by S. J. Smith
“Then you’ll be queen, are you ready for that?”
“I have what I’ve been taught and I have you two. I think I am ready.” I smiled and for the first time since I knew I would take the throne, I was looking forward to the future.
THE END
Bonus Story 18 of 40
Taming the Billionaire’s Heart
The wind whipped through Brody’s tousled blond hair as his best friend Aiden sped down route 27 in the red top convertible that just hours ago had three gorgeous supermodels baring all in the back seat. Now it just had two hung over best friends who were speeding down the end of a glorious alcohol and sex infused summer in the Hamptons, back to sixteen-hour work days in their fathers’ Manhattan offices. Aiden was a Sinclair and Brody was a Montgomery-West, which meant billions of dollars in old family real estate money, and fun was limited to summers lest their fathers threatened to disinherit them. The massive, manicured evergreen trees were slowly transforming to handsomely erected, silvery skyscrapers with the fingerprints of the Sinclairs’ and the Montgomery-Wests’ all over them. Aiden and Brody had been conjoined at the hip since their mothers met in an exclusive Mommy-and-Me class on the Upper East Side. They went to the same preparatory schools, same Ivy League University, and their fathers’ brokered a deal that essentially gave their families ownership of almost all of the prime real estate in not only New York, but New Jersey and Connecticut as well. Both of their fathers were aging and their sons, who in their early thirties, were expected to give up summers in the Hamptons for full-time workaholism on Manhattan island.
“Jesus, man, do you have to hit every fucking speed bump?” Brody asked, putting on black Ray Ban sunglasses.
“It’s New York; the streets are crap. We’re almost to the Palace,” Aiden said, shoving him playfully.
“God, I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“Well, lean out of the window. You need a haircut too, man.”
“I don’t have anything left to throw up. We might be getting to old for this bullshit.”
Aiden shook his head. His dark hair was always cropped short matching his dark, five o’clock shadow. He had a square jaw and broad shoulders making him look more like an off-duty marine. Brody’s boy-next-door look made him look more like Aiden’s little brother.
“Brody, we are getting to old for these summers, man,” Aiden said, flashing Brody a cheeky grin.
“How the hell else am I supposed to stand all the long meetings and my dad glowering over me?”
Aiden shrugged his massive shoulders and stared forward. Brody saw the slight tick of a muscle in his neck, telling him that his best friend had more than a fleeting thought in his square head.
“Spill it, man. You look like my mom when she’s trying to give me advice.”
“Look, I think these summers are getting old. We’ve been doing it for ten years—”
“Fourteen,” Brody corrected, rubbing his temples.
“Whatever. That makes it worse. We’re thirty-two now and I think it’s time we settle down in New York.”
“Settle down?” Brody shrieked.
Brody winced as the raised pitch in his own voice sent a shooting pain across his forehead.
“I don’t mean stop partying. I mean party like adults instead of frat boys.”
“You were never a frat boy.”
“Not my scene. I mean I feel like I need to card girls nowadays at the Hamptons. I’m not wanting to get screwed over by some wannabe social media star.”
“Alright, dad,” Brody scoffed, and pulled a bottle of water from the floor of the car.
He chugged the bottle, letting the first non-alcoholic beverage he’d drank in days settle in his tumultuous stomach. The effect was instantaneous, but it was quickly ousted by the shock of Aiden giving him an Oprah-esque pep talk about growing up and settling down.
“What do you suggest then? Meeting up with our dads at the country club for squash?”
Brody winced as the pitch of his own voice made his head spin again.
“Your dad plays squash?” Aiden asked, laughing a deep throaty laugh.
“Yes. I don’t want to be that guy for another thirty years—maybe more if Viagra is still doing its job in three decades.”
“You take Viagra?”
“No—what? That’s not what I meant. Whatever. What are you even talking about?”
“Well, my dad is giving me the Excalibur,” Aiden said in a low voice, pursing his lips.
