To Paris with Love: A Family Business Novel (The Family Business)

by Weber, Carl

  To Paris with Love:

  A Family Business Novel

  Carl Weber

  and Eric Pete

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Paris - 1

  Niles - 2

  Rio - 3

  Paris - 4

  Niles - 5

  Nadja - 6

  Paris - 7

  Rio - 8

  Paris - 9

  Nadja - 10

  Rio - 11

  Niles - 12

  Paris - 13

  Niles - 14

  Rio - 15

  Paris - 16

  Niles - 17

  Nadja - 18

  Paris - 19

  Rio - 20

  Nadja - 21

  Paris - 22

  Niles - 23

  Paris - 24

  Niles - 25

  Nadja - 26

  Paris - 27

  Niles - 28

  Rio - 29

  Nadja - 30

  Paris - 31

  Rio - 32

  Niles - 33

  Paris - 34

  Niles - 35

  Nadja - 36

  Rio - 37

  Paris - 38

  Niles - 39

  Paris - 40

  Nadja - 41

  Rio - 42

  Nadja - 43

  Niles - 44

  Paris - 45

  Nadja - 46

  Niles - 47

  Rio - 48

  Paris - 49

  Nadja - 50

  Paris - 51

  Niles - 52

  Nadja - 53

  Rio - 54

  Paris - 55

  Niles - 56

  Nadja - 57

  Paris - 58

  Niles - 59

  Rio - 60

  Paris - 61

  Niles - 62

  Paris - 63

  Nadja - 64

  Niles - 65

  Rio - 66

  Niles - 67

  Paris - 68

  Rio - 69

  Nadja - 70

  Paris - 71

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  I just want to thank my family, both old and new (crazy, huh?), as well as friends and readers for all their support over this decade in the business. I am appreciative and humbled by the love I’ve felt from all of you and am so glad you’ve found a place in your heart for my stories.

  Also, special thanks to my co-author Carl Weber for his insight and advice on this journey that is The Family Business as well into the industry as a whole. You’re at the top of your game, bro.

  Portia Cannon, what can I say? Having a tireless champion like you in my corner is invaluable. A toast to these creations blessing the big screen soon.

  I’ll show some brevity as I have words to type, sentences to construct and ideas to form, so see you next time. Hope Paris n company have your mouths hanging open by the time you finish.

  More to come, people. More to come.

  Can’t stop. Won’t stop. Believe that.

  -Eric

  @IAmEricPete

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to acknowledge all of my great fans for supporting The Family Business series, I hope you are all looking forward to the TV show.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the Dumpson family for many years of love, friendship and support.

  Prologue

  Now

  After almost nine hours in the air, the pilot announced that we would be descending into Nice Cote d’Azur Airport. One of the benefits of first-class international air travel is that I had slept the entire plane ride in comfort. My seat unfolded into a bed where I stretched out and dozed like a baby. Coming to Europe to celebrate my girl’s wedding meant spending all my time partying. The next time I expected a full night’s sleep was the day I would be boarding a flight back to New York. Hell, being off Daddy’s radar for the first time in over a year meant I could finally go back to being me, Paris “The Rich Bitch” Duncan. I loved my son Jordan more than anything in the world but damn if I didn’t feel like I was freed from a Turkish prison. The little rug rat barely gave me any breathing space. I couldn’t begin to tell you how good it was to be free from him and his shitty diapers for two weeks. I intended to use every single minute.

  I pulled out my compact and reapplied eyeliner and lip gloss. Damn, I looked fine if I did say so myself. Of course all I had to do was glance to my left where the chubby older man was staring at my lip gloss as if he wished it were a part of his anatomy. I gave him a little extra show when I stood up. As soon as I entered the airport baggage area, a voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “Bitch!” she screamed at me, all blond hair, Louis accessories, and badass Lanvin dress.

  “Who you callin’ a bitch!” I hollered back, flaunting in my Chloe top, J Brand Jeans, Balenciaga shoes, and Céline bag. I dropped my bags as we raced into each other’s arms, screaming and shouting, hugging on each other for dear life. Irena Sokolov was my girl from back at Chi’s Finishing School. She came from one of the richest Russian families and the fact that she looked like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model didn’t hurt her popularity. But she was down and we had each other’s back from day one. I really wasn’t one to hang with women but she was as close to a girlfriend as I had after my brother Rio.

  “Girl, I missed you,” Irena shouted.

  “All day long,” I answered her.

  A fully attired chauffeur stepped up, waiting for our love fest to break. “Ma’am, your luggage,” he addressed me.

  “My luggage looks like this.” I picked up the burgundy carry-on I’d brought with me.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered before heading to the baggage carousel.

  “Don’t tell me that’s the Bottega Veneta alligator?” Irena didn’t bother to hide her envy.

  “Yes.” I smiled, happy she knew that I still knew how to hold it down.

  “It was so limited that, by the time I tried to buy a set, it was sold out.”

  “Girl, we gonna have to get our shop on.” We high-fived each other, laughing like two devilish children. Suddenly I felt my entire body tense up, and my jaw dropped open in complete shock as I spotted the one person I never expected to see again. “Oh, shit.”

