Chapter Twenty-Four - Ellie
Mac is on the phone the entire two-hour ride down to Santa Fe while I sit in the seat across from him bored out of my mind. Typically, when I fly I take something with me. An e-reader and those noise-cancelling headphones.
But I have my purse and nothing else, so I keep myself busy eating Life Savers and thumbing through an outdated People magazine that the flight attendant hands to me out of pity. Probably because Mac is so busy. And it isn’t even interesting busy, either. It’s a very boring one-sided conversation that I can’t make heads or tails of. It’s like he’s talking in code, purposefully making sure I can’t glean any information about the topic under discussion.
I don’t understand why they have to sell Stonewall Entertainment. It’s so successful. I mean, I guess I don’t know all the inside numbers, but they certainly don’t spare any expense courting big names for interviews and appearances on the shows they care about most.
Mac is still on the phone when we land, and only pauses long enough to point me to the door. We exit at a small airport with no jetway, just airstairs. So we walk across the tarmac, enter the terminal, and make our way out towards baggage claim where a man in a dark suit is waiting with a sign that says ‘Stonewall.’
Mac finally hangs up and starts chatting to the driver as I follow along like an afterthought. Why am I even here? Surely Brutus can’t want to see me after I caused him a life-threatening emergency last week.
“OK,” Mac says, after we slide into the town car. “Here’s the plan. I don’t want you interacting with him so we’re going to go in there, you apologize profusely, and then I’ll take over and see if we can’t work out something for next month.”
I have nothing but a sigh for that.
“Ellie? Are you paying attention to me?”
“Of course I’m paying attention. It’s not like I’ve been the one on the phone for the past two hours ignoring you.”
“Sorry,” he says with a small smile. “I had to deal with some stuff with the sale. We have to plan it right so investors don’t cut and run at the first sign of movement.”
“Why do you have to sell anyway?” I say. “I don’t get it.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me,” I sneer. “And stop treating me like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m incapable of understanding details. I live details, Mac. I’ve been running these celebrity guests for seven years and this is the first time I’ve messed up since my first week on the job.”
“I know, Ellie. It’s just this is a big interview. If we can get Brutus to show up after the first sale then it will let investors know we’re still in business.”
“But if you’re not ‘still in business’”—I do little air quotes around that—“then why are you lying?”
“We’re not lying, just holding our cards close.”
I give up and turn to look out the window. “How far is this place?”
“Not far. He’s got some kind of compound inside the city, I guess. So listen,” he says, turning his body to me. “We’ll get back in time for dinner tonight. Where would you like to go?”
“Dinner?” I ask, not looking at him. “I’m not sure I feel like dinner. I hate flying. It wears me out. I’ll probably just go home and sleep.”
“No, Ellie. You won’t. We’re going out.”
We’ll see about that, I think to myself. Why did I spend the entire week pining over him and now everything he says and does annoys me?
“Ellie?” Mac asks sharply.
“What?” I snap back.
“Why are you tuning me out?”
“I guess I’m just not capable of understanding the details,” I say with an uninterested sigh.
“Listen,” he says, taking my arm and turning me towards him. “Sorry I was busy, but believe me, you’re not interested in the business I was dealing with. Trust me.”
“Sure,” I say. “Whatever.”
“Why are you so irritated with me?”
“OK,” I say. “I’ll tell you. It’s because you drag me along on to this stupid meeting and then practically tell me to wait in the car while you do your business. It’s demeaning.”
“Don’t take it so personally, Eloise. It’s just work. And I realize that I’m not the best example for separating work from personal life, but let’s give it a try today.”
I’ve heard enough. “Fine.”
“Good.” We pull up to some massive adobe wall with an equally intimidating iron gate at the front, and the driver rolls his window down and tells them who we are. The guard looks in, then waves for the other guard to open the gate for us. “Now, let’s just stick to the plan. Don’t engage him too much, OK? Just apologize, then I’ll ask you to go get me a drink or something—”
“You’ll what?”
“Ellie, are you listening to me?”
“Oh, I’m hearing you perfectly. Go get you a drink,” I huff. “I’m not your personal assistant, Mac. In fact, this is actually my job, not yours. He asked for me, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s the reason he asked that’s got me mad.”
Oh, he did not just go there. “Why do you think he asked for me?” I snarl. “Because I’m cute and young?”
“Exactly,” Mac says.
“Oh!”
But then the car comes to a stop in front of the house and Mac puts up a hand to silence me. “Just do it the way I planned and we’ll talk about it later.”
The driver is opening Mac’s door before I can respond, so I take a deep breath, let my anger go, and then get out, more determined than ever that I will absolutely not do it his way. Brutus is my client. If he wants me to apologize for nearly killing him last week, I’m happy to do that. But I’m also happy to take care of all the details. This is my client, not Mac’s.
Mac offers me his hand as I scoot over and get out on his side. I accept and let him get me to my feet, then I smooth down my dress and notice Mac giving me the stink eye. “Now what? You have a problem with the dress you bought me?”
“It is a little low cut,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Maybe you can just wait in the car.”
“I can’t even with you right now,” I say, pushing him out of the way.
