Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) Page 18

  “And I take it the news wasn’t good?” I scrunched my nose up, a physical reaction to what I already knew I didn’t want to hear. “No,” Cassie sighed, “it wasn’t.”

  “DuBois isn’t meeting with us,” Clinton said, putting my worst fears into words.

  Cassie shook her head. “Apparently, he changed his mind.”

  “But Monica said that he’d agreed to a meeting,” I said, as if that made it irrevocable.

  “Yes, but it was only a tentative agreement. And we already knew DuBois was gun-shy when it came to public outings.”

  “So it’s over?” I asked, still trying to wrap my mind around the idea. “It can’t be. Surely there’s something we can do?”

  “Not a thing. Monica was quite clear on the fact. There will be no meeting with DuBois. At least not for us.”

  “Did she say why he changed his mind?” Clinton asked.

  “No. She gave no reason at all. In fact, the call was fairly brief. I got the idea that she just wanted to get it over with.”

  “Probably embarrassed to have led us on,” Clinton groused.

  “Well, anyway, that’s why I called Jeri. I thought maybe she could get to the bottom of what really happened.”

  “And?” I prompted.

  “At first she said she couldn’t help. Not her account. You know the drill. But after I emphasized how important this was to all of us and explained what was at stake, she said she’d do a little snooping.”

  “So she was reporting back just now.”

  “Exactly.” Cassie nodded. “But you’re not going to like what she found out.”

  “I don’t see how it can get much worse,” Clinton said. “I mean, with DuBois out that means our chances at prime time just sank to zero.”

  “Not to mention our credibility with the big brass.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Cassie said. “I’ll smooth things over. The show’s ratings are solid. They’re not going to drop us."

  "But they’re not likely to give us another shot at prime time, either.”

  “No. Not after this.”

  “So what happened?” I asked. “Why did DuBois change his mind?”

  “According to Jeri, it was mandated,” Cassie said, running a hand through her hair.

  “By whom?” Clinton frowned.

  “An investor. A major one, apparently.”

  “And someone DuBois listens to,” Clinton said. “Did she know why they put the kibosh on the interview?”

  “No. Apparently, it was all very hush-hush. Closed-door meeting. That kind of thing. But the long and short of it was that the investor made it clear that if DuBois didn’t pull the plug on the interview, they’d pull the plug on DuBois.”

  “But that’s blackmail,” I protested.

  “No,” Cassie said on a sigh. “It’s just business. And unfortunately, it didn’t fall our way.”

  “So who was it that screwed us over?” I asked, fuming. “I want to know who the bastard is.”

  “No, actually, you don’t,” Cassie said, shaking her head.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded, anger making my face hot. “Of course I want to know. And if possible make sure they pay for what they’ve done.”

  “Andi,” Clinton reached over to cover his hand with mine, “nothing’s ever accomplished in anger.”

  “The hell it isn’t. Who is it, Cassie? I want to know now.”

  Cassie blew out a long breath. “God, I hate being the one to have to say this. But I don’t see any way around it. If I don’t tell you, someone else will.”

  “So just tell me,” I said, my stomach twisting into a tight knot of dread.

  “It was Ethan’s company, Andi,” Cassie said, her voice leaden. “Mathias Industries forced DuBois to turn us down.”

  Chapter 17

  “Oh my God,” I gasped, feeling as if someone had slammed me in the solar plexus. “It can’t be true. There’s got to be some kind of mistake. Are you certain?”

  Cassie nodded, looking as miserable as I felt. “Jeri said she had proof.”

  “Look, Andi,” Clinton said, taking my hand, “just because it’s Ethan’s family’s company doesn’t mean it’s Ethan.”

  I jerked my hand away and walked over to the window, my mind reeling as my stomach roiled. “It’s him. It has to be. He’s taken over for his father as his grandfather’s right-hand man. How could he not know?”

  “But why would he want to hurt you?” Clinton shook his head, clearly as floored as I was.

