Pure Abandon Page 5

  Heather’s mouth falls open as she lets out a loud “harrumph” sound. Yeah, maybe my comment didn’t quite come out the way I meant it to. I was trying to save myself, not make her look bad.

  Asher takes a look around the room and appraises the staff. His eyes fall on Trish for a second before he pulls himself back to address the table.

  “Heather is a fine producer. But you’re right. With one producer on the project, Heather will need assistance. Patricia will temporarily be promoted to Heather’s production assistant for the next three months. She can handle it, right, Erik?”

  One thing you can’t fault Erik on is his team. And the man is proud of the people he has selected to be a part of it. Erik seems to have no choice, yet has full confidence in the company he created. “Trish is more than capable of assisting. We’ve done a concert event in the park before. Not as big, but we know what we’re looking at. Heather will be fine.”

  Heather dramatically rises from her seat. “But she’s a receptionist!” Her voice almost shrieks with the word.

  Asher’s jaw clenches in agitation over Heather’s outburst. While his face is stern, his voice is steady and direct. “No. She is an assistant. Let her assist you. As I recall, you’ve wanted to perform this role on your own. Now is your chance to prove you’re as good as your threats.”

  Asher just called Heather on her shit in front of everyone. I’d smile if I weren’t so damn pissed off. And as thrilled as I am that I’m now separated from Heather, I’m absolutely frightened. I’m now running my own event and am in way over my head.

  To be completely honest, I thought only two producers on the event was ridiculous when it was just Heather and me. Now it’s just me. This is insane.

  My mind is scrambling. I want to cry or back into a corner—or both. This is a colossal responsibility. I look over at Heather, an unreadable expression on her face. I can’t tell if she’s excited to be rid of me or just as scared as I am.

  My mouth opens to protest when Malory leans over to whisper, “You are a fucking rock star.”

  I close my mouth and hold my breath. If I want to be like Malory and if I want to prove to Gabriel my career is worth the sacrifices, then I’m going to do this full throttle.

  Once my hands stop shaking, that is.

  Asher leans forward in his chair, securing the buttons on his well-tailored suit jacket, and continues the meeting. I sit back and take notes as technical terms are discussed and sponsorship requests are detailed. The entire time, I find myself glaring at Asher, wondering how I was such a fool this morning.

  At the end of the meeting, Asher turns to Malory. “I expect a full report on ad sales, and sponsorships in place by next Friday.”

  Malory nods as she takes notes on her blackberry.

  “That’s all.” Asher rises and the meeting is over.

  Just like that.

  Damn, he can command a room.

  I hide in the safe space that is my office. I am still coming down from my morning aggravation. From the rain to the car ride, the elevator and in this office…

  I am relieved to finally be able to take off my shoes, which are still cold and damp. I turn to the computer and pull up a Google search, typing in ALEXANDER ASHER.

  Thirty years old, he is a trust fund baby, part of the Asher empire, but made his personal fortune investing in several small internet companies and reselling them to the likes of Google, Yahoo, and Time Warner for millions. A graduate of Columbia University, he owns a stake in a small record label he sold to Sony, as well as a production house (us) and three restaurants, one each in Vegas, L.A., and Miami.

  He acquired Marks Entertainment three years ago, creating Asher-Marks Entertainment, in which Erik obtained a considerable sum as long as he was able to stay on board to run the team. I read about the company before but didn’t put much research into the acquisition. What really speaks out is his philanthropy. He annually gives away a considerable amount of his fortune to children’s charities.

  Never married. No children. Asher has been seen with a different actress, model, or super beauty at every premiere, gala, and opening around the city.

  As upset as I had been earlier, there was no denying I was affected by his presence. When he touched the small of my back, I could feel his body heat against me. And that invigorating scent of tobacco and vanilla, I could have drunk him in for days.

  I close my eyes, thinking of what his soft hands would feel like running up and down my body. A chill runs down my spine. This is wrong. I am married.

  Oh—I console myself—a little fantasy never hurt anyone.

