Читать книгу One Final Step - Stephanie Doyle, Stephanie Doyle - Страница 10
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
“THISISIT.”
Madeleine turned her attention to the flat-screen monitor on the wall and watched a series of images appear. At Michael’s urging, she’d agreed to come back to his office for an in-depth look at the project. Despite having made up her mind to take the job, she still found herself hesitating to tell him.
Sitting with him now, the presentation was less important than observing the man. She watched as he animatedly went through each screen, detailing design changes, enhancements and improvements for the standard Detroit-made car, while at the same time utilizing the factory machinery already in place. He talked about making more space in the passenger seating area and trunk without the need for driveshafts and chassis.
None of it made any sense to her. She was the stereotypical woman when it came to automobiles. She knew they needed a key and gas to work and every three thousand miles the oil needed to be changed. That was about all.
“Okay, let’s talk about money. Are you still with me?”
Madeleine nodded, then listened to him expand on costs. He discussed how many to build against projections of what would sell. And the price of the car and the impact it would have on the average American. Not to mention the nation’s dependence on foreign oil.
Madeleine had to smother a smile. The average American. It had been a long time since she’d heard anyone use that phrase so effectually. Because it targeted not a specific group, but everyone in the country. It was something politicians learned long ago, all American people, rich, poor and those in the middle, still liked to identify themselves as average.
This man wasn’t average. He was extraordinary.
Again she considered the bio on him she had read before agreeing to fly to Detroit. Raised by a single mother in the poor section of Detroit, he found he had a knack for both fixing up cars as well as racing them. It eventually led him into crime when he began to steal them. Incarcerated at the age of nineteen, he’d served all three years of his sentence.
His time served was actually an anomaly. As a first-time offender for grand theft auto, the sentence made perfect sense. But with parole and relatively good behavior he should have been out in half the time. Instead he’d spent the full three years behind bars.
After being released he went to work at an auto body shop. Archie Beeker still owned and operated it, not too far from where Michael grew up. In countless interviews, Michael always credited Archie with giving him his start, with saving his life. While working for Archie he began to rebuild cars from the scrap heap and was racing them in what was called “Formula X” races all around the country.
Not the sleek, sophisticated machines of Formula One and not the stock racing cars of NASCAR, the Formula X cars represented the best designs built with the least amount of money. Eventually through his wins and his designs, Michael attracted the attention of a Formula One team who took him to Europe and the rest was history. After years of successfully racing cars in Europe he eventually retired and came back to his hometown of Detroit to start up his specialty car design company. A company that would eventually spawn the idea for the vehicle he was currently showing her.
Madeleine tried to reconcile the images of the spiky-white-haired racer with the wraparound shades and the sedate businessman standing in front of her in his expensive suit and tie.
But there were still edges to the businessman. His sleeves were rolled up. She could see his forearms were sprinkled with light brown hair. For a moment she was captivated by those naked arms.
“So what do you think?”
She thought his arms appeared very strong. Probably not the answer he was looking for and definitely not something she should be thinking about at all. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such thoughts about a man. Probably not in seven years.
Another kind of counting she didn’t like to think about. She didn’t know what the fact that it had been so long said about her, a woman who hadn’t admired a man’s forearms in more than seven years.
Cold? Most likely. Overly cautious? Definitely.
“Have I finally convinced you?” he asked.
“I think you believe in what you’re doing.”
“Understatement. Did I sell you?”
“I don’t know much about auto mechanics.”
“Forget that, did I sell you as an average citizen? Would you buy this car? Would you believe you can save money by buying it?”
Madeleine considered that. She drove a BMW. A nine-year-old gift from her father, which was beginning to show its age. He’d given it to her after she’d been hired by the Marlin presidential campaign. Tangible evidence of her success at such a young age. Her older brother, Robert, who hadn’t yet made junior partner at his law firm, had been seething with jealousy when her father handed her the keys.
She should have done away with it years ago, if only because it brought back memories of a time when her father was proud of her. Not that she was hanging on to it for sentimental reasons, trying to hold on to a piece of him now that he was gone.
Her father would disdain such impracticality.
The future was where her head should be. Eco-friendly instead of maudlin and sappy. What Michael was describing would be better than all hybrids on the road today. Definitely a practical choice for her.
