Bloody hell! “Weekends are my own.”
“I alerted Ethan, as well. He’s keen on the idea.”
“Julian! Why this meddling in my marriage?”
“A few spa days to rejuvenate?” He scoffed; I fumed. “More than spa days. Since you’ve brought up Ethan, perhaps you’ll explain why my housekeeper’s Las Vegas room number is on Paul Jacoby’s business card? When I mentioned this Jacoby issue in Zurich, I assumed that number was Ethan’s room.” I explained the faxed sports sheets. “Now I learn you own the California baseball scout’s company and besides setting up Ethan in Las Vegas, it’s obvious somehow, some way, you’re behind Misha’s concert tickets.”
“This must wait.”
“No, this must be explained now or I walk.”
“Hysteria’s not necessary.” I stood. He followed. “Emma, I admire Ethan. I enjoy his company and recognise his abilities. He captivated you, the biggest achievement of his life. I admit I crossed the line, but I recognise your frustration and the constraints of your crumbling marriage. Your talents are diminished, perhaps wasted, on a man like Ethan. If you’ve a mind to discuss it, the three of us can chat tonight.”
“Your manipulations—” I chose my words. “—disappoint me. Even more serious, they’re distractions. I have an obligation to my staff, to Mayfair, to you, Julian. I need today and tomorrow free of anything but business at hand. I’ll see you in the lobby as planned, but it’s best if I leave now.”
Once back in my suite, I punched out Ethan’s number which, per usual, went to voicemail. I let it kick in. “Ethan, don’t come to the concert tonight. It’s what you wanted anyway. Stay away. Julian’s manipulating you. Us. He admitted he owns Jacoby and somehow Misha. You’ve got to believe me. Tonight in the concert box is my only chance to get the facts out of him. He’s got you by the balls! I’m with the bastard for the rest of the day so don’t call me back. I’ll make excuses. Stay home. Promise me. It’s my only time alone with him, my only chance to get the truth. I’ll call you after the concert.”
In the Town Car an hour later, as the Petrenko security detail drove along Fifty-first Street and around the corner onto Fifth Avenue, I morphed into Miss Congeniality. Julian and I reviewed his press conference talking points while inching through NYPD crowd control, NYPD barriers as far back as Rockefeller Plaza, paparazzi as far back as the barriers, swirling helicopters, and hordes of school-skipping teenagers. Across the avenue mid-day parishioners dodged UK-C fans filling the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral for a glimpse of their heroes. UK Connection, Mesmerise and Mayfair had indeed arrived.
Julian cupped my elbow as we entered the high-rise. “The screaming!”
“Imagine the pitch when the boys arrived.”
Five flights up we entered loft space fit for an album release listening party. As promised, Dustin’s design had everyone where they needed to be. I greeted him, Axel, Taylor, and their music industry bigwigs, then waved at Thomas. The band members entered, all smiles and positive vibes. Julian propped himself on a stool, as relaxed and charismatic as the boys.
Once again the five were prepared, witty, and sincere. “I speak for me mates,” Ennis said. “We put our hearts into creating Mesmerise for our fans. We hope they love it.”
This time Jasper leaned in. “We know they will.”
Perfection reined despite my internal chaos. As the event shifted to the press rotations, Julian’s security detail wedged us out through the external chaos. On the street bogus reporters shouted their bogus publication credentials and fans yelled over each other, all for inside scoop. We pressed into the car. It would have been quicker to jog back to the hotel.
I changed into my private-box-concert-appropriate cashmere sweater over designer jeans, while obsessively checking my phone. Ethan’s silence relieved me. I reminded myself, as irritating and frustrating as his phone habits were, he’d never missed a message.
Jennifer was due to meet the board members in the lobby but I needed a confidante. I thought twice, and tapped out her number. The minute she answered I laid out a condensed version of the Ethan situation, Julian’s surveillance of us, and my opportunity to dig for information alone with him in the VIP box. “I need facts, facts, facts.”
“What the hell is he up to? I probably should tell you he’s planning to surprise you this afternoon with plans—”
“To whisk me away to some damned Swiss spa. He told me. I need to talk it out here Friday night before he flies out, not hop his plane and have him blindside me halfway across the planet.”
