Ignite Me (The Annihilate Me Series) Read online

  I knew that there had to come a point for anyone who had long enjoyed the spoils of the rich when they just took it for granted. But that’s something I never could fathom. And frankly, I didn’t want to consider it, because if I did, if I ever turned out to be as successful as Blackwell was, it would be a crime if I took any of this for granted. It would change the fabric of the person I was now—and only for the worse.

  * * *

  When we arrived at Bergdorf, Cutter opened Blackwell’s door, she reached for the Birkin bag at her feet, and then she exited the car without waiting for me to climb over the console. Instead, she just charged toward the entrance while I hustled to keep up.

  “Do come along, Madison,” she said. “Time wasted is time lost. When are you going to learn that?”

  I’m doing my best, bitch.

  “Chloe is my go-to at Bergdorf,” she said as she reached inside her bag and removed her iPhone. “Although our relationship has been nothing if not turbulent as of late, she does have an eye, and she does understand criticism, so at the very least, I respect her for that.”

  How kind of you. . . .

  With a few quick clicks, she sent a text, shut down her phone, and dropped it back into her bag. “Texts,” she said. “How I hate them, but I’ve since had no choice but to give myself over to them. It’s the culture now. If Chloe knows better, which she certainly should at this point, she’ll be here within a matter of seconds to greet us, and to show us what Jennifer might consider for Peachy’s party. Not that I haven’t already fed Chloe with a host of dresses I expect her to show me. And believe me—she’d better have them at the ready too.”

  Because God know what will happen to her if she doesn’t. . . .

  It was only a moment before a beautiful middle-aged woman with blonde hair and a chic navy-blue suit greeted us.

  “Chloe,” Blackwell said. “How nice of you to come so quickly.”

  “It’s good to see you, Ms. Blackwell.”

  “Is it?”

  “It is.”

  “I have to wonder since we do have a tense and questionable history. . . .”

  “I was hoping that after our last meeting, you were pleased by how things went. That was certainly my impression.”

  “Was it?” Blackwell said. “I wonder why that is? Never mind, Chloe. This is Madison,” she said with a weak wave of her hand at me. “Madison Wells. She’s my new personal assistant. If things go well for her, she will be the one picking up all of Jennifer’s tailored clothing for me from now on. If things don’t go well for her—and I must tell you, Chloe, that a dark cloud hovers over that one—I’ll be introducing you to another young woman within a few weeks.”

  Would she never let up on me?

  “Now,” Blackwell said, “take me to the dresses I instructed you to have on hand for Jennifer when I arrived today. Time, as you can imagine, is tight.”

  With her blonde hair wrapped behind her head in a crisp chignon, I thought that Chloe was at once elegant, beautiful, and somehow unfazed by Blackwell’s haughty behavior. Perhaps she was just used to it, if that was even possible.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to a private dressing area to show you the dresses you selected for Jennifer to wear to Peachy’s party.”

  “Do you have all of them?”

  “I do.”

  “Well,” Blackwell said. “Quelle surprise.”

  “I must say that this is one popular party,” Chloe said as she moved ahead of us. “So many people are going.”

  “Are you handling any of those people personally?”

  “Yes, of course—it’s my job. But what you need to know is that I’ve since confirmed that the gowns you’ve chosen for Jennifer are not yet on the market, and for twenty-four hours, they will only be made available to Jennifer because of the press she’ll receive if she chooses to wear one of them. What you’re about to see will set her apart from the rest for that reason. For instance, the dress you were especially excited about arrived yesterday from de la Renta. Since I wanted to make certain that you had a wealth of exclusives to choose from, I took the liberty of calling several other designers who know for a fact that Jennifer can get them the kind of press they need to sell their brand. So, armed with that, I took a hard line with them and selected several others dresses that are only available right now for you to consider.”

  “Only for me, Chloe?”

  “Only for you,” she said.

  “Well,” she said. “What can I say? I’m impressed by the effort. Thank you.”

