Dirty Rich(25)

     



 

I save that for the penthouse, where Cate's been spending her nights.

She doesn't keep me in suspense for very long.

"Would you like to sit down?" I ask her, but she plants her feet and straightens her back, shaking her head.

"I won't be staying long. I've come to inform you that your daily  meetings with Catherine will no longer be part of her schedule."

More than anything, this confuses me. Why today? Why this Monday, with  the second issue due to be released in less than three weeks? I don't  let a single flicker of emotion show on my face.

"And why is that, Ms. Sarzó?"

"I will require all of Catherine's time for the foreseeable future."

"Have you made changes to her duties?"

Sarzó pinches her lips together. "I don't see how that's relevant, Mr. Hunter."

This time, I let her see a hint of irritation. "I don't see how it isn't. Basiqué is ultimately my publication, Ms. Sarzó-mine."

She seems to get the idea that I'm not fucking around. Either that, or  she reacted to my dominating tone the way many women-and men-do: by  changing tactics.

"Perhaps I should have approached this from another angle," Sarzó says  thoughtfully, looking at me through narrowed eyes. "I've decided to make  the next issue of Basiqué a double issue. It's unprecedented in the  magazine's history and will make quite a splash. I have no doubt you'll  be pleased with the outcome."

Aha. This is all stemming from the last direct conversation I had with  Sandra Sarzó. I'd put the summary of the magazine's numbers on the desk  in front of her and questioned her mercilessly. When she saw them, she  didn't flinch. Those numbers had come as no surprise to her, but as I'm  beginning to see, that doesn't mean she's given up on course-correcting.

"And," she continues, "I've put several campaigns into place to drive readership and traffic to our website."

"This kind of change to the editorial schedule is significant."

It's not a question, but she confirms it anyway. "Yes. Which is why I  won't be able to spare Catherine. I'll need her to be available  virtually around the clock if these efforts are going to be successful. I  have no doubt she'll rise to the challenge. Her work will be very  demanding from here on out. I can't see returning to our previous  publication schedule if this issue succeeds … and I know it will."

I nod, taking in every word.

My stomach churns with emotions I can't sort out while Sarzó is standing  in front of me. Disgust, for one: she seems not to care at all that  Cate is putting her health on the line to excel at this job, and Sarzó  is only going to ask her to do more. Cate won't refuse. I'm anxious, and  I fucking hate that flash of nervousness. It tells me I'm not in  control, and as much as I think I'm willing to give that up-somewhat-in  my love life, I won't tolerate it in business.

Except I can't quite tear the two things apart.

"I see. Were there any other updates you wanted to share with me?" I  want to shout at this woman, to ask her how she can be so blind, so  fucking selfish, but I'm brought back from the brink-that would show her  that her decisions are under my skin, and I won't do that.

"That was all."

"Thank you."

"Of course, Mr. Hunter. I'll keep you apprised of how things proceed."

"Excellent."

With that, Sarzó turns on her heel and waltzes out of my office.

She hasn't been gone five seconds when my cell rings in my pocket.

The name on the Caller ID is the prison where my father lives.

For the first time in a long time, I feel a rush of pity instead of sickening hatred.

And I answer the phone.

"Hello?"

Before my father can speak, I have to sit through a prerecorded warning about accepting calls from inmates.

"Jax?"

His voice is tired and worn.

"Hello." I don't know why he's calling. More than that, I don't know why I answered. It's been years.         

     



 

"Hello, son. I'm-I'm calling about your mother."

Ah. "I'm not sure why."

"Well-" The silences are painfully awkward while he searches for the  words. "Someone from her place got in touch with me. In the letter they  said she wasn't doing very well."

"She isn't."

"They said-" Another excruciating pause. "They said she's been asking for me. That she can't remember the divorce."

The urge to rip him to shreds for everything he did still rises in my chest, but it's somehow softer, more controllable.

