by Scott, S. L.
“Bonsoir.”
“Américain?”
“Oui.” I guess I don’t fit in as well as I thought.
“Would you like something from the bar?”
“Bourbon. Neat.”
“Oui.”
The bar’s not crowded, but the brown paneling, leather chairs, roaring fire in the corner, and an assortment of liquor bottles on display appear to cater to a traveling business crowd. I don’t feel bad for making a call because the atmosphere seems to be okay with it. I check my watch to calculate the time between Paris and Manhattan just as the phone rings.
“Why are you still in France?”
No greeting. Ethan is all business. He just goes straight in, causing me to chuckle. He’ll never change. The middle Everest brother commands attention; whether he’s in a bar or the boardroom, he owns the space with not only his presence but also his intellect.
My older brother, Hutton, garners his own share of interest but in different ways. My siblings and I have hair darker than the average brown like our mother, but Hutton is the darkest haired of us all and stands the tallest at six foot four. At six three, I’m no slouch, but damn him for that extra inch that he often uses to his advantage in business and in life. In contrast to his build, he’s actually rational and has patience in spades. Unlike myself.
Unlike Ethan as well.
Ethan is ambitious, focused, and good at every fucking thing he does. It’s frustrating, but when it comes to the Everest brothers, the best was saved for last.
At twenty-six, I’ve come to respect my brothers and have learned a lot not only from my father, who owns his own financial firm but my brothers. Ethan, who became one of the youngest billionaires in history, was smart enough to bring Hutton and me along with him, making us richer than any man has a right to be.
Finances aren’t everything though. My brothers may have found their matches, but when I think back on the beautiful Winter, being single has its perks.
The drink is set in front of me. “Merci,” I tell the waitress before returning my focus to the call. “Things are . . . complicated.”
“I don’t understand why you’re there in the first place. How does bringing Nobleman’s daughter back to New York get our contract signed?”
“It happened so fast, and suddenly, I was on a flight in the middle of the night. It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“Is Hutton there?”
“No, he’s been buried in numbers for two days straight preparing for the end of year financials.”
Taking a sip of the smooth amber liquid, I relish in the way the liquor warms some of the chill from my body. “Ethan, we were so close. Nobleman had the pen in his hand, ready to sign.”
I recall the memory with clarity . . .
The lines in Nobleman’s face have deepened. Stress. It’s a bitch. He looks at me from across the conference table with his hands clasped on top. “I like your concept and the energy you’ve put into this project, Mr. Everest—”
I shift in my chair, angling toward the client. “I sense a but.”
He delivers. “But it’s a stretch for Nobleman Inc.”
“Stretch? Or out of your comfort zone? I’m guessing comfort zone, Mr. Nobleman. But that’s why you called me. That’s why I’m here. You don’t want ordinary. You’re tired of settling for the same companies monopolizing the market and giving you poor service in return.”
When he sits backs with a relaxed posture, I know I have him where I want him—one step closer to closing this deal. “And Everest Enterprises is different?” he asks.
“I’m not selling you a marketing package. I’m not telling you how to run your business or stepping out as a PR rep for your firm. Those other conglomerates try to cover all the bases but fail at the basics. Communications.”
He crosses his arms in thoughtful reproach. “Communications?”
“Good old-fashioned media coverage. We’ll make sure the equipment is top of the line, monitored on-site, and in place for all your major events. Last year you held two events and lost a signal halfway through your presentation. Our consultants will work directly with your communications department to create a plan that covers every aspect and then follow through with it from beginning to end.”
Sitting up, he taps the portfolio my team customized for his business and says, “You’ve told me why we should go with Everest, but how?”
“How?”
“How much will it cost me, and how will you guarantee that the transition runs smoothly without interrupting our daily business?”
“I’ll personally work with your team to ensure there are no disruptions and that you’re treated like the priority you are to Everest Media and the parent company of Everest Enterprises. Because when you’re working with one, you’re a priority to all.” I reach across to the head of the table and flip the portfolio open. “Just sign on the dotted line, and we’ll be here tomorrow to start the process.”
Resting his arms on the table, he laughs. “You expect me to sign over eight million dollars in a four-year contract without negotiation? You have balls, Bennett.”
“Big fucking balls, but I can back ’em, so I’m not moving from the price because it’s a solid and fair price. I didn’t quote you a rate to negotiate. I quoted you the best price from the start.”
He pushes up, his fingers whitening against the glass top conference table. “There’s something about you, Everest.” He grins, and I know this is it. Holding out his hand, he says, “Pen.”
I whip my Mont Blanc from the inside pocket of my jacket, and just as he’s about to sign, his phone rings, distracting him from the task at hand. After glancing at the screen, he says, “I need to take this.”
. . . Ethan listens to my retelling of the story, and then asks, “Connect the dots for me, Bennett.”
Holding the phone closer to my ear when some patrons at another table get loud inside the bar, I reply, “He was distraught when he hung up. I tried to excuse myself, but he told me about his daughter. I couldn’t leave. She hasn’t been in contact with him for nearly a month and he struggles to concentrate on business because he’s worried about her. Apparently, he knows through a PI that she’s all right, but he doesn’t know why she won’t come home.”
