“Have you read the newspaper?” I ask her, hoping to get some answers. If there’s anyone who knows what’s going on, it must be Joyce. She always knows what’s up, God bless her.
“I have. Are you surprised?” she replies flatly, and I can tell she’s not exactly happy. Not that I'm surprised—ever since I told her I was seeing Penny, Joyce’s been in a foul mood. I can’t really blame her, though: I know that fucking my own stepdaughter isn’t exactly the smartest decision I could be making right now, especially now that the Equinox deal is on our plate.
Yeah, in case you’re wondering, I told Joyce all about Penny and I. I might not be the brightest guy when it comes to choosing the women I fuck, but I’m still aware I’m in charge of a multi-million dollar company. And if there’s the slightest chance my relationship with Penny is going to cause some ripples, Joyce should know about that. Besides, I had to fucking tell someone about it. Secrets are fine, but there’s a time when they just start eating you up from the inside out.
“Of course I’m fucking surprised, Joyce. Don’t you think this bullshit with the NY Daily Journal has already gone too far? I know they have to sell their newspapers and shit, but seriously… What have I ever done to them?”
I hear her sigh from the other side of the line and, even though I can’t see her, I know she’s rubbing her temples in frustration.
“Seriously? Have you forgot about who’s running the show at the Daily Journal?” she asks me, and I stop for a few seconds, trying to think of an answer.
“I have no fucking idea. Is this something I’m supposed to know?” There’s just silence from the other side of the line, and I realize that the answer to my question is a simple yes.
“How could you forget about something like this, Magnus? Rhoda’s the Editor in Chief at the Daily Journal, for God’s sake. Your ex-wife!” she tells me, and I stop walking and just freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, the New Yorker’s around me rushing as they try not to be late to work.
Rhoda! Fuck, now everything makes sense. No wonder the Daily Journal has been jabbing at me for so fucking long. Rhoda hates my fucking guts with a passion.
“Well, that explains a lot, but --”
“Magnus, you really are one of a kind… I can’t believe you’re this blind to what’s happening,” she cuts me short, and I can already tell that Rhoda’s not my only problem.
“What is it? Lay it on me.”
“Magnus… have you even asked Penny about where she works?” she asks, her words feeling as heavy as lead. I think back to the first time I dined with Penny, remembering how she told me about her graduation from Yale, and about how happy she was to be working as a journalist … I didn’t connect the dots back then, and it seems that these fucking dots have grown sharp teeth and claws.
“Fuck,” I whisper into the phone, my fingers curled so tight around the fucking thing I might just shatter it into a million plastic pieces.
“Yeah, that’s right, Magnus. Your stepdaughter is trouble, I remember telling you that much. She works at the New York Daily Journal, and I’d wager her fingers are all over these columns.”
I remain in silence, still frozen in place, my heart thumping fast inside my chest. Can it be? Is there a connection between Penny and these fucking gossip columns? No, I don’t fucking buy it. Penny wouldn’t do this to me.
But then again, I once thought the same about her mother, and look where that road led me.
Suddenly, my phone beeps against my ear and I leave Joyce hanging as I read the text message I just received. Are you awake? it reads, Penny’s name in bold letters before the message itself.
Now that’s some timing.
“I’m on it,” I tell Joyce flatly and, without even waiting for her reply, I end her call and scroll down the contacts list once more. My office buildings are just a block away but, instead of heading down the street toward it, I turn on my heels and start walking on the opposite direction.
“Bring the car around,” I tell my driver through the phone, “I need to go back to One57.”
I need some fucking answers.
Right now.
Penny
Click, click, click.
The sound of my high heels clicking across the pavement feel like a ticking bomb, one about to go off any minute now. And that’s about right; I’m on my way to Magnus’ apartment at One57, hoping to catch him before he heads out to work, and the conversation I want to have with him isn’t going to be a good one.
I’ve reached a decision. I’m not a good liar and, in fact, I don’t even want to be one. I’ve decided to tell Magnus the whole truth. Yeah, it’s not going to be pretty, I know. But what can I do? Keep on lying and playing my part as a pawn on Laurel Trask’s game? That’s not me. Even though Laurel and my mom have been pressuring me hard to finish Magnus off, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Especially when he seems to be a different man from what I expected him to be.
Are you awake? I text him, my thumb flying over my cellphone’s screen. It’s still early, and I expect him to be asleep. His answer comes fast, though.
I’m awake. Meet me at home, he replies, and I throw my phone inside my purse and start hurrying down the street, the rising silhouette of One57 cutting across the morning sky. It towers over the city like some temple of opulence, its enormous steel and glass frame reminding everyone that One57 is a fortress for some of the wealthiest people in the world.
Even though I’m determined to go through with this, each step I take makes the knot inside my stomach grow. There’s a coldness under my skin, and even my mouth seems to have grown dry. I have no idea how he’s going to react to the truth, but I’m pretty sure that he won’t like it. How could he?