  I order lunch in an attempt to stay hidden from my coworkers. If my appearance wasn’t enough to make me a hermit, anyone who heard my outburst this morning is definitely talking about it.

  I spend the afternoon making calls to Lincoln Center, vendors, and various press departments, letting them know I am the primary contact on the event now. As it’s a summer Friday, I decide to call it an early day. I turn off my computer and pack my stuff to head home.

  Grabbing my belongings, I am startled by a knock at the door. I let the person on the other side know they can enter, and Trish walks in carrying a long white box.

  “Special delivery!” she exclaims like a singing telegram.

  I step back and watch her enter.

  “Looks like it could be flowers.” She awkwardly carries the large box into my office and places it on my desk, nearly dropping it on the way. “It’s really heavy. From your husband?”

  I swing the box around so the front is facing me and open the small white notecard on the top.

  My heart stops.

  I hold the card to my chest, concealing it from Trish, who is staring at me like a puppy waiting for a treat. “Um… Yes, these are from my husband. Thank you, Trish. That’s all.”

  Disappointed she can’t see what’s inside, Trish slumps her shoulders and closes the door behind her as she exits my office.

  I put my hands on the top of the box and open the lid. Inside is a bed of the purest white roses I’ve ever seen. I pick up some of the stems and breathe them in. They subdue my senses.

  I look down and count about three-dozen roses. They are devoid of thorns and cut to a perfect height. I lift a large bunch and see there is something beneath them. I move more stems to the side, and lying on a bed of white petals on the bottom of the box is a black umbrella with an intricate antique, white pearl handle. It’s beautiful. I laugh to myself, thinking of the day’s events.

  What an exhausting day. I can’t wait to get home and see Jackson.

  Home.

  There is no way I am bringing white roses home. That is a conversation I am not willing to have with Gabriel.

  I grab the box and my bag and walk out of my office and stop at the reception desk. “Trish, you should take these.” I place the box on the upper counter of her desk. “I don’t have a vase or anywhere to put them, and I have such a long commute. Take them home.”

  Flattered, Trish takes the box and opens it. “Oh, Kathryn, these are rare. Really rare and expensive. Really expensive! I can’t take these.” She closes the box. “The graphics team will be here this weekend. Maybe I’ll keep them here in the front. Help take the sting out of having to work on a Saturday.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” I can tell this girl is a good egg. I hope Heather is easy on her. Lord knows we could all use a little saving grace around here.

  “Your mother’s here,” Gabriel calls out from the kitchen window. He’s peering through the blinds while drying his hands on a dishtowel. Tossing the towel over his shoulder, he walks over to the island and pours gin into two glasses – a martini glass for her, a lowball for him.

  My mother, Gwendolyn Grayson, lives for a good time. If there’s a party, she’s there. When I was a kid, she would rent out halls, have soirees, and wear the most elegant dresses as she mingled with her closest friends and family. She frequented nightclubs and went to every fundraisi
ng luncheon she was invited to. And she showed up with bells on. Literally. One year, she went to a holiday party wearing a red silk taffeta gown with a marabou fur cape lined with reindeer bells.

  She can’t balance a checkbook, but she can figure out a way to get the senator to come to the ribbon cutting at the local nail salon. She once had the face of Elizabeth Taylor, Sofia Lauren’s body, and the flair and style of Zsa Zsa Gabor. Gwendolyn was a fierce woman in her youth, and everyone loved to have her around, especially my dad.

  Frank Grayson, also known as “Catch”, was a pitcher in the big leagues. He was on the road a lot, but when he was home, he was the best dad in the world. He escorted Gwen to her events. Not because he enjoyed them. He went because they were important to her. His life revolved around Gwen. That’s probably why when cancer took him from us, she locked herself in her room for days.

  I was thirteen at the time and spent my formative years taking care of my mother. She was too flighty and irresponsible to be left alone. She stopped going to as many functions and moved us to upstate New York where her family is from. The fresh air in the mountains is nice, but as soon as I graduated college, I moved back to Manhattan and felt like I could breathe again for the first time in years.

