“Granny, let me get you some tea. We'll turn on the TV and watch something to get in the spirit, okay?” Annata said, reaching out for the frail old woman. She didn't like to see her grandmother like this.
“Just promise me, when some man comes along that turns your beautiful head, you'll stop and think. You won't let your heart string you along. That's our biggest problem in this family. We just love and love and don't think. Look at your daddy, marrying the first girl he ever loved?” Granny chuckled. “Well, that turned out okay, I suppose.”
Annata smiled. “I guess it did,” she said, thinking of her parents.
“Now, you promise me, okay?” Granny turned her light brown eyes on Annata, burning with intensity.
“I promise,” she said, her mind immediately jumping to Christy. The man waiting for her back in the city. The man she might possibly be falling in love with.
“Okay, Sweetie.” Granny said, resting her head against the back of the chair. “Although it's not like you getting any younger. Maybe you should take the first man that comes along?” She said, with a belly laugh that shook the whole chair.
“You can get your own tea, old lady,” Annata said, switching on the TV with the remote.
“I love you, you know that?” her grandma asked after a moment.
“Love you too, Granny,” Annata said with a smile.
Chapter 17
The New Year's Eve party was in full swing when Christophe entered his father and Miranda's brownstone. He wondered if Annie was there yet. Her plane had landed an hour ago and she'd told him to meet her at the party. He wished she would have let him pick her up at the airport, but he didn't want to be a creep. If she wanted space, he would give it to her. Despite the fact that he'd been crawling up the walls all week. The hours inched by when Annie was gone, but he'd spent the time in the office with his father. He had to admit, the time in the office made him feel at home. The decision to finally return to the city had been the right one.
Christophe turned the corner into the ballroom and skirted the edges of the crowd. He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and downed it in one gulp. He was feeling oddly jittery. He was almost scared to see Annie again, he realized. What if things had changed in the week that she'd been gone? It wouldn't be the first time that her feelings turned on a dime. He still remembered how it felt, seven years later, when she all but laughed at him when he asked her to follow him to London. She'd thought he was a foolish boy, but he'd been dead serious. He patted the hidden pocket inside his suit jacket, feeling the small hard box it contained. He had another proposition for her, one that he was terrified to act on. He smiled to himself, leaning against the doorjamb. Sometimes being terrified meant you were doing something right, he mused.
Glancing up, he noticed his father moving toward him. “Son, if you have a minute, accompany me to the den,” The Old Man said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, his glance drifting back to the entrance. Annie wasn't anywhere to be seen, so he followed his father through the hallway toward the back of the house. “Close the door, will you?” Christophe followed his father's instruction and pulled the heavy cherry pocket doors closed behind him. The room immediately quieted and Christophe sunk into a deep leather chair with a sigh.
“How do you put up with these things every holiday?” Christophe asked. “The noise alone is driving me mad.”
“Next year, we're going to the Caribbean. No hassle, no fuss,” The Old Man said, sinking into his desk chair.
“I'll believe it when I see it,” Christophe said, not believing it for a second. Miranda would never give up her social calendar. It was her bread and butter.
“Let me cut to the chase. I am impressed with you, Christophe. These past few weeks, you've exceeded my expectations,” The Old Man said. Christophe felt his stomach tighten. The champagne obviously hadn't helped sooth his nervousness, he thought wryly. The Old Man opened a drawer, pulling out his cigar box.
“Thank you,” Christophe said, not sure how to answer.
“I've had a tough decision to make, but you've made that decision easier.” His father lit a cigar and let out a thick puff of smoke. “So for that, I thank you.” The Old Man lifted his cigar to Christophe. Christophe felt numb for a moment, his father's words sinking in. What exactly was he saying? “I'm retiring next year. I need a successor.”
Christophe worked his jaw as reality dawned on him. His father was going to name Christophe as the new CEO of International. The thought hit him like a ton of bricks. A childhood dream realized to run the company his grandfather started. The company that his father made a fortune 500 contender. His father watched him, puffing on his cigar. Even now, The Old Man was testing him and gauging his reaction.