Brody was sure his eyeballs would fall out of his head. The Excalibur was the first luxury apartment building that Aiden’s father, Gerald, purchased. It was Mr. Sinclair’s pride and joy and he handled it with gloved hands and took care of every detail from the elaborate crystal chandeliers imported from France to the hand woven rugs imported from the Middle East.
“Holy shit. Congrats, man. What are you going to do with it? You know he’ll be looking over your shoulders like a hawk.”
Aiden laughed as he parked the car at valet in front of their building. Phil the doorman tipped his hat and Brody waved his hand half-heartedly, likely because his brain felt like a distribution center for pain in his face. Aiden tipped Phil and Brody dragged his exhausted, hung over body to the bronze double door elevator.
“So, when will you get it?” Brody asked, shoving his thumb in the ‘P’ button on the elevator panel.
“In three months. Dad is doing some remodeling on the ground floors so only the penthouse is livable,” Aiden said, staring at his watch.
Brody stiffened and stared off in space. When he looked up at Aiden, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. The penthouse at the E, as Brody, Aiden and their friends called it, was a thing of legend. The Sinclair’s hosted incredible, lavish, celebrity-invested parties in the late 1990’s. Though today the only evidence of the hay day of the E were black and white photos at the Sinclair mansion. The reason for the grinding cogs in Brody’s mind was simple, Brody and Aiden were never allowed to attend, and by the time they were deemed old enough, the market crashed and the E was closed down for more profitable, less lascivious, projects.
“We have to bring the E back, man,” Brody said, nodding his head like it was the most important decision he had ever made.
“Way ahead of you, man. That’s why I want to abandon this childish, summer Hampton bull. I want people to come to our parties year round not us waiting once a year to get stuck in traffic and come back worse off than when we left.”
“Yes. Yes. Whatever you’re thinking I’m on board. Just name a number and I’ll wire the money today.”
Aiden smirked and shook his head. Brody would pay a five-figure sum just for a good bottle of whiskey. There is no telling what he would do just to make the E the best party spot in all of Manhattan—again. Now all they needed was to get around their fathers. But how do you discreetly get one of the most abandoned buildings in the city on the minds of the socialites of New York as a happening party spot? They would need some help.
*****
Anna typed furiously on her keyboard. The emails were coming in so fast that her fingers were cramping as she tried to answer the needs of very demanding and very rich clients. She had raised her fledgling interior design company from a single desk in Rochester with her best friend and roommate Keith. Now she had a coveted brand with she and Keith in spacious, industrial offices occupying three floors in the Oynx, a massive building owned by the Sinclairs’, a fact they reminded her of constantly when they needed a favor for one of their many buildings.
“Ugh, what now?” Anna said, combing her dirty blonde, wavy hair from her face.
“What?” Keith asked, putting a cup of tea on her wide, glass desk.
He had been in her office, depositing more paperwork in her inbox. She had barely noticed him, which was quite a feat since he was over six-feet tall and his deep London-dialect laced voice boomed often in the office.
“The Sinclairs need something,” Anna said, leaning back on her high-back chair.
Keith’s dark skin crinkled at his eyes as he tried to force a surprised look. He knew as well as Anna that they owed half of their income to the reputation they got from indulging the Sinclairs. Now that the Sinclairs were in bed with the Montgomery-Wests, it meant more money, but also longer hours and more favors.
“So, what can we do for them?” Keith asked with a sheepish grin.
He sat across from Anna as she turned her flat screen computer monitor towards him.
“Who’s Aiden?” Keith asked, putting his black-framed, designer eyeglasses on his face.
“He’s a Sinclair,” Anna said with a crooked smile.
“Oh really? Isn’t he that party boy—the party boy?”
“One and the same. He wants a favor.”
“They don’t usually ask us directly though. They have like fifty assistants. I don’t think they’ve lifted a bloody finger in their lives. Why is reaching out to you directly?”