  As Gwen’s car pulls into the driveway, I grab Jackson and head to the foyer to greet her. Gabriel is right behind us.

  “Happy Birthday!” I shout as I open the front door.

  “Let me see my beautiful family!” Gwen throws one arm up and over Gabriel’s shoulder as the other swings around, enveloping Jackson and me. She is wearing a flowing pink pantsuit with a floral overlay that sashays as she walks. She makes a dramatic gesture with her arms so the fabric dances in the air as she talks. “Oh, I missed you so much. You make it worth the three hours on the thruway.”

  “You look beautiful today.” Gabriel leans in and kisses her cheek, always the charmer.

  “When do I not?” Gwen winks at him and nudges her elbow into his stomach. They both share a laugh as she leans over and gives Jackson a loud kiss on the cheek. “And there is my grandson! You’ve gotten so big.”

  Jackson buries his face in my chest, then looks up through his long lashes he inherited from his father and gives his grandmother a flirtatious look.

  “Oh, you are going to be a killer with the ladies, Jackson! Stay close to Grandma and I’ll teach you how to win over every heart in town.” Gwen walks straight toward the kitchen where Gabriel has the martinis lined up.

  “Drink for the birthday girl?” Gabriel asks Gwen, adding a few olives to make hers extra dirty.

  “You know it, kid.” She takes the martini and clinks her glass against his. “Look at my son-in-law, the lawyer. All the girls at the club are just jealous that I have a lawyer in the family.”

  Ah, the ultimate bragging rights for any parent. If your child couldn’t be a doctor or a lawyer, then you must at least make sure everyone knows they were smart enough to marry one. That or a major celebrity. Gwen would have taken either.

  “Don’t you roll those eyes at me, young lady.” Gwen takes a sip. “I brag about you too. You and your big TV career.”

  “Kat is currently working on a concert program,” Gabriel says to Gwen before turning his attention to me. “You should tell your mom when it’s airing so she can watch.”

  A huge smile crosses my face. It’s the first encouraging thing Gabriel has said about me returning to work. Maybe he’s settled into the idea since the first week was a success.

  Gwen puts her drink on the island and claps her hands together, pulling them toward her chin. “I’ll have a viewing party. Oh, how exciting!”

  I can see the wheels spinning in Gwendolyn’s head as she plans her next big event. The thought of a Gwendolyn Grayson soiree has me shaking my head. I’m sure her viewing party will be the event of the year.

  “So tell me. What has been going on around here? What’s the gossip? Kat, are you making any new friends?” Gwen is as nosey as ever.

  Gabriel sees this as his cue to leave, taking Jackson along with him. He knows I hate my mother’s meddling.

  “Mom, you know I don’t have any friends here,” I say, walking to the refrigerator and taking out the dinner salad. Every time she comes here she embarrasses me with this topic.

  “You moved from the city to raise a family. Now you’re here. You should join the Mother’s Club. You need a network, darling.”

  I sigh. Does this woman ever give up?

  Gwen leans into me, halting me from moving from my spot by the refrigerator. “Kathryn, you are a wonderful girl with a lot to offer. I don’t understand why you don’t give any of the women out here a chance?”

  My shoulders rise as I try to give an explanation. “I don’t know. I just don’t click.” I move around Gwen and walk over to the island.

  “Besides, I have Malory. She has been a great friend to me. Between getting me the new job and showing me the ropes…” I say, giving the salad a vigorous toss. I look over at my mother, who is giving me the Gwendolyn Grayson stare down. “What is that face for?”

  “I don’t like that girl. She rubs me the wrong way.” Gwen’s hand is on her hip, her lips puckered together.

  “Oh, please, Mother. You only met her once. You can’t stand here and say I need friends and then badmouth the first one I talk to you about. Besides, I have a lot of friends. They just happen to live all over the country.” I try to keep my cool, but I can feel my eyes slightly bugging out of my head.