  “I think I can answer that,” Cassie said. “Mathias Industries is also a major investor in Applause.” Applause was a rival television network. Their niche, as it were, covered high-end entertainment. Theater, opera, dance…and high-end restaurants. “Based on what Jeri told me, it looks like when Ethan heard about Andi’s plans, he realized what a gold mine the opportunity was.”

  “And decided to capitalize on it.” Clinton nodded.

  “So you’re saying that he stole my idea.”

  “It makes sense,” Clinton said. “He probably figured Andi wouldn’t land the interview anyway. What with DuBois being so publicity shy. But then we managed to pull it off. Or at least get a very solid foot in the door.”

  “And so he had no choice but to kill it.” I fought against my rioting emotions, trying to find sense where there probably was none.

  “Unfortunately, I think it’s the most likely scenario.” Cassie sighed. “I’m sorry, Andi. But I have to call it like I see it.”

  “Of course you do,” I said, as I struggled to breathe. The implications were unavoidable. Ethan had played me. Taken my trust and turned it to his advantage. “It’s all just business. Right?” I could hear Ethan’s words echoing in my head. “That’s exactly what he said. I thought we were talking about some other business deal. But maybe it was his way of warning me. Of putting me on notice. He even suggested we ought to have a backup plan. At Althea’s.” I choked back tears. “God, I thought he was just being nice.”

  “Maybe he was,” Cassie suggested, her tone indicating that she didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Yeah right. And Althea’s going to give up matchmaking and join a knitting club,” I said, anger thankfully overcoming my tears. “Nice would have meant being honest. Telling me that he was going to steal Philip DuBois and maneuver his company so that they came out the winner. Oh, but wait,” I said, lifting a hand, “there isn’t a way to turn something so devious into anything even remotely resembling civilized, is there? I mean, when would he have brought it up? When he was charming my friends? When he was sleeping in my bed?”

  “Andi,” Clinton began, only to have me motion him silent.

  “No. This isn’t business. This is personal. It’s my show we’re talking about. Our show. And he sabotaged it. For his own gain. There is nothing businesslike about that. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to take it lying down.” The irony of the last bit hurt more than I could ever begin to put words to.

  “But there’s nothing you can do,” Cassie said, ever the voice of reason. “The damage is done. At least as far as we’re concerned, DuBois is off the table.”

  “We could tell him what happened,” Clinton said, his eyes narrowed as he considered the idea. “If nothing else, at least it would cast doubt on Mathias Industries.”

  “No.” I shook my head, staring out the window. “DuBois is clearly already in their back pocket. He needs their money. And their clout. He’s not going to change his mind.”

  “Andi’s right on this one, I’m afraid,” Cassie said. “There’s nothing gained in going to DuBois. Besides, I doubt he’d talk to us anyway.”

  “So we’re screwed,” Clinton sighed.

  “Probably,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t give Ethan a piece of my mind.” I turned from the window, fists clenched tight, my mind made up.

  “Don’t you think maybe you ought to calm down first?” Clinton asked.

  “Not much chance of tha
t.”

  “So, what?” Clinton frowned. “You’re just going to hunt him down and let him have it?”

  “Sounds pretty damn appealing.”

  “But it won’t change anything,” Cassie insisted.

  “No,” I said, already heading for the door, “but it’ll make me feel better and that’s got to count for something.”

  Thirty minutes later, wielding my anger like some kind of virtual Excalibur, I walked into Mathias Industries. The company headquartered in the Lipstick Building in Midtown, taking up three entire floors. Ethan’s office was on the sixth. Clinton had wanted to come with me, insisted on it, actually, but I’d turned him down. This was something I had to handle on my own.

  “You can go in now,” the woman at the desk said, eyeing me warily. My insistence on seeing Ethan had bordered on aggressive, and I could tell she thought he was making a mistake letting me into his office.

  And considering the circumstances, she was absolutely right.

