Page 26 of Love Marks
“One month ago, I went to The Phoenix Lounge, one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city, admired for their commitment to privacy.”
Her face pales as I continue.
“I sat at my table for a little over an hour before I approached the host stand and gave a folder containing private documents to the hostess standing behind the desk. A woman named Quinn Helena Taylor.”
An indiscernible emotion flashes across her face at the mention of her middle name.
“I instructed Miss Taylor that the folder be left with a business associate of mine and left the restaurant. The next morning, I woke up to my father’s face on the front page of the New York Post.”
She shakes her head and wrings her hands out. She still looks angry, but a nervousness has taken over her.
“Then imagine my surprise when the same Miss Taylor applies for a job at my new hotel and somehow gets hired. Now, I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but I’d tread carefully if I were you.”
At this, her head snaps up and she meets my gaze unflinchingly. It’s very quiet now. The only sound is my heavy breaths from my speech. She waits a long time to speak, and her voice is quiet when she finally does.
“I’m not playing any game. I’m here to work and that’s it.”
“Under false pretenses,” I snap back.
“I never lied to you!” She points a finger in my direction. “You pretended not to know me, too!”
She’s struggling to keep her cool. I can tell because I threw mine out the window when this conversation began. Her eyes are swimming with a million unspoken thoughts, likely insults she’d like to hurl in my direction. I wish she'd let them loose. The word heartless rings in my head.
“I wanted to see if you’d tell me the truth. Give you a chance to be honest,” I sneer the word at her.
“I am honest!” She throws her hands up in frustration and starts pacing, refusing to look at me. It’s the breaking point. I want her to look me in the eyes while she lies to me. I take a step forward, invading her space, and she takes a step backwards, stumbling.
“Tell that to my brother who had to call in every legal favor he had to prevent my company from investigation. Or my mother who spends most nights crying. Or me — stuck dealing will the fallout at work and a business partner has all the fucking power now all because I trusted a stranger. Because I trusted you.”
She shakes her head and at least has the decency to look apologetic as she meets my gaze.
“I’m sorry that’s happening, but none of that is my fault.”
I take a step back and yank at my hair, needing something to do with my hands besides make a fist. I’m close to putting one through the drywall if she keeps lying to me.
“You’re the only person who had that file besides me and my associate,” I point out. “When I called The Phoenix, they assured me that you’d been fired.”
“I did get fired.”
“For leaking the story.”
“I didn’t leak the story! I don’t even know how to do something like that,” she cries out. “It was somebody else.”
“Who?” I demand. She doesn’t say anything, just looks back at me with a mixture of anger and indecision. “Who, dammit?”
She says nothing. She looks so earnest that I almost believe her. Then I remember that she had that same look that night at The Phoenix — open, warm, trustworthy — and I feel like a fool all over again.
“Fine. Let’s try it this way. Who do you work for?”
“Excuse me?” She snaps back at me.
“Who. Do. You. Work. For.” I growl each word. “The Post, obviously. Anyone else? Should I renew my Bloomberg subscription?” I force a light tone to mask my rage.
“I already told you — I didn’t tell anyone! I didn’t even open the folder. I had no idea what was in there until I saw the news myself.”
God, she’s good at this.
“If it wasn’t you, then who was it? Like I said, it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t George. That only leaves you, and this conveniently unnamed person you claim is responsible but who you refuse to give a name for.”