Thomas leaned back, idly swirling the wine in his crystal glass as he watched the rapid play of emotion over his guileless wife's face. He had a fairly good idea of the feelings it would spark for Lauren to realize she'd be seeing that worthless lump of flesh that sired her again. After Frank had walked her down the aisle and then promptly got drunk during the surreal nightmare that had been her wedding, she'd not spoken of him once. Knowing Lauren's sweet and forgiving nature, Thomas was quite certain Frank's instant capitulation to his demand for his daughter's hand in marriage was not the first time he'd placed his interests well above his daughter. The twinge in the general direction of where a conscience might have resided - had he owned one - Thomas realized hewasresponsible for the final rift between father and daughter, though he didn't doubt it would have come sooner than later.
"Do we have to see him?" she asked abruptly, looking down at her half-eaten dinner.
Warmed by her use of "we," Thomas shook his head gently. "If you don't want to have contact with him, of course not. There's no reason to put you in a position that's bound to make you unhappy."
Lauren didn't look up, but she nodded. "Thank you, Thomas."
Nonetheless, Lauren viewed The Corporation’s upcoming board meeting with dread. There would be entertaining "requirements," and since she didn't know how Arabella was recovering, the chances were good that she would be put in charge. While she hadn't come back the very next day, as she'd threatened to Kingston's thug/butler, Lauren was stubbornly back on their front steps the next week. Chuck's silent menace behind her kept the man's sneer to a minimum. "Arabella!" she said gratefully, noting that her friend stood this time to greet her. "You look much better, honey." Lauren was being truthful, Number One's wife was almost back to her elegant, polished self, though she could tell the older woman was still moving stiffly, carefully.
She didn't argue when Arabella airily waved her (no longer splinted) hand. "Plastic surgery! You'd think these procedures wouldn't take so long to clear up! But I'm feeling right as rain."
This time, neither Chuck nor the thug/butler stood in the room with them, though Lauren didn't doubt for a second that they were hovering right outside. In fact, she thought with a cynical twist to her full lips, there was likely plenty of listening devices around the room. So, she'd brought an iPad with her. "I was hoping you'd help me make some lists of things to do-" she scooted closer to the other woman. "I can take some of the weight off your shoulders if you can do the fine-tuning?" Meanwhile, she was rapidly tapping out,“How are you, really? How can I help?”
Pleasant social smile very much in place, Arabella airily answered, "That would be lovely. If you can call Carolyn at Elegant Affairs, she'll handle the menu and drink items if you just..." Nodding and typing rapidly as if taking notes on whether to serve the fish or steak dish, Lauren's stomach knotted as Arabella wrote,“Don't trust anyone. Not even Thomas. Especially not Thomas. This upcoming meeting is going to be very bad.”
Finally, back at home, Lauren wandered the quiet, elegant rooms in their townhouse, staring at nothing as she processed everything she'd been told. People were going to be killed during The Corporation summit. It was possible her father would be one of them, despite her husband's promise to let Frank live. Thomas had told her she didn't need to see Frank, was that because he knew the man's demotion from CEO of Atlantic Equities included a shallow grave somewhere? But... he'd told her the truth about Macie. Lauren had anxiously checked the Berlin Philharmonic's social media pages until she'd seen images of Macie playing during a performance. Alive, even if she could never see her again. Lauren knew that her husband usually simply refused to answer her, or he'd give her a look of terrifying chill that would intimidate her instantly if she asked something That Was None Of Her Business. She didn't believe Thomas lied to her, maybe because it wasn't worth the trouble.
But while Thomas did keep his promise about Lauren not having to see her father, she encountered someone much worse at the welcoming cocktail party.
Lauren's back was turned, chatting animatedly to a vice president from Atlantic Equities who'd been with the company since her grandfather ran it. Thomas smiled absently to hear the peal of her laughter more than once at the elderly man's stories from home. His wife was wearing a deliciously low-backed evening dress that stopped just around the dimples over her ass, and Thomas was enjoying the smooth play of toned muscle and skin. He'd selected that dress for her with this tantalizing view very much in mind. And then her entire body turned to stone.
"Well, how do you do! Is that sweet little Lauren, Frank's kid? You've grown up, honey."
She recognized the voice instantly, the nauseating, contemptuous tone of the scumbag who her father had sworn he'd fired after that- thing. And then his horrible fucking hand was on her bare back, low, near her waist and Lauren found she couldn't move. She stood utterly still, trying not to vomit into her glass of wine. The vice president she'd been speaking to, Alan Tarrow, looked concerned as he watched the color drain from her face. "Lauren, you look ill, why don't you come sit down, I'll get you some water-"
"Oh, hell Alan!" the bastard's voice was loud, boisterous. "I haven't even had a chance to say 'hi' to little Miss Marsh, here."
Lauren suddenly, violently arched her back away from his hand, stepping closer to Tarrow and shuddering. "Don't you- don't touch me. You shouldn't be here- you shouldn't-"
"Lauren? Darling, come with me." Thomas was behind her then, she could feel the heat from his body against her chilled skin, he was standing closer than usual as he slid an arm around her waist. "Excuse us, gentlemen," he said coldly, "my wife is needed elsewhere."
