by Cynthia Dane
“Oh?” That piqued Jasmine’s interest like nothing else. “Ethan said something about tearing her a new asshole because she missed a meeting. Was it because of her assistant?”
“That guy was an ass and nobody was sorry when she fired him. I mean broke up with him. I mean whatever.” Nadia crossed her arms and legs at the same time. “But yeah, that’s the tip of the iceberg. She comes in late a lot, but she never missed a meeting again. I think one time she came in drunk, but don’t quote me on that.”
“What’s her deal?” The woman had bought Jasmine a wedding dress, but she never quite got a full read on her.
“Amber says she’s going through a lot.”
“Why the fuck would Amber know that?” That reminded Jasmine of something. “Hey, I thought you guys were buddies.” They arrived at her bachelorette party at the same time and everything. “Now you’re saying you hate her. Either it’s high school level of hate, or she did something to really piss her off.”
“Well, Amber sees her a lot because she takes notes at meetings and sometimes overhears things between her and Mr. Cole. Personal things.”
If Nadia were to bombshell about their affair behind Jasmine’s back, she would have had a different expression. Jasmine chose to breathe easy. For now. “Go on,” she said.
Nadia stared at the petals she had strewn on the brick walkway. “It doesn’t matter. It was a fling.”
“With Amber?” Hold up now!
Nadia blanched in disgust. “No! I really shouldn’t say it.”
“You wouldn’t have come out all this way when you don’t even have a car unless you wanted to say it.” Buses didn’t go farther than a mile up that way either.
“Fine. Eva wasn’t really interested in me unless I was playing ‘hard to get.’ I was a notch on her bedpost.”
Jasmine frowned. Who was that with her when they put me in the cab the other night? Jasmine had wondered that ever since, and her nosy side cursed her for being too drunk to see well. “Did she tell you this? Or dump you?”
“No. Not technically.” Nadia’s sighs couldn’t possibly get more dramatic than they already were. “I sort of broke it off with her after we got back from Hong Kong. Went back to giving her the cold shoulder and blocking her number. I mean… that wasn’t very mature of me, but she’s not someone I want to confront. She’s used to getting her way, you know?”
“I highly doubt she would hurt you.”
“I didn’t say that! You know how I am with confrontation.”
“Yeah, Captain Passive Aggressive. How’s that working out for you?”
Nadia looked like she was about to fling herself off the bench. “So let’s say I’m not seeing her anymore. The bachelorette party was really awkward, but I managed to avoid her for the most part. I don’t think she cared anymore. Between you and me…” When was it ever anything but? “She still makes excuses to come by the office, but it’s not me she’s interested in anymore.” Nadia didn’t say anything beyond that.
Jasmine’s mind went to the only possible person – not, not Ethan! Although that would be an image to end all images. “I’m sorry this is happening. Do you want me to talk to Ethan?”
“What good would that do me?” Frustration mounted between Nadia and Jasmine. “Last thing I need is the boss actually being aware of all the lesbian drama exploding around him!”
“He’s probably more aware than you think he is.”
Nadia rolled her eyes toward Jasmine so hard that it was a wonder they didn’t fall out of their sockets.
“Fine. He doesn’t know a damn thing.”
“That’s more like it.”
“I’m sorry you’re dealing with all of this,” Jasmine said in the end. “Is there anything I can do? You wanna stay and have dinner? Belinda’s making enchiladas, and they’re pretty out of this world.” Jasmine would even eat the vegetarian version with her parents.
Nadia shrugged. “I’m down for anything that doesn’t make me think about drama. Wait, Amber isn’t here, is she?”
“No…”
“Good. I didn’t know if she would be up here helping Mr. Cole work.”
“I think everyone but him has the day off.”
“Does he ever stop working?”
This time Jasmine took up the mantle of eye rolling. “He’s been better since Adrienne joined his company. But no. When you’ve made your own billions, you’ve made them in a very specific way. Mostly by working yourself to death.”
“Won’t that suck for you?”
