Chapter 3: The Preposition.
1275 Words
Eliza woke to the soft tap of rain on her room's glass. The storm that loomed last night was here, but now as a light shower. It made Manhattan look like a gray ghost town. For a short, sweet while, she lay half-awake, half-asleep. For a moment, she existed between sleep and consciousness, and then real life hit her fast.
The fancy event. Her grandfather. Luca Devereaux. The bold text of an ultimatum.
Then, Devereaux's words. The best traps are the ones we set for ourselves. Breakfast tomorrow?
She hadn't responded. What was there to say? The guy was in her grandfather's crafty plans, regardless of his claims to the contrary. Yet, he had a pull on her—his clear talk or his help when she was stuck.
Her cellphone rang on the table next to her. A glance at the screen confirmed her suspicion: Marianne. Again. With a sigh, she answered the call.
"Just so you know," she said, "I'm late with the book."
"Late?" Marianne's voice was tense. "Eliza, you're beyond late. You're killing your job. Harper & Row are demanding their payment back."
Eliza put her hand on her head. "They can't do that. The deal...".
"That deal you've broken for ten months? That deal?" Marianne's deep sigh was audible as it came through the phone. "I've kept them calm this long, but they're losing their patience. Also, regarding the news.
"News. What news?" Eliza sat up, fully awake.
A pause. "You haven't seen it."
"Seen what, Marianne?"
"Today's news. Your name is all over the major tabloids. Something about you taking on the role of Chief Creative Officer at Morgan Media? And the talk of a strategic alliance wedding?"
Each word hit Eliza hard. "He did it. That crafty jerk did it."
"Your grandfather? Eliza, what is this?"
Eliza got her laptop. There it was, Wall Street Journal big news: "Morgan Heiress to Head Creative Art Division; Wedding Alliance in Talk." The write-up was not clear on the wedding, but sure enough on her new role. Her grandfather praised "the next gen's hold on their fate."
"I'll have to call you back," she said and quickly hung up.
Her hand shook as she went through the news on her laptop. The same tale was on all the sites, each adding its speculative twist. Some named Devereaux Holdings, connecting dots that weren't even there yet.
Just then, her phone made a ping sound. A text from that same new number.
"I see Thomas doesn't wait. The Plaza. 9:30. I'll be in the Palm Court. - LD"
Eliza read the text, torn by what she felt. She was mad, yet drawn by a hint of want. She shouldn't go. She should call her grandfather & put an end to all this nonsense.
But instead, she found her hands typing, What makes you think I want to have breakfast with you?
A text came back almost immediately, saying,
Because I'm the only one in this game who'll tell you everything you need to know. Even what your grandfather won't.
She stopped to think. What did Devereaux know that she didn't? It must be a trick, a way to see her. Yet...
"9:30," she typed back. "Don't be late."
An hour and a half later, Eliza walked into the grand Palm Court. It was full of the rich buzz of key chats, rich folks, news heads, & some stars hid in the back.
She saw Devereaux at once. Not in a suit like the rest, he wore a crisp white shirt, arms bare. No tie, no coat. He looked at ease, a man who lived by his own rules.
He stood as she came near, a half-smile on his face. “You came.”
“Looks like it,” she said, sitting down. “Though I wish I hadn't."
“A lot of people think that way when they meet me.” He signaled to the waiter. “Coffee?”
“Yes. Black.”
They were quiet 'til the coffee came. Eliza added nothing to her cup. Devereaux used just a little bit of sugar.
“The news says we're to get married,” she said, picking her words.
He met her gaze. “The news gets it wrong a lot.”
“But my grandfather is allowing the speculation.”
“Thomas Morgan knows how to use a tale,” he said, taking a sip. “But we both know he has a plan for you, & I'm not it."
That made her pause. “Why do you say that?”
Because I'm not easily controlled, and control is what your grandfather craves most."
He leaned slightly forward. "Do you know why he approached me about acquiring Meridian Publishing?"
Eliza shook her head, curiosity getting the best of her.
“'Cause Meridian was about to sign a three-book deal with E.M. Blake, worth seven million dollars.”
The coffee cup froze halfway to her lips. “No way. My agent didn't say...”.
“They approached your agent yesterday morning. The same day, he had you meet his lawyer.” His eyes held hers. “Odd, right?”
Her mind spun. If Devereaux was right, and that was a big if, her grandfather was more interested in her work life than she thought. Maybe even set on hurting her chances.
“Why mess up a deal for me?”
“Why, yes?” Devereaux's smile was cold. “Maybe because a hit at E.M. Blake means a permanently independent Eliza Morgan. No hooks for his big plans."
The waiter approached, eager to take their order, but Eliza sent him off, no longer hungry. "How do you know all this?"
“I make it my business to know the true value of what I'm acquiring”. He sat back, studying her. The Meridian's editorial director was quite forthcoming once I explained my interest."
“Your interest in what? The firm? Or me?"
His look shifted, turning deeper & more intense.
“Both,” he said. “But not like you might think.”
“Enlighten me.”
He picked his words with care. “Your grandfather came to me six months back about acquiring Meridian, said it was in bad shape & could gain from my restructuring with firms."
"And what restructuring is that?"
“I acquire firms that are undervalued but have strong core assets. I strip away what fails, boost what works, & build them up or sell them for more." He spoke with no shame or boast, just the truth. "Yet when I looked into Meridian, I saw it wasn't in bad shape at all; it was growing. It had seen a 30% increase in revenue in the past year."
"What are you led by?" Eliza asked, though she had a guess.
"Your debut was a huge hit, and they hoped the next one would do the same." He sipped his coffee again. "I got... curious. About the author. About why Thomas Morgan wanted her book firm."
"So you checked me out."
"A lot." No apology in his voice. "I found out E.M. Blake was Eliza Morgan. And I saw what Thomas was up to."
Eliza connected the dots fast. "So you got the firm to... what? Get close to me? Warn me?"
"To put myself in a good spot in a big company game." His honesty was almost ruthless. "Your grandfather wants Morgan Media to take in Devereaux Holdings. I'd rather be the acquirer, not the acquired."
"And I'm what? The prize?" She asked angrily.
No, you're another player who needs to know how to play the game.
- Writer