  “Andi,” Ethan said, rising from behind the huge mahogany monstrosity that passed for his desk. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “No,” I laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. “I don’t suppose that you were.”

  “Then . . He shook his head, having the actual audacity to look confused.

  “I have a few things to say to you,” I said, clamping down on my anger. I needed to stay clearheaded. Or at least keep from totally spiraling out of control. “And I figured now was as good a time as any. Sorry if I’m interrupting—business."

  He frowned now, clearly recognizing that this wasn’t a social visit. “I don’t know what this is about, but—”

  “It’s about the fact that you screwed me over,” I said, cutting him off with a wave of my hand. “That you fixed things so that DuBois would never do the interview.”

  “Andi. . .”

  “Save the excuses. I know you did it. I’ve got proof. Mathias Industries is a major investor in Philip DuBois’ new restaurant. Am I correct?”

  “Yes. We are.”

  “And you own majority shares in Applause?”

  “We do, but I—”

  “And despite all the conversations we’ve had about my wanting to get DuBois for the show,” I said, cutting him off, “you conveniently forgot to tell me about your own interests?”

  “I just thought that considering your tendency to jump to conclusions, it might be better to wait to tell you about Mathias Industries’ involvement with DuBois until you settled things regarding your show.”

  “You mean until you’d convinced him to turn me down.”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “Maybe not personally. But your company did, and you run the company. Which means you had to know about it. And you didn’t even have the common courtesy to tell me about it. And please, don’t tell me it’s just business,” I said, waving my hand again. “We’ve been sleeping together. Or was that just part of some bigger plan? Some business deal.” I paused to suck in a breath, shaking my head when he tried to intervene.

  “I didn’t come over here to discuss this. Or to hear you make excuses. I just wanted to look you in the eye and tell you how despicable I think you are. You took my idea, and turned it to the benefit of Mathias Industries. You used me. And then when it looked like I might actually be going to pull it off—when DuBois agreed to meet with me—you torpedoed my chances by threatening to pull your support of DuBois. He really didn’t have a choice, did he? God, what an absolute idiot I’ve been. I was right all along. We don’t have anything in common.”

  And then, before he had the chance to rebut any of it, I stalked out of the office. In the elevator going down, I’ll admit I had a momentary fantasy that he’d follow me. That he’d convince me that everything was going to be okay. That somehow the facts had lined up incorrectly. But when the elevator doors opened on the lobby, there was no one there.

  Big surprise.

  In the taxi on my way home, I called Cassie. But she wasn’t answering. Probably trying to persuade the Gourmet execs to keep our show despite our inability to follow through on what turned out to be our very rash promises. I called Clinton next, but he wasn’t answering, either. Maybe they both figured it was best to give me a little space. And in all honesty, they were probably right.

  The adrenaline rush that had carried me over to Ethan’s office and buoyed me while I gave him a piece of my mind had evaporated the minute I’d hit the elevators. And now all I was left with was the bitter aftertaste of my anger and disappointment.

  I really had wanted to be wrong about Ethan. To believe that he was different. That he wasn’t all about his heritage and his money and his privilege. But in the end, he’d been worse. Instead of showing his true colors, he’d managed to convince me that he was worth caring about—maybe even worth loving. And then when I’d trusted him enough to turn my back, he’d buried the knife.

  And the worst thing of all was that I’d let him do it.

  The taxi pulled to the curb outside my building, and after stuffing a twenty through the Plexiglas divider, I slid out onto the sidewalk, slamming the door behind me. It’s funny how catastrophe can strike, everything in your life seemingly turned on end, and yet life goes on. Tourists still flocked down the street, craning their necks to see the carefully crafted ironwork or maybe trying to spot a star. The panhandler on the corner still sang his off-key songs, waving his cup, pleading for money. Businessmen in expensive suits, glued to their BlackBerrys, ignored both the tourists and the beggars, intent on making that next big deal or screwing some unsuspecting innocent.

  Like me.