“Ellie,” he says, catching up with me. “Just listen, I didn’t say anything before, but—”
“Miss Hatcher,” a booming voice says from the top of the stairs as we enter the imposing two-story foyer of the compound house. “My, my,” Brutus says. “You look lovely. I’m so happy you could make it today. Mr. Stonewall insisted that you were too busy for me—”
I give Mac another look. And if my eyes could shoot arrows, his eyes would have two of them sticking out of their orbits. “Did he? Well, he was mistaken, Mr. Brutus. I was happy to cancel my day to come here and apologize profusely for what happened last week. I’m so sorry. I knew better, but I had forgotten to leave my sandwich in the fridge in my office. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
Brutus makes his way down an elaborate stairway, practically caressing the wrought-iron railing, as he beams me a welcoming smile. He looks like a rock star. Typical in almost every way. Long brown hair that he has tucked behind his ears. Ripped jeans and a tight t-shirt that hugs his chest. He’s skinny though, so it doesn’t show much. Nothing like Mac’s muscles that push against the pale blue fabric of his dress shirt under his suit coat.
Stop thinking about Mac, I chastise myself. I need to be professional because apparently Mac sees me as this ridiculous girl who can’t handle her own in business negotiations. I need to prove him wrong.
I extend my hand to Brutus, but instead of shaking it, he grasps it lightly in his as he brings it up and touches his lips gently across my knuckles.
“Well.” I smile, looking over at Mac with a smirk. “That was unexpected. I was under the impression that you didn’t want me at this meeting.”
“Who told you that?” Brutus asks, not even bothering to look at Mac, who is sighing behind me. I can imagine him rolling his eyes. “Quite the opposite, in fact, Miss Hatcher. I wanted you here. Asked for you specifically. And can I just say, that dress—” His eyes practically eat me up. “Whoever that designer is, she made it with you in mind, I’m sure.”
“Oh, thanks!” I say. “Mr. Stonewall said it might be a tad inappropriate, but I—”
“What?” Brutus exclaims with a hand on his heart in mock surprise. “Mr. Stonewall should keep his opinions to himself or he might find I have a few of my own that you might be interested in.”
Wait. “What?” I ask, confused.
“He didn’t tell you about us?” Brutus looks over my shoulder at Mac. I turn and look too and Mac has a very strange look on his face. Not shame. Not surprise. Not even discomfort, like he should be, since it’s clear these two know each other and Mac never said anything. “Well, Mr. Stonewall and I go way back. Way back.”
“Is that so?” I ask, looking between the two of them as they have some kind of silent standoff. “Well, color me surprised. He never mentioned it.”
“No,” Brutus says, taking me by the arm and leading me farther into the house. “I didn’t imagine he would. It’s ancient history, I guess. A lifetime ago.”
I let Brutus lead me, but I shoot a look over my shoulder to Mac and he’s fuming mad. I squint my eyebrows at him and mouth, What?
Mac just shakes his head as he clenches his jaw in anger. I turn back to business. Whatever his problem is, it’s obviously not about the business part of this trip.
“Would you like something to drink, Miss Hatcher?” Brutus asks, leading me into a room that overlooks the city. It’s set up high on a hill so the high adobe wall isn’t in the way.
“Sure,” I say, taking a seat on the long black leather couch. His décor isn’t my taste. It’s certainly screams rock-star, since the walls are red and all the furniture is black. But I’m not here to enjoy his home, I’m just here to secure the interview.
“Mr. Stonewall,” Brutus says, just as Mac is about to take a seat next to me. “Do you mind giving us some privacy?”
“Look, Allen,” Mac says.
“Allen?” I ask.
“Yeah, Allen,” Mac stresses. “That’s his real name. And yes, we certainly do go way back. So when my father asked me—”
“Oh, that’s rich, Mac. Rich.” Brutus—Allen—laughs. “I can’t believe you’ve fooled everyone—”
“I’ve fooled everyone?” Mac says, his voice rising. “Please. Look, we’re here to do business. So, no, Miss Hatcher would not like a drink. She’d like to apologize—”
“She already apologized, Mac. Just relax. Why are you so uptight?”
“Do you want to reschedule this interview or not?” Mac snarls.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask Mac. “Would you just go get the drinks and let me handle this, please? Jesus, what is wrong with you? You dragged me all the way out here and now you’re sabotaging my efforts!”
“Ellie—”
“Mac! Seriously, what is your problem?”
“Yes,” Brutus/Allen says. “Tell her what the problem is. Let’s talk about the past, shall we?”
Why the hell are men so stupid? Clearly this is about me and why do either of them think that this is anything other than some caveman power play? “We’re not here to talk about the past, OK? You guys?”
I wait for them to finish their staring contest and then Mac says, “Fifteen minutes.” He says that to me, but he’s looking at Brutus. “Fifteen minutes and we’re out of here. If you don’t want the interview—”
“Oh, I want it,” Brutus says. “I told your father that much on the phone. But I’d like to discuss the details with your celebrity concierge.”