  “What?” Irena put a hand on my arm, following my line of vision until she too locked on the beautiful Persian woman. “Who is that?”

  “That, my Russian friend, is the bitch who stole my life.” I spat the words out, anxious to remove the vile taste they left in my mouth.

  “What are you talking about?” Irena’s accent became heavier. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Nadja and she’s the one who made Paris Duncan into the cold-hearted bitch I am today.” I seethed as I watched her head into the ladies’ room. Nadja had cost me everything and the fact that she was able to walk around breathing seemed like the ultimate betrayal.

  “She’s beautiful, I know that.”

  “Don’t let her good looks and her sunny disposition fool you. That chick is as cold-hearted as a Siberian winter.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I could hear Irena on edge waiting for the real story.

  “If it wasn’t for her, my life would be completely different right now. It’s because of her that I may never ever be capable of loving again.” I sighed, the harsh reality of what had gone down between Nadja and me exh
austed me and, if I was being honest, it still hurt. My girl must have seen it in my eyes because she led me over to a set of chairs.

  “Your bags aren’t even on the conveyor belt yet. So you got to tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “All right, but you betta promise to keep my secret.”

  “I am Russian. I was born to keep secrets,” Irena answered as she waited for my story to begin.

  Paris

  1

  Then

  Neuchâtel, Switzerland

  My first three years at school taught me more about life than I could ever begin to learn in the outside world. I had sopped up those lessons like a hungry bitch going in on a plate of biscuits and gravy. And now with graduation right around the corner, I would be the student awarded the grand prize for most accomplished. That’s if I got to graduate because bitches like this one kept challenging my last nerves.

  I tightened my grip around her neck, pulling her into a headlock. She whipped around and flipped me over her head onto the ground. In seconds I was up on my feet, crouching like a caged animal ready to strike again. Her hand shot out, coming down on my shoulder. The pain shot through me but there was no way I’d let her be the first one to finally take me down. I had an uncontested track record of wins. I kicked her in the solar plexus and kneed her in the jaw, causing three of her teeth to fall to the ground. I grabbed her in a bear hold, bending her arm behind her back until her short gasping breaths grew almost inaudible, making her drop the weapon at my feet. Still holding on to her I slid my hand to the floor and retrieved the Glock 9.

  “Ggamdungi,” she spat the words at me.

  “Shang nyun, Sheba-nom!” I responded then jerked her arm harder, causing her to squirm in pain.

  “Fuck you too, bitch!” She spat the words at me.

  “Oh, so now you speak English? ’Cause I prefer to be called a beeyotch in English and not your slanty-eyed language!” I schooled her. Although my orders were not to cause physical harm, I wasn’t feeling particularly generous. Last fool to use the N-word on me couldn’t walk for a week and will probably never be able to impregnate a woman. I swiftly clocked her on the side of the head.

  “Paris!” Yosef, my instructor, a former Israeli rebel fighter, grabbed me tightly from behind, his fingertips boring into my shoulder blades. The pain forced me to let go of Jae Kim, who fell in a heap on the ground and passed out. She probably fainted at the sight of her missing teeth.

  A group of students gathered nearby, ecstatic to watch the spectacle.

  “Knocked her the fuck out!”

  I heard two palms slap together in a high five.

  “Bam! Just like that.”

  “Damn! I told her not to mess with Paris,” I heard one girl say as Jae Kim stirred near her bloody teeth.

  “I wouldn’t. Chick is fuckin’ lethal,” another added, then received a rousing round of agreement from the other girls.

  It occurred to me that this would be a good time to practice passivity and restraint but my head and my badass attitude were out of alignment with my reality. Fuck him, her, and the rest of these motherfuckers. I won this exercise fair and square.

  “I won!” I yelled out. There was no way they were going to mess up my record.

  “Why do you do these things?” Yosef, the gorgeous six foot four inch, 240-pound Israeli instructor admonished me. He smacked me hard on the neck. “How many times do I have to speak to you about your inability to follow orders? Have you lost your fucking mind? Look what you’ve done.”

  I could hear the sound of my own heavy breathing as I tried to contain myself so that I could respond appropriately instead of what I really wanted to do, which was curse his ass out.

  Yosef wasn’t much older than us but he was the one person in the school who I truly respected. Not only was he built like a Mack truck but he was also capable of killing you with his bare hands without giving it much thought. I knew better than to piss him off too much because he could make your death look like an accident. It would take me years to know all of his secrets, but during our “private” lessons I made sure to get extra instruction, which somehow turned intimate over the past year. He wasn’t the first man I’d ever slept with; however, he was the only one who put fear in my heart. As much as I pretended to hate, it I found it sexy as hell. Most men who acted all tough got the pussy and promptly turned into pussies. But not him; he kept sex and work separate and right at this moment he was all business, which basically meant I was fucked because I’d never seen him this upset.

  “You need to gather your things and get to the headmistress office,” he said as he led me through the tunnel that connected to the catacombs and back into the main building. It was the perfect place to flip this shit in my favor. I darted ahead of him, stopping and blocking his path.

