Corner Office Confessions

Arlie nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. “Yes,” she said, shifting the strap of her tool case on her shoulder. “I’m Arlie Banks.”

She held out her clammy hand, wishing like hell she’d paused outside the room to swipe it on her dress before entering the kitchen.

Paul shook it briskly, decisively, as his eyes the color of aged tobacco scanned the kitchen.

“But where is Mason Kane? I was told he was to be directing this shoot, oui?”

“Oui,”Arlie echoed. “That was my understanding as well.”

As quickly as she was able, Arlie reviewed the details of their preproduction call. They were to shoot Willow Creek winery’s cabernet, chardonnay and relatively new claret. Ericka had signed off on food being present as an offset. The winery’s manager had been tasked with finding bottles with perfect labels and had agreed to source the appropriate glasses. Before boarding her plane, Arlie had put in calls to several artisan bakeries and a fromagerie all too eager to supply photogenic wedges of Gorgonzola and Brie for a shoot that had anything to do with the Kanes.

Mason had overseen all of this.

And now, no Mason.

Arlie dug her phone out of her pocket and checked to see if she’d received any messages.

She had.

A brief but very apologetic email from Mason.

Pressing business. Urgent priorities. Forgiveness requested.

“I’m afraid that Mason won’t be joining us,” Arlie said, part of her still not quite comprehending that she was actually talking to the Paul Martine.

“Merde!” Paul dug his hands into his thick crop of salt-and-pepper hair, and it somehow fell right back into place. He paced the length of the kitchen, the clack of his black ostrich-skin cowboy boots echoing in the cavernous space.

Having exactly one semester of college French, Arlie could make out the words light and tomorrow and cloudy hidden like Easter eggs among a florid cascade of elegant curses.

“Would you give me just a moment?” she asked.

Martine waved her away like he might a mosquito.

Pulling up the contacts on her cell phone, Arlie looked down at the name, and taking a deep breath, pressed the call button.

He answered after 1.5 rings.

“Samuel Kane,” he said.

As if he didn’t have her number saved in his phone.

As if he hadn’t wrapped his fingers around the back of her head and angled her neck so he could pillage her mouth less than forty-eight hours before.

“Hi. This is Arlie.”

Silence spiraled out between them.

“I’m terribly sorry to bother you. It’s just...I’m here with the photographer and I got an email from Mason and it seems he’s going to be unable to make it.”

“Fuck! I’ll be right there.”

The line went dead.

She told herself it was nervousness, not excitement, that had set a sudden swarm of butterflies loose in her middle.

Martine’s assistant returned with a hesitantly penitent smile and a steaming demitasse of espresso, which Paul took without looking.

“Mason’s brother, Samuel, is coming.” To Arlie, it sounded like an apology she wasn’t certain she owed. In her past life, neither the chief marketing officer nor the chief executive officer would have had anything to do with the photo shoot itself after their directives had been doled out. But then, the Kanes, or at least Samuel, seemed to have a far more hands-on relationship with the daily operations of their empire. His instructions had been as direct as they were odd. The photo shoot absolutely, positively, was not to start without Mason present.

She set her bag on the marble counter and began to unpack her tools.

Nitrile gloves to handle the glasses. A spray bottle. Glycerin to mix with water to create the effect of condensation for chilled white wine. A travel bottle of dish soap, should the red wine need assistance with the bubbles that often appeared when freshly poured. Wooden skewers, should the bubbles require encouragement to form attractive gatherings. Sheets of muslin, and white and black foam core boards for taming and sculpting the natural light that Ericka had been absolutely insistent upon in their preproduction meeting.

Arlie couldn’t ask for better windows.

Or a better room, for that matter.