Fortune (36 page)

W
hat the hell was going on?
Chance sat at his desk, staring down at the three letters of termination in front of him.

A week ago, everything had been fine. His clients had been happy. He had been considering hiring a third person, he was so busy. Then he had received the first letter, from the Campbell Consumer Group. Then the second, from Michael Reese Hospital and Medical Center. Then the third, from the Drake Hotel.

Previous to terminating him, all three clients had expressed their satisfaction with his services. He'd had projects in progress for all three, projects they'd all canceled, midstream.

Chance searched his memory, trying to recall anything he might have done or said to incur these terminations. If he had screwed up, he wanted to know how. Then he could kick himself in the ass for doing something stupid, promise himself he wouldn't be such an idiot again and pull himself back up.

Instead, he felt as if someone was pulling the rug out from under him and shouting, “Surprise!” And he didn't like the feeling, not one damn bit.

Chance stood. He crossed to the window and gazed out at the cold, gray day, at the sky, heavy with the threat of more snow.

He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. He had been riding so high, feeling so good. He had been on top of the world. Everything he had wished, worked and longed for had been at the tip of his fingers.

Now, it was all slipping away. And he could do nothing but stand by helplessly and watch.

“Chance?” Lisa tapped on his open door. “The mail just came.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. He could tell by her grim expression that she had bad news. “Another one?”

She nodded and brought it to him. He scanned the mercilessly short letter. Bennings and Bolton regretted to inform him that his services were no longer required.

He crushed the letter and tossed it on his desk, then swung back to the window. Just fucking great. If this kept up, in a week there would be nothing left.

“Chance?”

He didn't turn. “Yeah?”

“What's…going on?”

He emitted a short bark of laughter. “Hell if I know, Lisa. I wish I did, maybe then I could do something besides stand here getting screwed from behind.”

Lisa cleared her throat. “I want to assure you, the last time I saw these people, everything was fine. None expressed dissatisfaction with any of my actions.” She spread her hands. “In fact, Vincent from Campbell's sang your praises only days ago.”

“I don't think this has anything to do with you, Lisa.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “The way things are unfolding is too weird. Business doesn't work that way. I'm pretty sure this has to do with me. If I just knew what was going on around about me, or if I knew who was responsible, then maybe I could stop it.”

The phone rang; they both swung toward it, startled. Lisa snatched it up. “McCord Public Relations and Special Events. Lisa speaking.”

Chance watched her, heart thundering, a sour feeling in the pit of his gut. “Sure, Martha,” Lisa said. “He's right here. Hold a moment.”

Lisa punched the hold button, then held the receiver out. “Martha, the preservation society. She sounded strange, Chance.”

He nodded, took the phone and released the line. “Good morning, Martha. What can I do for you today?”

The woman hesitated a moment, then cut right to the point. “I've got some bad news, I'm afraid. The society's cutting back.”

Chance's stomach sank. He lifted his gaze to Lisa's; her face fell and she sank onto one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“We can deal with that,” he said, forcing calm. “We'll simply scale back on some of our plans.”

“Wait,” she said quickly, before he could continue. “What I'm saying is, we're going to have to terminate our relationship with McCord Public Relations. I'm sorry.”

He sat down hard on the edge of his desk. “Martha, I understand the plight of nonprofit organizations such as yours, believe me. I know how tight money is, especially in a conservative economy. But special events bring in dollars. The cost of an event, compared to what it reaps in donations—”

“I'm sorry, Chance,” she said again, firmly. “We will no longer be working with your firm.”

“I see.” Lisa groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “Can I ask, Martha, have you been disappointed with our performance? In any way?”

She hesitated. “Your performance had been excellent. As I said, this is strictly a…a fiduciary decision.”

Her slight hesitation gave her away.
She was lying. Why?

“I can see I'm not going to change your mind, Martha. I hope you'll think of us for your future special-events needs.”

“Of course. Good day, Chance.”