  I went inside and headed for the stairs, too keyed up to wait for the elevator’s ancient chassis to wheeze its way down from the upper floors. I reached the landing and pushed through the door to find the hallway already occupied. Bethany was sitting in front of my door eating from a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Chocolate Fudge Brownie. My favorite.

  “The key wasn’t behind the fire extinguisher,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Althea,” I sighed. “She used it once too often. So I moved it.” I pointed to the mirror across from the elevator. It served as the hallway’s sole adornment and had seemed the perfect place for my key. “I attached it to the back with some tape.”

  “I should have thought of that.” She smiled, pushing to her feet. “I brought ice cream. Although I’m afraid I’ve eaten most of it.”

  “How did you know?” I asked, opening the door just as a flying fur ball came barreling through, jumping at my feet with enough adoration to almost make a girl feel loved again. I bent to pick him up, my fingers ruffling his soft fur.

  “Know what?” Bethany said, scrunching her nose as we walked inside and settled on the couch, Bentley happily ensconced between us.

  “About Ethan. I just assumed, since you brought ice cream, that Clinton had called to fill you in.”

  “Actually, he did, but I didn’t pick up,” she said, looking honestly worried now. “Sounds like I should have. What’s happened?”

  “Fortification first,” I said, reaching over for a bite of ice cream. Then with a sigh, I leaned back into the sofa, and filled her in on DuBois’ defection and Ethan’s duplicity.

  “This calls for something stronger than ice cream,” Bethany said, after I’d finished regaling her with my sordid tale. “Vodka tonic okay?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out the tonic. “Are you sure about all this?” she asked as she poured generous portions of vodka into two glasses, followed by a splash of tonic.

  “Yeah. Cassie says she has proof.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” Bethany said, handing me a drink. “Ethan seemed so nice at the party. In fact, I was a little jealous."

  "For absolutely no good reason, it turns out.” I sighed as a sip of vodka burned its way down my throat.

  “What did he say when you confronted him?”

  “I didn’t give him much of a chance to talk
. But he did admit the connection between his company and DuBois. And he didn’t deny that getting DuBois for Applause would be a coup.”

  “So this whole thing was a ruse? He was using you the whole time?”

  “No. That part still doesn’t make sense. Maybe he thought he’d be able to have his cake and eat it, too. See me and steal DuBois. I mean, if it hadn’t been for your friend on the inside at Metro Media, we might never have been able to suss out the real truth.”

  “Maybe he was going to tell you?” she suggested.

  “After the fact? Big deal. I mean, did he think I’d just shrug it off and pull back the sheets?”

  “I don’t know.” Bethany sighed, then took a long sip of her drink. “Men are pigs.”

  “Hey,” I said, a new thought making its way into my overloaded brain, “if you didn’t know about Ethan, then there had to be some other reason for the ice cream.” Since our college days we’d relied on Ben and Jerry—and each other—to get us through whatever calamity our lives managed to throw at us. Usually involving the aforementioned pigs. “What’s up?”

  “It’s nothing,” she sniffed. “I mean, in light of what happened to you, my problems sound pretty silly.”

  “Nonsense. Tell me what happened. Does this have something to do with Michael?”

  She nodded. “He dumped me.”

  “But I thought he wanted you to move in?” I frowned, shaking my head.

  “He did.”

  “And you told him you needed some time to think about it, right?”

  “Yes. But what I didn’t tell you was that he made a really grand gesture of the whole thing. He got Payard to make a chocolate box. And inside the box was a key to his apartment. He gave it to me when he came to pick me up for your party. As romantic gestures go it was lovely. But it also scared the hell out of me.”

  “That’s totally understandable.” I nodded to underscore my solidarity. “You’d only just started dating.”

  “I agree. But I could have handled it better. Anyway, we came to your party and I thought everything was okay. Until he took me home. I asked if he wanted to stay the night, and he said no, that he had things to do the next morning. And so I let him go. I thought that under the circumstances it might be a good idea.”