“I know what I’m getting into, at least.” Jasmine stood, brushing debris from her shift. “It’s not like he doesn’t make time for me.” Had he or had he not taken fifteen minutes out of his day to screw her brains out? Heh! “He is busy a lot of the time. Certainly busier than some of the other men I know around here…” That wasn’t a slight against them. The men who were born with means didn’t have to work as hard, and that was a fact. They also weren’t raised to think they had to, unless they were bound and determined to expand fortunes the really old fashioned way. For example, Jasmine couldn’t imagine Monica’s husband Henry working himself dead tired most days like Ethan did. His family’s holdings were already so grand that all he had to do was maintain them and seek new investment opportunities in case something went bust.
Was that why it seemed like Ethan sometimes resented such types, even if he otherwise liked them personally?
Nadia said she would stay for dinner, but only if Jasmine’s family promised to keep their clothes on. Luckily for her, Saul and Luna were all about the underwear at the dinner table.
Chapter 14
“Sign here,” the lawyer said, pointing to yet another line on many sheets of paper. “Here. Oh, here too.”
Jasmine hadn’t put her name on so many papers since taking out her student loans several years ago. Her hand started to cramp after the final sloppy flourish of a fountain pen sent her lawyer back to a desk to be verified by Ethan’s lawyer.
“That should be all,” both men confirmed. “We’ll make sure that it’s filed by the end of the day. You’ll be receiving your copy by registered mail in the coming days.”
Jasmine thanked them for their time before showing herself out of the stuffy old offices. Not that I have anywhere to go but home. Her lonely home, for Ethan would be gone that night for his bachelor party.
She knew nothing about it, other than Adrienne was throwing it. So it would probably be a far fancier affair than what she had the weekend before. Lots of booze though. Probably some escorts. I’m not dumb. Jasmine got in her Dodge Viper, adjusting the mirrors and debating whether to wear her Chopard sunglasses or not. She usually kept them in the glove compartment, where they were not appreciated, but also not likely to get dinged… and for how much they cost, even by a billionaire’s standards…
I can’t believe I signed that prenup.
Jasmine pulled the Chopards out of the glove compartment and shoved them on her face. The Viper purred to life.
What a winning day for Ethan. That was all Jasmine could think about as she pulled out of the parking lot and onto the nearest street. Not only was the bastard going on his fancy rich-man’s bachelor party God only knew where tonight, but he got her to sign that prenup. Well, Ethan had nothing to do with it, she supposed. After all, it was he who argued for more favorable terms on her behalf. Her lawyer merely sat back and enjoyed his job being done for him.
At least it was one less thing to worry about as they charged forward to their wedding. Two weeks. Jasmine could hardly believe it. What was even better was that nature was on her side for once and she was gearing up to get rid of the Monthly Menace by next weekend. That meant Aunt Flo was not invited to her wedding or honeymoon! I gotta count my smaller blessings right now.
Jasmine was excited, to be sure, even if she was slightly colored by the prenup right now. She felt no qualms as she weaved in and out of the roads leading through the CBD on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately, all o
f her friends were busy that weekend, and Ethan was… well, Jasmine wasn’t going to think about it. Even her parents were gone for the weekend, taking their noisy hippie-van to a music festival three hours away. Jasmine would hang out with Blackbeard and Belinda that night, and she would like it.
First, she was swinging by the penthouse to pick up a few things. She entered to find some of Ethan’s clothes still strewn about the bedroom, including an embossed card falling out of a jacket pocket.
“Seven PM. Sharp.”
Jasmine stacked everything to the side. She wasn’t in the mood to think about Ethan’s bachelor party.
Oh, she couldn’t help it!
What were they doing? Where were they going? How drunk was he going to get… or would he drink his usual amount and pretend to be interested in what was going on? Who else was going? Would there be other bachelors and married men there, or was Ethan going off to enjoy one of his last weekends of freedom with a bunch of women?
Hot women…
Women who knew what they were about…
Women.