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to regain her focus on the present instead of the past. “It almost seems improbable.”
“Exactly! That’s my point. We get it into our heads that technology is so far down the road we think it will always be out of reach. I want to convince people the time is here and now. We can have this.” He pointed to the screen, now an image of a silver car anybody would want to own. “We can have this now.”
“Then let’s talk about the other side of the equation. Tell me about you.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the one being interviewed?”
“Because you are. Remember, I need to believe in you as well as your project. You’ve sold me on the project, now sell me on you.”
“I’m the problem, remember? It’s why I need you. I’m a hard-drinking, fast-car driving, womanizing playboy.”
No, she thought, he wasn’t. There was so much more to him. She could sense it. There was a sincerity about him that playboys she’d met, and she’d met plenty during her days on political campaigns, never had. “You also run a successful luxury-car company. One wonders where you find the time for all your activities.”
“A man finds time for what he wants. And I no longer actually race fast cars, at least not competitively, so there’s that.”
“Why do I feel like you want me to see the worst in you?” She could see the question startled him, but she sensed it was getting closer to the truth.
“I don’t. I’m trying to be honest here.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. Again, she didn’t think so. Instinctively she felt like he was hiding something. It should have signaled her warning bells. After all, she hadn’t verbally committed to the job so it wasn’t too late to decline his offer. Instead she found herself desperately curious about him.
“If you won’t tell me about the man you are today, tell me about who you were. Many have retold your success story. Kid from the wrong side of 8 Mile Road makes it big. How did that happen? How did you turn it around? You were a kid from a poor neighborhood…”
“I was a poor kid,” he interrupted.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“No. There is a big difference. There were kids who grew up in the same neighborhood I did who didn’t think they were poor. They had a mom, sometimes a dad, too. They had siblings and family meals. They ate three times a day and they went to school and did their homework. Yeah, maybe they wore shoes long after they outgrew them or pants that were too tight. They never got an extra helping at dinner, but they weren’t poor.”
“You were different from them.”
“In every way. It was just me and my mom. Don’t ask me about my father, I have no idea who he is.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. He could have made things worse. As for my mother, it feels weird calling her that, mostly I called her Jackie. She was an addict. Big deal, right? So are lots of mothers on that side of town. Jackie was strung out most days doing whatever it took to get her next fix, while I survived on what the state gave us. I lived on Kraft Dinner and the dollar menu at the local fast-food place. We never talked from as far back as I could remember. It was like we didn’t even know each other. We were two people sharing the same apartment.”
“Did you go to school?”
“I tried for a while. I had this thought that I could use school to get out, but it was too much time spent sitting around talking and not enough doing. So I was done with that by seventeen. The only thing I cared about were cars and driving them fast. It’s how I got hooked up with Nick. He lived on the block and would see me screeching around town in my mother’s POS. He showed me how to fix cars, and my mother’s POS always needed fixing. Eventually he brought me into the game.”
“Auto theft?”
“Yeah, yeah. At first I just broke down the cars for parts. Then one day Nick takes me out and shows me how to jack them. I’m not going to lie—it was a pretty big high. My adrenaline would pump, but you had to make your fingers move and you had to remember how each car was different and how to shut down an alarm in seconds. In hindsight it was a blessing and a curse.”
“A blessing?”
“Kept me off the drugs. Nick didn’t tolerate that. Bad for business. No drinking, no drugs. When you jacked you needed full control of your senses.”
“The hard drinking came later, then?”
“Huh? Oh…yeah, yeah. Later.”
Exactly. He was no more a hard-drinking man than she was a hard-drinking woman. Yes, he was definitely hiding something and it was only one of the reasons she was cautious about taking him on as a project.
For one, he was a man in the media spotlight, which meant working with him was going to present some risk. Plus, while she didn’t exactly believe he was the scoundrel he presented himself to be, there were all those pictures of him at various parties with so many different women. Men, she found, didn’t easily give up the things they wanted—especially when they were told by someone else not to indulge.
But what she had to concern herself with most of all was that she liked the way he looked in his suit. She liked it even better when he rolled up his sleeves. As an employee she should have no physical attraction to her employer. Certainly no emotional attachment.
If it was too late to prevent the physical attraction, she should back out now. It was the only sensible decision.