“A PI?” He sighs loud and clear. He’s not wrong for being concerned. I was too. I still am, and I know more than I’m telling him. “Look, Ben,” he says, “I get that he’s worried, but that’s personal.”
“He asked about our connections in Europe.”
“I hope he didn’t ask Hutton. No way will he use his wife’s association if it even has a hint of danger attached.”
Hutton’s wife happens to be a princess from a European country, but no way would we entangle her in this mess. Ethan’s and Hutton’s wives have become the sisters I never had, and I wouldn’t do anything to endanger either of them. “I volunteered.”
“I heard, but why?”
“He set the file in front of me and told me we’d have a deal if I bring her back.”
“Who adds a clause like that to a business deal?”
“That’s how worried he was, and I believed him.” I hate to fucking admit it, but I’ve been told I’m easy on the eyes. “Here’s the truth. My ego thought I’d have the contract signed by sunset.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“It hasn’t.” I steal another sip while I wait for the lecture.
“Arrogance aside, you have a good heart, baby brother, but remember there are two sides to every story. It makes you wonder what her side of the story is. Why would she go to this extreme? What happened to make her pack her bags and leave? There are too many unanswered questions, Ben. I don’t like you being in the middle of this mess.” I can hear his desk phone buzzing in the background, but he doesn’t take the call. “You’re there, so how do things stand with her?”
“They’re complicated.”
“You said that. What’s complicated?�
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“She’s evasive when our conversations get personal. I can’t figure out why she’s here.” I begin to trace the scene painted in the mural across the room, letting my mind go back to a few key things Winter mentioned. “She said she’s here on a break.” Breaking . . . is that the same thing as taking a break? “She’s at the bistro each night. Tonight, she was waiting for me.”
“Tell me you haven’t hooked up with her?”
The word unavailable lands like a rock in my gut. “I haven’t.”
“Don’t. Nothing will fuck up this deal faster than you sleeping with a client’s kid.”
“She’s twenty-five, not a kid. I can tell you that much. And that’s the thing. Nobleman made it sound like she’s nothing more than a wild child out rebelling, escaping responsibility, life, but she’s not like that. She’s a little reserved and put together—her clothes, her hair, her makeup. Nothing’s over the top. It’s like he doesn’t know her at all.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s worried.”
“I’ll tell you, Ethan, it’s almost like she doesn’t want to be seen, but it’s so damn hard not to look at her. Her eyes are this—”
“Ben. Stop. You can’t do this. You can’t do her. I’m serious. You need to come back to New York. We should have never gotten involved in this mess. Clearly, she’s old enough to make her own decisions. You are not contractually obligated to bring her back to the States. We run our business ethically and stand behind our work. If that’s not good enough for Nobleman, we’ll pass on the deal.”
His voice of reason sinks in, and I say, “It’s still been a record-breaking year.”
“It has.”
“It’s just disappointing—”
“I get that, but something feels off, and the last time I had this feeling, my wife’s life almost ended.” He sucks in a harsh breath. We don’t discuss what happened back then. For him and Singer, it’s best to keep it in the past. Winter’s words come back to haunt me. We all have something we’re not proud of. Ethan lives with a lot of regrets. Regrets he’s trying to move past daily.
“You’re right.” I might not ever get answers to the questions I have for her no matter how much I want to know her secrets. We may have said au revoir like it wasn’t a goodbye, but it needs to be.
Ethan’s right. Nobleman’s signature isn’t dependent on me bringing her back. She’s old enough and of sound mind to know whether she wants to be in Paris, Spain, New York, or wherever. It’s time I return home. “I’ll see you when I land.”
5
Winter Nobleman
When I was a child, I discovered that not all Nobleman are created equal.
I am my mother’s daughter, a bothersome sister, and an annoyance to a father too focused on business deals and my brother, the Nobleman who will run the company one day, instead of his daughter. My gender alone excluded me from contention. An old-fashioned man and his outdated ideals would lead me to where I am now.
It didn’t matter that I worked harder than my brother.
I worked smarter.
I was salutatorian of my graduating class at my business school, earned scholarships from prestigious Manhattan firms, and a coveted internship with the biggest global shipping commerce company in the world.
It still wasn’t enough.
Thinking about how I got into this mess . . . I wanted to prove my worth to him. The strategy was simple. Get the job. Get the man. Get the secrets that could save my family’s company. Then walk away the hero. But in grand Winter style, I failed bigger and better than ever.
My father only saw me as a child who used to wear pink bows in my hair and obeyed his rules to a T. Until I purposely went against his wishes in a bad attempt to get his attention. I became his enemy when I did what he told me not to—I fraternized with the wrong people, mingled with wolves in sheep’s clothing.
Good intentions, we all know how those turn out. The road to hell is paved with them, and hell is where I now reside. It may have the pretty package of Paris wrappings, but I’m not disillusioned enough to think I’m free.
Standing in this apartment ten flights above the street, I still wonder how I ended up in Paris?
The rose I found on my bed last night is a stark reminder. It wasn’t a choice.