Jasmine knew it wasn’t rational. Men went on bachelor tirades all the time. Usually to Vegas or some such place, where strippers abounded and a man could either get wasted in a dive bar from hell or the most upscale lounge in the world. Ethan came from a commoner’s background, but had refined tastes. He would want to go somewhere he could wear a (to him, casual) suit and drink expensive liquor. Jasmine did not doubt that he would see as many naked women as she saw naked men last week – and to hold it against him made her a hypocrite. Besides, didn’t she trust him like he trusted her? Jasmine sure got an eyeful of good looking dudes and their cocks last week, but that didn’t mean she touched any of them. Not like Selena. Or Adrienne, who was now apparently the bisexual wonder of the bunch.
When Ethan asked her how her party went, Jasmine was candid and gave him a brief overview. She even let slip that there were a lot of hot guys there, who were clearly hired to be hot and aggressive. Ethan hadn’t gotten jealous, or at least not in front of Jasmine. He did quip, however, with “Of course my money went to paying for male escorts. Of course it did.”
Jasmine hoped he would be as transparent with her when she asked about his party later. Until then, she needed to find something to occupy herself with.
Like her cell phone flashing Monica’s number on the screen.
“Jasmine, dear,” she said with that brusque business voice of hers. “Are you busy tonight?”
“Well, I…”
“Oh, good! You know, you haven’t been up to my Château in much too long. Why don’t I send you a car to come visit me? That way you don’t have to drive all the way up here.”
“Um…”
“It’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Pack light.” She hung up.
What the hell was going on? Jasmine was always the last person let in on these things!
She threw together a few items into her large purse and checked herself in the bedroom vanity. Her hair wasn’t too bushy, even though the humidity was starting to pick up outside… thank goodness. Her sapphire blue crepe dress was a bit plain for a gathering, but had been perfectly fine for running errands. Perhaps it didn’t matter. As long as she was presentable, she supposed…
The intercom from the front desk downstairs buzzed. The receptionist of the day announced that there was a driver waiting for Jasmine, and then asked if she needed assistance. Jasmine told them to hold on for a few more minutes before going to freshen up in the bathroom. By the time she went downstairs with nothing but a light jacket and a purse full of hygiene products and a change of underwear, a very familiar driver and his Rolls-Royce awaited her.
“Good to see you,” Henry said, removing his golden sunglasses so Jasmine could see more than that sandy blond hair and beige suit. “I’ve been sent to fetch and bring you to my wife’s place of illicit business.”
Jasmine didn’t know whether to laugh or take five big steps back. What the fuuuuuck? She had never been alone with Henry before. Oh, not that she distrusted him! More like what the hell do we do together? Let alone in his car for the two to three hours it would take to get up into the mountains!
“What’s going on?” Jasmine asked, as Henry extended his hand to take her bag. “All I got was some cryptic call from Monica telling me to come meet her all the way up there.”
“Honestly, I have been sworn to secrecy, and she will know if I broke my oath.” Henry dramatically rolled his eyes for comedic effect. “I know we don’t know each other as well as we should, but I like to think this is a good chance to get to know one of my wife’s best friends. She certainly talks about you a lot. And, hey, I’m going to your wedding in two weeks and will always appreciate you having been in mine.”
“Okay, okay. Let me call our housekeeper to tell her to not expect me for dinner.”
“Roger that.”
Within ten more minutes Jasmine was in the front seat of the Rolls-Royce, Henry behind the wheel and driving them both far out of town and onto a highway that veered up into the nearby mountains.
The afternoon weather was pleasant enough for Henry to lower the hood and let them both enjoy the warm wind and sunshine. It beat trying to force a conversation, especially when Henry turned on the radio and motioned for Jasmine to choose whatever she liked. He probably wasn’t expecting Top 40… all the station presets were classical, jazz, soft rock, and NPR. Jasmine was content to let Bruno Mars serenade them up the green mountain spotted with late spring flowers and all the trappings of June.
“You know,” Henry called out over the wind at one point. “It was a little over a year ago I formally met Monica. Now look at me. Chauffeuring her friends around.” He said it with a grin. Jasmine laughed and told him that he was a lucky man. “You don’t have to tell me that,” he continued. “Just do me a favor and try to convince her to come home more often! She’s having a baby, damnit!”
