Eyes On You Part 22

I no longer had access to emails that had been sent to my office computer, so I had only my memory to rely on. I thought back day by day, but it was fruitless. Anyone at the network could have forwarded me an attachment that seemed work-related-a schedule, for instance, or a company announcement-and it wouldn't have struck me as odd.

Frustrated, I gave up for the time being and dug a notebook and pen from my purse. I jotted down the phrase "Who's doing this to me?" I racked my brain, trying to think of anyone whose name had not bubbled up yet. I remembered a production a.s.sistant who'd been weirdly hostile to both Carter and me during the launch of Pulse. But I'd heard since that he'd moved back to L.A.

At five of one, I hiked over to the main house. Nancy and another woman were shuffling around the long brick terrace at the rear, and as I approached, I saw that one of the umbrella tables had been set for lunch.

"Please sit down and let me bring you a beverage," Nancy said. "Ms. Lane will be out in just a moment."

I took a seat as instructed and watched as Nancy filled my gla.s.s from a crystal pitcher filled with ice water, sliced lemons, and twigs of rosemary.

"Would you care for a gla.s.s of wine?" she asked.

I said no, thank you. I wanted my wits about me at lunch. From the time I'd agreed to come here, I'd been thinking of how I should handle Bettina. Though I needed whatever help I could wrangle from her, I also had to be careful. She ran a huge website, and one of their missions was reporting on the foibles of people just like me.

"Robin!"

It was Bettina's voice, coming from behind me, and I rose to greet her. She was dressed in a crisp white pantsuit accented with a chunky gold necklace, and her pale pink lipstick was luminescent, playing off her jewelry. Instead of a double air kiss, I was offered a hug. A little brittle, but probably the very best Bettina had to give.

"This must all be dreadful for you," she said, taking a seat. "The prowler, the mess at the network . . . Nancy, some rose, please. Will you have wine, darling? I'm indulging in a gla.s.s."

"Not right this second, thank you."

Nancy and her helper slipped away. Perhaps the request for rose had been code for "Leave us alone right now."

"I want to hear everything," Bettina said. "But tell me about last night first. I've called the security company, and they're coming by as soon as we're finished with lunch."

I explained the little I knew. The footsteps; the silhouette; the car the police had seen pulling away.

"How terrifying. It's clearly time for me to hire a guard for nights. Other people have them out here."

I glanced down at the table and turned the pale blue linen napkin over in my hands. "I'm not a hundred percent sure you need one," I said, looking back up. "Because I think the prowler had something to do with me."

She must have entertained that possibility but gave nothing away with her expression. "A reporter, perhaps?" she asked.

"Maybe. Or someone spying on me, trying to see what I was up to. I need to ask you, did you tell anyone I was here?"

She dabbed with her long slim fingers at something invisible in one corner of her mouth."Not anyone in editorial," she said. "I did mention it to a member of my executive team. I told him I was worried about you and that I'd invited you to stay with me."

That annoyed me, but I didn't let on.

Nancy returned then, poured a gla.s.s of wine for Bettina, and plunged the bottle into a silver bucket filled with ice. The other woman set down bowls of cold soup, fragrant with cuc.u.mbers.

As soon as they were gone, Bettina leaned forward. "Talk to me now-about work. I want to help you, Robin."

I sampled the soup, buying a few extra moments to think. "First tell me what you've learned," I said.

She shrugged a padded shoulder. "Not very much. That PR friend of yours has kept a tight lid on this. I heard that you acted unethically. And then tried to blame a colleague."

Inside I flinched at the words but I held her eyes, keeping my emotions in check. "I want your help, Bettina," I said. "But I need a.s.surance that everything I tell you is off the record."

"You have my word, darling."

"For weeks, someone at work has tried to sabotage me," I said. I told her about the note at her party, the acid in my makeup, the brownie laced with zolpidem, and how in the end it was made to appear as if I was responsible.

She leaned back in her chair, absorbing it all. A breeze blew across the table, rustling the yellow petals of the flowers in the vase.

"This is appalling, Robin," she said at last. "I'm so terribly sorry."

I sensed there was more, something she wasn't saying. Her face tightened with worry.