I plucked the petals instead of sticking it in water. This isn’t a gift. It’s a threat wrapped in velvety blood-red petals.
My small collection of books was on the floor when I returned. He’s hell-bent on destroying any joy I might find to ease my mind. I picked them up and placed them back on the shelf after making sure the covers weren’t too messed up.
I never predicted this outcome. I wasn’t the hero. I was the pawn who unintentionally walked into a bigger plan, a plan I never knew was in place until it was too late.
Now I’m stuck in a game my enemy wants to win at the expense of my family. He may want their company, but when the mission is accomplished, it’s my soul he plans to keep. His filthy lies fill my memories, his scotch breath burns my nose. “You will never be free of me.” His words haunt me.
My will is the least of his concerns, and now I’m trapped, but for how long? Regret nips at the back of my mind in the waking hours, and I find no solace in sleep. Weeks into this nightmare, I’ve learned where my family ties lie. Not with me. With him. Cowards.
They sold my freedom for a debt reduction. What will they sell next to wipe the slate clean?
I worry the answer might be the rest of me.
My anger has subsided into acceptance of my situation, resignation set in.
With every step I take, I’m watched. The photos left in my studio apartment last week, showing my shopping trip to Shakespeare and Co to buy books. The bra I liked but didn’t buy in an expensive shop in the 9th arrondissement two weeks prior found wrapped in a pink box on the bed by the time I got back.
Groveling is not my strong suit. So it took everything I had to go to him on my family’s behalf and dance with the devil once again. What I hadn’t realized was that I was in over my head before I even walked into the restaurant. I hadn’t realized I was expendable. But twenty-six days in Paris has taught me that.
What disappoints me the most is that I shouldn’t have made this mistake. I shouldn’t have trusted him. I should have never begged for mercy from a man without a soul. I’m smarter than that, yet here I am living with his limits and boundaries I can’t escape.
I let the drapes fall, and the walls of my gilded cage close in. A new day is here. I either live it or die in it, but I’m not in control of it. So I try to look at the bright side and make the most of my time in Paris.
There’s an ache in my heart, my constant companion, which nothing alleviates. Perhaps today will be the day I die. After all, I know the score. I’ll live until he chooses I won’t.
I walk back to the drapes and open them again, sweeping them behind the wall hooks. I can’t let him win. Sunshine. Light equals hope. I need light in this dark time of my life.
Who knew I’d find it in an American in Paris? For the past two nights, I’ve felt—no, I’ve tasted—what freedom could look like. Why’d I even bring up the Eiffel Tower at night? Bennett has me acting foolish when I need to stay guarded.
Peeking outside once more, it’s cloudy. Again. Very disappointing. I sit down and glance at my phone on the marble tabletop, the information I started reading earlier still there.
Bennett Everest.
Born in Houston, Texas.
Twenty-six years old.
Currently living in Manhattan.
Director of Media and Communications under the Everest Enterprises umbrella.
Why is he here?
Single . . . Ooh. Nice.
Net worth – five hundred million
Holy wow!
On paper, he’s perfect. In real life, he’s even better.
Taking the phone, I wonder why I’m making this call? Yes, he’s attractive, interesting, compelling . . . but he could be dangerous for me.
If the devil finds out . . . would it be dangerous for Bennett? Surely not. Surely that’s just paranoia.
Exhaling a deep breath, I take a chance on . . . It’s a risk. There are no two ways about it. “Everest Enterprises, how may I direct your call?”
I reply, “Mr. Everest’s office, please.”
“Which Mr. Everest, may I ask?”
I bonk my hand against my head. “I’m sorry. Bennett Everest.”
“No worries. It happens all day, every day. Please hold and I’ll transfer you.”
A man answers this time, “Everest Media & Communications. How can we solve your communications needs?”
Funny. Punny even, considering my needs are the reason I’m calling. Loneliness has washed away my sensible side. “Hello, I’m supposed to meet Mr. Everest at his hotel here in Paris in less than an hour, but I’ve misplaced the name of his hotel. Will you be so kind as to help me out?”
“I’ll be happy to contact Bennett and have him give you a call back.”
“No. No. Um, I feel like such an idiot, and I can’t blow this meeting. I thought it was on Rue deeee . . .” I drag it out hoping he’ll fill in the missing information.
“Yes. Rivoli, I believe.”
Let’s see if it works twice. “I thought so. Laaaa . . .”
“Le Meurice.”
“I should have remembered. It’s one of the most beautiful hotels in the city. Merci.” I hang up before he has time to ask my name. I finish the last of my tea and set the cup back on the saucer. The clatter lingers while I walk to the vanity and pull my necklace from where it hangs on the corner of the mirror. Clasping the locket in my hand, I can still hear her voice in my head when she used to say, “Ring the bell and make a wish. You’ll receive what you need.”
I always thought it should rhyme, but my mother must have had her reason that it didn’t. I shake the locket just enough to hear the familiar jingle inside, wishing I had the key. It was lost long before she handed it down to me. I bring it to my mouth and close my eyes to kiss it. “Wish me luck, Mom.” It settles on my chest while I grab my jacket and purse. It’s time to see a man about a tower.