The highway turned farther inland, where properties were private and highways no longer existed. They joined a winding road that went past vast lodges, resorts, and private estates that were perfect for summer getaways or the permanent residences of rich hermits. It was this kind of palatial estate that Monica chose for her luxurious business catering to the sexual deviances of the richest men in the country – and the world. Jasmine had only been to Le Château a few times, but every time she went, she was agog at the fairy-tale landscaping and the elegant sophistication that permeated every bush, line of trees, and even the Christmas lights hanging like canopies wherever cars drove.
It may have been late afternoon by the time they turned down Vers la Paradis, which Henry made sure to tell Jasmine was originally misnamed the Chemin de Ciel until he came into the picture with his fluent French, but Jasmine still felt like she was entering a private world that few ever got to sample. Well, that’s the truth. Few could ever say they were good friends with the madam of one of the country’s most exclusive – and only surviving – pleasure houses.
Something clogged in Jasmine’s throat for the briefest instant. Don’t tell me…
“There’s those damn Lady Slippers she made me get on our honeymoon.” Henry slowed down as they rounded the final bend of the driveway, bringing the grand, rectangular Château into view. “Did you know those orchids are some of the rarest in the world? I didn’t until I saw the bill. They can’t even live on their own. We had to bring over some fungus too. To hell with it, when my wife says buy her some flowers for her brothel, what am I gonna do, say no?”
He parked right in front of the main entrance, where the doorman (slash bouncer) quickly arrived to greet them.
“Monsieur Warren, Madam Bliss,” the man said, straight as a marble statue even in that heated June afternoon. “You are both expected in the Madam’s chambers.”
Jasmine had never been to Monica’s private rooms in the Château before. She was more likely to spend time in the Receiving Room or out on the dining balcony overlooking the labyrinthine hedges in the ba
ckyard. Neither gave her much chance to take in the exquisite sights of the Château, which instantly transported a man (or woman) to finer days. This place had never been renovated since its late 19th century origins, merely updated where necessary. It also had more staff people and other such servants than the Warren Estate, and that said a lot. Then again, that was a residence, and this was a business first and foremost.
They passed the dining room on their way up the grand staircase, where five young women sat around a table eating an early supper and arguing over who was going to make the most money that night. Something something “big party.” One declared she would be the one to seduce the guest of honor that night, and everyone laughed at her before starting a brawl over the last piece of baked chicken.
“You’d never guess they were adults,” Henry mumbled, leading Jasmine down the main hallway on the second floor. “I tell you, once you become involved with the owner of this place, you get to see all the bullshit that goes on behind the scenes. Sort of ruins the enchantment.”
Jasmine was barely paying attention to him. She was watching maids scurry about, vacuuming, dusting, and hustling to finish their cleaning before nightfall. One maid popped out of a large bedroom that contained hanging leather straps and a large painting of a woman being double-pounded by men with ten-inch dicks. What a world.
Monica was in her chambers, locked away behind a series of doors that only Henry had the keys to. They found her in a large, albeit dark, bedroom that matched her tragically gothic tastes so perfectly that Jasmine had to hold back a laugh.
“You’re only fifteen minutes late,” Monica said with light sarcasm, accepting a kiss from her husband. She turned on a stool in front of her vanity, struggling to compensate for the bowling ball resting on her lap. As of late, Jasmine had seen her wearing pastel empire sundresses that gave her the most comfort possible – while also advertising how monstrously pregnant she was. Here at work, however, she needed to look more Madam of the Night, less little wife of a fancy-pants billionaire. So Jasmine’s eyes grew to see her friend wearing a black sheath dress with crimson sequins sparkling with every movement. Her swollen feet forewent anything but bright violet Crocs, but a pair of plain satin slippers awaited her. So did a lady in waiting outside of the door, something Monica had become accustomed to since becoming Mrs. Warren… and heavily pregnant with a penchant to need things at the drop of a needle.