She hung up. And just like that, he was down another client. Chance set the receiver carefully in its cradle, swallowing against the bitterness and frustration that rose in his throat. He had always thought that hard work and a job well done would earn loyalty.

Just went to show what he knew about anything. That was just bullshit.

“Did she say why?” Lisa asked.

“Money troubles.”

“But our celebrity-waiter event brought in forty-two thousand dollars!” Lisa cried, jumping to her feet, shaking with outrage. “After expenses! She said it was the highest-grossing, smoothest-running event they'd ever had!”

“I know.” He plucked his suit coat from the back of his chair. “But I guess that was yesterday's news. Today's news is, thanks, but no thanks, your services are no longer required.” He started around the desk, heading for the door. “I've got to get out of here for a while. I'll check in for my messages.”

“Wait!”

Chance stopped and looked back at his assistant.

“I need to know, should I start looking for another job?”

Her question hit him square between the eyes. She was right to be worried. “You don't have to, not just yet, Lisa.”

“Not yet? What does that mean?” She twisted her fingers together. “I support myself, Chance. I can't afford to be unemployed.”

“Then start looking.” She caught her breath, and he made a sound of regret. “I'm sorry, I don't want to lose you, Lisa. But I can't make any promises right now. If you can hang on a few days, until I get a handle on what's happening and what I have left, I'd appreciate it. If you can't, I'll understand.”

“It might be over?” she offered hopefully. “Martha might be the last to drop out.”

“Maybe.” He tossed his jacket over his shoulder. “But I don't think so. I have a feeling that whoever's fucking me is just getting started.”

G
riffen seemed different tonight, Skye thought, pushing away her dinner plate. On edge, almost kinetic. He darted from one subject to another, sometimes not meeting her eyes, other times looking at her with such intensity she squirmed in her seat. He had brought her here to Morton's, his favorite restaurant, yet he had eaten hardly a bite, instead drinking nearly the whole bottle of wine himself.

They hadn't spoken much since the day Chance had opened her office door and he had been standing there. She had wondered how much of their conversation he had heard, and several times she had given him the opportunity to bring up the subject. He hadn't.

She decided to try again. She reached across the table. “Griffen, what's wrong with you tonight? You seem upset about something. Is it me? Something I've done?”

“You, sweetheart? No.” Her curled his hand around hers. “But I have to tell you something. About Chance. I'm afraid it might upset you.”

“Upset me?” she repeated, swallowing hard. “About Chance.”

“Yes.” For a long moment, Griffen was silent. Then he swore softly and met her eyes. “In the past, Chance and I have…competed for women. No, that's not really right. The truth is, Chance has competed with me for my women.”

Griffen looked away, then back, his expression troubled. “It's kind of sick, really. He wants what I have. Money, power, fine, fancy things. That want has extended to women I've dated. He does his damnedest to seduce them, to steal them away from me. He's been successful several times.”

Skye felt ill, physically ill. She took a sip of her water, noticing that her hand shook.

“The thing is,” he continued, “once he has them, he doesn't want them. He tosses them away. Like so much garbage. It never…mattered so much before. But with you…” He bit the words back. “This is upsetting you.”

She swallowed hard, afraid, so afraid that Griffen would see everything, that he would figure out why she was upset. That he would know what had occurred between her and Chance.

She felt like a liar and a cheat. She felt like a fool.

She wet her lips. “No, it's just that we were once…close. I hate to think of him that way. It's so shallow and ugly.”

“I understand,” he murmured, tightening his fingers over hers. “Especially considering your past relationship. You weren't lovers, but he tossed you away so easily. I guess he hasn't changed. People's feelings mean so little to him.”

A cry rose to her throat, she swallowed it, though not without effort.

Griffen shook his head. “What turns a smart, likable guy like Chance into such a cold, selfish bastard? Envy, I suppose,” he said, answering his own question.

“Envy,” she repeated, dizzy, nauseated.

“Sure, a kid like Chance, who came from nothing. Ambitious, hungry. I've given this a lot of thought.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I think he wants to be me.”

