“No,” I said, a much tamer dismissal than the one going on inside my head. “I hadn’t meant to... I didn’t know he’d be here. He sat himself down. After I’d told him I was expecting someone, even. Then he harassed me. Basically that’s what he did, he harassed me, and I didn’t—” I cut myself off when I noticed the hand holding my glass was shaking.
This wasn’t the woman I was. Not the person I’d wanted to meet with Blanche Martin. I was flustered and babbling and off-kilter. I was a million miles from being Celia Werner.
Tossing my napkin on the table, I began to slide across the bench. “Could you excuse me for just a moment? I need to use the restroom.” I was on my feet before she could respond.
Quick, anxious steps carried me to the bathroom where I braced myself with both hands over the sink and sucked in air like I’d been on an oxygen-restricted diet. I confronted my reflection, a hot mess version of my usual self. Stray blonde strands of hair had escaped from the bun that had been perfectly coiffed earlier. My makeup was near perfect, but my skin was pale, my eyes wild. I looked frazzled. Like I was open and on display. Like all of my insides were scattered around me for everyone to see.
“Get yourself together,” I scolded the unrecognizable woman in the mirror.
I turned the faucet on cold and wet my palm, then wiped the cool water along the back of my neck. The shock of temperature settled my thoughts. My breaths were coming easier now. My shoulders were less slumped. My expression less agitated. I felt myself come together bit by bit, like a reverse clown car. All the ugly pieces of my nothing-colored interior collected and tucked away neatly where they belonged.
There. Much better.
And now that I was no longer ruffled, a new determination rose up in my sternum. A single-minded resolution to find something on Edward Fasbender. Something small, if that’s all there was. Anything. Anything I could use to fuck with him the way he fucked with me.
Resolve was empowering.
Resolve was fuel.
Resolve was motivation to go back to the table and endure a tedious lunch with Blanche.
Five minutes later, with my hair fixed and my lipstick reapplied, I returned to the table. I gave my companion my most winning smile. “So. Have you decided what you’d like to order?”
Blanche, it turned out, was a Belgian waffles kind of woman. The kind of woman that wore a bright purple and orange checkered sundress to a fancy French restaurant. The kind of woman that worried not about appearances or waistlines or fitting into a specific box. The kind of woman who chattered like a schoolgirl, her points of conversation spiraling around in circles like a butterfly flitting from one aromatic blossom to the next. The kind of woman who painted gardens and springtime.
She was the kind of woman who felt passionately and wasn’t afraid to let everyone around her know.
I was a La Salade de Poulet sort of woman, myself. The sort of woman who ran a wearisome three miles on a treadmill daily and wore her hair up, even on the weekends. The sort of woman who knew what she wanted and was direct about it, and if I ever had the inclination to emote about every colorful object in sight, I was sure that I would keep it to myself.
The contrast in our characters made for a laborious afternoon as Blanche shared whimsical bits of her life from her recent breakup with her girlfriend to the ups and downs of her art career to the promising interest from an art gallery that had landed her in London for a brief spell. If I’d been interested in playing her, I would have hung on every word she shared, collecting details to spin into a game.
As it was, I was only interested in Edward Fasbender, and it was taking a lifetime to arrive at the information I hoped to glean from her.
But I was patient. I’d learned long ago that extricating knowledge from an unsuspecting individual came easiest if the individual felt comfortable and relaxed. Listened to.
So I listened as we dined, calmly waiting for my opportunity.
“Then when the Camden exhibition fell through,” Blanche said eventually, dropping her fork and pushing her mostly clean waffle plate away, “I had to decide if I wanted to stay in the UK or come back home, and coming back home seemed like such a dreadful fail, and I couldn’t bear for Darcy to say I told you so, even though we’d been broken up for months by then, so I applied for any job posting I was even close to qualified for. Accelecom was the first place that offered something with a decent salary.” She propped one elbow on the table, rested her chin on her palm, and wrinkled her brow. “I have to say, I’m surprised that Fasbender remembered me, let alone my last name. I didn’t interact with him all that often.”
I wasn’t surprised. Edward seemed like the kind of man who cataloged everything, a fact I’d do well to remember.
Right now, I wasn’t remembering much of anything because here was the opening I’d been waiting for. “What else can you tell me about him?”
“About Fasbender? Hmm. I don’t know what’s relevant.”
“Anything. Everything,” I encouraged.
She considered for a moment. “He’s a brilliant businessman. Built the whole company on his own, really. I think he excelled because he was a visionary. He’s good at determining trends, and he successfully predicted the scope media would take clear back in the early days of the internet.”
“Yes, yes.” This was all stuff I’d already discovered on my own. “But what kind of man is he?”
Blanche fretted, as though she were afraid to be unhelpful. “Dedicated. Innovative. Ambitious. Hot—obviously.” She gave a crooked grin.
Very hot. Disturbingly hot.
I fidgeted in my seat, as though movement alone could jostle out thoughts of how wickedly attractive the man was.
“He’s extremely wealthy, as I’m sure you know,” Blanche went on. “Brilliant. Methodical. A perfectionist.”
