Stone Cold Fox (3)

Men like him were rarely accessible, even to tens like me, dating in the same moneyed domains for decades, outsiders deemed too messy to bring into the fold. They don’t understand the proclivities and problems of the rich. Keep it in the circle. It’s just easier that way, for everybody. But Collin opened a window for me, and I wanted to leap right through it. There would be many obstacles and absolutely no guarantees I’d get what I wanted, but she wouldn’t even try for someone like Collin Case. That’s how big of a challenge I was up against.

And that settled it. I had to have him.

It would take the ultimate social finesse, but I believed I was up to the task. I had done it before so many times, albeit not on this scale, but all the more reason to trust myself and test my skills and just truly go for it with everything I had.



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I WAS NEVER one to parade my relationships around at work, but I took particular care to keep my relationship with Collin Case quiet at the office. He was officially a client of the agency, and I knew that the optics wouldn’t be great for me, professionally speaking. I was a senior business development director at one of the biggest advertising agencies in New York, where most of the men pretended to be Don Draper and Roger Sterling, tossing back bourbon in their offices when the clock struck five, taking prospectives and currents out to Gramercy Tavern, where they could all act like they were more attractive than they were due to the generous low lighting. As for the women I worked with, they largely resented me for ascending to a senior role relatively quickly, at least compared to their own moderate trajectories. I knew they all thought it was because of how beautiful I was, and while I’m under no delusion that didn’t factor in as an element of my success, I’m also excellent at my job because of my skillful play of the corporate game.

Yet another difference between her and me—and an important one. I devoured all of those bullshit businesswomen bibles by the likes of Sheryl Sandberg, Ivanka Trump and Dr. Lois P. Frankel, applying their strategies with a deft hand so I could use them to my advantage. I also read all the strategy books aimed at the C-suite, written for men in power, so I was aware of what was going on in their feeble minds. Unlike her, I could actually apply myself in a multitude of ways. I could succeed in business and in dating. I earned a salary. I had benefits. I had an expense account. I enjoyed my work, commanding the room, closing deals, counting my money that I had earned.

As if she ever had a real job. She could never.

Soon enough, I knew exactly how and when to lean in, always just enough, but never crossing any perceived boundaries that would label me a bitch or ballbuster by the male powers that be. In truth, I found it all rather entertaining and supremely rewarding when I would unlock another achievement at work, whether it was in the form of a promotion or an opportunity to collaborate on a challenging pitch.

I learned the rules so I could win.

I always knew what men wanted to hear, the setting never mattered, and specifically in business, the playbook was so abundantly clear. Sexism goes in and out of vogue depending on the year or damning article making the rounds in the press, but the deep-seated sentiments never change. So Miss Jessica McCabe could speak ill of me in her cube all she liked, languishing for years on end in an entry-level position, but it was hardly my fault she didn’t get her head in the game so she could snag an actual office with a door that shuts. Address the bags under your eyes and seek out a reliable silhouette to flatter your wide-set hips, Jessica, and just watch what career wonders could unfold for you. Didn’t her mother teach her anything? Looking good is perpetually a transferable skill.

See, it’s not really about if you personally subscribe to these “girl boss” ideologies when they’ve already permeated their way into the corporate psyche. It’s your responsibility as a member of the capitalistic workforce to acknowledge the game, learn it backward and forward and then manipulate the rules in your favor. Remember: It’s not personal. It’s business.

And while I’m loath to give her any credit for my success at anything, I’m certain I could attribute my natural aptitude for all things manipulation to Mother.

Her influence was largely a curse, but once in a while a blessing. Safe to say that I wouldn’t be where I was, or who I was, without her. It’s like she gave me a map that only I knew how to read, and I’d have to force myself to go in the opposite direction of nearly every path she took. A lifelong challenge.



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I MOSTLY ENJOYED Collin Case’s company. As much as I could enjoy a man who believed that boat shoes and colorful polos under a quarter-zip sweater were the height of men’s weekend fashion. He adored listening to me talk, and I had plenty of entertaining things to say. Whatever he said to me was typically bookended between lovely compliments about my appearance or my sparkling personality. I could get used to such a winning relationship dynamic. Coupled with the constant extravagance of running around town with his drivers and helicopters and multiple homes, it was a no-brainer to set my sights on marriage.

Getting Collin Case to want to marry me would be simple given how smitten he was, but with his elevated stature in society, I knew he would not be the sole decision-maker. Even so, I believed my forged identity would still fly with Collin in my crosshairs. I had conjured up a solid backstory for myself as Beatrice.

But please, call me Bea.