  “You know I worry about you. Look at you. You have circles under your eyes. You really should wear more night cream.” I back away as she tries to put her hand on my face. She flinches when I pull away.

  My mother makes a trip down here once a month to see us, and we always waste so much time with these ridiculous conversations. They always consist of her telling me what she thinks I should do and me resisting.

  “I know you worry about me, but I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself.” My voice is controlled. I grab the salad bowl and walk it outside to the patio table where Gabriel and I set up Gwen’s birthday dinner.

  Our backyard is small but well planned out, with a small patio made of limestone and a teak table in the center. Gabriel’s barbeque is set off to the side. Between the two is a chaise lounge Gwen frequents when she visits. The three of us, and sweet-faced Jackson, take a seat at the table for Gwen’s birthday celebration.

  Gwen takes a seat between me and Gabriel, repositioning her martini in front of her dinner plate. Gabriel has already set the steaks on the table, and roasted vegetables he prepared on the grill. We each fill our plates and start the meal.

  “Kathryn, there was an article in the Times this morning about a classic films exhibit I think you’d be interested in.”

  I saw the article too. The Museum of Modern Art is having an exhibition called An Auterist History of Film. Gabriel would tell you it’s a fancy way of saying, “a director’s look at film.” But it’s more than that. It’s the director’s personal creative vision being able to shine through studio interference. I can only imagine what my job would be like if I was able to take my ideas and make them come alive without the Heather’s of the world fighting me on them.

  I shake my head and start cutting up Jackson’s food. “I’d like to go, but with the new job and Gabriel’s crazy schedule, I wasn’t planning on attending,”

  “That’s a shame. It looked like something you’d enjoy.” Gwen’s bangles dangle as she reaches over to grab a plate. “Did you hear about your cousin Mark?”

  I glance up. “No, how are Mark and Nadine?”

  “Probably getting a divorce,” Gwen replies indifferently.

  Gabriel and I display equal expressions of confusion. Mark and Nadine are the perfect couple. Two kids, a lucrative business, and a love affair that stems from high school.

  “What do you mean they’re probably getting divorced?” I’m leaning over the table, hovering in her direction.

  Gwen takes a s
ip of her martini, moving forward to the edge of her chair, loving the audience she has for this exciting piece of gossip. “She was caught in bed with her trainer. The two were spotted at a motel. Can you believe it? It’s so cliché!”

  Nadine cheated? I can hardly believe the girl I’ve known for a decade is the type to cheat. I place my hand over my chest, feeling terrible for my cousin. “Poor Mark. What did he say when he found out?”

  Gwen leans back, crossing her legs. “He doesn’t know yet. No one has the heart to tell him. Truth is I think Nadine might leave him first.”

  Gabriel shrugs his shoulders and takes a bite of his steak. “Maybe he doesn’t want to know,” he says with a mouthful.

  “Why wouldn’t he want to know?” I nearly shout in astonishment.

  Gabriel swallows and looks at me like I’m overreacting. “Listen, Kat, some people don’t want to know. It’s easier for them to believe a lie than to face the truth. I’ve seen it before.”

  I shoot my husband a threatening look. “Do you know a lot of philanderers?”

  “I’ve known a few men at my office to have affairs,” Gabe says casually, leaning over and putting his arm over the back of my chair. “And do you know what happens when someone tells the wife? That person gets excommunicated from their lives. The couple stays together and the philandering spouse continues his lifestyle. And the guy who opened his big mouth?” Gabriel makes a slicing motion across his neck. “Excommunicated.”

  I cross my arms in disgust. “That is a crock of shit.”

  “Gabriel is right, darling.” Gwen dabs her chin with a napkin. “This happened many times with your father on the road. Trust me, as a baseball wife, I often wonder what went on when he was out of town. But I’ll tell you this,” she says, leaning over the table, waving her napkin at us. “If someone else told me your father was having an affair, I would not have believed it. I would have needed to see it with my own eyes.”

  “Mom, Dad would never have cheated on you.” My tone comes off very self-righteous.