by S. L. Scott
“I hope he didn’t ask Hutton. No way will he use his wife’s association if it even has a hint of danger attached.”
Hutton’s wife happens to be a princess from a European country, but no way would we entangle her in this mess. Ethan’s and Hutton’s wives have become the sisters I never had, and I wouldn’t do anything to endanger either of them. “I volunteered.”
“I heard, but why?”
“He set the file in front of me and told me we’d have a deal if I bring her back.”
“Who adds a clause like that to a business deal?”
“That’s how worried he was, and I believed him.” I hate to fucking admit it, but I’ve been told I’m easy on the eyes. “Here’s the truth. My ego thought I’d have the contract signed by sunset.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“It hasn’t.” I steal another sip while I wait for the lecture.
“Arrogance aside, you have a good heart, baby brother, but remember there are two sides to every story. It makes you wonder what her side of the story is. Why would she go to this extreme? What happened to make her pack her bags and leave? There are too many unanswered questions, Ben. I don’t like you being in the middle of this mess.” I can hear his desk phone buzzing in the background, but he doesn’t take the call. “You’re there, so how do things stand with her?”
“They’re complicated.”
“You said that. What’s complicated?”
“She’s evasive when our conversations get personal. I can’t figure out why she’s here.” I begin to trace the scene painted in the mural across the room, letting my mind go back to a few key things Winter mentioned. “She said she’s here on a break.” Breaking . . . is that the same thing as taking a break? “She’s at the bistro each night. Tonight, she was waiting for me.”
“Tell me you haven’t hooked up with her?”
The word unavailable lands like a rock in my gut. “I haven’t.”
“Don’t. Nothing will fuck up this deal faster than you sleeping with a client’s kid.”
“She’s twenty-five, not a kid. I can tell you that much. And that’s the thing. Nobleman made it sound like she’s nothing more than a wild child out rebelling, escaping responsibility, life, but she’s not like that. She’s a little reserved and put together—her clothes, her hair, her makeup. Nothing’s over the top. It’s like he doesn’t know her at all.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s worried.”
“I’ll tell you, Ethan, it’s almost like she doesn’t want to be seen, but it’s so damn hard not to look at her. Her eyes are this—”
“Ben. Stop. You can’t do this. You can’t do her. I’m serious. You need to come back to New York. We should have never gotten involved in this mess. Clearly, she’s old enough to make her own decisions. You are not contractually obligated to bring her back to the States. We run our business ethically and stand behind our work. If that’s not good enough for Nobleman, we’ll pass on the deal.”
His voice of reason sinks in, and I say, “It’s still been a record-breaking year.”
“It has.”
“It’s just disappointing—”
“I get that, but something feels off, and the last time I had this feeling, my wife’s life almost ended.” He sucks in a harsh breath. We don’t discuss what happened back then. For him and Singer, it’s best to keep it in the past. Winter’s words come back to haunt me. We all have something we’re not proud of. Ethan lives with a lot of regrets. Regrets he’s trying to move past daily.
“You’re right.” I might not ever get answers to the questions I have for her no matter how much I want to know her secrets. We may have said au revoir like it wasn’t a goodbye, but it needs to be.
Ethan’s right. Nobleman’s signature isn’t dependent on me bringing her back. She’s old enough and of sound mind to know whether she wants to be in Paris, Spain, New York, or wherever. It’s time I return home. “I’ll see you when I land.”
5
Winter Nobleman
When I was a child, I discovered that not all Nobleman are created equal.
I am my mother’s daughter, a bothersome sister, and an annoyance to a father too focused on business deals and my brother, the Nobleman who will run the company one day, instead of his daughter. My gender alone excluded me from contention. An old-fashioned man and his outdated ideals would lead me to where I am now.
It didn’t matter that I worked harder than my brother.
I worked smarter.
I was salutatorian of my graduating class at my business school, earned scholarships from prestigious Manhattan firms, and a coveted internship with the biggest global shipping commerce company in the world.