  “Just to reiterate, you have only today to make your decision. If you pass on any dress, I am to instruct each designer to make it available for sale. Naturally, each designer is hopeful that you will choose their dress, for obvious reasons.”

  “Publicity,” Blackwell said. “And I have to give it to you, Chloe—you did this on your own. You’ve gone beyond the call, so I want to be fair and let you know that you and I are on the upswing, my dear. For me, this is you at your best—assuming, of course, that the dresses you’ve chosen are worth a damn.”

  “How about if we go up to the third floor?” she said. “You can decide for yourself.”

  * * *

  When we arrived by elevator to the third floor, which was labeled “Women: Designer Evening Wear,” the place was filled with women busy shopping. Blackwell said, “Let’s do this,” and then she stopped dead in her tracks when a woman somewhere off to our left called out her name in an odd lilting voice.

  “Looky who the here,” a voice said with what sounded to me like a thick Cuban accent. “It’s the Barbara Blackwell! Now Epifania have to come over and give her the proper hello!”

  “Tell me that isn’t her, Chloe,” Blackwell said. “Not Epifania Zapopa. Not the loose cannon of Park Avenue. Not now. You know I can’t do this.”

  “I’m afraid that it is her,” Chloe said in a quiet voice. “She’s here every day. Sometimes twice a day. I didn’t see her enter the store, but I’m afraid that she’s coming our way now.”

  “Has that woman somehow had me drugged and implanted a tracking device in my ass?” Blackwell said in an equally low voice. “Don’t answer. Just get me to that dressing room before she can get to us.”

  “You can run, but you can’t the hide!”

  And at that, Blackwell’s shoulders just slumped as the loud sound of heels clicking across the floor approached us through the crowd.

  “Just so you know, Madison, we’ve officially entered hell. There’s no escaping this now, so just go with it. Say as little to her as possible. I’m supposed to be nice to her, because, to be honest, she did do something extraordinary for Alex and Jennifer not long ago. And because of what she did, I need to recognize that she probably is a decent human being, even if she is a former stripper worth five hundred million dollars because of her dead husband’s money. And yet I’m still struggling with all of it! Whatever. Let me handle her so we can just move on and get this over with.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about, but it was clear from the horrified expression on Chloe’s face—and the cold, determined look on Blackwell’s face—that for some reason unknown to me, we were about to come across a woman Blackwell didn’t want to tolerate.

  It took only a moment before a beautiful woman with long, thick, dark hair and enormous breasts cut through the masses and put her hands on her formidable hips as she stood before us.

  “It is you, the cookie,” she said to Blackwell. “You know, when my father used to pass the gas on that lousy inner tube we took to get to this country? You always knew when it was him because everyone knew his farts! And your voice, it the same way! I know your voice anywhere!”

  “Did you just compare my voice to your father’s flatulence, Epifania?”

  “No, no!” she said. “It is just that mi papi’s farts always gave themselves away. There were a dozen of us on that leetle bitty floaty boat, but I always knew when papi let loose a big one. Because his ass, it was so
huge, it sounded like a damn tuba going off. It the same way with you, the cookie. I hear the tone of your voice, and BAM! I know it you! That why Epifania come over to give you a hug.”

  “Don’t you dare give me a hug. If you do, those piñatas of yours are going to wrinkle my suit.”

  “Oh, please. Come on. That the right. Give Epifania a nice beeg hug!”

  Blackwell allowed it, but only for an instant before she broke away.

  “How are you, Epifania?” she asked.

  “Oh, Epifania is just the great. Sure, I’m still a little sore from getting my little meow-meow tightened by the doctor last week, but it all good. And now that that is done, Epifania is ripe to find herself a real man, which Chuckie wasn’t!” She shrugged. “But still, I gotta give it to the Chuckie for his money, because without it, Epifania would not have met you, and the Yennifer, and the Alex!”

  “That’s what terrifies me,” Blackwell said.

