Foreplay (noun): the lies a man tells before he gets inside a woman
Later in the morning, I stand outside my office and watch from the end of the hall as the florist delivers Leo's arrangement.
Various employees are in transit—SilentWitn3ss, news room staff—and they stop to stare when they catch sight of the bouquet. The delivery girl is evidently unsettled, and she keeps her eyes on the bundle of scarlet cellophane and tissue in her arms; twelve thorny stems emerge from the ribbon and wrapping, arranged so they protrude at even angles to form a dome shape. A dozen perfect red roses...but turned upside down.
When Leo removes the wrapping? she'll be treated to a sea of crushed red petals that bleed to the floor like tears.
Tuija stands beside me, her made-up face wrinkled with unease. "You know this is an office, right? Not a Tim Burton movie."
I elbow her sharply in the ribs, sending her flying into the glass wall behind us. "Don't piss on my picnic."
"Ouch. Motherfu—"
"And mind your fucking language."
She rubs at her side, wincing. "You're doing an ace job of putting the no in Casanova."
I pat her on the head. "You keep telling yourself that."
Leo hides away all day, but that evening, my phone goes off with a text from a strange number.
But he that dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose, it reads. L x
A Bronte quote.
How very English of her.
***
Wednesday. The date of our dinner, and the arrival of my second gift.
I deliberately schedule a Central Park run with Harvey for the delivery timeslot. If I'm in the building, all I'll do is think of Leo's face when she opens this particular box, and I hate nothing more than distraction.
The weather is mediocre today: grey skies, drizzle. The sky hangs heavy and swollen. We jog through the groves, gravel and dust spewing from our running shoes, and the damp air cools the sweat on my brow to a film. Clothes stick to me unpleasantly. It's all like being choked by a cold, wet hand.
"So," I say to Harvey, "any developments?"
"With M?"
"The very same."
"We got a couple text messages. He keeps arranging to meet up with his boy toy but then gets waylaid, has to cancel." He huffs. "Twice now, we've been all set to get photos and it hasn't come through. This could take time."
"Then take it."
We come to a small bridge, and the wood shudders and groans beneath the pounding of our footsteps.
"But as soon as you have something," I go on, "I want it. Photos, audio, everything."
Harvey nods. Pauses. "You mind me asking what you planning to do with it?"
I shrug. "Haven't quite made up my mind. But it'll be useful."
"He'll come after you if you expose him," he says in a low voice.
"He can try to come after me. But with his company in crisis and his shareholders squeezing his balls, he'd have his hands fucking full."
"Only means he'll do something quick and nasty. You gotta be careful."
"I'll keep it in mind."
I bring my wrist up to check my watch. Any moment now, a luxuriously wrapped box of chocolates will be delivered to Leo's desk. When she opens them, she'll find a tray of Hans Gaultier's famous dark chocolate and cherry ganache hearts, although these will be a little different. Adapted, you might say.
"How's your acquisition shaping up?" Harvey asks as we thud past a play area. "Everyone playing nicely?"
I snort. "Of course not."
He chuckles. "Shouldn't have asked."
Before I made a bid on SilentWitn3ss, Harvey performed an initial background check on the company itself; he wanted to make sure nobody was affiliated with an enemy. To be specific: he wanted to make sure that no money flowed between Montgomery—or another media CEO—and Leo, or her employees. None was found. Truth be told, nobody had paid them a great deal of attention. A surveillance company isn't doing its job right if everyone has heard of them.
Of course, my social media plans for SilentWitn3ss will alter that. It's how I built my empire so swiftly: I became a gamechanger. A catalyst. And the box that just landed on Leo's desk...that's a catalyst, too.
She'll peel off the silky gold lid to find twenty chocolate hearts. But they won't be flawless, smooth domes. These, as per my request, will gape in the centre, their dark cherry filling spilling out in messy tendrils. One or two split chocolates would simply suggest that they'd been accidentally crushed; each of these is designed to spew its scarlet innards out toward Leo's eye. I noticed her penchant for cherry dark chocolate while in her apartment, and this will not be lost on her. A small part of her psyche will light up because I cared.
Hans was concerned that they'd not stay fresh for long. And they won't. Broken, bleeding things never do...but then if one looks in the right places, there's beauty even in rot. Not that I expect Leo to keep the chocolates around for long. They aren't really the kind you can share with colleagues or offer to your mother over a cup of coffee.
Heh.