It still wasn’t enough.
Thinking about how I got into this mess . . . I wanted to prove my worth to him. The strategy was simple. Get the job. Get the man. Get the secrets that could save my family’s company. Then walk away the hero. But in grand Winter style, I failed bigger and better than ever.
My father only saw me as a child who used to wear pink bows in my hair and obeyed his rules to a T. Until I purposely went against his wishes in a bad attempt to get his attention. I became his enemy when I did what he told me not to—I fraternized with the wrong people, mingled with wolves in sheep’s clothing.
Good intentions, we all know how those turn out. The road to hell is paved with them, and hell is where I now reside. It may have the pretty package of Paris wrappings, but I’m not disillusioned enough to think I’m free.
Standing in this apartment ten flights above the street, I still wonder how I ended up in Paris?
The rose I found on my bed last night is a stark reminder. It wasn’t a choice.
I plucked the petals instead of sticking it in water. This isn’t a gift. It’s a threat wrapped in velvety blood-red petals.
My small collection of books was on the floor when I returned. He’s hell-bent on destroying any joy I might find to ease my mind. I picked them up and placed them back on the shelf after making sure the covers weren’t too messed up.
I never predicted this outcome. I wasn’t the hero. I was the pawn who unintentionally walked into a bigger plan, a plan I never knew was in place until it was too late.
Now I’m stuck in a game my enemy wants to win at the expense of my family. He may want their company, but when the mission is accomplished, it’s my soul he plans to keep. His filthy lies fill my memories, his scotch breath burns my nose. “You will never be free of me.” His words haunt me.
My will is the least of his concerns, and now I’m trapped, but for how long? Regret nips at the back of my mind in the waking hours, and I find no solace in sleep. Weeks into this nightmare, I’ve learned where my family ties lie. Not with me. With him. Cowards.
They sold my freedom for a debt reduction. What will they sell next to wipe the slate clean?
I worry the answer might be the rest of me.
My anger has subsided into acceptance of my situation, resignation set in.
With every step I take, I’m watched. The photos left in my studio apartment last week, showing my shopping trip to Shakespeare and Co to buy books. The bra I liked but didn’t buy in an expensive shop in the 9th arrondissement two weeks prior found wrapped in a pink box on the bed by the time I got back.
Groveling is not my strong suit. So it took everything I had to go to him on my family’s behalf and dance with the devil once again. What I hadn’t realized was that I was in over my head before I even walked into the restaurant. I hadn’t realized I was expendable. But twenty-six days in Paris has taught me that.
What disappoints me the most is that I shouldn’t have made this mistake. I shouldn’t have trusted him. I should have never begged for mercy from a man without a soul. I’m smarter than that, yet here I am living with his limits and boundaries I can’t escape.
I let the drapes fall, and the walls of my gilded cage close in. A new day is here. I either live it or die in it, but I’m not i
n control of it. So I try to look at the bright side and make the most of my time in Paris.
There’s an ache in my heart, my constant companion, which nothing alleviates. Perhaps today will be the day I die. After all, I know the score. I’ll live until he chooses I won’t.
I walk back to the drapes and open them again, sweeping them behind the wall hooks. I can’t let him win. Sunshine. Light equals hope. I need light in this dark time of my life.
Who knew I’d find it in an American in Paris? For the past two nights, I’ve felt—no, I’ve tasted—what freedom could look like. Why’d I even bring up the Eiffel Tower at night? Bennett has me acting foolish when I need to stay guarded.
Peeking outside once more, it’s cloudy. Again. Very disappointing. I sit down and glance at my phone on the marble tabletop, the information I started reading earlier still there.
Bennett Everest.
Born in Houston, Texas.
Twenty-six years old.
Currently living in Manhattan.
Director of Media and Communications under the Everest Enterprises umbrella.
Why is he here?