“What do you say?”
“I’ll do it.”
The words were out before she could stop them. She couldn’t help herself. She felt caught up in his infectiousness. She wanted to stand up and give everyone a new car. More than that she wanted to show everyone what a person who was committed to something could accomplish, no matter what the odds.
An inner voice told her she’d tried that before. Look at where it led you.
But that was seven years ago. Maybe it was time she started counting, after all.
“That’s great. That’s very cool. I’m…pleased.”
Madeleine nodded. She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a contract. “This is a standard contract from the Tyler Group. It breaks down my rates, services and expenses. You should have your attorneys look it over.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He signed and dismissed the paper without even looking at it.
“I hate to be blunt, but you really should consider going over the contract first. The Tyler Group isn’t cheap and my rider, while not diva level, is still extensive.”
“I don’t want cheap. I want the best. I’ll pay whatever you’re asking. It’s done.”
Madeleine smiled. “That will make Ben happy. Okay, then we should establish a time to start.”
“Right now.”
“Now? Surely you have other matters to attend to and will need to rearrange your calendar, Mr. Langdon.”
“It’s Michael. And I don’t. This is the most important thing to me. I know this is going to take time. You don’t change your image overnight. The sooner we get started, the sooner I get what I want. The CEOs I’m trying to convince aren’t easy pushovers. I’m talking about Carter, Blakely, Rodgers and Smithfield.”
The current leaders of the four largest car companies in America. He was right, convincing one of those men to take a risk would be hard enough, convincing one of them to take a risk with him was something altogether difficult. Maybe impossible. But he had her on his side.
Madeleine pulled out her laptop and powered it up. “Well, we need to begin with my parameters. As I said, I don’t intend to have anything to do with your spotlight. I will not do PR from the front line. I will not do direct media interviews or issue press releases in my name. I will, however, work my media contacts and connect you with the people I think can help, but I will do so discreetly.”
“Yeah, yeah. But hear me out. I know the whole big scandal and everything.”
That was one way to describe it.
“Before all that, you were really respected. Revered even. I’m thinking you hanging around a bum like me might be a good thing. Your presence alone could gain me respect.”
She could see in his eyes that he truly believed what he was saying. A flush of emotion overcame her and for a moment she feared she would tear up. She swallowed it and took a breath.
“While I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Langdon…”
“Michael. Please say my name.”
His tone took her off guard. Not annoyed. Not angry. Merely insistent.
“Michael.” The name came out of her mouth sounding like a sigh. “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what happened. Trust me when I tell you being seen with the former president’s mistress will not gain you any public-relations points. If anything it will make you more of a joke.”
“So you slept with your boss. It’s not the first time that’s ever happened. It’s not like you’re Jezebel.”
According to her father she was. In fact it was the last word he’d ever said to her.
“It doesn’t matter. You need to trust me. My presence will not help you. My advice can. You wanted to know where to start?”
“Yes.”
“Then we start with the people who gave you your image in the first place. You’ll need to use the media—only this time on your terms. You’ll need to identify several well-known charities you can link your name with.”
“I already have a charity.”
Madeleine knew he donated generously to a jobs program that helped inmates transition when they left prison. “Yes, but we’ll need something more high profile. I know it sounds self-serving and the idea of charity is to be selfless, but in this case we have no choice. I’m thinking environmental causes. Attaching yourself to the green movement will seem to give you purpose when you present your idea to the people you want to partner with. It raises the stakes on the whole project.”
Michael stood and paced a little behind his desk while Madeleine used her computer to call up events that might be newsworthy.
“There, in two days. And bonus—it’s local. There is a charity being hosted by Solarcomp. They are the group that promotes…”
“I know who they are.”
“For five thousand dollars a plate you can attend, for twenty thousand a plate you can sit at a table with the former vice president who believes solar energy is the key to our clean-energy future.”
Michael stopped his pacing and faced her. “I’m not opposed to the environmental causes.”
“That’s good. Few people are.”
“I meant… I want you to know…you…that I’m not launching this car for purely altruistic reasons. I’m a businessman. I have what I believe is a good idea. I want to make money from it. If in the end it saves people money and helps the environment that’s gravy, but it’s not what I’m about.”
Madeleine looked at him. “Why do you think it’s important I should know that?”
