Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

Ruth leaned over and stroked Bella’s face. “Bella, darling, it’s Tallulah’s birthday. When it’s your birthday, you’ll get all the presents. Right?”

Bella jerked away from her grandmother’s hand. “No. You’re ugly.”

“Bella!” Daphne seemed horrified.

Jackson suddenly appeared, strode over to the sofa, and picked Bella up. She wiggled and squirmed, but he held her tightly and she finally was still. He put her down on the other side of the room and, kneeling so they were eye level, spoke quietly to her. After a few minutes, they came back together, and Bella stood before her grandmother.

“I’m very sorry, Grandmamma,” she said, and bowed her head.

Ruth gave Daphne a triumphant look and took Bella’s hand. “I forgive you, Bella. But you mustn’t say things like that in the future.”

Bella looked at her father and got only a stern look in return. “Yes, Grandmamma.”

Margarita peered into the room and announced that dinner was ready. Jackson took Ruth’s arm, and the two of them marched into the dining room together, Bella and Tallulah right behind them. As Daphne rose, Amber gave her a pat on the shoulder.

“It’s been a long day. Bella’s just overtired. Don’t let them all get to you,” she said to her.

“Sometimes that’s really hard,” Daphne said.

“You’re a wonderful mom. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not.”

“Thanks, Amber. You’re such a good friend.”

In a way, Daphne was a wonderful mother. She gave her kids everything, especially love and affection. She was certainly a better mother than Amber’s, who’d made it clear every day of her life that her kids were a loathsome burden.

“Don’t leave yet. Stay and have dinner with us,” Daphne said.

Amber wasn’t sure that dinner with an exhausted, exasperated Bella and a disapproving grandmother was going to further her plans in any way. “I’d love to, Daph, but I have tons of laundry and cleaning to do. Thanks for asking, though.”

“Oh, all right,” Daphne said, linking her arm in Amber’s. “At least come to the dining room and say good night to everyone.”

She obediently followed Daphne into the room where the family was all seated and being served by Margarita.

“Good night, all,” Amber said, waving her hand. “It was a wonderful party.”

A chorus of farewells came from the group, and then Jackson’s smooth voice rang out. “Good night, Amber. See you tomorrow at the office.”

Amber dressed carefully for her first day at Parrish International. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she wore plain gold-colored hoop earrings and minimal makeup. Getting up at four o’clock to catch the 5:30 train was murder, but she had to make a good impression. How anyone could stand doing this on a long-term basis was beyond her. Hopefully, it would only be temporary.

The glass tower that housed Jackson’s company was enormous, and she marveled that he owned it. It must have cost a fortune to own a building like this in Manhattan. The lobby was empty except for security, and she nodded as she scanned her identity badge and was green-lighted through the turnstile. When she reached the thirtieth floor, she was surprised to see a few people already in their offices. She’d have to get an even earlier train tomorrow. Her tiny cubicle was outside her boss’s office. She would be reporting to his first assistant, Mrs. Battley, or Mrs. Battle-Ax as Amber thought of her after their meeting last week at orientation. The Battle-Ax was somewhere between sixty-five and seventy-five with steel-wool-gray hair, thick glasses, and thin lips. She was the very definition of no-nonsense, and Amber hated her on sight. She had made it clear that she wasn’t pleased that Amber had been thrust upon her. It was going to be a challenge getting the old bird to like her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Battley. I’m going to get some coffee. Would you like some?”

She didn’t look up from her laptop. “No. I’ve already had my one cup. I have some filing for you, so please see me when you’ve gotten yours.” Amber cast a discreet glance in the direction of Jackson’s corner office. His door was closed, but she could see movement through the slatted blinds covering one glass wall.

“Do you need something?” Battley’s gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Sorry, no. My coffee can wait. I’ll take the filing now.”

“Here you are,” she said, handing Amber a pile of papers. “And here’s a list of new clients to add to the database. I’ve left instructions on your desk on how to do so. You’ll also need to add their websites and all social media channels to their profiles.”

Amber took the folder and returned to her tiny cube. She’d traded in her office with a window view for this claustrophobic cube, but at least now her plan was progressing. The hours passed as she immersed herself in her work, determined to be the most efficient assistant Old Battle-Ax had ever had. She’d brought a bag lunch and ate at her desk, working without a break. At six o’clock, Battley was standing at her cube with her coat on.

“I didn’t realize you were still here, Amber. You can leave at five, you know.”

She stood up and gathered her things. “I wanted to finish up. I like to come in to a clean desk in the morning.”

This actually elicited a smile from the older woman. “Quite right. I’ve always felt the same way.”

She turned to leave, but Amber called out, “I’ll walk down with you.”

They walked in silence to the elevator bank, and when they got on, Amber gave her a shy smile.

“I want to thank you for giving me this chance. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

Battley raised her eyebrows. “Don’t thank me. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Mrs. Parrish told me how valuable your opinion is to Mr. Parrish,” Amber said. “She made it quite clear that I was here on a probationary basis. If you don’t find me up to snuff, then I’ll have to look elsewhere.”

Amber could tell that the woman’s pride made her believe this bullshit. Battley stood a little straighter. “We shall see, then.”

Yes, we shall, Amber thought.

After a month, she’d still had no direct contact with Jackson, but Old Battle-Ax had begun to rely on her more and more. Amber would arrive at least fifteen minutes before her, so that she could bring Battley her morning coffee with a little something extra in it. Amber had a three-month supply of Elavil from her internist. She had told him that she was having panic attacks, and he’d recommended it. He did mention some possible side effects: short-term memory loss and confusion. She’d started dosing low, and hoped that Battley’s predilection for flavored creamer obscured any trace of the pills in her coffee.

Battley arrived that morning, seemingly more confused than normal. Amber noticed that her pace had become slower and that she paused often, looking around her desk as if unsure of what to do next.

When Battley got up to go to the bathroom, Amber quickly went into her office and took the woman’s keys from her purse and moved them. She then refiled a folder that was sitting on her desk. Battley came back to her office and searched for the missing file, panic in her eyes. At the end of the day, Battley opened her purse and looked inside. Amber watched as she moved the contents around and finally poured everything out on her desk. No keys. She looked stricken. “Amber,” she called. “Have you seen my keys?”

Amber hurried into Battley’s office. “No, I haven’t. Aren’t they in your handbag?”

“No,” she said, almost in tears.

“Here,” Amber said, taking the purse from the desk. “Let me look.” She pretended to root around. “Hmm. You’re right. Not here.” She stood a moment as if thinking. “Have you looked in your drawers?”