Page 8 of Pure Abandon

“Uh, yeah. Did you expect me not to?”

“Well, kind of.” I’m too embarrassed to say I don’t know who he is.

“The Asher family is synonymous with grandiosity, consumption, and gluttony. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m doing some tax litigation for them down the road.”

Just what I need, to be out of a job as soon as I found a new one. “Doesn’t matter. I have a meeting with the man on Friday, but other than that, he doesn’t bother with the company.” I turn my attention back to the TV. Why can’t all men be as debonair as Cary Grant?

“It sounds very exciting.” Gabriel rubs his hands over his eyes. “More so than what I have going on. I have miles of paperwork to go over. Tax fraud. Why would anyone commit it? I’ll never understand.” When his eyes are thoroughly rubbed, he lifts the iPad off his lap and goes back to reading.

The frustration in his voice, mixed with despair, causes me to look over at him. The poor guy works too hard. “You don’t sound too sure about this one.”

“This guy is paying a lot of money to stay out of prison. I’ll get a good deal, but it’s going to take a lot of work.” Gabriel looks up at me with his cobalt eyes. “Kat, you have to see what this guy wrote off. He owes the government three million dollars in back taxes.”

I nearly choke on my words. “Three million!”

“This case is going to be the death of me. And he recently bought into some lucrative businesses, so if he goes down, a lot of people will lose their jobs.” Gabriel runs his fingers through his dark hair. “I’ll be working some late hours in the weeks ahead. I hope Jack won’t suffer because if it.” He looks concerned, his eyes tired.

“Are you okay?” Placing my hand over his, I rub my thumb over his knuckles.

Lifting my hand to his lips, he brushes a kiss over my knuckles. “Yes. Thank you.” Gabriel puts the iPad back on the nightstand. He lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head lightly. “Do you remember when all we wanted was to move to the Caribbean and sail for the rest of our lives?”

“It seemed like a brilliant idea.” My voice is slightly low pitched with a tone of sarcasm.

The sight of Gabriel with a dark tan, no shirt, and a carefree smile made me weak in the knees when we first met. He still looks great underneath his business suits, but that life we dreamt of wasn’t practical.

Gabriel opens his mouth to say something but retracts and nods his head in agreement. “We may have been young and dumb, but we certainly had it all figured out,” he says, turning off the lamp on his side of the bed and rolling away from me. “Good night.”

“Good night.” I sigh as I relax into our comfortable bed. Tonight, it’s just me and An Affair to Remember.

I spend my first few days getting settled into my new position and working with Heather to plan an event at David Geffen Hall. Every year, as a kid, I would go to Lincoln Center with my mom. It was our only common interest. I love the arts and so does she. She would get us both dressed to the nines and we’d see the ballet or a concert. I know the venue fairly well. Back then it was called Avery Fisher Hall. After a sizeable donation from the famed entertainment mogul, David Geffen, the building was renamed. I like to think of it as injecting Hollywood glamour into the New York classical scene. That is my inspiration for the event. Once Erik said we were having an event there, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

I walk my files into Heather’s office. Since we’re both producers on the project, we have to collaborate on everything. While my office is stark white, void of a personality, Heather’s is decorated in plum and aqua accents. It’s an interesting combination that looks pretty cool, although I’d never tell her that. Her office is the same size as mine, but her walls are painted a deep mauve with white shelving behind her desk displaying pictures of herself with what seems to be every celebrity she’s ever met.

On the wall to the right is her glass desk and black Herman Miller chair, the same as mine, but her accent chair opposite her desk is aqua blue with a white-and-purple pillow. Her desk is cluttered with a purple vase of blue faux flowers, a penholder in the shape of a zebra, date planners, files, purple Post-Its, and a very impressive Emmy positioned so you have no choice but to see it as soon as you walk into the door.

Her windows are covered with floor-to-ceiling curtains of coordinating colors, and the left wall upon entering is filled with mirrors in ornate frames of various sizes and shapes.

Aside from telling me to enter, Heather doesn’t acknowledge my presence when I take a seat, lay my files on my lap, and open them, ready to start our meeting.

She’s wearing a pale-pink tube dress with a navy bolero. Her hair is in a high ponytail, showcasing giant gold hoop earrings. She takes her time typing out an email as I sit patiently and wait.

“Okay, let’s hear it,” she spits out, her eyes still on the computer screen as she types.

I blink a few times. Is she talking to me? “Hear what?”

“Your ideas. Go.” Her voice is clipped.

I take a deep breath and remind myself what Malory told me. She thinks I’m here to take her job. I’ll just be friendly and let her know I’m not a threat.

Opening my file, I look down at my notes and start. My voice is slightly unsteady, as it’s difficult to talk to someone who is looking in another direction. “Since we don’t know who the performers are, I thought we could get started on the aesthetics of the event. The red carpet will be filmed for web distribution. And we’ll have reporters there to photograph the arrivals, so we should set the tone right there.”

I look up and see Heather is still focused on her computer screen. She is no longer writing an email, but is now looking at shoes on the Bergdorf Goodman website.

I continue. “I want to go glam. This is a charity event, but it’s a premiere charity event. Let’s have a black carpet. A red carpet is very Hollywood movie premier. A black carpet will—”

“Look disgusting,” Heather quips, finally turning to face me. “It’s a children’s charity telethon, not a Goth horror show.” She turns her attention back to her computer. “Next.”

I look back at my notes. “I was thinking of lining the walkways with dahlias for—”