“I don’t want to be a fraud to you. I don’t want you to think I’m something I’m not.”
Madeleine considered that. “I think you’re a businessman, in need of a new reputation. I think your cause is worthy and I’ve already accepted the position. You don’t have to prove anything to me, Mr.…”
“Don’t do it.”
“Michael. You don’t have anything to prove to me, Michael.”
“Of course I don’t. I wanted you to know the score. That’s all.”
“Okay. Well, let’s talk about Solarcomp’s Night of Lights event. According to the website I can still get you two seats at the five-thousand-dollar level. Given the attendees it should definitely garner some media attention. Plus, the former vice president has a new book coming out. We need to talk about your escort.”
“Escort? That’s an old-fashioned word.”
“Your date.”
“That can’t be you? Right?”
Madeleine felt a zing of reaction whiz through her body. She wasn’t sure if it was fear, revulsion at the idea of being seen at an event or something else she wasn’t going to put a name to.
She met his eyes and searched them for meaning. When he looked back at her directly she could see his intentions. He wasn’t asking her on a date. He was simply reiterating his point that he thought it was a good idea to be seen with her.
He was wrong.
“Michael, do you trust me to do my job?”
“Of course. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
“Then please don’t ever ask me something like that again. I’ve told you I’m poison. I mean this not in a self-deprecating way, but in the cold, hard fact way.”
“Maybe I want a beautiful woman on my arm.”
“Do an internet search on your name, then click the images page. I’m sure you’ll find you always have a beautiful woman on your arm.”
He dug his hands into his pants pockets and said nothing.
“We need to talk about who she will be.”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not really involved with anyone right now.”
“Do you have any ideas of who you might call? Anyone who could be available on short notice?”
He met her eyes steadily. “There are a few who would come on short notice. Why does it matter?”
“Because one of the things we want to try to countermand is your playboy image. A different girl every week, every event, every red carpet, lends itself to that. If you could possibly settle on one…”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “You want me to start a relationship with a woman because it would be good for my reputation?”
Madeleine inwardly sighed. She was working with an amateur. Which meant she needed patience. Amateurs didn’t understand that everything counted. Every word, every action, every picture printed in the media, was its own story. To create an image one had to be in control of every element of his life. What he said, what he ate, who he saw publicly. Politicians knew this. To a certain extent so did the Hollywood elite, although their cultivated image was often more radical than a politician’s.
She had to admit she was a little stunned by how quickly and easily it all came back. After years of researching and writing position papers, here she was, doing what she knew how to do best. It was thrilling and daunting considering who she had to work with. But to have a challenge, a real challenge in her life, she could feel the adrenaline pulsing beneath her skin.
“Of course not. I want you to consider if there is a woman in your life who you are more partial to than others. Being seen with the same woman at multiple events implies a relationship even if there truly isn’t one. It shows stability, maturity and lends itself to the new image we want to cultivate for you, that you are someone to be trusted.”
“Wow. That’s pretty…cold.”
Madeleine stood and closed her laptop. “Michael, everything you do from now on will be screened by me. I’ll determine your tie-color choice, the events where you will be seen and yes, if I can have some say in the woman you choose to escort to these events, that will be helpful. There is no emotion in these decisions, no personal stake. I’m going to help you tell the best story you can and the rest is up to you. Are you still certain you want to do this?”
“I have no choice, do I?”
Madeleine shook her head. “We always have choices.”
“Is that what you told yourself when it all came crashing down around you? That your choices led to your fall?”
She didn’t detect any bitterness in his question. Merely curiosity. So she answered him.
“It’s exactly what I told myself.”
* * *
MICHAELWATCHEDHERleave with the same twitchy feeling he suffered the day before. Only this time it was easy to shake it off since he knew she would be back. What was it about her?
She was right: he was used to attractive women. Women more glamorous, more blatantly sexual. On the two days he’d seen her, she had been wearing a dark gray business suit then a black business suit. Both austere, both unassuming. She could have been an FBI agent for all her flash. Still when she was around him, he felt something.
Something instinctual.