I tried not to groan. She’d babbled on all afternoon, and now I got little more than one-word answers. Not very helpful in building a character case against him.
I was going to have to spoon-feed her. “What’s his personal life like?”
“Well. He doesn’t have much of one, I don’t think. He’s married to his work. I have a hard time picturing him with any sort of family, though he does have one. Or had one. He’s divorced and his two kids, a son and a daughter, are both grown. Oh, he has a sister too—Camilla. They seem to be really close. She works for the company as well.”
I sat forward eagerly. “Close...how? Close like there’s something funny going on?”
“Close like he took care of her after their parents died. After he was out of foster care himself, that is.”
“I didn’t realize he was orphaned.” It was a lie, obviously, because I had known, but I didn’t want to seem like I’d been studying him. Or stalking him.
“Yep, an orphan,” Blanche said, grimly.
I paused, as though I was letting it sink in, and in that pause, it did sink in. Before it had been words on a paper. Now, it pressed heavy on my insides. There was something especially tragic about being left alone in the world, I supposed, and to be so alone that society was the only willing caretaker…
Not that I cared about people’s tragedies in the way most others did. For me, these details were useful rather than sad. A man who’d been orphaned would have certain characteristics that would be easy to manipulate. He would possibly be afraid of rejection, afraid of attachment. Afraid of ever being weak.
There was potential there.
But there was also that pressing inside me, pressing like too much bread in my stomach. Like I’d swallowed something too hard and thick and it wouldn’t settle in me. This wasn’t the kind of way I wanted to fuck with the man. It wasn’t the right kind of pain.
Blanche recovered quickly from her morose. “That’s what makes him so incredible, though. That’s what I mean when I say he became successful all on his own. While raising his sister plus getting married and having children so young… He was only twenty when Hagan was born. He’s just in his forties, and bo
th those kids must be in their early twenties now. Genevieve was starting university when I was there. I met her once, at a company event right before the semester started. Real pretty girl. Serious. Smart too. Both she and her brother planned to follow in the family business, though I had the feeling that Edward would prefer his daughter just got married.”
“Why’s that?”
She paused. “I don’t want to go so far as to say that he’s a misogynist... Traditionalist is maybe a better term.”
I perked at the new potential. “Do you think that his traditional values have hurt him in any way? Maybe they’re what led to his divorce?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I wasn’t around when he’d been married, but, from what people said, it was quite a shock when Marion left him for another man. Everyone thought they’d be together forever. Edward had apparently doted on her like she was the center of the universe. My ex-coworker, Kelly—she’s worked for Accelecom since the beginning—she said he was completely devastated when she left.”
“Doted? I can’t imagine that man doting on anything.” And why, when I tried, did that heavy feeling in my stomach dissolve into something sharper, more acute? Something akin to jealousy?
“Me either. But Kelly said he got even more serious and even more driven after that, and she swears it was because of heartbreak. Anyway, if Marion Fasbender thought her first husband was too traditionalist, she sure didn’t choose anything different with her second husband. This new guy’s a Catholic Spaniard who seems to think women should be kept barefoot and pregnant. Again, this is all from Kelly.” She smiled guiltily. “And the internet. I’ve done my fair share of curious online snooping. I don’t know much about any of that personally.”
Information I could gather from a Google search wasn’t helpful. I hadn’t looked up his ex-wife yet but I certainly could, all on my own.
I groaned audibly. “This isn’t enough. I need juicier info.”
“Juicier info?”
“More sensational. Has he had any scandals? Made any ethically harmful business decisions? Ever murdered anyone?”
The questions hung in the air unanswered for several seconds while Blanche’s expression grew wary.
Perhaps I’d been a bit jarring. “Of course he hasn’t murdered anyone. Just kidding. But, also, not really. If he has skeletons, I’d really like to know. Even if it’s just water-cooler gossip.”
She stared at me cautiously. “You really dig deep with potential clients, don’t you?”
I sighed inwardly. She needed more from me, needed a clearer motivation, and I’d been lazy about giving it.
I had to up my game.
“All right, honesty here. This has to be just between you and me, though, okay? Edward isn’t just a potential client.” I leaned in like I was telling a secret. “He asked me to…to go out with him.”
I could feel it was the correct angle the minute I turned into it. The air loosened around us as Blanche visibly relaxed. It was always best to play the truth, or as close to it as possible. I should have gone this route from the beginning.
“Oh!” Understanding dawned across her face. “Ohhhhhh.”
Her renewed interest spurred me on, the words now flowing easily. “And since he’s a rival of my father’s, it becomes really tricky. I have to question his motives. Is he really interested? Or is he trying to get close to my father? I can’t just go out with him without truly considering who he is as a person. My dad would kill me if I said yes, which is why I should just say no, but…” I lifted my eyes to appear as though I was staring dreamily in the distance.
Blanche picked up where I’d left off. “But how can you say no to that man? He’s got something about him.”
“I’ll say.” My skin tingled thinking about him. Thinking about his penetrating gaze and his plump lips and how it would feel to have both his gaze and his lips doting on me.
I blinked away the insane notion. Doting wasn’t what I wanted from Edward. I wanted to see him on his knees, yes, but not adoringly. I wanted to see him writhing.
