by Dark Angel
Still, even though it might seem like an impossible task, I’m determined to do my best. After all, my father spent almost half of his life trying to help the Donovans - the least I can do is do my best to live up to his legacy.
Pacing around the room, my gaze wanders over and over again to my cellphone, sitting on the desk in front of the bed. It’s time, I think to myself, to call Jonathan. I’ve had some time off, just like he proposed (or, rather, ordered), and I’m already aching to get down to business. After all, sitting here in this room by myself is just making my mind race in circles around itself. I need to do something - anything.
I already have the cell phone in my hand when the phone on my bedstand starts to ring. I make my way toward it and, picking it up, press it against my ear. “Yes?” I ask whoever’s on the other side, and a polite female voice greets me, happily chirping my name.
“There’s someone here to see you,” that smooth disembodied voice continues, and I arch my eyebrows in surprise. Someone to see me? It’s not like I have any friends in New York City. Well, that’s not entirely true - I have a lot of female friends from my party years, but all those friends are long gone.
“Who is it?” I ask and, the moment that question leaves my lips, my heart skips a beat as I realize I already know the answer.
“Clarise Donovan,” the Ritz’s receptionist replies, and my heart goes from skipping a beat to racing inside my chest. What the hell is Clarise doing here?
“Tell her I’ll be right down,” I say, and then hang up.
As I head out the door, my mind is abuzz with anticipation. Even though Clarise’s just part of my job, I can’t help but feel happy about the opportunity to see her again. After all, the memory of her smile has been the only thing keeping me warm at night.
Clarise
When my father told me to check up on Connor, he probably didn’t mean for me to travel all the way to New York City. But that’s exactly what I did and, now that I’m shifting my weight from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for Connor in the lobby of the Ritz, I can’t help but think that maybe I should have just called him on the phone.
In fact, now that I think of it, that’s what my father intended me to do. “Can you please call Connor?” He asked me over dinner. “Ask him if he’s comfortable at the Ritz, and if there’s anything else we can do for him.”
Of course, the moment I heard my father’s words, the gears inside my head started turning fast. Before I knew it, I was already excited with the prospect of seeing Connor again. Even though I had that crush on him when I was younger, seeing him again after so many years kinda short-circuited my brain. I remembered him as someone fun, someone I could be rebellious with, but now… Now he has shed all the immaturity, and all that’s left is a man that seems more than ready to take on the world without flinching once.
Every night, right before I drift off into sleep, my mind wanders back to the funeral. When Edward’s casket was being lowered into its final destination, my gaze was focused on Connor, and I simply couldn’t take my eyes off him. He stood tall, as tall as a giant, and the lines in his face seemed so hard and full of poise. It was in that moment that I understood the true meaning behind the word gravitas.
Anyone else would be reduced to tears or, at least, they’d allow a few kinks in their armor to show. But not Connor - even though his father was being buried right in front of him, he seemed determined to stand tall through the whole ordeal.
That made me kinda sad. I can’t exactly explain why but, in that moment, all I wanted was to rush toward him and wrap my arms around him. I wanted to tell him that it was okay to be sad, to feel hurt. I wanted to cut through these hard layers of his and take a look into his soul.
“Clarise?”
I turn around slowly, a wave of embarrassment washing over me as I look straight at Connor. I was excited and anxious about seeing him again that I hadn’t even considered what I would say.
“Connor,” I simply say, hurriedly trying to work on something else to say. “How are you?” I ask him, and I immediately regret the tone of my voice. It sounds awfully condescending and, more than that, it’s a stupid question. His father just died, why the hell am I asking how he’s doing?
“I’m doing fine,” he replies, and the lines around his eyes soften up as he smiles at me. It’s almost as if he knows what I’m thinking and wants to put me at ease.
“Good,” I find myself smiling back at him, suddenly feeling more relaxed than I expected to. Despite the sobriety of his character, there’s something about him that’s truly disarming. “My father wanted me to check up on you. He wanted me to ask if there’s anything else we can do for you.”
“Your family has already done enough, Clarise,” he tells me, taking one step toward me. “I only have to thank you, really. None of this was necessary,” he continues, waving one hand at the building around us.
“Of course it was,” I tell him, and then we just look into each other’s eyes for a long time, a deep silence around us.
“Come, let’s walk,” he says then, that maddening smile still on his lips. Without waiting for my reply, he starts walking toward the exit door and I follow after him, stepping outside as the warm glow of the morning sun laps at my skin.
My driver is waiting by the limo, parked right in front of the hotel; expecting me to head toward the car, he’s about to open the door for me when I nod at him. No need, my gesture says, and he just nods right back.
I cross the street side-by-side with Connor and, a few minutes later, we’re walking under the shade in Central Park. We walk in silence for a long while, neither of us daring to say a word. It’s unnerving at first, but then I realize that it’s exactly the opposite - with one deep breath, I calm myself and realize that I feel comfortable around him in complete silence. That says something, doesn’t it? With most people there’s always that urge to fill these moments of silence, to small-talk your way through everything; but with some special people, silence is all it takes.
