This Life: A Novel (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

May 1

New York
,
New York

With Antonio at her
side, Blake stood on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. They were
waiting for the taxi she’d phoned to take her to the airport. On impulse, she’d
booked a flight to
Miami
for the weekend.

She hadn’t seen her
mother since February. Jacinta Bertrand seemed in good spirits whenever they
talked on the phone, but Blake wanted to see for herself how her mother’s recovery
from her injuries was progressing.

Moreover, she wanted to
visit her chauffeur, Henry. He’d been released from the hospital a week and a
half ago, but he too was still recovering from his injuries.
From a beating
he got for being my chauffeur,
Blake reminded herself, and shivered.
Who
but Lang would do something like that? But I can’t prove it, and neither can
Miami
’s police, so the son of
a bitch is going to get away with it…

In addition to all of
that, she yearned for a quiet weekend on
Fisher
Island
.
New York
’s frantic pace had enthralled her when she was eighteen, but
she’d been discovering in the past few weeks that in her mid-thirties, she
enjoyed a more mellow way of life.
I love the cooler climate up north, but
if I ever move I’ll need to find a more relaxed city to live in.

“Blake? Blake Bertrand?
Girl, is that you?”

That voice was
familiar, but she didn’t immediately remember who it belonged to. She looked
around and saw a petite, achingly pretty, short-haired blonde crossing the
street toward her. The woman looked very much like Audrey Hepburn, but with an
almost-bald hairstyle reminiscent of Sinead O’Connor.

It was the resemblance
to Audrey Hepburn that clued Blake to the woman’s identity. Robin Love had been
a new model herself when Blake returned to the business as an eighteen-year-old
after her two years of absence. Back then, Robin had worn her hair much longer,
halfway down her back. She’d been Blake’s best friend until Blake fled to
Switzerland
to give birth in
secret. When Blake returned to the
United States
, Robin was no longer working in the modeling business and
Blake had no idea how to contact her.

“Robin Love. I haven’t
heard from you since before I got married.” Blake hugged Robin and then faced
Antonio, who was keeping alert watch on Blake’s old friend. “Antonio, Robin and
I were models together, a long time ago. Robin, this is Antonio, one of my
bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards! Girl, does
real estate bring out as many weirdos as modeling did?”

They laughed together,
and it was as if the lost years fell away. Robin had always been fun to be
around, and Blake’s common sense had probably kept her overly adventurous
friend out of trouble a few times.
Possibly even the morgue
, Blake
suspected, looking back on all their wild old times.

A taxi rolled to a
stop, exactly in line with the apartment building’s door. Antonio sidled over
to the cab and chatted with the driver, trying to buy Blake a little more time
with Robin.

“Listen, I’m on my way
to the airport, Robin, but I don’t want to wait a decade and more to talk to
you again. Can I give you my cell phone number? You could give me a call
anytime after Sunday night, and I’ll treat you to lunch and we’ll get caught up
with each other. Say it’s a plan!”

“It’s a plan.” Robin
grinned, and readied her smartphone to add Blake’s number to the contacts list.

#

May 2

Miami
,
Florida

Just as Blake was
finishing breakfast with her mother, her BlackBerry rang out the Dire Straits
song “Money for Nothing.” That meant Thomas Mills was calling. Blake excused
herself from the table and shut herself alone inside her mother’s parlor. She
suspected this was going to be an unpleasant conversation.

“Hi, Thomas,” Blake
said, sitting by the window and watching peacocks strut around her mother’s
lawn and the empty street.

“Blake, I’ve been
talking with the other two investors I found to help you buy the Wishman
Spears,” boomed Thomas, “and we’re all three mighty pissed about how you
dropped the ball with this property.”

I’d be pissed too,
if someone wasted a year of my time and millions of my dollars because they
were thinking with their hormones instead of with their brain.
Blake
pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window and wondered what she
could possibly do to remedy this problem.

“Thomas, I can’t blame
you and the others for being angry. I admit it, I made a mistake. But I give
you my word, I’m going to repay your investment in the time promised.”

“We don’t see how that’s
possible, Blake. You were supposed to make the Wishman Spears profitable in two
years. That’s possible, but now it’s going to be a year before you can touch
the place. Can you make it profitable in only one year?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“I’ve known you a long
time, Blake. Only other mistake I’ve seen you make is when you married Lang.
You’re a damn clever businesswoman, and if anyone can make the Wishman pay with
only a year to renovate and market, you’re the person who can do it. But the
other investors don’t know you like I do. They want to see firm, detailed plans
showing how you’re going to salvage this deal.”

