hard for me to turn it off.
 
I’m certain she’ll get out for good
behavior.”

“She’s in for life with no parole, but I’ll let her know that
you’re thinking about her in my next letter.
 
Or you could write to her yourself.”

“It would be wonderful if you’d mention me.
 
Just tell her that Pepper is thinking
about her and also taking care of Uncle George.
 
She has nothing to worry about.”

“She’s in prison, Pepper.
 
She has plenty to worry about.”

“Oh,” she said.
 
“You mean the dykes?
 
I hear
they’re everywhere in there and your mother is so beautiful.
 
An older version of Celina.
 
I’m sure at least one of them has
targeted her, if not more.
 
Don’t
they call them Lady Bosses?”

“I don’t know what they call them.”

“I think it’s Lady Bosses.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Jackie Collins.”

“You read Jackie Collins?”

“I
learn
from Jackie Collins.”

“I’d rather not think about that or what my mother is going
through.”

“But haven’t you?
 
I don’t mean to press, but it must be awful.
 
Strange women coming on to you.
 
Murderers wanting a piece of you.
 
Being looked at in the showers and
treated like a piece of meat.
 
Your
mother is one of the most elegant women I know—or
remember—regardless of the fact that she herself is a murderer, which
none of us knew until she did the right thing and broke her silence.
 
She must feel powerless in there.”

“Pepper, that’s enough.
 
I don’t want to talk about my mother.”

“Sorry.
 
It’s the
filter thing.
 
I ramble
sometimes.”
 

“Apparently.”

She let a beat of silence pass and Leana sensed her searching
for a new subject.
 
“I don’t know
about you, but I’m so hungry, I could eat this city right now and think nothing
of it.”

“That’s a curious way to put it.”

“Probably, but I’m famished.
 
I hope Uncle George has a spread for
us.
 
Maybe some biscuits and gravy
to appeal to my Southern roots.”
 

“Where are you from again?”

“Atlanta.”
 

“I thought you were from Arkansas.”

“No,
no.
 
Atlanta.
 
Always Atlanta.
 
Never Arkansas.”
 
She looked at Leana and her eyes
hardened as she smacked her lips.
 
“God, I’m hungry.
 
I had the
workout from heaven this morning and I have to tell you, Leana, I’m just dying
to sop something up.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

They cut through traffic and Leana stole fleeting glances at
her cousin.
 
She still couldn’t
believe the radical transformation that had taken place.
 
Pepper’s long legs were folded at the
knee and she was sitting ramrod straight, as if years ago someone had shoved a
rod up her ass and sealed it to her spine.
 
Her skin was weirdly perfect, fresh and creamy, as if the sun hadn’t
touched it.
 
Framed by her red hair,
her green eyes were especially intense.

“I’ve seen you everywhere today,” Pepper said.
 
“On television, in the papers and don’t
even get me started about the Web.
 
You’re everywhere online, even on some of the really popular gossip
sites, which I call an achievement.
 
What does it feel like to be famous?”

Is she serious?
 
“I’m not famous, Pepper.
 
My sister was.
 
My father is.
 
I’m not.”