“Probably because he doesn’t want dear old daddy to know.”
“Perhaps we should stay out of rich peoples’ drama, hmm?”
Anna tented her fingers over her mouth, staring at a painting on her office wall.
“Anna? I don’t care much for that look on your face. We should not get involved with Sinclair business without information coming directly from the mouth of Mr. Sinclair.”
“This is Mr. Sinclair.”
“No, this is a Sinclair. Big difference. If he wants to hire us without his father knowing, then he is up to something reckless.”
“He wants to meet us.”
“We’re busy.”
“We’re always busy. Aren’t you curious?”
Keith pulled off his glasses and pursed his lips. Anna grinned back at him. She had such an appetite for adventure that she leapt at any chance to venture outside of her office. It was why she and Keith made such a good pair. He was very level-headed and great with numbers, while she was creative, bold and her recklessness, as Keith called it, was what got them on the contact list of some of the wealthiest people in the northeast. She did not take no for an answer.
“Let’s just see what he wants, Keith.”
“Oh, Christ, I hate when you get that look in your eyes.”
Anna jumped up, biting her bottom lip like a child up to mischief.
“Where are you going?”
“To get the architectural plans for the Excalibur. If it was built in the 1980’s we will have a lot of walls to knock down and God the carpet must be horrendous. Can you imagine the furniture?”
“You’re talking like we’ve already agreed to help.”
“Aren’t you the one always telling me to be prepared?”
“Your pretty smile doesn’t work on me, Anna Smith. We are partners, and we make decisions together or do you not recall?”
Anna’s lip set a hardline and her shoulders slumped. Keith was right and she needed to backpedal. Technically, she and he did need to discuss this.
“I think we should hear the little Sinclair out,” Anna said in a low voice like she was trying to calm him down.
“He’s not a little Sinclair. He’s a grown man and a wild party boy. He and his best friend plow through the Hamptons every season. They are notorious. I’ve lost count of how many times their fathers threatened to disinherit them.”
“Sounds interesting. And how do you know so much?”
“I’m a recovering party-boy myself and like you I’m almost thirty and my metabolism just can’t take it anymore,” Keith said, stroking his five o’clock shadow with a bitter expression.
“Oh, right. I forgot about your summers away. You’d come back with blood shot eyes and mean as hell.”
“Yea, well, that’s all behind me, thank you. All I know is those boys drink so much in one summer that if you lit a match around them in August, they would catch on fire.”
“Since when has an alcoholic client stopped us from cashing a check?”
“It hasn’t. Just tread cautiously.”
“We both will.”
“What?”
“I already emailed Aiden and told him that I—”
Keith raised an eyebrow at her, causing Anna to stop short.
“I meant ‘we’”
“Oh? What will we be doing with those lot?”
“Meeting them for a dinner meeting.”
Keith, rubbing his forehead, offered a curt nod, clearly not happy.
“This should be fun,” Keith said, letting out a deep sigh.
*****
Aiden woke to the sound of giggling in the hallway of his and Brody’s massive, Park Avenue penthouse. By the sound of it, there were at least two women. Aiden groaned and pulled a silk pillow over his head. The door slammed hard and Aiden jumped. He would have thought that after months of endless women eager for a good time, that Brody would be ready for a sabbatical.
“Shut up, Brody!” Aiden groaned, throwing off his duvet.
This is why he needed the penthouse in the E renovated. Aiden was getting to old for women traipsing out of his penthouse at all hours in the morning. He thought that by now he would be settling down and Brody would be joining. It seemed the closer that they got to thirty, the worse Brody’s partying got. The penthouse was Aiden’s way of keeping his friend, but also his sanity. Perhaps if he could make the E a pillar of New York high society party life, Brody would stay on his own or at least keep the parties several blocks away from where he slept. His father was right, Sinclairs had to man up eventually, but it was impossible with Brody treating their home like a brothel.