The girl was walking away as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run, but she could hear the oily voice of that...pigsuddenly change tone, sounding alarmed. "Wife? Fuck, Frank's little girl is married toWilliams?"
Thomas quelled a rising fury as he looked at Lauren's face. She was sheet-white with two red spots burning vividly over her cheekbones. Taking a breath, he calmly asked, "Who upset you?"
Lauren was taking short gulps of air, vaguely aware that she was probably hyperventilating but trying to look calm as Thomas led her out of the room. "No- nothing, I just need-" another hitch of air left her chest and she tried to focus. She was aware she was being seated somewhere and a door was shut. Her cold hands were in Thomas's warm ones, and he was rubbing some circulation back into her fingers.
"Match your breath to mine, Lauren. Look at me, darling." Lifting her chin, his polar gaze found hers and held it, forcing her to breathe in and out slowly. When Lauren's chest stopped hitching, Thomas spoke again. "You were speaking to Alan Tarrow and Steve Meyers. Which one upset you?"
Lauren's heart nearly stopped again. She could hear the barely concealed fury in her husband's tone that meant someone was about to have a very bad night. No matter how much she hated that- thatthing,she couldn't be responsible for his death. So trying to compose herself, she looked back at him. "I don't like Steve Meyers. He's a creep. All the women he worked with hated him because he's a misogynistic asshole. That's all. I just- I thought Frank had fired him a long time ago." Lauren cringed internally. Thomas's gaze had not left hers and it was clear he knew she wasn't telling the truth. After a moment, he nodded and rose, helping her up. "I will make certain," Thomas spoke precisely, another hint that he was hiding his temper, "that Meyers does not approach you again. Can you finish the night?"
Nodding, Lauren answered as if it was obvious, "Of course." Of course, she would. She would just be someone else, just watching like it wasn't happening to her at all.
But when she dreamt that night, that little trick didn't work.
Thomas had been forced to send her home with Chuck since the cocktail party turned into a spur of the moment meeting with the Atlantic Equities board when Number 3 produced some unflattering new information. Grinding his even white teeth, Williams had nodded at Charles, who moved to him swiftly. "Take my wife home, please. Do not leave her." Nodding the man glided away to collect Lauren, who greeted him with a relieved smile that did nothing to allay Thomas's suspicions.
In Lauren's dream that night, they were back at that horrible restaurant in downtown Manhattan six years ago and his hand was heavy on her forearm as he leaned in to tell her another disgusting joke. Lauren leaned away as politely as possible and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Meyer, I have to speak to my-"
"Relax kid! We're just having fun, remember?" The man was smiling, but his teeth were gritted. "Your dad's in such a great mood since I brought in the Diego de Luna accounts, let him celebrate!" With a weak smile, Lauren nodded but pulled away as graciously as she could. Hiding in the ladies' room for a moment, she washed her hands and the sweaty spot Meyers left on her forearm. Creepy bastard! And she knew her dad put him next to her at the table because he'd been staring at her all evening. He made her sick, there was something off about him and if her mom were here, she would have switched seats instantly and put him with the ancient Winkelmann twins who ran the accounting department. But her mom wasn't here. Lauren swallowed down the grief and made her 17-year-old self smile. Mom was in the hospital getting another chemotherapy treatment, and she'd insisted along with Frank that she attend this business dinner as the "hostess." And the girl was capable of it- trained from early on when her earnest conversation and sincere interest was dubbed precocious, to now where she could deftly handle conversations with millionaires three times her age. Unfortunately, sometimes her graceful way of drawing out someone's interests and making them feel special was misinterpreted as something else. This creepy Meyers guy had to be in his late 40's! She kept away from her seat next to the slimy associate until the end of dinner and stood with Frank to greet everyone goodnight.
To her disgust, Meyers seized her hand, bending over to kiss it and Lauren's skin tried to crawl right off her body as she realized the disgusting troll waslickingher hand under his lips. As she wiped her hand on her skirt, he shook her father's hand briskly, promising that "I'll see you both. Real soon," and chuckling as he left. Frank did not believe her when she complained about how disgusting Meyers was, how he kept grabbing her at dinner and put his disgusting tongue on her hand.
"Don't get so worked up, honey. You're misinterpreting his actions. You're a pretty girl - when you're dressed up, anyway - and he was probably trying to be, I don't know, gallant, or something."
Lauren thought she was being smart in her argument when she brought up the potential of a sexual harassment lawsuit against the company if Meyers behaved like this at work. Frank irritably waved off her concerns. "He's a top earner in our South American division, honey. You know how it is down there. Everyone is flirty."
And two days later as the girl was getting out of a cab, coming home from the hospital, the man was waiting for her outside her parent's brownstone. He stepped out of the shadow of one of the pillars as Lauren opened the front door. "Hey, Lauren! Great to see you again. I've got some papers for your dad-" Meyers held up a couple of folders, "-and I promised I'd meet him here to sign them."
