“As you all know,” Mr. Navarro says, pacing the room and patting his salt and pepper hair, “we have only weeks left until the Ravenhill Charity Gala Dinner. Tate & Cane is sponsoring this worthy event in a dual show of support for the children in our community as well as Gloria, our esteemed board member.”
I sneak a glance at Gloria, her bleach blonde hair swept up into some twist and tucked with a clip at the nape of her neck. She catches me staring and attempts a coy smile. Honestly, it creeps me out. Part of me is waiting for her to unhinge her jaw and slither across the table to swallow me whole.
“Now, while most of you will be participating in the event in a working role, we still expect you to attend in formal attire and socialize with our guests. We always want to put our best face forward here at Tate & Cane, so keep the alcohol at a minimum, and please, no fraternizing with other employees. Are we clear this time, Vincent Tribiotti?”
Snickers ripple around the table as Vince shoots him a wounded look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Navarro. I’m a perfect angel at these things.”
The old man gives Vince a pinched smile as if he’s trying to rein in any further comments. “Yes, well, if there are no more questions, we’ll reconvene later in the week to begin final preparations. The gala is in four weeks, people, and it’s going to be the talk of the town. Don’t let me down on this.” With a rap of his knuckles on the desk, he ends the meeting and heads out the door.
Vince Tribiotti could dive into a river of shite and come out smelling like a feckin’ rose. That’s just the type of guy he is. Not that either of us are saints. With the trouble that Vince and I have gotten into over the years, no one could ever accuse me of being a choir boy, but I mostly blame Vince for the shite hole I’m currently swimming in. He had the bright idea to initially get me hooked up with Gloria.
No, not inthatway. Remember the donut? I’d prefer not to see it again, thanks.
Here’s how I became a lost insect in the black widow’s tangled web. Nobody warned me about that whole “plan from their birth” shite. When the time came for my daughter, Sophie, to go to school, I thought I could pick where I wanted her to go to school and make it happen because I’m not a complete dick.
Vince. My buddy Vince. The one guy I trust in this office set me up to be fucked, and not even in the good way that kept my dick out of my own hand. For some reason, he has the goods on most everyone in the building. If you want to know the dirt on anyone, you go to Vince. He can tell you who’s sleeping with who, in what janitor’s closet, on what day. He’s worse than a woman with new gossip.
Anyway, he’d found out that Gloria got around in more ways than one. In addition to being a Tate & Cane board member, she also sat on the board of trustees at Ravenhill Private School—the most prestigious primary school in Manhattan. They wouldn’t even return my phone calls when I’d tried to get Sophie an interview. I’m a hard-arse by nature, but I’d do anything for my kid. After bitching to Vince over a few beers one night, the next thing I know, Vince had a long chat with Gloria, and with one phone call from her, Sophie had bypassed the interview and was placed directly in the school.
The power that woman possesses freaks me out, I’m not going to lie.
Had I known then what I know now, I would’ve never blindly jumped into her web. There’s an old Irish proverb that says,the future is not set, there is no fate but what we make for ourselves.Loosely translated, it means if you’re going to shite the bed, you still have to lie in it.
Of course, I may be paraphrasing.
So, here I am, lying in my own shite bed, and the bitch has me trapped. Now she’s watching me from the sidelines, biding her time until she can crawl over on her eight legs and devour me like the black widow she really is. I should’ve known then it would come back and bite me in the arse.
“I’m just saying,” Vince reiterates, taking one last bite as he closes the clasp on his briefcase and drags it off the table. “You haven’t gotten laid in a while. Gloria’s no spring chicken, but there’s something to be said for the age and experience of a hen who’s been around a block fifty or sixty times.” Slapping a hand on my back, he tucks the pastry into one corner of his cheek and grins. “Think about it, Niall. She won’t leave you alone until you pay her back. Might as well get it over with.”
He’s out the door and down the hall before I can think of a sufficient comeback, leaving me alone with the one woman no man should ever be left alone with, unless he’s wearing a cup.
Or five.
Gloria trails her fingers along the outer edge of the conference table with one hand, wiping the lipstick from the corner of her mouth with the other. She’s wearing a tailored black business suit with a red blouse underneath, making her look even more like her arachnid namesake. I have no idea what I’m in for, but by the hungry look on her face, it’s nothing good.
“How is Sophie doing in school?” she asks, invading my personal space. The question sounds innocent enough, but I’ve been around Gloria enough to know that every word out of her mouth is backed by an agenda. Besides, with my track record, I don’t trust any woman as far as I can throw them.
“Grand,” I answer, feeling my jaw clench as she closes the distance between us. “Cheers for the recommendation. She loves her teachers, her friends—”
“I just love helping children,” she purrs, cutting me off mid-sentence.
Helping them, or baking them in the oven?
I have trust issues in general, but with Gloria, the minute she mentions my eight-year-old daughter’s name, warning bells go off in my head. The more I’m alone with her, the more I sense that Vince is right, and I’m about three seconds away from losing my shite and landing in the unemployment line. It’s not that Gloria’s a troll; she’s decent looking for an older woman, and if I’d met her in a bar and was desperate and drunk enough, I might even consider letting her get me off. At the end of the day, I’m still a guy. But I have a strict policy of not shitting where I sleep. Nothing good can come out of mixing sex and work. Especially with a crazy bitch like her.
She sits on the conference table and crosses her long, toned legs. “So, the gala is getting closer. There’s so much to do before it gets here. I’m so humbled to be the guest of honor.” Pressing her hand against her chest, she feigns shock, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. There’s a moment or two of silence between us before she leans back on her palms and appraises me. “You don’t have to thank me for this opportunity, Niall.”
I cock an eyebrow, irritation at being held hostage for a full five minutes now starting to overtake my forced good nature. “Thank you?”
“For my arranging for you to be the official photographer for the social event of the year. I know you haven’t had a chance to thank me, but that’s okay, I have a way you can make it up to me as well as for getting Sophie into Ravenhill.”
“Make it up to you? I was thinking a fruit basket would do the trick, to be honest, ma’am.”
“It’s Gloria,” she corrects with a coy smile. “I’m not a woman who’s afraid to demand what she wants, Niall. When I do favors for someone, I expect favors in return. Sometimes those favors benefit me professionally, sometimes they’re of a more personal nature.”
Shite. And here’s where I lose my job.
“Personal nature?”