“Wake up, Aiden,” Brody said, banging on the heavy, wooden double doors leading to Aiden’s bedroom.
“Go away,” Aiden groaned, looking at his bedside clock.
It was 5:16am.
“I’m bored. They were flight attendants and had to go to Paris or something. Come out, cry baby, and have a drink with me. The night is young!”
“Go to sleep.”
“I have a key, you know. Just come out and have some coffee or something.”
Aiden’s face was mashed into a scowl as he rose from his European king-size bed. He slammed on the wall panel, causing the room to flood with ambient lights. His grey, industrial décor had a slight glow as Aiden’s eyes adjusted. He stormed towards the door, his feet echoing on the dark wooden floor, and flung the door open to see a red-eyed Brody, shirtless with pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips.
“What the hell, man?” Aiden said, glaring at the tipsy Brody.
“Come on, you’re not sleeping are you? We don’t have to be back at work for another week. A week! I’m trying to have as much fun as possible before my dad nails me to a desk. Come on out, sleepy head. I have half a bottle of Balvenie just dying to be chugged.”
“No one chugs Balvenie,” Aiden said, walking out of the room.
It would be impossible to go back to sleep now. He was riled up and his mind was racing with all the things he had not said to Brody. He hated being dishonest with him, because he saw Brody as a brother, but right now his brother was being an idiot.
“Coffee,” Aiden grunted, putting on a stainless steel kettle and glass French press.
Brody shrugged noncommittally and pulled out a stool at the massive kitchen island.
Even as Brody shifted in the stool, Aiden could smell the alcohol fumes oozing out of his pores.
“Here,” Aiden grunted, sliding the ceramic mug of black coffee across the granite countertop.
“Yummy,” Brody said, slurping the coffee.
Aiden had made it strong by the tight-faced scowl on Brody’s face.
“Feel better?”
“Define better. Why are you so pissed?”
“I’m sorry would you be happy to hear random women shrieking in the hallway?”
Brody scoffed and drained his mug.
“Brody, we’re meeting the decorator tonight. She’s more of a property adviser. Dad uses her all the time. I don’t want to be exhausted or have you stinkin
g of old whisky in the meeting.”
“Since when do you care if some decorator woman knows what we do?”
“I don’t. I just think we should be professional.”
“We’re rich. We can be whatever we want. And for the record, one of those girls wanted you, but you fell asleep like some old man.”
“We are getting older!” Aiden said, hearing his voice boom through the palatial penthouse.
You could hear a pin drop. Brody looked up at Aiden with a dead sober expression. Aiden knew that this is all Brody acting out because youth is fleeting, sex is fleeting, and every day he was getting closer and closer to being Mr. Broderick Montgomery-West head of Montgomery-West Real Estate instead of Brody the billionaire party boy. And this terrified him.
“I’m going to bed,” Brody said, hopping out of the leather stool.
“Oh, now you want to go to bed?” Aiden said, scoffing.
“Look, I don’t know what the hell got into you, but if I wanted lectures I would have stayed under my dad’s roof, man.”
Aiden threw his head back in frustration as Brody marched down the hallway in silence toward his room. Perhaps Aiden should just take care of everything himself. Perhaps he should just blindside Brody like his father blindsided his last two ex-wives with divorce papers.
The thought of divorce papers sent Aiden’s mind reeling. Papers. The Mongomery-Wests and Sinclairs had taken their decades long friendship from shared Christmases and family vacations to something more—professional. Major deals were in the works to unite both companies. Even though Mr. Montgomery-West thought Brody was an idiot, he still loved his idiot son. If Brody became angry with Aiden—no, Aiden could not let his mind go there. Brody was very sensitive and even though he advertised a laisse-faire attitude, when his feelings were hurt he could be spiteful. Aiden’s father would never forgive Aiden if the merger fell through because two men, possibly facing the end of their party eras, could not hold a serious conversation sober.
*****