A loud knock jolted him from his thoughts. He turned his head toward the door and time seemed to slow as Annie stepped into the den. Damn, she was a sight for sore eyes. She wore a black dress with a full skirt that showed off her long legs. He felt his lungs expand as he took a deep breath. Her mouth spread in a wide smile as she swatted her hand in front of her face, taking The Old Man to task for smoking. She swept a curl behind her ear, turning toward him. Her smile dimmed as she saw him and stopped short.
“Annie,” Christophe said.
“Christophe. I didn't see you there,” she said, her smile returning. “How can you sit in this smoke-filled room? I feel the cancer already starting to metastasize.”
“Cancer is no joke, my dear,” The Old Man deadpanned, making no move to put out his cigar despite Annie's ribbing.
“How did I know you would be hiding away in here?” she asked, setting a brightly wrapped present on the edge of the desk.
“Is that for me?” The Old Man asked, peering over at the box.
“Merry Christmas,” she said, perching on the arm of the chair opposite of Christophe, looking everywhere but at him.
“Where's my present?” Christophe asked, wanting to feel her eyes on him. She obliged him, giving him her full attention.
“I must have forgotten it,” she said, lifting her shoulders in a shrug.
“Now, now, you two. Did you have a good trip, Annie dear?”
“Yes, it's always good to go home again,” she said, crossing her legs. Christophe leaned forward, his hand itching to touch her. To run his palm up her smooth calf, take off her shoe and kiss her toes...
“I'm actually glad you're here, Annie,” The Old Man said, and Christophe heard alarm bells going off in his brain. If his father was about to say what he thought he was going to say, the shit was about to hit the fan. “I was just telling Christophe that I'm retiring.” Christophe felt Annie's body tighten, from across the room. He ran his hand through his hair and willed her to look at him. But she didn't. She stared at The Old Man, a cold smile on her face. “Not until later in the year of course, but it's better to get these things figured out early.”
“Absolutely,” Annie's voice was like ice.
“Hard as it is, decisions must be made.” The Old Man puffed on his cigar. “Annie, Paris needs a head, and I think you would be perfect for the job. You like Paris, they like you, and your French is good. It's a good fit.”Another puff. Christophe watched Annie's face, the barely perceptible tick under her left eye. “And Christophe will take on my role as CEO here in New York.” Time seemed to stop, and Annie finally looked at him. He felt a chill run up his bones, and it had nothing to do with the freezing temperature outside. The Old Man was trying to ship Annie off to Paris. He could see how his father thought the idea was brilliant. Annie, however, was livid. “Christophe, I'm leaving it up to you. You know what I want, but, ultimately, it's up to you.” The Old Man said, plunging the knife deeper. Annie was silent, waiting for Christophe's answer.
Christophe knew what he should do. He should tell The Old Man that Annie deserved to be CEO, that she'd worked for it. He should say that if Annie was sent to Paris, he would follow her there. But the golden carrot was dangling in front of his nose. A fierce possess
iveness reared up in him. He had a birthright, dammit. Maybe this was why he never felt anchored to the world, because he wasn't living up to his potential? Another insidious thought snaked through his mind. Why would Annie ever agree to marry him anyway? She'd said it herself, he was a lazy playboy who spent his father's money and contributed nothing to the world. He wasn't worthy of her. She deserved everything, and he deserved nothing. But he couldn't say no. He wouldn't. He looked her right in the eye and he jumped off the cliff.
“I'll be your new CEO,” he said.
***
Annata felt like her head was going to explode. Christy's words echoed in her ears. He accepted the CEO position. Just like that. His face was painfully beautiful, his body leaning toward hers, his hand almost close enough to touch her. She hadn't seen him in a week and now, he was so far away, he could have been a stranger. And William. Her eyes shifted back to her mentor, hidden in a fog of smoke. Anger that started in her belly was bubbling up her windpipe. She coughed, choking on it. Her whole body was clenched, her muscles tight. Christy stood suddenly.
