* * *
The lightness faded from Elena the moment her car pulled away, leaving Madeleine behind. She had thought this would be easier than it was. What were they now? Former associates? Almost friends?
Elena didn’t have many friends. Perry, yes. He was one. But trust didn’t come easily to her. And Madeleine had dared her to trust her. She could see the look in Madeleine’s eyes, even now. It was a look that said Maddie wanted more. She wanted to be let in. How much more, Elena couldn’t be sure.
At times, like the day before the truth bet, she thought she knew. She thought she’d seen longing. It had been too tempting to find out if she’d been right. Too tempting to find out what Madeleine was thinking, given the young woman no longer shared her thoughts with her.
But that had all gone to hell. Everything since then had robbed her clarity of thought. Thanks to the Richard mess, it would likely be gone for some time. She tightened her coat around her, surprised Sydney could get this frigid. The ache in her chest this morning had to be just the cold.
“Is your assistant not coming with us?” her regular Sydney driver asked, glancing at Madeleine as they drove past her.
Elena tried to come up with a cool, sarcastic reply, but her head still hurt from the stress and adrenaline of the previous day. This driver had seen her with Madeleine every day for months. It was a reasonable question at any other time. But not today.
“Madeleine is no longer in my employ,” she said testily. “She has moved on.”
Elena turned to stare out the window, his question vexing her far more than it should. Madeleine was, indeed, no longer in her world at all. A handful of events ahead of them, and that would be that. No more.
The ache intensified. Elena briefly wondered whether she should check in with her doctor. This couldn’t possibly be a normal reaction to losing one’s assistant.
She’s not just an assistant, though, is she?
Friend, then. Like it or not, fight it all she might, Madeleine had been a friend to her at times.
A friend?
Elena pushed away her irritating inner voice. She was one of the most formidable media moguls in the world. She did not have time for derailing thoughts like this.
“Can we go any faster?” she growled at the driver.
“Not without breaking a few traffic laws, ma’am.”
“Then break them. I want to be far from here as soon as possible.”
Far from the memory of Madeleine walking away.
“Sure thing. Oh and it’s a shame about losing your assistant. She was about the nicest person you could ever meet. Don’t think she contained an ounce of bullshit, if you’ll pardon my French.”
“Just drive.” Elena closed her eyes.
CHAPTER 23
Fifteen Minutes of Fame
Maddie had always assumed the day she’d dreamt of as a little girl would dawn resplendent with sunshine, fluffy clouds, and an awesome inner soundtrack of angelic harp music. Instead, the moment after waking to the knowledge her world exclusive would be on the newsstands today, her thudding head made itself known.
She leaned over to check the time on her phone and discovered a missed call from Natalii. It had been left at five in the morning. Her stomach lurched.
Who calls at five unless they hate something?
Maddie sat up and called voicemail to hear the message Natalii had left.
“Madeleine! Maman is delighted by your story. And I also. But especially her. She says ‘Vous nous avez fait justice. Un triomphe’. Now then, today it is her big parade. At the Australian Fashion Week? You will join us, oui? Come backstage. She insists. You must not refuse! Oui? Oui! She has it all arranged. I have emailed all that you need to find us. Au revoir!”
Maddie grinned. Well, it sounded as if Véronique thought she’d “done her justice”. And calling her story a triumph was an awesome start to the day. Her knotted stomach loosened a little, and she gave it a consoling pat. She rose, began her morning routine, and made breakfast.
When she returned to her bedroom an hour later, she found her phone now full of missed calls and texts. Maddie listened to them in astonishment. Fashion Police wanted to interview her about Australian Fashion Week. What did Maddie know about fashion? What a joke. E! Online left a breathless message as well, overusing the words incredible, awesome, and “Oh. My. God”. The editor of Elle wanted to “seriously discuss” her future. Vogue, CQ, and Vanity Fair wanted her to call back at her earliest convenience. CNN wanted to talk about Véronique outside the designer’s show in a live cross.
Um, live cross? Over Maddie’s dead body. She’d probably stutter, blush, and forget her own name. How had any of the media even obtained her phone number? Was Felicity wreaking some divine revenge by handing it out to everyone? At that thought, she punched in the chief of staff’s number.
“Ugh. You!” Maddie heard, by way of greeting.
“Hello, Felicity.”
“What do you want? My life is utter, eyeball-bleeding chaos thanks to you! Again! That article appears, and now every two-bit blogger with a fashion bent thinks I can be buttered up to give them your details!”
“Uh, about that—I have a whole bunch of people who got my number. I was wondering if maybe…”
“What?” came the waspish reply.
“Um, maybe it’s revenge for having to walk Oscar for an hour in a gale or whatever…”
An irate hiss sounded in her ear.
“You don’t honestly think I walked that ridiculous excuse of a dog for an hour? That would be cruel and unusual punishment. For us both! I found a nice, warm cafe with a covered area for dogs and gave him a doggucino and caught up on my emails over a coffee. Are you completely deranged?”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Besides, if I wanted revenge, there are other, far more diabolical ways. Like, if you think the media having your phone number is terrible, imagine them camped out at your front door.”