  “Yosef, she started it,” I whined, flirting with him. He held up one finger, silencing me. Damn, even deep in the shit he made me get all moist and turned on. I leaned closer to him, brushing my lips against his neck.

  “Please.”

  “Paris, you are such a hellion!” he snapped at me.

  “Isn’t that what you like about me?” I slid my hand over the outline of his penis. It quickly hardened under my touch. “Instead of sending me to the office wouldn’t you prefer me putting my lips on this?” I rubbed his growing dick, motivating him to cave.

  An hour later I found myself sitting in front of the headmistress, Madame Joan Marie, as she gave me her version of a come-to-Jesus talking-to. Yosef got the goods and still sold me out.

  “Do you realize what you have done? Ms. Kim is from one of our most important families in South Korea. Imagine the conversation I will be having when her father arrives today. Do you want to explain to him why his daughter needs extensive oral surgery?”

  “No, Madame,” I answered submissively.

  “Young lady, you are among the best and brightest students to ever cross the threshold of our establishment,” she continued in her thick French accent. “Rarely have I gleamed such raw potential in a person your age but you are also your own worst enemy. You act as if rules only apply to others. And no matter how many times I’ve talked, you continue to disobey orders and protocol and now you have proven to be a danger to others.”

  “Madame, I am so sorry for my behavior. It really was an accident,” I lied, trying to sound as apologetic as possible so I could be on my way. I was ready for my vacation to begin.

  “Mademoiselle Duncan, I believe that you believe that your apology is genuine. Then again, you always sound sincere after you’ve crossed a line. Unfortunately, the very next moment you rush headfirst into more conflict. I cannot allow you to continue to remain a hazard to the other students and to yourself.”

  She stood back, studying me. I tried to appear as vulnerable and defenseless as possible. If only this had been a man I’d have talked my way out of it already, but women didn’t always get my charm. Finally she shook her head, resigned. “I must contact your father.”

  My bad attitude deflated and her words set off loud, scary bells in my head. Danger! Danger! “Nooooo!” The panic rang out in my voice. Anything but that. My father would have my head and that would only be the beginning of my demise. “I promise I will change. Please give me another chance to make you proud. To make my father proud. Please, Madame,” I begged and pleaded. This time I meant every word because I had never been more desperate. If my dad knew that I was over here in Switzerland showing my ass and messing with his name it would be bad.

  “You will have to change both your behavior and your attitude,” she continued.

  “I will. I promise.”

  “I sincerely hope that my decision to give you one more chance will not be wasted.”

  “No, Madame.” I leaned up and gave her a quick squeeze, something you just didn’t do with these Nordic types. She looked shocked. Shit, I would have dropped to my knees and had my first try at cunnilingus if it would have prevented her from calling my fat
her.

  “Good! Now we are done with this unpleasant conversation.” She opened the door and led me into her outer office, where a group of students were gathered in front of the fire.

  I joined her, partaking in the roaring flames, tapping my foot on the wooden floorboards beside my matching Louis Vuitton luggage. I threw on my designer sunglasses and quarter-length fur despite the heat being produced by the fireplace. Felt good to be out of my school uniform, so I bit my tongue and kept my impatience to myself while the jealous hoes who were my classmates looked on. They’d never be as fly as me and they knew it. Nor would they know how close I came to being a former student.

  Psh . . . finishing school.

  Luckily, my electives—while not my raison d’être, but my reason for being here—were da bomb dot com.

  “Mademoiselle Duncan, you will be sure to enjoy yourself back home in the U.S., no?” Madame Joan Marie asked as she kissed me on both cheeks. Right before removing my sunglasses and placing them back in my hand. Of course, she meant the opposite of what she and her big-ass smile said. You had to look beyond that and into those tiny, cold eyes of hers. She wanted me to behave myself back home. Rein a bitch in ’n’ shit.

  “Oh, I will most definitely enjoy myself,” I replied, meaning exactly what I motherfuckin’ said. Couldn’t wait to get out of here and back in the NYC, specifically Jamaica Queens where my family lived and ran things like motherfuckin’ bosses. Yeah. To sleep in my own bed, eat some less bougie food, and see my fam would be all to the good.

  Oh, yeah. And some good American dick, too. Don’t get me wrong. These Euros could eat some pussy like nobody’s business, but I missed the rhythm real niggas had back home when they were layin’ it down.

  But that could come later. For now, I really missed my family. And that was most important in this fucked-up world.

  Family.

  There was my daddy, Lavernius Duncan, who everybody called LC, head of Duncan Motors, the largest African American–owned car dealership chain in the tri-state area. My beloved moms, Chippy, had his back and was the rock of the family. Held it down for me and my four brothers: Junior, the big diesel one who was loveable as fuck; Vegas, the heart of the family whom I would die for; Orlando, the calculating one whom I would have to think about dying for; and Rio, my wild and crazy twin who I lived for. Oh, and my older sister London was part of the family too, but the less said about her the better. She and her lawyer husband, Harris, already thought their shit didn’t stink, but now that she was pregnant? Fawk. Would never hear the end of it. Was almost enough to make me want to remain in Europe over break.