Dirty Diana by January James

Chapter Twelve

“Arrogant, British bastard,” Sheridan spat as we remained seated and stunned, along with everyone else. “No offense, honey.”

“None taken,” I replied, my voice a mere squeak.

“The nerve of the guy. Just walking in here with no compassion whatsoever for the fact he’s just turned everyone’s world upside down.”

I nodded and listened to Sheridan, afraid to open my mouth.

“That’s why they didn’t mention his name before the meeting,” another director piped up. I recognized him as one of the distribution heads—someone responsible for ensuring our acts’ CDs were available in all major record stores. I figured his job would be obsolete if Garrett’s vision was realized. “He’s notorious.”

My ears pricked up. “Notorious for what?” I asked.

“Tearing companies apart and selling off the pieces. Peyton-Harris is famous for it.”

Another director piped up. “I knew I recognized the name. Didn’t he do the same to Silver Star, the film studio out in LA?”

I remembered Jude’s reference to Gerard Butler. It was all making horrible sense.

“Reduced the whole business to one department. They outsource everything now; they control the services, they’ve driven down prices everywhere.”

“Do they still make money?”

“Tons.”

“Damn,” Sheridan interjected. “We’re screwed, right? All of us?”

Tristan leaned across. “Not quite all of us…” He looked pointedly at me and Geoff. “Our subsidiaries will go outright; I’d bet my life on it. We specialize in alternative music, not mainstream. And that, unfortunately, seems to be the way the industry is heading. The rest of the business will be trimmed down.”

“Fuck,” Sheridan collapsed against the back of her chair. I didn’t know what she was angsty about. She was probably safe in her role as a valued consultant to the rest of the business. I was gone, there was no doubt about it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it was at the hands of some faceless or dickless suit that I wouldn’t be able to call out in a line-up. As my shitty awful luck would have it, it was at the hands of a man I had fallen completely in lust with.

Stupid as it sounded, in the seven hours since I’d left the room in House Four, I’d imagined myself marrying the guy, bearing his children, moving to the suburbs and having lots and lots of no-holds-barred sex. He’d told me he was leaving the club board for me. What would happen now? Would he still leave? Or would he think there was no longer any point?

It would be highly unethical—impossible—for him to continue a relationship with me now. It wouldn’t just be a matter for the Decadence Club board; it would be a matter for the shareholders and the legal entities that represented them and us. The only way it could happen was if I left of my own accord. And I couldn’t.

I had no place else to go.

I followed Sheridan out of the boardroom.

“Is a martini out of the question?” She asked, a note of hope in her voice.

“I can’t,” I sighed. “I need to be around—and sober—for when this announcement lands.”

“Of course,” she nodded. “Are you ok? You’ve been really quiet about the whole thing.”

I couldn’t help it. My feet stopped moving and a sob escaped my mouth before I had a chance to eclipse it with my hand.

“Shit, Di…” Sheridan said, putting her arm around me. “Come on. My office.”

She led me down a fire escape stairwell, to the floor below. From this direction, the first door we reached was the one to her office. She bundled me inside and sat me down on the sofa. After handing me a fresh glass of water, she sat and pulled me into her shoulder. I heaved out uncontrollable tears, soaking her jacket within minutes.

“Jeez, honey, you poor thing. We’ll get through it, ok? We’ll get through it together,” she stroked my hair and I buried my face into her. I didn’t dare lift my head; I knew I’d have to tell her the truth.

“Here,” she said, handing me a tissue. I blew my nose and dabbed at my eyes, knowing they were a lost cause and black mascara had probably already streaked its way down my cheeks. I sank my head into my hands.

“Oh, God, Sheridan.”

“It’s ok, we’ll get through it,” she repeated.

“It isn’t that,” I mumbled through my fingers.

“What do you mean?” Sheridan rubbed my back lightly as though I was holding my head over a toilet bowl, about to vomit. I didn’t think I was far away from that, to be honest.

“Jude is… him,” I said, quietly. “He’s the guy.”

“What guy?” She asked, perplexed.

“The guy I’ve been seeing,” I breathed out in a long sigh.

“What?” She pulled me up by the shoulders and made me face her. My pained expression must have said everything because she suddenly looked mortified. “That’s him? And you didn’t know?”

I shook my head. “I had no idea. I didn’t even know what his name was until he announced it.”

Sheridan screwed up her eyes. “I’m not following…”

“Ok,” I said, taking another deep breath. “I’m going to tell you something but it has to go no further. Do you understand? If things weren’t already bad enough, if this gets out, I don’t know what will happen—to me or him.”

Sheridan nodded, warily, and I told her. I told her everything. From my unpleasant first introduction to Sienna, to the moment I met Jude, to our first ‘encounter’, to our second ‘illegal date’, to his decision to leave the club. She listened intently, absorbing every word and it wasn’t until I finished that she released a hiss of air between her teeth.

“That complicates things,” she said, quietly.

“No shit,” was my response.

“I’m guessing you can’t talk to him, ask him to go a bit easy on you?”

I shook my head. “You know as well as I do it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Well, you have to speak to him. Today. You need to know what’s going on in his head. I’m guessing he didn’t know you worked here, right?”

“He couldn’t have,” I said, exploring every facet of my brain for any recollection that might suggest otherwise. I’d signed up to the club with a personal email address, personal cell number, personal credit card. They could have looked into my social security if they’d really wanted to, but I got the impression they were too intent on sucking me in and retaining a new member than being overly anal about my details.

“Call Magda now. She must be managing his schedule. Get an appointment with him asap.” She held out her cell for me. “Do it, Di. You can’t go home at the end of the day without having spoken to him.”

She was right. I did as she instructed.

“Hold on, Diana,” Magda said. “I only just set up his planner. Let me check with him.”

I waited while she put me on hold. While she spoke to the man who’d only hours ago declared he was going to leave a prestigious, probably lucrative, role so he could be with me, to ask if he’d spare me five minutes.

“He’s tied up today, Diana. Are you around later this week?”

The volume was up on Sheridan’s cell and she could hear every word. Her face contorted into personified shock and she shook her head vigorously.

“I’m afraid not, Magda. I need to see him today.” I racked my brains for a plausible excuse; an excuse he would not be able to refuse. “I have reason to believe there might be a conflict of interest in his appointment and I’d like to discuss it with him.”

The phone went quiet again and Sheridan held two thumbs up at me.

“He’ll see you at six,” Magda confirmed. “Prompt.”

“Thanks Magda,” I smiled down the phone before hanging up.

“Nice…” Sheridan grinned. “Giving you five minutes to talk about what the fuck is going on is the least he can do.”

“I know,” I agreed, then the realization I was going to get my one-on-one hit me. “I need to fix my face.”

“Don’t you worry about that, my darling. I have half the Sephora store right here in my desk,” Sheridan smiled. “I am going to repair your face, and some. That asshole will regret ever setting foot on these premises when he sees you. Mark my words.”

With that, she enveloped me in her arms one more time, then stalked around to her desk to unleash her weapons.