“I’m worried,” he finally says, and I have to take a moment to understand what he’s saying. Central Park feels so peaceful right now that something like worry just seems out of place.
“What about?”
“Guiding your family is going to be hard,” he admits, stopping dead in his tracks as his gaze wanders into the distance.
“Of course,” I smile, closing the distance between us and laying one hand on his shoulder. “We’re the Donovans - nothing about us is easy.”
“I’ve been doing some research, Clarise. Your financials are sound, but lately…”
“You should have been resting, not doing research,” I chide him, but then I sigh. “I know. My brother has been making some risky bets, and they’re not paying off.”
“No, they aren’t. And Earl doesn’t seem the kind of guy that listens to advice.”
“He isn’t,” I agree. “When he started working under my father, he was pretty receptive to his guidance, but as time passed… He became confident - too confident. And I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”
“What about you?” He asks, turning around to face me. “My father told me you were interested in being part of your family business.”
“That’s right,” I nod. “I know I haven’t exactly lived up to the Donovan name but… I want that to change. I know my father has pretty much given up on me, and I really can’t blame him. But I refuse to sit on the sidelines, twiddling my thumbs while Earl slowly takes control over everything. I’m as good as he is, and I know it.”
“You’ll have to be patient,” he whispers, his gaze once more wandering far into the distance. “But, with time, I think Jonathan will allow you to prove yourself.”
“Do you think I can do it?” I ask him then, a sudden need for approval taking over me. I’ve never been the kind of girl that always needs to be encouraged but, right now, I need Connor’s validation.
Looking back at me, he chuckles softly.
“You can do anyth
ing you want, Clarise,” he smiles, and I feel… something. I can’t exactly describe it but, somehow, I know that this is a moment I won’t forget anytime soon. Me and Connor, the gentle breeze of Central Park caressing the tall branches and leaves over us, and his words: you can do anything you want. I don’t know if it’s the way he said it, or the way he’s looking at me, but I feel as if I really can do anything.
“I’m glad you’re with us,” I tell him, and then we start walking down the path again. In silence. Walking with Connor, I feel a sudden burst of joy taking over me. Without thinking of what I’m doing, I reach for him and grab his arm, not saying a word as I do it. We walk arm-in-arm for a long while, the world around us moving as if in slow-motion. For the first time in months I feel that, somehow, everything will work out.
Connor’s here, and that’s enough.
Connor
Stretching my back as I get out of the taxi, I look up at the cobbled road that leads up to the Donovan mansion. More than just a mansion, it looks like some sort of castle out of a fairy tale. It looms over the whole estate with a kind of ancient pride, its tall towers with narrow windows making it look like a place fit for a king.
Walking around the taxi, I pop the trunk open and take my two briefcases out; the moment I place them on the ground, two servants pop out of nowhere, each one of them taking one of the briefcases.
“There’s no need for that,” I tell them, but they just haul my belongings up the cobbled path. With a sigh, I pay the taxi driver and then start making my way up. After Clarise left the Ritz, I knew that the time was right: I had my affairs in order, and it was time I joined the Donovans at their estate. I called Jonathan, told him I was ready to assume my position with the Donovan family... and here I am now.
At the end of the cobbled path I’m on, there’s a large courtyard with a marble fountain in the middle, the sound of the running water like a delicate melody; behind it, there’s a wide stone stairway that leads up to the mansion’s main entrance and, standing at the top of it, is the Donovan family.
Jonathan is in the middle, his greying hair combed to perfection, and he has his wife and son flanking him. My eyes dart to Earl almost immediately, but this time he looks sober and not a drunken mess.
Standing a bit to the side, there’s Clarise; her blonde hair is tied back, and she’s wearing a summery blue dress that ends just above her knees. Her smart eyes seem to twinkle as she sees me come up the stairway, and I feel my heart tightening with each step I take.
“Welcome, Connor,” Jonathan says heartily as I get to the top, offering me his hand. I take it in mine, and he shakes it firmly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m really glad that you accepted coming here to serve under my family. You have some big shoes to fill.”
“I know,” I tell him, my heart suddenly feeling heavy as I remember my father. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Please, call me Jonathan. After all, you’re basically a member of the family now… The least we can do is drop all formality.”
“Thank you,” I say, and then turn my attention toward his wife. Elegant despite being in her fifties, the female commander of the Donovans still has that poised and confident posture that I remember back from when I used to visit my father. But, despite her rough temperament, she offers me a smile and takes one step forward. I’m about to offer her my hand when she wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly.
“Welcome, Connor. I know your father would be proud of you right now.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, having no idea what to say to that. She’s right; my father would be proud if he knew I’d be following in his footsteps, influencing one of the most powerful families in the world. But, if I could, I’d trade all that if it meant I could bring him back. But I can’t of course; such miracles are not for the common mortals.
“Clarise,” I say as Mrs. Donovan pulls back from me. Clarise closes the distance between her and I; just like her mother did, she hugs me tightly, and I feel her breasts pressing against my chest in a way that makes a pleasant warmth spread under my skin.