“You want a drink, Annie?”
“No.” She stood too, realizing that she had to get out of there, before she did something she would regret.
“You want a drink?” Christophe asked William. William waved him off.
“Annie, what do you think? Paris will be a good fit,” William said. “I put a lot of thought into it. But if you want to stay here, Christophe needs someone he can count on, a number two.”
“Christophe needs...” Annata trailed off, sweeping her tongue across her teeth. Christophe stepped into her line of vision, and pressed something cold into her hand. A glass.
“Drink it,” he said.
“Go fuck yourself,” she hissed.
“Don't,” he whispered.
“Don't? Don't what?” she said, her voice rising. Her control teetered on a very fine edge, and Christophe was riding that edge. A wild idea forced it's way to the forefront of her mind. Hong Kong. She'd been offered a job in Hong Kong. She hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but now it seemed like a lifeline. William could take the nepotism and bullshit and shove it. She didn't need him. She stepped around Christophe, setting the vodka tonic on the edge of William's desk. “William, I was offered a job in Hong Kong two weeks ago. I'm going to take it,” she said.
William sat forward, setting the cigar in the ashtray. “Not exactly what I was expecting to hear,” he said, with a sigh.
“Well, Christophe being appointed CEO is not exactly what I wanted to hear either, William,” she said. “You hold it out in front of me, and then yank it away. And then expect me to back up your play? I can't do it. I won't.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“It's bullshit and you know it,” she said, feeling the control slip out from under her. “You think I would just roll over on this shit, when I've been working day in and day out for fourteen years in your best interest? And because Christophe has your DNA and a dick, he gets what I deserve?”
“Oh, Annie,” William shook his head, his features harsh in the lamplight. “I've dreaded this day.”
“It's bullshit, William.” She took a step back, and felt Christophe's hands on her shoulders. She spun around, out of his grasp. “Don't touch me.” Christophe didn't drop his eyes, didn't look away. He looked her straight in the face. So arrogant. So entitled. Damn him. Any warmth for him drained out of her, leaving her cold. She felt goosebumps raise on her arms where he'd touched her. She couldn't look at him anymore. She couldn't be in the oppressive room anymore. “William, consider my resignation effective immediately.”
“Annie, please try and understand.” William stood.
“I understand perfectly. But you don't know me at all, if you think I'm going to bend over when I'm getting fucked.”
“I knew someone would eventually take you away from me. But I suppose what will be will be.” William's shoulders sagged, and she felt her rage building that he wasn't attacking her or fighting back.
“You're a fool if you didn't see this coming. But you do what you need to do. I wouldn't expect any less of you,” Annie said. “Goodbye, William.” She turned and hurried past Christophe and out the door. She pushed her way through the partygoers, only wanting to be outside in the cold. The air inside was stifling. She swayed, feeling faint. Her heart beat so hard in her throat that she couldn't breathe. She put her hand to her throat. She just had to make it to the door. Then she would be fine. Everything would be fine.
As soon as the cold air hit her, she pulled in a ragged breath. She dropped her head back, gulping in air. A cold drop of sweat made its way down her spine. Above, tiny flakes of snow swirled in the light of the street lamp. A sob released itself from her loosening throat. It was over. Just like that. Her life, as she knew it, was over. She began to shake uncontrollably, realizing she needed to get away from there. An available cab passed by, jostling down the street. But her feet wouldn't move.
The door opened and closed behind her, the bells on the wreath ringing. She turned to her left and began to blindly walk down the street. She had to get away. “Annie!” She heard Christophe's voice, calling her. It only made her walk faster. His hand closed around her arm and he yanked her to a stop.
“Get off of me!” she hissed.
“What the fuck, Annie?” he growled, tossing something warm over her shoulders. Her coat, she realized. “Hong Kong?”
“Fuck you!” she screamed, her voice echoing down the quiet street. “You knew how much I wanted it.”
