by Cynthia Dane
Miguel pocketed his phone and resumed his work. There were documents to go over and calls to return. With any luck, by the end of the day he would be emailing his father prospective plots of land to build their first American casino on.
“Monsieur!” rang Aimee’s anxious tone in the foyer of his apartment. “Un gros probléme!” She skidded into his office, flats sliding across the hardwoods as her face turned sheet white. “C’est ta soeur!”
“What?” Miguel, who loomed over his desk, looked up with as much disbelief as he could manage. “You’re joking, right?”
From the way Aimee shook her head, she certainly wasn’t.
And from that voice bowling through the office door… oh, fuck.
“Hermano!” There was nothing cheery about that fake happy-to-see-you tone. Miguel would have turned white like his assistant, but that wasn’t acceptable in this current situation.
No. He would have to be the most calm, the most collected asshole to ever grace the name Bolivar… of the Valencia Bolivars, anyway.
“Be right there!” he bellowed, praying that his unexpected guest would not enter his office without permission. She would, too. “Give me a damn second!”
When he opened the office door, he found Dolores standing in front of the large windows of the living room, that critical demeanor picking apart everything grotesque and immature about the American cityscape before her. Dolores hates America. She’d only be here unannounced if it was an emergency. The Queen Regent of Western European Snobbery would otherwise never deign to cross the pond.
“Dearest brother!” she called in her heavily accented English, before switching to Spanish. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your super busy work. I know how much effort you put into fucking your assistants.”
It was a good thing Aimee was not fluent in Spanish. She knew enough to understand Miguel’s half-asleep scrawls at two in the morning, but not enough to understand what Dolores was saying, no matter how sweet and saccharin coated she tried to make her accusation.
“That’s unnecessary.” At least Miguel could drop the veneer of familial love. She wanted to go straight for his jugular? He could handle it, but he wouldn’t pretend to like it. “Why the hell are you here? Come to check up on me?”
Dolores gave Aimee a thorough once-over as the assistant excused herself from Miguel’s apartment. “Let me guess. French? I do know how much you love your little French putas.”
“Déjalo,” Miguel warned her. “I am not sleeping with my assistant. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Good, because I do know who you are sleeping with, and it would be quite uncouth if Mama and Papa found out you were two-timing some slimy prostitute.”
Miguel loosened the cuffs on his shirt. It was the only way to keep from losing his shit at her. “So I take it you saw the pictures. Is that why you’re here? You could’ve yelled at me on the phone. For, you know, daring to have a personal life. Not like I called those nasty paps.”
“Miguelito,” she thought she was so cute when she used their mother’s nickname for him, “I don’t give Queen Isabel’s left tit who you’re playing with. As long as she’s a semi-decent girl, anyway. Trust me. I did some digging on your sweet Judy.”
“Judith.”
“Whatever.” Dolores slapped her purse against Miguel’s couch and removed her travel gloves, one long finger at a time. “Point is, my private investigator turned up more than your disgusting photos. You know what else he found? Go on, guess.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“I don’t even want to say it. Videos, pictures, all sorts of sordid shit that would make our dear mother faint to even acknowledge. Most of your sluts have dirty pasts that landed them in front of a video camera or two. What he found out about her life today was much worse.”
“Cut to the chase, Dolores.”
“Like I said.” Her tone turned curt. “She’s a slimy prostitute.”
Miguel somehow managed to not react. Trust me, I would love to give her a few choice words right now. He had long learned to leave things be in that regard. People like his sister lived for getting a rise out of him.
“You’re not even going to deny it?”
“Is there a point?”
Dolores almost looked disappointed. “I should’ve figured. A woman that relaxed around so much wealth either had to come from it herself or be a high-priced escort. It was made quite clear she was not the former when we met her.”
“Congratulations, you’ve cracked the code. I’m assuming you haven’t told anyone.”
“Why would I?” Her upper lip curled. “As soon as I found out, though, I hopped my husband’s plane here. Told everyone I was coming to check-in and acted like you knew about it. Really, though, I wanted to see if you would deny dating a hooker.”
“Do you feel better about yourself saying these things?” Like he needed her to answer that. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business. If I had anything to do with those photos, I would apologize… but I didn’t, so all you did was fly out here to rub it in my face. As if I care.”
“True. I also came out here to give you a warning, hermano.” Dolores draped her gloves over the back of the couch. Did she think she was staying a while? Either find a hotel or get back on your plane… my guest room does not have your name on it. “Normally I wouldn’t go to these measures, but you said that woman was your girlfriend… and both Maria and I agreed that you were smitten with her.”
Miguel didn’t deny that, either.
“Your image problems are your own to deal with, although you really should think of your poor youngest sister who is in pursuit of her own suitor right now. Think of Mama’s heart, too. It’s not so good anymore, you know.”
“What is the point?”
“The point, Miguel, is that you simply can’t be serious about such a… such a tramp being your girlfriend. First of all, she’s playing you. You think she really cares about you back? She’s after your money, purely. That’s all she thinks about. Everything she does is about advancing her station and setting herself up for life.”