“Earl,” I continue, pulling back from Clarise and offering her older brother my hand. He looks into my eyes for a second, and then shakes my hand and gives me a little nod. His adversarial (and drunk) attitude seems to have disappeared, at least for now.
“Shall we?” Jonathan asks me, stepping aside and waving for me to enter through the large double doors that lead into the Donovan home. The moment I step one foot inside the main hall of the mansion, the smell of it brings me back immediately to all those summers I used to spend in here. For a few seconds, it’s almost as if I’m eighteen again, the world is at my feet.
“It’s just like I remember it,” I say, looking around the cavernous hall, another large stairway leading the way toward the upper floors. Lining the walls there are a myriad of paintings from the Renaissance, and there are even two full-plate armors from medieval Italy in one corner.
More than being the house of a powerful family from the XXI century, the Donovans’ house always reminded me of a palace from the Italian nobility. Which, of course, makes a lot of sense, despite their family being rooted in the Irish tradition, there’s also a lot of Italian blood in there, and Jonathan has always been fascinated by the power of history.
“Your belongings have already arrived from Rome,” Jonathan tells me as he leads the way through a large corridor, stopping in front of a massive oak door. “The servants are preparing the guest house for you as we speak,” he continues, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
The room we’ve just stepped inside seems small, but that’s probably because of the large round table right in the middle of it, a thing so massive that it wouldn’t look out of place in a war room.
“So, Connor, before anything, let’s get you up to speed,” Jonathan says, pointing at the large folders sitting on the tabletop. He points at one of the chairs and I sit there, opening the folder and allowing my eyes to roam over the documents inside: financial memos, legal briefings, and all the necessary paperwork to keep a financial empire well-oiled.
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with our results in the last fiscal year,” Clarise starts, walking up to my side and leaning over, taking one hand to my folder and flipping the pages. She’s so close to me right now that I can feel the warmth of her body, the scent of her perfume making me feel almost too drunk with … desire?
“Sit down, Clarise,” Earl tells her with a bored tone of voice. “Connor’s here because we need him to be up to speed. You’ll just end up confusing him even more.”
“I know as much about the company as you do,” Clarise shoots back in a fraction of a second, and there’s a boiling anger brimming in her words. These two definitely don’t get along. I remember that they used to butt heads when they were younger, but it was never this bad. How did my father deal with these two?
“Earl, give your sister some credit. She’s been studying hard and --”
“Oh, please,” Earl cuts his father short, waving one hand in front of his face. “Clarise isn’t ready, father, and that’s that.”
Now he’s even butting heads with his father? It seems that more than get up to speed with how their companies work, I must first understand how their family dynamic works.
We spend the next two hours pouring over a mountain of paperwork, and we keep at it until Jonathan is satisfied. To be honest, it’s not that difficult to comprehend the Donovans’ operations. The bulk of it is tied to large Wall Street investments, and that’s what I’ve been working on these past few years.
Throughout the meeting, Earl and Clarise keep on bickering endlessly, and they only stop when admonished by Jonathan. Their mother remains silent through the whole thing, though, just shooting disapproving looks at both Earl and Clarise as their arguments start getting heated.
As for me, even though I did my best to focus on the business at hand … it wasn’t easy. My eyes seemed to be drawn toward Clarise over and over again,
the scent of her perfect body crawling up my nostrils and making my mind feel lighter and lighter.
Working with the Donovans is going to be a challenge, and that’s in a lot of different ways.
Connor
“You can leave.”
“But, sir, we’re here to --”
“No, there’s no need,” I cut the young servant off, offering him a smile and being stern at the same time. Jonathan sent a small army of servants to help me unpack but, aside from the two briefcases I brought with me, I didn’t bring much else from Rome. Still, the servants insisted on carrying everything all the way up to my doorstep and, if I hadn’t stopped them, they’d be unpacking my boxer briefs and tucking them into drawers.
I never cared for stuff like that. I’m a simple man and I think I still know how to unpack my underwear, thank you very much.
“Very well, sir,” the young man says with a nod, and then he snaps his heels together and marches off, walking along the small road that snakes up the hill and toward the Donovan mansion. I watch him go up the hill for a while, the sun setting in the horizon and spilling its orange glow over the world, and then I turn toward the door of what’s going to be my home for the foreseeable future.
It’s small and cozy but, despite that, it’s as luxurious as anything I’ve ever seen. Even though Jonathan called it a glorified guest-house during our meeting, I don’t think he was doing it justice. Sure, it’s a one bedroom house, but there’s a jacuzzi in the bathroom, and I even have my own private pool in the back. To be honest, I wouldn’t mind more basic quarters, but Jonathan was having none of that. And I really don’t want to start my relationship with the Donovans by making demands.
Placing my briefcases on top of the bed, I start unpacking them when I hear someone knocking at my door. Sighing, I ready myself to meet the servants once more, but they’re not the ones knocking at my door.
It’s Clarise.