"What is it, Bettina?" I urged.

"Your saboteur," she said. "I think I know who it is."

chapter 21.

I waited, stunned by her comment. She may have heard rumors, but how could she know what the truth was?

Bettina took a long sip of rose, tugged the bottle from the silver bucket and splashed more wine into her gla.s.s. "What I'm going to share with you is top-secret," she said. "You asked for my confidence a minute ago, and I need to be sure I have yours."

"You have my word."

"Are you aware of a man named Tony Judd?"

I shook my head.

"He's made a fortune on the digital front, and he wants a fresh project now-one that's glitzy and glamorous. You don't recall him?"

"Would I have met him when I worked for you?"

"Not necessarily. But he was at your book party that night, darling. I invited him myself."

She'd tried to say it casually enough, but I felt something stir in me, the way a memory-or a warning-detaches from part of your brain and begins to surface.

"I may have been introduced to him," I said. "But it doesn't ring a bell."

"Well, he asked me to a.s.sist in his efforts, and I've been working with him, trying to find just the right thing. He's decided to buy your network."

The last line practically blew me off my chair. I hadn't heard a single rumor about any kind of takeover.

"Needless to say," she added, "that's making a few people, particularly Dave Potts, extremely unhappy."

Of course it would. If the network were sold, Potts's job would have next-to-zero shelf life, which might explain why he'd acted more gruff than usual lately. And if the network were rebranded, almost everyone would be impacted.

I couldn't see how that connected to the attacks against me, though. "When is this supposed to happen?"

"It's in the early stages, but it's picking up speed. So far we've contained the information, but it won't be long before news leaks out."

"Who's my saboteur, and what does the sale have to do with any of it?"

Bettina took another long sip of wine. "It's a guess," she said. "And for now it must stay completely between the two of us. I'm wondering if Potts is the guilty party."

"Potts?" I exclaimed.

"Deep down, David is a nasty man. I wouldn't put it past him to want to wreak havoc with you."

"But for what purpose?" I said.

"With you gone, your show will be in a tailspin. He may think that could discourage Judd as a buyer and thwart the sale. Or he's exacting revenge on the network, making sure we end up with damaged goods."

"We?"

"I'm an investor, darling. But just a small one."

That, I realized, was why she was so keenly interested in aiding me. She wanted to know exactly what was going down and what the ramifications could be for her and her partners. She might be using me, but still, I needed her. If she was right, we were in the same fight, which meant there was a chance she would want to save my a.s.s.

"Tell me what you think I should do," I said.

Again the dabbing at her mouth. "I have to mull it over, darling. Let me figure out the best way to attack this. I'm going to make a few calls, and then I'll follow up with you."

Two hours later, I was in the back of Bettina's black Mercedes, headed toward the city. She'd told me to take advantage of her car and driver since she would be working out of her Westport house for the next day or two while she dealt with the security situation. Over the poached salmon, she'd pressed me for any theories I might have about the episodes, but I claimed to be clueless. There was no way I was going to raise Vicky's name with her. I didn't know how far I could trust Bettina.

She had also urged me to stay another night, saying I could use a bedroom in the main house, but she hadn't seemed surprised when I'd declined.

Before I packed up, I'd phoned my doorman. The vultures had dispersed, searching for sc.r.a.ps elsewhere. Vultures. Without thinking, I'd used that word to describe people who were basically in my line of work.

I was mystified I hadn't heard back from Maddy, so I emailed her a second time, alerting her that I'd be back in the city that night and would appreciate it if she could call or, even better, stop by my apartment. As I ducked into the car, she texted me, saying she would come by after the show.

I let my body sag back against the seat. Despite the shower I'd taken earlier, I felt grubby. I was also tired, my eyelids begging to close. I couldn't sleep now. I had to think about the bomb Bettina had tossed on the table at lunch.

Maybe it wasn't so far-fetched to believe in Potts blowing up my career for his own needs. In the back of my mind, I could hear remarks made about him after I'd been hired: "He can be a real a-hole." "Don't cross him, because he's vindictive as h.e.l.l."