Miguel cocked a wary eyebrow. “Sounds familiar. By the way, how are Pierre and his billions?”
“You leave my well-respected husband out of this.”
“I’m just saying, Lola…”
She grimaced at that name. “That is different. I’m not saying I begrudge Ms. King for playing the game well. She’s clearly good at what she… does…” Dolores cleared her throat, cheeks pink. “You just best damn well pick a woman of proper breeding or at least a clean, sweet record to breed with.”
“My, you are a real romantic.”
“I’m serious, Miguel!” Ah, there went the fake demeanor. “Don’t you dare fucking sully our family name by getting serious with a prostitute of all people! Not only is it wretched, but…”
“But what?” Miguel was starting to lose his patience… and he had a lot of patience for his sister’s stupid bullshit. This is different. This is about Judith. The woman she kept demeaning. “Go on. Tell me what ‘this’ is and why I should feel bad about it.”
“It’s disgusting! Think of your position! Everyone expects you to use women like they’re worthless fucktoys…”
“Excuse you.”
“…But don’t you dare start parading around a hooker like she’s your girlfriend. It’s bad for everyone’s image. If you dare marry her? Papa would disown you! If she gives you bastard children? There is no way they would be recognized by family law. No matter how you do it, Miguel, it’s a disgusting mess. Spare us all and cut her loose so the fervor back home can die down.”
“Fervor, huh?”
Dolores was fuming now. “You think I’m the only one who saw those photos and did some digging? Mama’s the only one being kept in the dark. Papa has half a mind to hit you in the wallet when you next go back to Monaco!”
“Stop your crowing. It’s not that serious. Judith is…”
“She’s what, M
iguel?”
Miguel would not throw her under the proverbial bus. “Very special to me. It’s true.”
“Dios mio, she is not pregnant, is she?”
“You would hate that, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t scare me like that!”
“Fine thing it would be, though.” Finally, something for Miguel to revel in during this confrontation. “You working half your life to secure such a desirable marriage and then your wild older brother spreading his seed to every professional woman in the world. So many little bastard Bolivars. How many you think I have now? Cinco? Diez?”
“Please, don’t even joke about that!”
“Meanwhile, I know you’ve been trying to get knocked up since your honeymoon. How’s that going? I’m even assuming your husband gets it up for you. I saw him canoodling with that best man at your wedding.”
He had asked for it. Dolores marching over to slap him across the face, that is.
That stings. Miguel sucked in his cheeks and breath, but that was his only sign of distress. Dolores coddled her hand while tears of frustration boiled at the corners of her eyes. “Te odio,” she spat. Ouch. Miguel rarely heard that much vitriol, let alone from Dolores. “You have no idea what it’s like. You always get to do what you want. Fuck whomever you want. ‘Spread your seed’ from the Chinese backwoods to that other slut Rosa.” She must have enjoyed the frown sprouting on Miguel’s marred visage. “People still speculate that her oldest child is yours, you know.”
Miguel crumbled inside. “I know, thank you.” Rosa claimed that Salvador was the father, but the timeline felt off… unless she had the healthiest baby boy in the world a month early. “Are you done now?”
“We are never done. Let me tell you… whether you love the whore or not, cut her loose. We don’t need that trash anywhere near our good name. We have… I have worked too hard for this family… you may make us some money, but it’s me who brings in the people you make money off of!”
“Yes, with your feminine wiles and charms. So friendly. So gracious. My sweet, kind sister.”
“Fuck off to hell and die, Miguel.”
“Likewise, Lola.”
Sad thing? They probably didn’t even have the most toxic sibling relationship out of most people they knew.
“If not for me, or Mama and Papa… do it for Maria.” Dolores did not look at her brother, but she kept her voice even. “She’s like a puppy in a cage with mountain lions. If we stand any chance at setting her up with a suitable match, let alone one she’ll accept, we have to keep the name Bolivar clean. People like us are everywhere back home, and she is a woman. Men can pass her by and find someone else as wealthy and from a good background willing to marry them.”
“You treat yourself like cattle.”
“Because I am cattle! Don’t you see? You were born with everything you could possibly want to live the easiest life of us all. You were born first. You were born male. You were born in a time when arranged marriages were frowned upon and the expectation existed for you to fuck anything that moved. You can pay off whatever bastards you ejaculate into the world, but you can only be public one way. I came here to make sure you understood that. If you insist on falling in love with some little Cinderella… make sure she’s not a damned hooker. I don’t care how gold her heart is. The press won’t give a fuck.”
“Go home, Lola.”
Dolores grabbed her purse and gloves. She wasn’t halfway to the door before Miguel felt stupid enough to speak.
“It would really explode your ass to know that I love that woman you hate so much simply because of what she’s done for a living. I don’t say that lightly, but I’ve let you and the others speak for me when it came to Rosa. I will regret that for the rest of my life. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m sorry I haven’t been more understanding of your situation… but it would be nice if you understood mine as well.”
Dolores sniffed and put her hand on the doorknob.