His words affected her like a slap. Chance wanted to be Griffen. It was true. It fit everything Chance had ever told her, about his mother, about his dreams, his plans for the future.

She had never been a part of those dreams and plans. She still wasn't. Love wasn't.

But Griffen wanted her to be a part of his future. His life. Griffen believed in love.

How could she have been so stupid? How could she have jeopardized her future that way? What was wrong with her?

“I'm glad I can trust you, Skye,” Griffen murmured. “I'm glad I know you can't be fooled or seduced by him. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. I might even go crazy.”

Long after Griffen had brought her home and kissed her good-night, Skye still reeled from what he had said about Chance.

She could hear Chance in her head.
I can't stop thinking about you, Skye. I want you. Stop seeing him.

She had played right into his sick little game.

That night the grotesque bird visited her again. Only this time, she was a butterfly. And no matter how hard she flapped her wings, she couldn't escape.

She woke up to the sound of her own scream.

S
kye stood at her bathroom vanity, staring at her collection of perfumes and lotions. She frowned. Something about the arrangement was different than when she had left that morning. She tilted her head. It was as if someone had picked them all up, then put them back in
nearly
the same spot.

This wasn't the first time she had experienced this sensation. Last week she had come home and been certain the fan of magazines on her coffee table had been changed. Twice before that, she had opened her underwear drawer and been struck with the feeling that someone had been into her things, that they had carefully sifted through the drawer. And taken her sexiest pair of panties.

Skye turned away from the vanity and went to her bedroom to change out of her work clothes. She was seriously starting to worry about her mental health. Headaches. Nightmares. Panic attacks.

Now these delusions about strangers in her apartment, going through her things—her undies, no less. A shrink could have a field day with her, no doubt about it.

She slipped into a pair of leggings and a big, comfy sweater and started for the kitchen in search of dinner, when the phone rang.

It was Terri. She was crying. “He did it again,” she said. “Only this time…this time…” Her friend's teeth began to chatter. “Skye, he threatened Raye. He said he was going to…to hurt her.”

“Raye?” Skye sat down, alarmed. “Have you called the police?”

She said she had, then asked if Skye could come over. “I need some company, I can't bear the thought of being alone right now.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

When Skye arrived, Terri, who was white as a sheet, was frantically digging through old coat pockets and kitchen drawers in search of a cigarette. She found a crumpled, half-f pack and shook one out. She lit it, though it took her three tries, her hand was trembling so badly.

“Where's Raye?”

“Asleep.” She sucked on the cigarette, then exhaled a cloud of smoke. “My mother's coming. Raye's going to stay with her for a while.”

Terri passed a hand over her face. “I lived through the breakup of my marriage without picking up a cigarette, and look at me now. Damn.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“He left a message on the machine. For Raye. He called her by name, Skye. He said…he said he was going to—” She choked back the words. “I can't even say it.”

“Did you save the message?”

She nodded and crossed to the recorder. She rewound it, then hit play. The man's voice, deep, gravelly yet cultured, slithered through the recorder's speaker, filling the quiet room. His words were vile; the act he described a crime against nature, against all that was good and pure in the world.

Skye stared at the recorder, sweat beading her upper lip, her heart beginning to pound. She struggled for breath, a heaviness pressing in on her, a black, inescapable weight.

With a squeak of terror she sank to the ottoman.

The room was filled with colored light. There was a weight on top of her, another body pressing her down. Bigger, stronger, the body held her captive no matter how she pleaded and squirmed. She couldn't breathe, and she thought she might be sick. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound—

“Skye? Are you all right?”

Startled, she looked up. Terri stood above her, her hand on her shoulder, her expression concerned.

“Are you all right?” she asked again.

Skye brought a hand to her face and realized she was crying. She swallowed hard, afraid. That she really was losing her mind. That one day she might wake up and find herself caught in this dark, paranoid world she seemed to be creating for herself.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I'm okay,” she managed to say, her voice shaky. “I guess I kind of freaked just then. That man's voice, what he said…it was so evil, Terri. So horrible.”