Twenty minutes later I hit the lobby where Julian waved me over to arriving board members and poker-faced Jennifer, their guide for the whole evening. I fabricated an Ethan student emergency that would keep him in New Jersey. From there I hustled Julian out the back door via hotel security for the wild ride down Park, along Twenty-seventh, up Sixth, over Thirty-third and down Seventh Avenue to the Garden. The pandemonium of gathered spectators, arriving fans and VIP ticket holders filled my ears. Once inside the Meet and Greet area I hugged each of the boys. As I explained about Ethan, guilt, laced with emotions too complicated to name, had me swiping at tears.
“Blimey, Mrs Baseball!” Sean patted my shoulder. “He’ll miss our genius tonight but you tell him we’ll trade tickets to one of his games for another concert.”
We took advantage of the photo ops and once the event wound down, Julian and I left for the corporate box. Even with security credentials around my neck, we moved at a crawl and arrived to my team schmoozing with our esteemed buyers, press core and board members over drinks and finger food.
Jennifer and I double checked the after-party guest list and floor seat assignments and I leaned in. “I’ll be civil but short with Julian. He has a shitload to answer for and I need to make clear what I want, what needs discussion. I need about thirty minutes, hopefully before the boys are on. If the concert blasts any of our VIPs out of their comfort zones, then they’re welcome to move up here with him.” She handed me two extra tickets, “I’ll use these and sit-down front.”
When the schmoozing wound down and the assembled group left for their seats, I joined Julian at the Plexiglas box front partition and watched fans fill one hundred and eighty degrees of seats. “Prime viewing. No better way for your investors to experience their first American rock concert,” I said. “They know they can move up here if it’s too hard on their eardrums. Either way, it’s been perfection so far. They’ll be primed for tomorrow morning.”
“Spot on, per usual. Now’s the time to enjoy yourself. I’ve you favourite merlot right here.”
We stayed at the edge of box watching bright beams of light bounce off thousands screaming their approval before anything even started. Had I ever been that girl in the throes of innocence, transported by music with my whole life ahead of me?
Julian filled out glasses. “It’s been a long week. I realise to your way of thinking I’ve a bit to apologise for but everything’s in order.”
I let that hang for a moment. “Far from everything. We’ll enjoy the concert but tomorrow night I expect honesty. I’m sorry Ethan’s not here but it’s a chance to clear the air. Too many clouds hang over events, Julian. Too many actions affect my private life and my professional ability.”
“You’re not to think my Windmill decision’s had anything to do with your competence. Contrary to Amanda’s source, I only bought controlling interest of fifty-two percent. McDaniel keeps the remaining forty-eight. We’ve signed an extensive confidentiality clause regarding my status as silent partner. No public knowledge regarding my involvement.”
“Except for his wife’s Pilates partners.”
“Mrs McDaniel understands she was mistaken and the deal did not go through. She’ll explain as much to Amanda and you’ll confirm.” He paused, clearly letting the implication sink in.
“Why silent partner? You’re done with Kinetic; do you need a new dumping ground? Is Imperial dealing in noncompliant ingredients? Counterfeiting?”
“Emma, you’re a brilliant woman who knows my modus operandi. Pragmatic decisions require study and consideration.”
“Such as deliberate materials shortages to hike prices? I want to believe Windmill’s overstated financials are only tweaks to interest investors, but this rabbit hole’s too deep for preconcert discussion. Tomorrow night you’ll need to convince me with stats.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” he said. “I’ve been watching you for some time.” His smile oozed satisfaction.
“That needs explanation.”
“1998, within months of Kinetic contracting with Imperial as a supplier, Carmine Isgro sought me ought personally. He’d taken a bit of a shine to me. I encouraged it. Quite the bloke. He made clear he was serious about the fragrance industry and in line to inherit his uncle’s business. The sooner the better, as far as he was concerned. I naturally considered Imperial’s # potential with him.”
“Schmoozing.”
“Bloody hell. Thinking it harmless, I put up with his Yank braggadocio. I undercut my management’s advice and made foolish decisions providing our oils. Found myself with contracts set in stone. I badly underestimated the bastard’s cunning. He resorted to veiled threats regarding my involvement in schemes far wider than I’d imagined.”