“I lied about your husband and the best man. I’m sure you’ll have a baby soon.”
He hadn’t lied about the husband and the best man. Everyone loved to bar talk that Mr. Dolores Bolivar was a homosexual. When in Monaco… Miguel always figured it was part of the reason his frigid sister chose the man for her suitable match. Maybe not.
Dolores saw herself out without another word. Miguel tried to go back to work. Tried being the operative word.
Chapter 29
JUDITH
It was the first Friday in a long time in which Judith had no obligations until the evening. When the personal stylist from New York heard this, she insisted on coming down that day.
Judith had been touched by stylists before. Clients loved to spoil her with spa days and trips to famous boutiques all over the world. Since coming to the Château, Judith wasn’t allowed to go out with anyone but her patron, but clients could gift her experiences for her to cash in the next time she went somewhere on her own – or with her patron, not that he had to know. One time Mitch took me to Montreal and I spent my day off getting shitfaced at a club another client paid for me to go to… because I know how to spank his balls and tell him he’s a sick shit. It was a delicate balancing act for everyone involved.
Now she stood in her bedroom, having some middle-aged woman and her entourage of three men poking, prodding, and dressing her for a wedding she didn’t even know she was going to until a few days ago.
“More red!” the stylist hollered. “He said no pink!”
Not that Judith wanted to wear pink, but the idea that she had to go by Miguel’s rules… well, he was the boss right now. She would have to keep the eyerolls in check, however. Especially when some bright lavender piece of shit was slapped against her skin. Clearly, red.
“Looks like a damn hurricane in here,” Monica muttered from the doorway once everyone was gone in the late afternoon. Judith wandered around in a silk slip, trying to clean things up in case Miguel came that night. “Should I send a maid in to help you?”
“No thanks.” Judith found a box full of sex toys beneath a red and yellow kimono. Who was going through this? Now she had to disinfect them all again. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Do I have an appointment I should know about?”
“No.” Monica smiled. “Better. You should sit down for this. I received the final bids.”
Judith sat on her couch. “Go on!”
Monica unfolded a piece of paper covered in her handwriting. Notes, calculations… the woman never stopped working. Or writing in code so Judith couldn’t pry into what she was up to. One of these days you’ll have to let me know. Probably when Judith became more owner than employee.
“So? Who is it? Who won the battle of Judith’s Body?”
Monica kept her paper close to her chest. “Do you really want to know?”
“Duh!”
Monica peered at her paper. “They’re pretty astronomical bids. Our previous record has been smashed by almost over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Holy shit.” Judith couldn’t stop smiling. “We’re both rich!” Monica was already filthy rich thanks to her husband. Judith was about to get richer, though.
For some reason, her boss was not forthcoming with the results. In fact, her countenance turned into a strange look, neither comforting nor critical. “Yes. Both of these men are offering to spend over a million dollars a year on you, gifts not included. Not that I doubt they have the money, but I want to know something from you.”
Judith didn’t feel too excited anymore.
“Before I tell you the results,” Monica continued, “I want to ask you one more time if you prefer one of these men over the other.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not playing favorites with them.”
“Duly noted.” Monica sat on the other end of Judith’s couch and peered at her notes once more. “Dr. Christens is offering you a final number of $150,000 a month.”
“Wow.” How far that man had come. From dithering over payi
ng for a blowjob to throwing all his money at her. I really am the best… Whatever the other number was, Judith could clearly claim this as a moment of serious pride. “Miguel?”
“Mr. Bolivar, on the other hand, is offering…” Was she fucking pausing for effect? The nerve! “$200,000 a month.”
“Holy. Shit.”
“I had to look at it twice to make sure that’s what it said. Both offers came via the post to make sure there were no errors.”
“So Miguel is the winner.” Judith stood, relieved to have this over with. She could get back to business… and back to traveling the whole of Europe if she had her way with Miguel. Seth would pout, and then pout again when he realized he was forever doomed to paint nothing but the Château unless he worked something out behind the scenes with Monica, but it wasn’t like a bad thing. I get both of my favorite men. They both get me. We now know what the boundaries are. Judith got her cut of $200,000 a month, plus whatever personal gifts Miguel foisted on her. “He’ll probably be by later tonight. Should I tell him the good news? It would probably get me even more money tonight if he wants to celebrate.”
Monica’s expression did not change. “I think it’s best if you don’t mention this. Besides…”
Now what?
“I want to give you time to think this over, anyway.”
“What the fuck is there to think about? I’m queen of the fucking world! Miguel is offering way more than Seth! Why wouldn’t we give the winnings to him?” Judith gestured to herself. “Me! I’m the winnings!”
Still no change. I hate her sometimes. Monica was the best at her job for a reason. Judith needed to learn more from her before one day running her own pleasure house for a reason. Nobody could compete with Monica Warren’s poker face. Whatever she was thinking… Judith would not know unless Monica decided to share.
She could be lying. It was not beneath Monica to lie when she thought it pertinent, but she would damn well make Judith think it was the truth!