“I have to do it. I can't say no.” He ran his hands up and down her arms, trying in vain to warm her.
“You both must think I'm a fucking idiot!” she said, shrugging out of his grasp. “I am an idiot, for not seeing this coming.” She shook her head, a hysterical laugh building in her chest. “But you—you're a genius, Christophe Van der Kind. A fucking genius. How long were you planning this?” she said, a laugh breaking free.
“You're being paranoid.”
“Paranoid!” Her voice rose, and a laugh followed. “That's fucking rich!”
“Annie.” His voice held a warning, but she didn't care.
“I'm getting the hell out of here. I'm going to Hong Kong, and I hope I never fucking see you again.” She turned and rushed to the corner. She threw up her arm, craning to look for a cab.
“Don't walk away from me.” He grabbed her again, pulling her into an embrace. “I'll take you away,” he whispered in his ear. “We can go wherever you want. A beach, maybe? Or Moscow. They get a shit-ton of snow. Not like this half-assed snow the city gets. We can hole up somewhere, just the two of us.” He kissed her forehead then her cheek, then his lips brushed hers, softly. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't look at him anymore. It was too much. “Anywhere you want.”
“No.” She heard herself saying. “Your father needs you.”
“You need me,” he said, his fists clenching in her coat, holding on for dear life.
“I don't need you.” She said, steeling her spine. She wanted to be strong. She needed to be strong.
“Fine. I need you,” he said, his voice not much more than a whisper. He knew. The writing was on the wall.
“Let me go,” she said.
“No.” He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into her neck. “You want me to beg? I'll beg. Stay with me,” he said.
“Let me go,” she said again.
“No!” he growled, his hands roaming down her back. “You stay, I stay. You go, I go.”
“Christophe,” she said. “It's over.” She put her palms against his chest and pushed. He let her go finally, his hands dropping at his sides. His face was cloaked in darkness, and she couldn't see his expression. Not that she wanted to. She just wanted to go home and pull the covers over her head and sleep.
“Just like that?” he said, his voice dangerously low.
“Yes,” she said.
“This is not ho
w this night was supposed to go,” he said, then chuckled a bit. “I actually thought that we'd be able to pick up where we left off. That for once, we'd be on the right side of time.”
“Shit happens,” she said, her body cold and stiff.
“Yeah,” he said, turning and walking away. She stared down the street until a cab finally appeared. As she slid inside, she let her gaze wander back to him. Christophe stood under the street lamp, puffs of breath escaping him like smoke. Snow fell in earnest, but he didn't seem to notice. Down the street, cheers erupted from the stately brownstones. Auld Lang Syne played somewhere, the melody ghostly in the cold night.
“Happy New Year,” the cabbie said, tapping the clock on the radio. Midnight.
She slammed the car door, and they rode off into the darkness. She stared out the window, the snow swirling by. She'd been hung up on Christophe Van der Kind for so many fucking years. And now it was all over. A memory came to her then, one that often came to her in the middle of a particularly lonely night. She pressed her forehead against the cold window and closed her eyes.
7 Years Ago
Annata glanced around the corner, her braids swinging over her shoulder. She gave a short sigh of relief. The coast was clear. She'd been hiding from Christophe Van der Kind for two days, ever since he'd turned her ass out on top of her desk. Her pussy still throbbed when she thought about it. But she refused—REFUSED—to let herself get hung up on the rich pretty boy who would do nothing but use her up and spit her out. She knew his type, and she knew what his type did to girls like her. A good girl, with a good head on her shoulders, would know to steer clear.
Annata hugged the wall as she strode quickly to her office. If she could just get inside and close the door, she would be alright, she told herself. She'd seen Christophe a few times since their fateful encounter, but he hadn't seen her. She'd been like a ninja, moving out of the line of vision or ducking into any lucky doorway before he did. She put her head down, pretending to read the document in her hand, just in case he came around the corner. Then no eye contact would be made.
Kiss of Ice (St. James Family) Page 14