Free to pace now that she was gone, he trod back and forth in his plushly carpeted office. He never liked to overdo it in front of people. He only ever allowed himself a few back-and-forths before forcing himself to stay still. Pacing could be construed as a sign of nerves or anxiety, which obviously wasn’t something he wanted to communicate to people. For him it was a bad habit. One he picked up in prison as a way to deal with being confined in a cell. As long as he kept moving he could cope with the tight space. It was when he stopped that he felt like the walls would start to close in on him.
So Madeleine wanted him to take a woman to the charity event. And not just any woman. But a woman he might consider taking to more than a handful of events. A woman he might consider spending enough time with that the media could start using the word relationship.
The idea was laughable. The women were there for a purpose. He knew she thought he was naive at the game they were playing, creating an image, manipulating the press to think what he wanted them to think, but the truth was he was a master craftsman.
At least at creating the bad-boy persona. He knew how to present himself so people would see what he wanted them to see. He didn’t know how to do that and come off as respectable. That’s why he’d reached out to Ben.
Michael knew Madeleine Kane was a member of Ben’s team and he knew about the scandal involving her and the president peripherally. He’d been in Europe at the time and his racing career had started its meteoric rise. An American sex scandal made the news, but in Europe they always thought Americans took sex too seriously so the story was only casually mentioned.
If a man had a mistress, so be it. If the woman chose to be that mistress, her choice. The president was a powerful man. Who wouldn’t want his attention?
Michael tried to reconcile the woman in his office with the star of the scandal. She was so buttoned up. So locked down as if every word she said and every movement she made was carefully considered. How had a woman like that tempted the president?
What the hell was he saying? She only had to look at Michael and he was… He didn’t know what he was. He couldn’t say aroused. Maybe intrigued. Something.
He needed information. Sitting at his desk he called up a search engine and started to type. It wasn’t difficult. Key in Madeleine Kane and President and there were hundreds of pictures, articles and blogs related to the subject.
She wasn’t overplaying the size of the scandal. Looking at the time frame, it had gone on for months. Even after she’d resigned and the First Lady filed for divorce from President Marlin, the press continued to pursue her. Unlike his predecessor, who had once been in the center of a sexual scandal, this president didn’t lie about the affair. He came clean quickly and apologized profusely.
No crime had been committed and as a result no charges of impeachment were filed against him. After several months it died a slow death and he went about the job of running the country. He was not reelected but Michael thought that had more to do with his jobs policy than it did the sex scandal.
Madeleine never reentered the political arena and after a two-year hiatus in media attention, there was a blip of an article announcing her addition to the Tyler Group.
Not a surprise Ben would go after her. He collected great minds like most people collected coins. His group was part think tank, part troubleshooters, all brains. If someone needed a job done and didn’t have the skills or the necessary people on hand to accomplish the task, they contacted Ben.
The Tyler Group was like a brainy version of the A-Team. Selling their specific set of skills for a price.
In Europe, Michael had met Ben while he was still an operative for the CIA. Michael actually liked to think he’d helped him out on a mission, but all he’d really done was act as a carrier pigeon. Still, it was as close to James Bond as he’d ever gotten. For whatever reason, Ben had seen through the image of the hard-drinking, hard-gambling, hard-sexing playboy. As though he’d been wearing special-colored glasses.
At first he had balked at Ben’s request that Michael help him out. Until the idea of doing something right for a good cause settled in his stomach and made him feel…better about himself.
Ben thought he was in Michael’s debt. The reality was the opposite. Meeting Ben and getting to know him helped Michael grow up. Ben wasn’t just some government agent. He was a man who cared deeply about his country and the work he did for it. It had been such a simple chore he’d asked Michael to do. When Michael asked, “Why me?” Ben said it was time for Michael to do something for someone else.
He’d been right. And it had been another step in the path that had eventually helped him to get his life back when it seemed as if prison had taken it all away.
At least part of his life.
Michael finally pushed away from the computer, tired of reading the sordid details of Madeleine’s past. Somehow he doubted the affair was quite as dirty as the press made it out to be. One article mentioned toys, another the president’s need to be dominated, of all things.
He could see Madeleine wielding a whip. He couldn’t imagine her doing something as silly as smacking a man’s bare ass with it.
No, if Madeleine was going to take out a whip she would have a much more useful purpose. Michael smiled as he shut down his computer. After a moment he got up and started pacing again.
Right, then left. Right, then left.