And I was so close to finding out something useful. Something that might give me what I wanted.
I narrowed in on the prize. “So you can see why I need to know everything I can about him, right? If he has something to be ashamed of...like, if he’s really a misogynistic asshole, then I should know and just say no now.”
Blanche shook her head cautiously, as though she were afraid she’d give a wrong answer. “Like I said, I’m not sure he really is an asshole, not like that. I didn’t exactly see evidence that he was anti-female. He had plenty of women in powerful positions in the company. And he gave Camilla a job, so that doesn’t make sense, does it? And I don’t know anything that might be considered scandalous. Except…” She bit at her lip hesitantly. “There is one thing I’ve heard… It’s not gospel, but maybe it’s a thing?”
“What? Tell me.” I was greedy for whatever secrets lay on her tongue.
“Okay, um. Right. Okay, there were rumors he was into…” She glanced around, as if Edward might have returned and was eavesdropping on our conversation.
Satisfied with her surroundings, she leaned in and whispered. “I heard he was into something kinky.”
“What kind of kinky?” I wasn’t as quiet as Blanche had been.
Her cheeks flushed red. “Something with sex.”
I managed not to roll my eyes. “Yes, but what kind of sex kinky? Is he into bondage? Rape play? Golden showers? Cuckolding? Erotic humiliation? Is he a masochist? A crossdresser? A pedophile?”
Edward’s own words replayed in my mind. I’m not an easy man to please in the bedroom.
Was he a dominant? A sadist?
I shivered at the possibility.
“I don’t…I don’t know.” Blanche’s eyes glossed over, overwhelmed. “That’s a lot of options, and I don’t know anything about most of what you said.”
“What do you know, Blanche?”
“Well, I know what a pedophile is. And bondage. And cross-dressing.”
“I mean about Edward.” I’d lost my patience. “What do you know about sex and Edward?”
“Oh, right. Just this rumor I heard through the grapevine that someone had seen him at a sex club. On more than one occasion.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “Any idea what the name of the club was?”
“I’m afraid not.” Her shoulders sank dejectedly. “I’m sorry I’m not more helpful.”
“No, you’re good. This is good.” It was something, anyway. A lead. Something I could potentially work with. Something I could potentially hang over his head.
At least, that was the reason I was giving myself for the nature of my interest.
“Any idea how long he’s going to be in the States?” I asked, suddenly worried about how much time I had to find out more.
“Not exactly. When you asked about him on Friday, I did email Kelly and ask why he was here, though. Out of my own curiosity. It appears he’s been meeting with Visioware—have you heard of them?”
I nodded. Technically, they were another media competitor of my father’s. Small potatoes. Probably not even on my father’s radar. “What’s he want with them?”
“I think he’s trying to negotiate a merger. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Accelecom has been trying to enter the U.S. market for quite some time. I think Edward would do almost anything to make it happen.”
Like try to marry his rival’s daughter.
Something seemed to click in Blanche’s head. “Oh, maybe that’s why he wants to date you!” As soon as she’d said it, she realized what she said might have been offensive. “I mean, that’s not why he wants to date you. Look at you! Who wouldn’t want to date you? You’re perfect.” Her face went red again. “I mean, I’m sure he’s really interested in you. But I see why you might be worried.”
I smiled faintly. Edward had already laid out his real interest in me, of course, so there was no reason to be offended.
But
I did like thinking he was attracted to me as well. He’d said as much, so it was easy to think.
But also confusing because then why didn’t he want to sleep with me? Why didn’t he think to even find out if I was interested in the same kink he was interested in? Was he not really attracted to me? Was he already so sure I couldn’t be right for it? Right for him?
“Anyway,” Blanche interrupted my thoughts. “I don’t know how the negotiation is going, but I do know he’ll be here for the rest of the month.”
“Oh?”
“He’s hosting this year’s International Media Innovators’ Banquet on July twelfth. Kelly mentioned that as well. Is that useful?”
“You know what, Blanche? I think it is.” In more ways than one. At the very least, it meant I had three more weeks.
And with this settling in the conversation, I knew where we had to head next, the part that I usually relished most about these types of encounters. The part where I acknowledged the reason she’d met with me in the first place, to discuss her art.
After all the info she’d given, after all the time she’d invested in this afternoon, being let down would be particularly hard on her. Particularly delicious for me.
Delicious and slippery, just like you.
My eye twitched remembering Edward’s parting remark.
It was because I hated him being right, because I hated him seeing me so clearly that I changed course. “I’m sure you’re eager to hear about my client, if he wants to purchase your work, and, I’m sorry to say that he’s going to pass.” I paused just long enough to let the disappointment sink in before snagging it back away. “But! I’m so certain the pieces you’ve completed are right for the sorts of projects I work on that I’m willing to buy the two you brought into my office as well as the four others you sent via email. Just tell me the amount, and I’ll write a check tomorrow.”
I’d maybe even actually look for a place to display what I bought.
Not the painting with the garden swing, though. No, that one would be burned as soon as I had my hands on it.
I wouldn’t tell her that. “So what do you think?”