An icy panic gnawed
Blake’s gut. “How soon do they want to see these firm, detailed plans for
profitability?”

“You’ve got sixty days.”

Two months. If I can’t
come up with something in that time, nobody can.
“What do they want to do
if, by chance, I can’t meet the deadline?”

“We’ll call in our
loans.”

Oh…shit. I can’t pay
out hundreds of millions of dollars, not with everything I own backing the
Wishman purchase.
“Like I said. I’ll find a way.”

“Good luck.” Thomas
clicked the call off.

“I am so completely
fucked,” Blake muttered to the peacocks outside.

Chapter Nineteen

May 7

Chicago
,
Illinois

Thunderous applause
rewarded Blake when she finished delivering her speech and stepped down from
the podium. No sooner had she filed for divorce than NeoBuild, the world’s
largest real estate trade show, invited her to be their keynote speaker for
their latest convention. She’d been looking forward to the event ever since
accepting the invitation. It would emphasize her independence from Lang, and
moreover it would be an excellent opportunity to hear industry gossip.

Matt stood, having sat
behind her while she was speaking, and moved to her side. He looked around as
he asked, “What’s next on your schedule, Ms. Bertrand?”

“I’ve got a luncheon
lined up with several of
New York
’s leading real estate developers,” she answered, consulting
her BlackBerry. “There’s a panel discussion I’ve got to participate in this
afternoon, and tonight I thought I’d research some possibilities for making the
Wishman profitable in only a year.”

“How do you plan to do
the research?”

She winced. “Nothing is
new under the sun, they say. There’s got to be a similar problem that somebody
has solved. I just haven’t thought of the research terms that will find it yet.”

Matt fell into step
behind Blake as she followed the map included with her convention program
brochure. They found the conference room where in two hours the panel
discussion would be held. A few people had already claimed seats in the
audience, to Blake’s astonishment.

The luncheon was
catered by world-famous
Chicago
restaurant Charlie Trotter’s. Blake and Matt slowly stuffed
themselves while the conversation ranged over a number of
New York
real estate topics.
Finally, with a half hour to go before the panel discussion was scheduled to
begin, Blake thanked the Realtors who cohosted the meal, and she and Matt made
their way back to the conference room.

Already the room was
nearly packed to capacity. Blake looked for the panel seat with her name on the
place setting, but was interrupted when a voice well known to her called, “Blake!
Ms. Bertrand, I really need to talk to you.”

She turned around, her
shoulders stiffening as she faced Sherry Greene, her ex-publicist. “We really
don’t have anything to discuss, Sherry.”

“Please.” Sherry folded
her hands together as if she was about to pray. “Blake—”

“Ms. Bertrand, to you,”
Blake said.

“Sure. I’m sorry.”
Sherry’s face turned pink with embarrassment. Everyone in the room was silent,
listening to the confrontation. “Ms. Bertrand, please let me come back to work
for you.”

“No.” Blake turned back
to the conference table.

“Ms. Bertrand, you’re
the best employer I’ve ever worked for, and I know I made a mistake, but I’ve
learned my lesson, and—”

Blake whirled around,
nearly colliding with Matt. “I can’t believe my ears, Sherry. Me, the best
employer you’ve ever had? The way I heard it, I was a monster to you. Expecting
celebrities to follow me around, fighting you about reimbursing your expenses,
not willing to give you any pay raises. And that’s all on a good day. Wasn’t
that what you said about me to other publicists?”

“I know I shouldn’t
have done that. I was just angry you didn’t give me a second chance, but now I
understand that’s my own fault—”

“Yes, it was.”

“Please, Ms. Bertrand.
I’ll do anything to work for you again.” Incredibly, Sherry got down on her
knees.

Blake stared at the
woman, wondering if what Sherry meant by “anything” was what it sounded like.

“Anything,” Sherry
repeated. Looking into Blake’s eyes, seen only by Blake and Matt, Sherry
positioned her praying hands to give her breasts a boost.

Same ole Sherry
.
“I said no, and I
meant
it.” Blake returned to her search for her seat,
found it, and moved around the table to sit down.

Sherry bowed her head
to the floor for a few seconds, her shoulders shaking. Then she scrambled onto
her feet and fled from the room, shedding copious tears.

“I never would’ve
guessed real estate could be so entertaining,” Matt muttered as he pulled a
chair behind Blake and sat down.

#

Lang had followed the
confrontation between Blake and her ex-publicist with rapt attention, imagining
a variety of exciting possibilities. When Sherry ran out of the conference
room, Lang seized Gabby’s hand and dragged her with him as he jogged after the
weeping woman.