“I'm scared, Skye. For me. Now for Raye. I can't take it anymore. I can't.”

Skye reached up and caught her friend's hand. “What did the police say?”

“Screw the police! They haven't helped me one bit.” Terri squeezed Skye's fingers, then let them go. “I need another cigarette.”

Skye watched her friend, sensing that the other woman was keeping something from her, or that she was working up the courage to say something unpleasant. Something she knew Skye wouldn't like.

“Spit it out, Terri. Whatever it is you're thinking but not saying.”

She met Skye's gaze and sighed. “I've come to a decision. My sister lives in Phoenix. She has room for me and Raye. She wants us to come. I'm leaving Chicago.”

“Phoenix, Arizona?”

Terri nodded and Skye clasped her hands together, working not to cry. She understood. If she were in Terri's position, she would do the same thing. But understanding didn't stop it from hurting. Terri and Raye had become like a family to her. She didn't know what she would do when they left. She would be so alone.

Once again, she was being left behind.

“I'm really sorry, Skye. I'm going to miss you, too.”

Skye lifted her gaze to her friend, her vision blurred with tears. “What about your job, Terri? You love it.”

“I love my daughter more.” Terri sat on the ottoman beside Skye. “I can't take the chance that this nut case isn't for real.”

“You could move in with me and Mr. Moo…? It'd be fun. And you'd be safe.”

“Right. Until my sick friend found me there and started leaving dead rats on your doorstep.”

“But, Terri—”

“No.” Terri covered Skye's clenched hands. “I've made up my mind. I'm going to miss you so much, Skye. You're the best friend I ever had.”

“And you're mine. You're—” Skye looked away, willing herself not to cry, determined to find a way for Terri to stay. “What about Griffen? Maybe he could help? He has so many resources, maybe he could do…something.”

“I don't think so, Skye.”

“Why not? He—”

“Are we good friends, Skye? Good enough to say anything to each other?”

“You know we are.”

“Good.” Terri tightened her hands over Skye's. “This thing with you and Griffen, it's got me worried. It's been so sudden and there's something about Griffen…about his feelings for you that seems odd. He's more than possessive—sometimes, when he looks at me, I think he would like me…gone.”

“Gone,” Skye repeated. “Like how?”

Terri laughed nervously. “Like out of the picture. Out of your life. Like what's happening.”

Skye frowned. “He always speaks well of you, Terri. Always. And he knows how much you and Raye mean to me.”

“That's exactly it. I mean, he
knows
how close we are and maybe he's—” Terri bit back the words and looked at the floor, then sighed. “Please, don't get mad, but I have to ask you this. Do you think…has it ever crossed your mind that…maybe Griffen could be the one…you know, the one behind all…this?”

For a full ten seconds Skye stared at her friend, stunned. Then she jumped to her feet, cheeks hot. “No, Terri, I haven't. That's crazy. How can you even say that?”

“It's just that, when I catch him looking at me that way, I wonder how far he'd go to have you all to himself.”

“Well, you can stop wondering. That's nuts.” Skye shook her head. “All along, you've known in your heart that it was Will, punishing you for not letting him come back. All along—”

“It's not Will, I know that now.”

“How can you be so sure? After all, he has motive and—”

“Because he loves his daughter. That's how.” Terri stood. “He adores Raye. He wouldn't do this. He couldn't, not even to scare and punish me.”

“Then it's some stranger, some nut who—”

“Knows where I live. And what my daughter's name is. And where she goes to pre-school.”

“It's not Griffen.”

“All right. I'm sorry.” Terri let out a breath, sounding frustrated. “I guess I'm just trying to make sense of this. Please don't be angry with me.”

“I'm not angry.” Skye hugged her. “But I promise you, Griffen is not the one who's doing this. The police will get the guy who is, and you'll see. It's not Griffen.”