  “You always so the witty,” Epifania said. “Why can’t I be as the witty as you?”

  “Because that would take an education?”

  “Oh, lady, Epifania is the street-smart. Don’t ever discount that, the cookie. And by the way, have I told you how pretty you look today? Always in Chanel. Always so classy. Why can’t I do the classy?”

  “Because you were developed in a test tube by unnatural means?”

  “What does that mean? I don’ even know what that mean.”

  “It’s unimportant.”

  “Who this?” she said when she turned to me with a bright smile on her face. “Who this beautiful girl? She a knockout, Barbara. Is she one of Yennifer’s nieces? One of Alex’s? She must be, because she come from the good end of the gene pool.”

  “This is my new personal assistant, Madison Wells, Epifania. Please give her a hug if you wish.”

  Seriously?

  “I love the hug!”

  And when she gave me one, I thought I heard Blackwell stifle a laugh behind me, but through it all, I nevertheless sensed that Epifania’s hug was genuine. When we parted, she stood back and assessed me.

  “How long you been working for the Barbara now?”

  “Just this week.”

  “How you like your job?”

  It’s hellish.

  “I’m learning a lot.”

  “Where you go to school?”

  “I received my M.B.A. from Harvard.”

  “What an ‘M.B.A.’?”

  “A master’s degree in business.”

  “And you settled for a job to be Barbara’s beetch?”

  Oh, that will go over well.

  “I’m very happy with my job,” I lied.

  “Oh, Epifania not so sure about that, the cookie. But I get it. In this town? You need to be the politically correct, no?”

  She reached into her purse, removed a card, and gave it to me. “Call me if Barbara fires your ass, OK? Because if she does, you can come and work for me!”

  “Excuse me?” Blackwell said.

  “Ah, lady, don’t you the worry about it. It’s just an offer, and only if you fire her—which everyone in this town knows you probably will. Besides, at this point in my viva loca, I need a personal assistant more than you do.” She turned back to me and her eyes sparkled. “So, who know, maybe you come to work for Epifania! And believe me, Fatison, the two of us will have much more fun!”

  “Um, it’s actually Madison,” I said.

  “Oh, sheet. I just called you fat, didn’t I? Which you aren’t all. You’ve got a hot body, baby. You seeing anyone yet? The way you look, you must be.”

  The jury’s still out on that one, Epifania. But maybe . . .

  “Epifania,” Blackwell interrupted. “That’s enough. Unless Madison happens to disappoint me in a major way, I have no plans on firing her.”

  “Define ‘major way,’” Epifania said. “Does that mean you fire her if she show up late for the work? Or if she doesn’t do something exactly right? Or if you just one day wake up and decide she no longer the one for you? You see, I already know you like the back of my ass, the cookie, so for the Madison’s sake, I think you should define it for her. That the fair thing to do, no?”

  “I will define nothing. Madison is working out fine. I suggest that you find a personal assistant of your own.”

  And for the first time since I’d been at Wenn, Blackwell was forced to acknowledge that though I might have made a few mistakes, on some level, she was pleased with my performance. Otherwise, she would have just handed me over to this woman. So maybe despite her constant threats to the contrary, she didn’t plan on ditching me anytime soon, which is what Jennifer already had suggested to me, but which still came as a crushing kind of relief.

  And yet this Epifania woman was worth five hundred million dollars. Could I get further ahead with her? I was so desperate to make it here in New York, how could I overlook any opportunity that might come my way, especially given the way Blackwell had been treating me from the start?

  “Look, the cookie,” Epifania said to me. “I already want you. In fact, I need someone like you. And besides, she gonna fire you anyway. Trust me on this. You should come over to me! And stop looking at me like that, Barbara, because as Chuckie used to say before he went belly up, business is business.”

  “The hell it is. This is sabotage.”

  “Whatever. Look, it not the personal. And Madison, guess the what? I will pay you double whatever Barbara is paying you now. You’ll also get the full bennies and the time off and all that. Plus, you will get to shop with me! And believe me, the Madison, Epifania is more generous than the one you work for now.”

