“Well, fix it.”
“What. Are you crazy?”
“You talk to Grandpa.” In Gloria’s voice was desperation and a plea. “He listens to you. Tell him you can’t live without Saks. Tell him you love him.”
“Yeah, like that’ll do any good.”
“Well, tell him you’re pregnant with Saks’ child.”
She stared at her sister, her head aching too much to shake it at her. “That’ll get Saks killed for sure. Mama was beside herself when she found out I spent the night with Saks. A pregnancy would send all of them over the edge.”
“Mama knows you spent the night with Saks? Who told her?”
“I did.”
“Are you nuts? She’ll be making appointments for the gynecologist for both of us.”
“Relax. It was a night in the hospital. Remember? His car hood smacked him in the head after your boyfriend tried to beat him up.”
“Yeah. But, fuck, Chrissy.”
“I can’t help you, Gloria. I tried. But Grandpa won’t allow Saks to become part of the family now. You’ll have figure out another way to get Marcus to marry you.”
“Well, I’m not going to give up. I’ll talk to Grandpa myself.”
“Good luck.” Chrissy turned and headed into the bathroom. She showered and when she returned to her room, Gloria had left. If her little sister wanted to go on a fool’s errand, who was Chrissy to stop her? She had her own life to pull out of the fire. And this is what occupied her mind as she drove to the train station, and all the way into New York on the train. She still worked for Drummond Walker. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure a way out other than to find a new job. Charles wasn’t going to help her if she didn’t take the job with James Pearson.
“Oh crap, Chrissy,” her assistant Jessica said. “I thought you were lying when you said you were sick. But you look like death warmed over.”
“Thanks for the editorial. Where are my messages?”
“Here,” said Jessica, handing her a wad of pink message notes. “Most of them are from Charles. Don’t you return his calls?”
“No,” said Chrissy. “I spoke to him yesterday. Once is enough.”
“Wow, for a guy who’s getting you a million-dollar position, you sure treat him badly.”
“I keep telling him I don’t want that job.”
“You’re awfully picky. How often does a seven-figure job land in your lap?”
“None of your business,” said Chrissy crankily. “And it’s not seven figures. It’s six.”
Chrissy had clearly spoken too sharply, and alarmed poor Jessica. “Okay, boss. I’ll pull back. You’re obviously not well.”
“Obviously,” said Chrissy as she headed into her office.
But no sooner did she sit at her chair than her phone rang.
“Chrissy, Richard wants to see you in his office.”
Chrissy cursed under her breath.
“Okay. Were there any explosions yesterday I should know about?”
“No. Though Miss Cronut was exceptionally quiet yesterday.”
Chrissy tried not to interpret this as the bad sign this appeared to be. “Okay, send my portfolio to my Dropbox.”