Sherry raced into the
nearest women’s bathroom, and Lang turned to issue orders to Gabby. “Go in
there and tell that woman Lang Bertrand wants to talk to her.”

“I don’t know if I
oughtta do that, babe. She looked really upset.”

“That’s why I want you
to bring her out here to talk to me.”

“But I don’t want to
talk to anybody when I’m upset, so why would she?”

He gripped her arm so
hard that she yelped. “Don’t fucking argue with me! There’s not much time
before the panel discussion starts. Go in there and bring her out.”

Gabby scurried into the
women’s bathroom. A couple of minutes later, she returned with Sherry Greene at
her heels.

Lang put out a hand and
shook Sherry’s. “You remember me, I hope, Sherry?”

“Of course, Mr.
Bertrand.” Sherry slanted a puzzled glance at Gabby, but the clueless blonde
was no help.

“Call me Lang. I’m not
a bitch like my ex-wife.” He smiled at her, his soot-colored eyes glinting. “Speaking
of Blake, though, I’m planning some unpleasant surprises for her. I thought you
might be interested in helping, especially if I put you on my payroll.”

Sherry flicked a
worried look in the direction of the conference room, as if afraid Blake could
hear their hushed conversation from a distance. “How much will you pay me?”

“Well, how much did you
earn as Blake’s publicist?”

“A hundred fifty
thousand per year.”

“I’ll double that.”

Sherry’s wide mouth
curled up in a grin. “I’ll do anything.”

#

It was standing room
only in the conference room as the panel discussion got started. Blake was in
the middle of answering the first question directed to her, about the criteria
she used to decide if a particular property should be bought up during a
struggling economy, when a latecomer intently studying his program brochure
edged his way into the room.

She paused, ice forming
in her gut.
That height, that build, that posture… It can’t be him.

“Ms. Bertrand? Are you
okay?” asked the moderator.

Blake nodded, taking a
quick deep breath. “Sorry, folks, I thought I saw somebody I used to know.”

Someone in the audience
sang out, “But you didn’t have to cut me off!” reminding them all of the Gotye
song Blake had quoted unintentionally. They all enjoyed a good laugh before
Blake continued answering the question. For the rest of the panel discussion,
however, Blake noticed Matt watching the people in the back of the room.

When the time allotted
for the panel discussion ended, the audience applauded the panel members and
people began making their way out of the conference room. Matt tapped Blake’s
shoulder and asked, “Is there a way out of here other than the door we all came
in through?”

“Not that I know of,”
Blake whispered. “Is something wrong?”

“I think someone is in
violation of a restraining order,” said Matt. “Stay behind me.” He led the way
toward the door, Blake following him close.

Lang stood up, having
taken a seat when people began exiting the room. He motioned to a blonde to
stand up with him, and said, “Gabby, I don’t believe you’ve ever met my
ex-wife, have you? Blake, Gabby here is my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, but speaking of
your ex-wife, a judge ordered you to stay a minimum of three hundred yards away
from her,” said Matt, “and right now you’re not even 30
inches
away from
her. I suggest you get yourself gone, and fast.”

“Relax, Mr. Bodyguard.”
Lang sneered at Matt as he took a folded business envelope out of his jacket
pocket and handed it over for inspection. “If you care to take a look, you’ll
see I registered for this convention back in August.
Before
it was
announced that my charming former missus would be keynote speaker.”

Matt handed the envelope
back to Lang without bothering to look at whatever was inside. “Why not cancel
your registration and get a refund?”

“Because I have a right
to stay in the business I’ve worked in for the past ten years, even if I don’t
work with Blake anymore. I think the judge would agree getting a divorce
shouldn’t force a man out of business.”

“I’m going to have to
notify convention security and the local police. They can talk to the judge.
But no matter what they say, I’m warning you to stay out of any room Ms.
Bertrand is in, and don’t try to talk to her.” Matt put a protective arm around
Blake and started to guide her out of the room.

“What a shame. I just
bought the
Jenny
Tower
that Blake has wanted
for quite a few years. Bought some properties in Little Haiti she’s had an eye
on, too. Sure you don’t want to work together again, Blake?” Lang leaned
casually in the conference room door, his face wearing a smug grin.

“No, you paid three
times more than those properties are worth. Deal with your mistakes yourself,”
said Blake.

“Just ignore him, Ms.
Bertrand,” Matt advised, and he kept himself between Blake and Lang as Blake
left the room.

“You can’t avoid me
forever,” Lang called after them.

“I can damn sure try,”
Blake muttered, moving at a trot to keep up with Matt’s long strides.