Single . . . Ooh. Nice.
Net worth – five hundred million
Holy wow!
On paper, he’s perfect. In real life, he’s even better.
Taking the phone, I wonder why I’m making this call? Yes, he’s attractive, interesting, compelling . . . but he could be dangerous for me. If the devil finds out . . . would it be dangerous for Bennett? Surely not. Surely that’s just paranoia.
Exhaling a deep breath, I take a chance on . . . It’s a risk. There are no two ways about it. “Everest Enterprises, how may I direct your call?”
I reply, “Mr. Everest’s office, please.”
“Which Mr. Everest, may I ask?”
I bonk my hand against my head. “I’m sorry. Bennett Everest.”
“No worries. It happens all day, every day. Please hold and I’ll transfer you.”
A man answers this time, “Everest Media & Communications. How can we solve your communications needs?”
Funny. Punny even, considering my needs are the reason I’m calling. Loneliness has washed away my sensible side. “Hello, I’m supposed to meet Mr. Everest at his hotel here in Paris in less than an hour, but I’ve misplaced the name of his hotel. Will you be so kind as to help me out?”
“I’ll be happy to contact Bennett and have him give you a call back.”
“No. No. Um, I feel like such an idiot, and I can’t blow this meeting. I thought it was on Rue deeee . . .” I drag it out hoping he’ll fill in the missing information.
“Yes. Rivoli, I believe.”
Let’s see if it works twice. “I thought so. Laaaa . . .”
“Le Meurice.”
“I should have remembered. It’s one of the most beautiful hotels in the city. Merci.” I hang up before he has time to ask my name. I finish the last of my tea and set the cup back on the saucer. The clatter lingers while I walk to the vanity and pull my necklace from where it hangs on the corner of the mirror. Clasping the locket in my hand, I can still hear her voice in my head when she used to say, “Ring the bell and make a wish. You’ll receive what you need.”
I always thought it should rhyme, but my mother must have had her reason that it didn’t. I shake the locket just enough to hear the familiar jingle inside, wishing I had the key. It was lost long before she handed it down to me. I bring it to my mouth and close my eyes to kiss it. “Wish me luck, Mom.” It settles on my chest while I grab my jacket and purse. It’s time to see a man about a tower.
Two blocks down from where I’m kept . . . where I’m staying, I correct as if I have a choice, I hop on the Métro. But the word kept makes my heart squeeze and my throat close as the night I woke up in the apartment flashes in my head.
My instructions were clear, the threat following profoundly convincing. The sounds of brakes that need replacing pierce my ears as the train comes to a stop, saving me from another painful memory. Glancing to the platform, I see the station name in tiles and maneuver into the bustling lunchtime crowd to exit.
Parisians are known for their long lunches, but today, everyone seems to need to be somewhere and fast. Up ahead, I spot the green awnings and blue mansard roof of his hotel. It’s one of the most prestigious in the city, and the central location can’t be beat. Tourists may frequent this area, but I love the gardens across the street and being able to blend in with other people.
When I step through the first doors into the foyer, I look up and then move forward to take a quick spin through the revolving door. The chandelier sparkles above as I turn under it; the crystals shining like little beams of sunlight.
The bustle is kept at bay outside the fancy entrance. A couple stands at the check-in desk and two businessmen speaking German walk by me, so I move to the side, wondering what I should do next. Should I try to find out which room he’s staying in or sit and wait?
I’m not even sure what I’m doing here or what I’ll say when I see Bennett. He’s a gorgeous man, but his genuine interest in getting to know me makes me feel human—not property or a pawn—drawing me to him once more.
Last night he told me that he’d see me tomorrow, but we said goodbye. Did he stay another day? I walk to the front desk. “Bonjour,” I say.
The man in a suit so tight I wonder how he gets into it much less walks to greet me in return. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
After trying my best ploys to get the information I want, he kindly and firmly shuts me down. So I sit on the sofa, dragging the locket along the chain, and people watch.
