“Agreed. But anyway, I think Underhill does know somehow. She may not know every detail, but she’s got enough. She also threatened to release more embarrassing stuff about your wife to the press unless she divorces you.”
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah…” Paige hesitates, then adds, “She, um, told your wife about a wedding closet incident…something about ‘fucking in there’…?”
I swear under my breath. It was a terrible, terrible mistake, done in a moment of drunken anger and humiliation. I never suspected she would flaunt it in Belle’s face.
“I’m really sorry,” Paige says quietly. “Of course I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thanks.” But it’s too late. The person I wanted to hide it from the most already knows.
“Talk to your wife. She might be more understanding than you think. She hasn’t heard the story from your point of view.”
I say nothing. Paige is sweet to think my spin on the event would sound better than Annabelle Underhill’s. The story fucking sucks no matter who it’s coming from.
I murmur my thanks, and we hang up.
Tossing my phone on the poolside table, I stare at the water. I wish my wife had told me about this yesterday. Even if she didn’t want to talk about my shameful behavior at the wedding, she should’ve at least told me about the threats against her. Doesn’t she know I’ll never let anything happen to her or her sister?
I’ve been too lax in my dealings with Annabelle Underhill. That much is clear. Because of the debt I owed to her uncle, I even decided not to punish her for colluding with Caroline to release the info about my wife’s past.
But no more. It’s time to crush her once and for all.
Chapter Fifteen
Annabelle
I’ve been to the prominent private wealth management firm OWM first as a janitor, then as a client. Now I’m going as a job candidate, which is kind of surreal. Regardless of the circumstances, entering the cool and impressive marble-and-glass vestibule never fails to awe me. If my life hadn’t imploded, this is the kind of place I would’ve loved to work as an analyst.
Riding up the elevator, I do my best not to fidget in the dress I chose with such care this morning. I know I look professional and good. I just need to ace this interview.
Before coming over, I looked Jana Thompson up on the website. She’s thirty-six years old, probably single—her bio didn’t mention anything about a significant other or children, unlike some others—and she’s worked her entire career at OWM, currently managing mostly pension funds. She’s an impressive woman too, with a bachelor’s degree from Harvard and an MBA from Wharton. She chose OWM because she’s from California and apparently wanted to move back to the West Coast rather than work for one of numerous investment firms in New York City.
The elevator opens and a smartly dressed assistant immediately greets me. “Annabelle? Jana’s ready for you.”
I paste on a friendly smile, surreptitiously wipe the sweat from my palms and walk inside a corner office with an impressive view of L.A. A large, glass-top desk is absolutely immaculate, not a fingerprint marring the glossy surface. Seven computer screens sit on it, along with two wall-mounted monitors that feed her news from around the world. Jana isn’t behind the desk, however. She is in the seating area, papers spread on a low table in front of her white couch. She stands gracefully at the sight of me, and we shake hands. She pumps twice, decisively, her palm bone-dry.
“Nice to meet you, Annabelle. Take a seat.” She gestures at another white couch across from her.
I sit down and wait for her to start. She’s different from what I imagined. I assumed she would look a bit older, given the high-stress nature of her job. But she’s quite youthful. If I hadn’t checked her out, I would’ve thought she was no more than thirty. Her gray pantsuit looks good on her slim figure, and she isn’t wearing any jewelry except a pair of diamond studs and a thin golden chain with a small, round locket. Her short, artfully messy hair is so pale it’s almost white, and her cornflower-blue eyes penetrate every time she glances up from my résumé.
“Sorry for the abrupt question, but why do you want to work?” she asks.
“Excuse me?”
“I noticed you have an account here, and you’re married to Elliot Reed, who’s a long-term client of ours. That generally means you don’t need to work, and even if you feel like dabbling, you certainly don’t need to start out in a position as lowly as my junior assistant. So I’m curious.”
Clearly, this is a woman who doesn’t like to waste time. Her gaze is direct as she waits for my answer, and I decide I like that. I’m sick of games and bullshit in my life, and it’s refreshing to realize maybe I don’t need to deal with that with my potential boss.
“I don’t want to be idly rich, and at this point, I’m not qualified to be in charge of anything. I don’t mind starting from the bottom. It gives me a chance to learn how an organization as amazing as OWM really operates.” I lean forward. “Can I be frank?”
She leans back with an unreadable smile. “By all means.”
“I’ve always wanted to work in finance. Always. But when my father’s fraud was discovered…”
Her eyes flare, but not with curiosity. She’s surprised I’m bringing it up first.
“…well, that dream was put on hold, since I had to survive and provide for my younger sister. Now I don’t have to do that, and just to be clear, I’m not going to work as your junior assistant forever. I plan to go back to college and finish my education. And I want to be able to join a place like OWM at some point in the future in a higher capacity.”