Something clicks into place in my mind.

Cate is working herself to death out of a desperation I still don't entirely understand.

That same motivation, whatever is at the goddamn heart of it, is what drove my father to do what he did.

"That's true," I tell him.

"So I was … " He's wary, waiting for me to lash out. "I was thinking, that  if you thought it might help her, I could send a few letters. I won't  be out for another year, but I could write."

I let out a deep breath, and with it goes a large part of the animosity  I've felt toward him all these years. "I'm sure she'd love that."

"All right." The relief in his voice is palpable. "Okay. I'll do that."  There's noise in the background. "I've got to go. Thanks … thanks, Jax."

"You're welcome."

I hang up and slip my phone back into my pocket.

I know what I have to do.

She might hate me for it, but I'm getting Cate out of this job before it kills her.





Chapter 34

Cate





I stay late at the office-very late-trying to keep up with all of  Sandra's latest directives. My motivation is back in full force. Now  that I have a plan, I feel like I can do anything. With a little Advil  in the mix, I'm unstoppable.

I'm about to leave the office when the message from Jax comes in. He  doesn't text me often, and when he does, I know it's important.

I won't be home until very late-possibly not until tomorrow. You don't have to stay at my place alone if you don't want to.

I consider it for a minute, but … we're just not there yet. I'd feel pretty weird about being there with his staff if he was away.

That's okay-I'll be at home.

I love you.

That's the first time he's sent me those words in a text. A physical record exists now. My heart beats faster.

I love you. Is everything OK?

No.

I wait. He'll send more if he wants me to know.

My mother isn't well. They need me to come right away, and I'm not sure how long it will take before I can leave.

I'm so sorry!!

Part of me wishes he'd taken me with him, but that's an insane  expectation to have at this point in our relationship. And Sandra needs  me here.

The thought brings me up short. Would I really choose Basiqué over him if he asked me to go?

The answer that comes immediately to mind makes me uncomfortable in its clarity. Am I really that much of a monster?

It's all right. I'm here now. Have to go.

I send him back a heart.

Mark drives me back to my apartment, and inside of ten minutes I'm  dressed in my comfiest sweats, Chinese food ordered from the restaurant  down the street, a glass of wine in my hand.

After everything that's happened, I need a breather. I just wish it could have come under better circumstances.

The food is good, but I find myself missing Laurence's smile, his  laughing enthusiasm, the way he'd take something simple that I liked and  make it into an artistic creation.

Don't be so sappy, I tell myself. You'll be back there before you know it.

An hour later, full of Chinese food and wine, I tuck myself into bed and fall asleep almost instantly.

Tomorrow will come early. And I have to be ready to meet it.





I make it a point to be extra charming at my session with Carl, and I  don't fight it when he won't push me to the max. If I'm going to make it  through the next few months, I'm going to need to take everyone's  advice into account-especially Carl's. One bad decision at the gym can  throw me off my game for the entire day, and I can't afford that.         

     



 

At my apartment I choose my favorite pieces, dressing like I'm dressing  for battle. No makeup team today, but I take my time applying every  layer until I've almost done it as well as they can.

I sweep my hair back into a no-nonsense chignon and admire myself in the mirror.

I look hot.

The bags under my eyes aren't nearly as pronounced now that I've made a firm decision about what I'm going to do.

The only snag?

Mark doesn't show up.

For months, he's been waiting at the curb when I come down, always right  on time. But when I get there, there's no town care waiting.

My stomach turns.

Something must have happened.

Mark would never just bail on me. There must have been an accident of some kind, probably a bad one.

Oh, god.

I don't call him-what if he's lying in the hospital somewhere?-and hail a  taxi instead, urging the driver to get to the Basiqué offices as soon  as I can.

I'm jittery and nervous as the elevator takes me up. I'm a little later  than usual, but not so much that Sandra will be here. I just need to  find out what happened with Mark. That's my first priority.