  You probably are, Epifania, but you also sound kind of crazy to me, which is a wee bit worrisome. And regardless of what you’d pay me, what opportunities would I have with you? How would I grow if I came to work for you? I’m fairly sure that I wouldn’t, even if the thought of having my salary doubled is making me want to salivate right now.

  “I appreciate the offer, Ms. Zapopa, but I’m committed to my job at Wenn, and I’m especially grateful to be learning from someone as knowledgable as Ms. Blackwell. I hope you understand, but I have to decline.”

  “OK, then, so you just the think about it. No need to make any beeg decisions at the Bergdorf. If Barbara becomes too much for you to handle or if she decides to can your ass, you call me. I hire you. We have the fun.”

  She glanced at her watch. “Epifania need to go now,” she said. “I’d give you another hug, Barbara, but right now you look like you want to take a beeg baseball bat to the side of my head, so just know that Epifania loves you and that she meant no harm. It’s a beeg, bad competitive world, and I know a winner when I see one. And this Madison looks like a winner. At least by my standards.”

  What are her standards?

  Before I knew it, she was on me again with two quick air kisses on both sides of my cheeks, and then Epifania Zapopa, who Blackwell had rightfully called the loose cannon of Park Avenue, swept away from us and disappeared into the crowd.

  * * *

  Later, after we’d chosen Jennifer’s dress—a stunning Oscar de la Renta strapless gown in bright yellow that had cost a mind-boggling twenty thousand dollars—it was only when we stepped out of Bergdorf and into the Rolls Royce waiting for us at the curb that Blackwell decided to mention what had happened with Epifania Zapopa.

  “Thank you for how you behaved earlier,” she said to me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Madison, so please don’t behave as if you don’t.” When she spoke, she did so without looking at me. Instead, her gaze was fixed straight ahead of us, and I could tell that she was still undone by the tension that Epifania had created between us.

  “I meant what I said, Ms. Blackwell. I know very well whom I’m learning from. On the day of my interview, I told you then that I’d researched you and learned how hard you’d worked to make it to the top. Your story has inspired me in ways that make me want
to get up in the morning. Has this past week been easy for me? No, it hasn’t. But did I ever expect it to be easy? Not at all. This week has made me believe that if I work hard enough, maybe one day I’ll be able to do with my life what you’ve done with your own.”

  “Well, that’s a stretch,” she said, but when she said it, it was with a hint of a smile that quickly vanished. And then she just sighed. “She was serious, you know?” she said. “Right then, you could have left me at that very moment, she would have doubled your salary on the spot, and yet you didn’t take it. So I have to ask why you didn’t, Madison? Because you’re right—since you’ve worked for me, I haven’t made things easy on you. Some would say that I’ve been nothing short of rude and impossible to you. Others might call me a bitch.”

  “To a point, I’d agree with them,” I said.

  When I said that, she shot me a look. “You’d what?”

  “I said that I’d agree with them, but only to a point. What you need to know is that I’d rather learn from a perfectionist than from a woman who—how do I put this delicately—seemed somewhat unhinged to me.”

  “Just somewhat?”

  I smiled at that.

  “You still could have gone with her, Madison. Don’t think that I don’t know that, or that fact that you just turned down a salary of one hundred eighty thousand dollars. With full ‘bennies,’ I might add.”

  “But to what end?” I said. “All that would have led to is a dead-end job. Fine, she would have doubled my salary. And I’m not going to lie to you when I say that for a moment there, that sounded particularly tempting to me right now because I mean it when I say that I’m broke. I could use the money. Money is important to all of us, but I have to look at the big picture, and in the end, as my previous two jobs have proved, the big picture isn’t all about money for me. It’s about hopefully rising up through the ranks, proving myself to my employers, and earning a fair wage for what I provide to them. That’s what I hope to achieve by working for you and for Wenn.”