Mac shakes his head, ready to protest, but then his damn phone buzzes again and he looks down at the message and frowns. “It’s an emergency, Ellie. I’ll be right back.” Mac walks out of the room. A butler or house attendant goes after him and I have to give myself a mental shake to get back on track.
He’s had a lot of emergency calls today.
“Now,” Brutus says, closing the door and walking back over to me. He takes a seat on the couch, his knees practically touching mine.
Aw, fuck. Is this what he was after? He’s making a move on me? Why? Dear God, why? I’m just an ordinary girl trying to make it through a few more days of this job. Why do people I don’t even know have to complicate things for me?
I gather myself, then scoot over and turn my body to put a little more space between Brutus and me. “Brutus,” I say. “As I was saying. I’m so very sorry for what happened last week. I deal with a lot of people who have peanut allergies, so I knew better. I was just off my game that day. Things were out of sorts. But Stonewall Entertainment would really love to have you back at your earliest convenience. So do you think next month will work for your schedule?” No need to drag this out any longer than necessary. Let’s just cut to the chase.
“Relax, Ellie.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. I’m not stuffy. I don’t mind people calling me Ellie. But he was calling me Miss Hatcher a few seconds ago and now it’s Ellie?
Brutus takes the opportunity my silence afforded him and slips a hand over my knee. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says.
“What? What do you mean?”
“A friend of mine got wind of a certain book you’ve been shopping,” Brutus says, nodding his head towards the closed door. “Are you looking to be published, Ellie?”
“How could someone you know possibly have heard about that?”
“I have my ways.”
“Well, it’s not relevant. I’m not here to discuss my personal life with you, Brutus. And I’m certainly not going to consider some kind of sordid affair in exchange for a publishing contract.”
“Why not?” Brutus asks, raising his eyebrows. “Everyone does it. Favors, Miss Ellie Hatcher, given and owed to the right people. That’s the only way to get ahead. And I know you want a favor from me today. Why not start our relationship off right? One for you, one for me. I have contacts with your literary agent. She owes me many favors. I could just call her up and tell her to get that book of yours published ASAP and she’d make it happen. Or I could call her up and say there will never be time for that book on anyone’s schedule. Which would you prefer?”
“Favors?" Jesus Christ. I really don’t belong in this executive world. “I’m afraid you’ve insulted my ethics, Mr. Brutus. And I realize that I was sent here to nail this interview down, but—”
“Your ethics.” He laughs. “Honey, if you want to succeed in this business, you play the game. And right now you owe me. You almost killed me, Miss Hatcher—”
“But I didn’t kill you. And I didn’t do any of that on purpose. I just forgot about my sandwich, that’s all. I’m sorry. There’s nothing more I can say about it. I’m just sorry.”
“I’m not sorry. It gives me power, Miss Hatcher. You’re about to publish a very high-profile book. Well”—he sneaks me a sideways glance that looks slightly evil—“if you can manage to get a publisher. I’d like to be in that book, Miss Hatcher. Be one of your case-study stars. Perhaps we could tour together.”
“Tour together?” I scrunch up my eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Be my personal advisor, Miss Hatcher. I could propel you to success. Get your book published, but then you’d owe me again. Two favors.”
“Um,” I have no idea what is going on but I suddenly know how Mac must’ve felt when he stumbled into my delusions. Brutus is creeping me the fuck out. “I don’t need help, Mr. Brutus, but thank you for the offer. Now, would you like to reschedule the interview for next month? Or is there a better time for you?”
“No to the book deal?” Brutus says, one eyebrow cocked. “Well, I’m surprised. What else can you trade for the interview? An office fuck? I’ve heard you like to mix business with pleasure. You,” he says, one finger reaching up to tap me on the nose, “are the talk of Stonewall Entertainment these days, Miss Hatcher. I’ve heard all about your tryst with Mr. perfect in the other room. I have insiders. So perhaps you’d like to screw your way to the top with me as well?”
I slap him in the face. Then I stare at my hand, then the shock on Brutus’ face, and do it again. “How dare you!”
“How dare I?” He laughs. “You’re the one slutting around in the office. Not me. I keep it all very discreet, Ellie. I’m not anything like Mac. No one will ever know.”
I stand up. “I’m leaving.”
“You’re going to walk out? Even if I agree to a one-on-one interview with you?”
“Me? Jesus Christ, what planet are you living on? I’m not a reporter! I’m a scheduler.”
“So pencil me in, Ellie. Pencil in time to suck my cock right now and I’ll do the interview you were sent here to get,” he says, standing up and placing his hand on my breast. “And just FYI, I like the slapping.” He grips my breast, squeezing it. I twist away, but Brutus catches my arm, tugging me so hard, squeezing me so tightly, I can feel the bruise forming.
“Stop it!” I say, wriggling. He grabs me around the waist, pulling my back into his chest, his disgusting breath heating up the skin on my neck. I have to swallow down the bile that wants to come up. “Let me go!”
“You can slap me around all you want,” Brutus says. “I knew that little Miss Innocent act was just that. An act. It’s always the sweet ones who want to be fucked hard.”
“That’s enough.” Mac is standing in the open door, eyes blazing, voice low as he growls it out again. “That. Is. Enough.”