If it were true, he would do everything in his power to block my access to my work computer so an outside firm could examine it.

Despite Potts's possible motive, my thoughts were tugged back to Vicky. What if she were working in conjunction with Potts? One way or the other, I wasn't going to discourage Bettina from a.s.sisting me. It was another hand reaching down into the rubble, and I would grab it.

I chuckled to myself as a thought shot to the front of my brain: That was why Bettina had thrown the book party for me. It had been a sneaky little tactic for placing Judd in a room with Potts and all the major players from the network. He'd be able to size people up firsthand.

On my fingers, I counted backward. The party had been only three weeks ago, but it seemed an eternity. I'd been so smug during the early part of the night, reveling in the return of my good fortune and certain I'd never lose it again. Ha! I doubted I'd ever look at the photos again, the ones of me beaming at the camera in my s.e.xy black dress and f.u.c.k-you shoes.

Photos. I gasped in surprise, and the driver, curious, glanced into the rearview mirror. There'd been lots from that night, but I thought specifically of one batch emailed to me right after the party, with a return address I hadn't recognized. That could have been the attachment that had allowed a botnet to sit on my computer. I clenched my fist in triumph.

I had to let Alex know. And I had to find a way to share with him the relevant aspects of Bettina's theory without violating my pledge of secrecy about the sale. I texted him, announcing I had news.

There was only light traffic on the route to Manhattan, and we made the journey in just over an hour. After last night, all I wanted was to be back in my own s.p.a.ce. But as soon as I crossed the threshold into my apartment, I felt a fresh sense of unease. My living room was utterly silent, yet there was an eerie sense of something lingering, as if, moments before I'd arrived, people had been sitting in the room and tiptoed away, closing the door with a hush. This was where my great new life had been happening, but it was all over now.

Don't go there, I told myself. I would have to find a way to start again yet another time. I realized then that I hadn't heard from Richard.

"I was just about to get in touch," he said after I phoned him. "Though unfortunately, I have nothing good to report. They're going to take a few more days to present the financial package. And they're refusing to discuss the dismissal further."

"I may have figured out how the Internet searches were conducted from my office," I said. "Someone on the inside is a.s.sisting me."

"Robin, I've been giving this a great deal of thought, especially after our conversation with Steve Katz. I really think we should let sleeping dogs lie."

"You aren't suggesting I do nothing, are you?" I said.

"If you continue to press them and make demands, there may not be a payout."

"I'm looking for more than payout, Richard. I want to be vindicated."

"There's just so much evidence against you. Let's be smart about this."

"I am being smart. And you need to consider whether you want to be on my team or not. I'm sorry, but I have to sign off now."

Maybe I'd been rash, speaking to him that way. But I wasn't going to let him bulldoze me into acquiescing.

Maddy arrived exactly at nine. Her hair was in a gleaming blond twist, and her clothes were all career girl-a sleeveless pink dress that she'd paired with black patent heels. Funnily, the type of outfit I'd worn every day to work.

"OmiG.o.d, Robin," she said hugging me. "I'm so relieved to see you. Are you okay?"

"I'm better, thanks," I said, ushering her away from the doorway so we couldn't be overheard.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you yesterday. Carter was off, so they had two subst.i.tutes, and it was all such a hot mess, I never had a chance."

"That's okay, you're here now. I've opened white wine in the living room. Why don't we go in there and sit down?"

As she perched on the end of a couch cus.h.i.+on, I poured her a gla.s.s of wine and then a small one for myself. "Do you know anything at all about my situation?" I asked.

"People are talking about it-I mean, everybody is whispering-but they're not saying anything to the interns. I guess they think we're going to post it on Instagram or something. Are you going to another network? Is that why you left?"

G.o.d, that was a laugh. "Not at the moment, no. Tell me, has anyone in management asked you questions about me?"

"You mean like Tom?" she said. "No."

"What about a man named William Oliver? Did he try to talk to you?"

She wrinkled her nose. "No, I've never heard of him."

"I need to ask you this, Maddy. Did you say anything to anyone about what happened years ago with my father?"

"Of course not," she said, laying a hand on her chest. "I'd never do that. It's a private family matter."