Page 42 of Truth Be Told
I wish I could explain to her that this is what they mean when they say money can ruin your life. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s ruined mine; there’s enough in my past to have done that on its own without the help of money, but if you don’t watch yourself, if you’re not careful – this is how it does it. One of the ways. There are countless other ways too that people like Stella, as smart as she is, are oblivious to.
“And I want you to know about that,” I say, reading her, “if it were to ever happen again. But I don’t want them to see you here. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you again.”
“I guess that’s fair.” She backs up. “Can we just get out of here now?”
I huff a laugh. “I take it you’re not impressed with your first taste of Thatcher Industries?”
“Youwere my first taste of Thatcher Industries. Not this place.”
I raise my brow, a grin forming at the corner of my lips. She blushes, but slowly smiles, then laughs. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“We definitely can,” I say, stopping to clear my voice, trying to restore it to its former strength. “But there’s one other thing I need to do.” I pick up the phone nearest us and check for a dial tone.
“Oh. Do you still have some business? I can come back.”
“You could say that, yeah. But I want you to stay.”
Having gotten the tone, I set the handset down and press a button to its right, one that will dial through to our intercom. Within a second, a familiar voice calls out over the speaker and echoes in the office. It’s a woman’s voice, the familiar voice of one of our assistants who works downstairs. “Yes, Mr. Thatcher?”
“Send Scarlet up, please.”
The voice replies quickly, echoing, “Yes, sir.” Then it’s gone.
“Oh no,” Stella says. “Cohen, please…I don’t want to face her.”
I take her face in my hands, cupping her at the jawline. “You don’t have to. Only I have to do that. What I want you to do is stay here.” I pull the chair over for her. “Right in this office.” I wait for her reaction, wondering how she feels about waiting inthis office, that one that was so very close to becoming tainted, and sitting inthis chair,which, as far as I’m concerned, already has been.
She’s not as sensitive as I take her for. Her warm breath passes over my skin as relief sweeps over her. “Okay.” She strips herself of her jacket and purse, placing them neatly next to her on the floor, and then sits. She nods in my direction, giving me the okay.
Just outside the office, I stand in wait for Scarlet to arrive. It doesn’t take long. Scarlet saunters over, her piercing heels digging into the carpet as she takes her determined steps. I’m surprised she even showed. She knows what she did; of course she does.
“Hello, Mr. Thatcher,” she says when she reaches me. She clasps her hands in front of her and tightens her lips. I can’t tell if she’s aware that Stella is inside the office to my left, or if she’s oblivious. She seems oblivious, focused solely on me. “You called for me?”
She looks the same as she always does – her long, pin straight blonde hair flowing freely, never tied back or done up, and shiny black heels with bright red soles clicking whenever she walks. Her makeup is done with the same, usual care. Scarlet is young, and she’s pretty. Any man would admit that. She’s been working here for over a year now, and although I don’t interact with my assistants much, preferring to take care of most things on my own–because almost everything I do around here is too important to leave to anyone else–there are some occasions in which I’ve needed her. During those, she’s handled herself professionally, showing no disrespect or signs of ulterior motive.
Although, thinking back now, there was one occasion during our Christmas party last year that I found to be borderline inappropriate. We were all gathered together to watch a cheesy karaoke, and she stepped up from behind me and took hold of my hand, entwining her fingers with mine. For the briefest of moments, before I had a chance to pull away, her and I were connected; which was awkward for me, but for her – apparently comfortable. Confused, I’d turned and looked at her, only to find that she was on the verge of being drunk, and on her face was an innocent, playful look that in some sad way made me feel sorry for her. Still, not sorry enough to hold her hand. I slipped mine out of hers and instead used it to hold my drink.
“Unfortunately, I did,” I say, the memories meaning little. I push my shoulders back, which lengthens my spine, raising me even further above Scarlet’s already tall figure.
Her face drops. “Is something the matter?”
“Yes, something is. Something was brought to my attention a few minutes ago, and I have reason to believe it involves you.”
She sticks her chin out. “Well, am I allowed to ask what it was? People around here do say a lot of things. You can’t always believe many of them.” She huffs. “That’s something I learned early on.”
“You’re right about that. Which is why I’m giving you this chance to defend yourself.” Really:which is why I’m curious to see what you have to say for yourself.She may have the guts to stand face to face with me after the fact, but so far, it looks like she’s not going to cop to it. She’s actually going to deny it. Where do we find these people?
“What it was,” I continue, “was an accusation. Brought against you by someone very close to me,” I watch closely as her cheeks flush bright red, “someone who I know would not lie to me.”
“Go on.”
“Scarlet, you know who this person is. And you know what I’m talking about. I know you do.”
She lifts her arms in innocence, her jaw gradually hanging open. “Cohen,” her breath escapes her in a laugh of disbelief, “I…”
So I was right. She is trying to deny it. That same, now-familiar rage creeps up, coursing through my veins once again. “Don’t call me by my first name.” My voice is lifted and deep. I sound like I mean business. I sound vicious. The words came out sounding harsher than I intended, but only a little.
I expect her to submit in some way or another, but she doesn’t. She recoups herself and crosses her arms, her long painted nails sticking out over her sleeves. “Mr. Thatcher, I’ve worked for you for a good amount of time now.”
