Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

“Of course not. I never take them from my pocketbook. I would never put them in my desk,” she insisted.

“Why don’t we look, just in case.”

“Ridiculous,” Battley huffed, but opened the drawer. “See, they’re not there.”

Amber leaned over to look and then glanced past them, at the wastebasket next to the file cabinet. She pulled it toward her.

“They’re in the trash can.” Amber reached in and pulled them out, handing them to Battley.

Battley stood still, staring at the ring of keys in her hand as she swallowed hard. It was apparent that the woman was distraught, but all she said was good night before turning and leaving without another word. Amber smiled as she watched her walk away.

A few days later Amber rearranged the cards in Battley’s Rolodex — she must have been the last person on earth to still have one. As the weeks wore on, the stress was having the intended effect — a haunted look of constant worry was in the older woman’s eyes. Amber felt a little bad about what she was doing, but the woman really needed to retire. Her time would have been much better spent with her grandkids. She’d told Amber she had five and complained that she didn’t get to see them enough. Now she’d get to be with them more, and Jackson would probably give her a good retirement package — especially if he believed she had dementia. Amber was doing her a favor, really.

And didn’t Jackson deserve someone more hip and this-century helping him out? He was probably keeping her on out of loyalty. Amber was doing them both a favor, when she thought about it. This morning, she’d printed off a paper with gibberish and slipped it in between the pages of a report Battley had just finished. She knew the woman would think she’d really lost it when she saw it, and of course, she’d never mention it to anyone. Amber figured it would only take another few weeks. Between her eroding self-confidence and the mistakes she was soon to make, arousing Jackson’s suspicions, Amber would be sitting pretty in Battley’s office in no time.

It took much longer than Amber anticipated, but after three months, it had all become too much for Battley, and she handed in her resignation. Amber was now filling in while Jackson began the search for a new head assistant. She was still in her tiny cubicle, while Battley’s office remained vacant, and while it bothered Amber that he hadn’t yet considered letting her step in permanently, she was confident he would soon find her indispensable. She had already spent the past seven nights learning everything she could about his newest clients from Tokyo — it was amazing what people put on their social media profiles. Even if they did have the smarts to set up their privacy settings properly, what they didn’t realize was that every photo they were tagged in linked to someone else’s page, and not everyone was as diligent. Between using her background-check software and trolling all the social sites, she had a comprehensive picture of each of them, including their disgusting predilections. She had also conducted a thorough search of their recent business deals to get an idea of their negotiating skills and any tricks they might have up their sleeves.

Jackson summoned her to his office, and she gathered the report on the client. He was leaning back in his black leather chair, reading something on his iPhone. His jacket was off and his shirtsleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned forearms. The Parrishes had just returned from Antibes. She figured they were able to practice the French language they seemed to worship. He didn’t look up as she entered the office.

“I’m slammed today, but I forgot Bella’s play at camp is this afternoon. I have to duck out after lunch. Move my appointments.”

What must it be like to have a powerful father who cared enough about you to take time from his busy schedule to come to your play? And the little brat appreciated nothing. “Of course.”

“Did you make reservations at Catch for Tanaka and his team tomorrow?”

“Actually, no.”

His head snapped up. She had his full attention. “What?”

“I made them at Del Posto. Tanaka loves Italian, and he’s allergic to shellfish.”

He looked at her with interest. “Really? How do you know that?”

She handed him her report. “I took the liberty of doing some research. On my own time, of course,” she added quickly. “I thought it would be helpful. With social media it’s not that hard to find things out.”

He smiled widely, giving her a glimpse of his perfect teeth, and reached out for the report. After thumbing through it, he looked up again. “Amber, I’m very impressed. Great initiative. This is fantastic.”

She beamed. She bet Battley didn’t even know how to use Facebook.

She stood up. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go take care of sorting your appointments.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, immersed in the report again.

She was making progress with him, although she was a little disappointed that he didn’t seem to notice how good her legs looked in the short skirt and high heels she’d worn that day. He was that rare commodity — a man who only had eyes for his wife. Daphne, on the other hand, seemed complacent, like she took it for granted that he worshipped her. It irritated Amber. It was obvious to her that Daphne wasn’t as passionate about Jackson as he was about her, and that she really didn’t deserve him.

She opened up Jackson’s calendar on her computer and began contacting his afternoon appointments to reschedule. As she was about to make another call, he appeared.

“Amber, why don’t you sit in Mrs. Battley’s office until we find her replacement? It’ll be more convenient to have you right outside. Give Facilities a call; they can move your things.”

“Thank you, I will.”

She watched him as he strode away, his Brioni suit looking as though it had been hand-crafted by the gods. She wondered what it would be like to wear a garment that cost more than some people made in a year.

She picked up her phone and texted Daphne.

Are you free tomorrow? Would love to meet for a drink.

Her text tone sounded. Sure. I’ll have Tommy pick you up and we can go to Sparta’s. Seven thirty good?

Great! See you tomorrow.

If Daphne was having Tommy drive them, it meant she was in the mood to drink, which was perfect because Amber was ready to get her to spill her guts. She had discovered that after one martini Daphne became much more relaxed, making it easy to pour a few more down her throat.

The Parrish Town Car was waiting outside her apartment right on time. She was about to call out a hello to Daphne when she realized the backseat was empty.

“Where’s Mrs. Parrish?” she asked Tommy as he opened the door for her.

“Mr. Parrish came home unexpectedly. She asked me to collect you and drop you at Sparta’s, then swing around for her.”

She felt annoyance choke out her good mood. Why hadn’t Daphne just called and asked if they could move the time back? She felt like an appointment being handled. And why should it matter that Jackson came home? Why didn’t Daphne just tell him she already had plans? Where was her backbone?

When she got to the bar, she chose a cozy table in the corner and ordered the 2007 Sassicaia. It was $210, but Daphne would be picking up the bill, and it served her right for making Amber wait. She took a sip of the red delight and savored the opulent flavor. It was amazing.

She looked around as the lounge began to fill and wondered if any of Daphne’s so-called friends would be coming in tonight. She hoped not — she wanted Daphne all to herself.

Daphne finally arrived, looking harried and, frankly, a little unkempt. Her hair was a bit frizzy and her makeup splotchy.