Liv Constantine - The Last Mrs. Parrish

“Too early to finish the night. What do you say we have a glass before turning in?”

“Sounds great,” Amber said.

They sat in the warm night air, sipping wine and chatting about Parrish International’s latest acquisition and how the financing would work. When Daphne appeared, Jackson poured another glass and handed it to her. “Here, sweetheart.”

“No, thank you, darling. I’m feeling rather sleepy. Probably shouldn’t have had such a big meal. I think I’ll hit the sack.”

Actually, Amber thought, Daphne really did look tired. But big meal? She’d hardly touched her food.

“Well, good night, you two.” She smiled at Jackson. “I’ll keep the night-light on for you.”

“I’ll be down soon. You get some rest.”

After she disappeared, Amber poured herself another glass of wine. “I remember how tired my mother used to get, and how she stopped staying up late. My father would joke and say things had really changed from their hot dating days.”

Jackson looked into his glass as he twirled the stem. “Are your parents alive?”

“Yes. They’re back in Nebraska. Daphne reminds me a lot of my mom.”

A faint hint of surprise registered on his face and was quickly replaced by his usual inscrutability. Amber was beginning to realize that he was particularly skilled at keeping his thoughts and feelings hidden.

“How are they alike?”

“Well, they’re both homebodies. My mom liked nothing better than watching a sentimental movie with us kids. A lot of times, when you’re away, Daph invites me over for movie night with Tallulah and Bella. It’s fun, reminds me of home. And I think she gets sort of tired of all these charity events and art openings and all those things. At least, that’s what she tells me.”

“That’s interesting,” Jackson said. “What else?”

“Well, she likes quiet things, my mom, like Daphne. My mom would have hated how fast this boat goes and all the wind in her face. Not that we had boats, but my dad did have a motorcycle. She hated it — the noise and the speed. She preferred her bicycle, slow and quiet.” More crap, but she was making her point.

He was quiet.

“I thought it was thrilling, being at the helm and speeding across the water. But maybe tomorrow we should take it a little slower, so that Daphne enjoys it too.”

“Yes, good idea,” he said idly and finished the wine in his glass.

Things were humming along now. And she hoped that tomorrow night, there would be more fireworks than the ones in the sky.

Right after the Fourth of July, Amber finally secured the coveted position of Jackson’s first assistant. The résumés had dwindled, and anything that looked too good, Amber had tossed. She had made herself indispensable to Jackson since Mrs. Battley’s departure, so when he called her into his office, she felt sure it was to tell her she was officially his new assistant. She took a pad and pen with her and sat in a leather armchair across from his desk, careful to cross her black-stockinged legs to their best advantage. She looked at him through thick lashes she had gotten plumped at the aesthetician’s and slightly parted glossy lips. She knew her teeth, recently whitened at the dentist’s, looked perfect against her lips.

Jackson stared at her a moment and then began. “I think you know how helpful you’ve been these last months. I’ve decided to suspend the search for a new assistant and am offering the position to you if you’re interested.”

She wanted to jump up and shout but didn’t betray her glee. “I’m overwhelmed. I’m definitely interested. Thank you.”

“Good. I’ll talk to Human Resources.” He looked down at a document in front of him, clearly dismissing her, and Amber rose. “Oh,” he said, and she stopped and turned around. “Of course, there will be a substantial raise.”

To get close to him, she would have worked there for nothing, but in truth, she had been working damn hard and felt she deserved her now-six-figure salary. It didn’t take long for her to anticipate his needs in her new role, and in a very short time, they were working together with the precision of a fine Swiss watch. Amber loved the importance the job gave her, her proximity to the big boss. The admins looked at her with envy, and the executives treated her with respect. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of the person who had the ear of Jackson Parrish. It was a heady experience. She thought of that Lockwood son of a bitch back home and how he’d treated her — as if she were some piece of trash he could throw away.

She jumped when her buzzer sounded late Friday and got up and went to his office. When she approached his desk, she saw what looked like a stack of bills and a large checkbook. “I’m sorry to burden you with this. Battley used to take care of it, and I just don’t have time to look this all over.”

“Did you really just use that word with me? You should know by now that nothing you give me to do is a burden.”

Jackson smiled at her. “Touché. You do it all with pleasure. I should put PA after your name on your business cards. Perfect Assistant.”

“Hmm. Perfect Boss. I guess we’re a team made in heaven.”

“Here’s the test,” he said, with a wry smile.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Bills. They’re all on auto pay, but I want you to go over them, match them to the receipts, and be sure they’re accurate. And of course there are some bills that need to be paid by check. I’ve indicated which those are, so you’ll write a monthly check for those — Sabine and Surrey, school expenses, those kinds of things.”

“Of course. No problem.” She picked up the pile and the checkbook but hesitated before leaving his office. “You know, I’m feeling like Telemachos.”

Jackson’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “What?”

“You know, from The Odyssey .”

“I know who Telamachos is. You’ve read The Odyssey ?”

Amber nodded. “A few times. I love it. I love the way he takes on more and more responsibility. So… don’t ever feel like you’re giving me too much.”

The way he looked at her felt to Amber as if he was appraising her, and it seemed to her that she had definitely scored a lot of points. She smiled sweetly and left him still studying her as she walked out the door.

She dropped everything onto her desk and began going through the folders. It turned out to be a very interesting exercise. Amber was astounded at the enormous sums of money Daphne spent each month. There were charges at Barney’s, Bergdorf Goodman, Neiman Marcus, Henri Bendel, and independent boutiques, not to mention the couture houses and jewelers. In one month alone she’d bought over $200,000 worth of merchandise. Then came the nanny salaries, and the housekeeper and the driver. Daphne’s gym membership and private yoga and Pilates classes. The girls’ riding and tennis lessons. The country-club dues. The yacht-club fees. The shows and dinners. The trips. It went on and on, like a freaking fairy tale.

Amber’s new salary was a pittance compared to the money Daphne could access. One bill in particular stopped her in her tracks — it was for a red crocodile Hermès Birkin. She did a double take when she saw the price: $69,000. For a purse! That was more than half her annual salary. And Daphne would probably use it a couple of times, then throw it in her closet. Amber’s outrage was so palpable, she thought she would choke. It was obscene. If Daphne really wanted to help families living with CF, why didn’t she donate more of her own money to them and be satisfied with the dozen designer purses she already had? What a little hypocrite. At least Amber was honest with herself about her motives. When she was married to Jackson, she wouldn’t waste her time pretending to care about charity work.