I’m too anxious to sit still for long, so I rely on the necklace in times like these. My mother’s gift comes with memories from when she was alive, her locket a tie to a happier life.
Nora Nobleman needed the sun like I do, craved light even when she was stuck in a bed dying. On cold days, we’d draw the sun on paper and hang it on the windows like it was the middle of May instead of January and gray.
Holding the locket to my ear, I shake it lightly and listen to the little rattle inside and smile. It’s not a real bell, but I like that we always pretended it was. To myself, I make another wish. “Please lead me to my destiny.” I glance at the ceiling as if I’ll see my guardian angel looking down on me. My bouncing knee stills and my cheek biting stops when momentary peace is found.
A painful hour later, I get up because I’ve lost my patience. Waiting for Bennett has been for naught. Maybe he left Paris. Maybe he’ll be gone all day working. Maybe he’s found someone else to show him the Eiffel Tower. Maybe he’s upstairs now but waiting to leave until he meets me at the bistro later.
My mind is stuck in a Rolodex of bad thoughts and regrets. I have so many other things to stress about. A hot guy who looks great in a suit shouldn’t be one of them. Why am I here? Just because he made me laugh once or twice doesn’t mean I have a right to a third. This was another ill-conceived plan. This time I need to bail. Anyway, if it’s meant to be, fate will bring us together again.
And hopefully, it’ll be when I’m not in the middle of somebody else’s plot. I take the time to push through the revolving door again just for the small thrill of it and glance up at the chandelier once more to catch the sparkle. But it comes to an abrupt halt when someone pushes in from a different chamber, causing me to look through the glass to the other side.
My grip tightens. Holy wow! A suit has nothing on Bennett Everest wearing running shorts and a fitted athletic shirt. I struggle to swallow normally, but this time, the sound echoes in the small, enclosed space.
In the opposite compartment from me, he laughs, but with his hands, he mimes push. “Oh,” I reply, coming to my senses. “Yes.” I push until I’m back in the lobby where he stands—wet hair stuck to his forehead, sweat pooled in the center of the shirt, a heart rate monitor bulging from under the fabric. A healthy glow skin deep in his olive complexion.
He wipes the top of his forearm across his forehea
d, making his hair stand up.
I’ve seen his eyes under clouds when evening meets night but seeing them in the daylight makes this trip worth the risk. Whiskey with golden sunset centers I could swim in for hours. He says, “Hi.”
“Hi.”
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I should really say something else, but he’s so much more handsome than I’ve given him credit for, and movie star doesn’t seem to fit as much anymore.
Supermodel?
No.
Prince?
No.
Knight?
Cold.
A rock star?
Warm.
A fantasy?
Warmer.
A dream?
Warmest.
A book boyfriend?
Steamy.
Mr. Darcy!
Hot.
Hot.
Hot.
Tilting his head, his smile grows as he looks down at me. “Winter?”
“Yes?”
“Do you?”
“Huh? Do I what?”
Chuckling, he says, “You didn’t hear anything I said.”
“Nope,” I answer a little too proudly.
“All right, how about I start over. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” Subtle, Winter. Really subtle.
“You found me.” His eyes are set on mine, a hint of cockiness slipping into the corners of his ridiculously adorable grin. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Ha! Cute.” So cute. Too cute for his own good. I’m tempted to bite my fist. “I was thinking we could go to a museum and do other things before you leave.” No threats prevent me from making new friends. No rules in place other than I’m bait. I don’t even know what that means, so if I’m stuck in this city, I might as well make the most of it.
“I did a little sightseeing this morning and ran a few miles. I need to shower, so if you don’t mind waiting—”
“I’ll wait.” I plop down on the sofa like it’s the last round of musical chairs, and then inwardly roll my eyes at myself. Cool it, eager beaver. You’re going to scare the man away with your desperation.
