Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  Although I raise my brow in appreciation, I don’t miss the note of finality interwoven in her words.

  “Always happy to be of service, Edie.” I pause and tilt my head, looking off to the side in thought. “Of course, it can never happen again.”

  “What?” She stops halfway in the middle of closing her door to give me a look of surprise.

  I throw my head back and laugh. “I knew it. Now that you’ve had another taste, you want—”

  “You know what?” Edie interrupts, continuing to close her door a little too forcefully. She turns to face me with a defiant look. “You’re right, that obviously can’t happen again. I can’t even imagine how immature, intolerable, and insufferable you’ll be each morning if we do. It’s bad enough as it is.”

  “Oh come on, Edie,” I say with another laugh as I close my door and meet her in the middle of the hallway. “You know you enjoy our morning walks to the elevator.”

  She turns to head to the elevators, her lips pursed with annoyance. “If anything, it’s always been a firm reminder that I shouldn’t succumb like I did at Columbia.”

  “And yet, here we are,” I say as I match her staccato stride with a more leisurely stroll all the way to the elevators.

  “I suppose I should be grateful that I at least get an escorted walk on my way out,” she says with a cynical smile after pushing the down button. “Heaven knows I’ve heard enough of your conquests making a solitary early escape in the morning.”

  I turn to her with a pleased smile. “Why Edie, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were spying on me. I never took you as the jealous type. I just love unpeeling all these new layers to you.” I lean in closer. “Almost as much as I enjoy unpeeling your clothes from your body.”

  She spins on me, her face filled with outrage. “Jealous?”

  The elevator dings to announce its arrival and the doors open. She gives me one last glare before strutting in. I take one large step to end up right by her side in the car we fortunately have to ourselves.

  “I’m hardly jealous, Bryce,” she continues, staring forward.

  “Good,” I say with a firm nod. “Can’t say I’d feel the same. But, interestingly enough, I never hear you bringing a man back to your apartment.”

  I maintain the illusion that I’m staring forward, the same as her, but I sense her go perfectly stiff next to me. I’ve obviously touched a nerve. Good to know my suspicions are confirmed though.

  “Rule number one: never bring him back to your place. Every woman knows that,” she sniffs.

  How is it I know her lies so well?

  I decide to do her the favor of making her think I believe her.

  “How fortuitous then that my place is so conveniently close to yours. The door’s always open for a repeat, Lola.”

  “I think I’ll stick to yoga and Xanax for any future stress relief. The side effects are less problematic.”

  “The door is also open if you want to continue where we left off discussing the future of our respective magazines.”

  “As if I’d fall for that one again.”

  “I’m serious, for once,” I say, making sure my voice indicates as such. “I know how much Contempo Woman means to you. It was your mother’s magazine. And I started Ideal Gentlemen from scratch. Plus I don’t want my staff to be out of a job. I’m sure you feel the same. Two heads are better than one.”

  Her face loses some of its taut irritation but she continues to stare ahead without a response.

  The elevator arrives on the first floor and I allow her to exit first.

  Instead, she pauses a moment. I turn to give her a questioning look until she closes her eyes and sighs.

  “I’ll think about it, Bryce,” she says in a soft voice. She turns to give me a split-second smile.

  Before I can even acknowledge my surprise, she’s out the doors and strutting through the lobby to the exit.

  I watch until she’s gone, a smile slowly growing on my face.

  This business of ours is anything but over.

  Chapter Eleven

  Edie

  I’m still considering what Bryce offered as I enter the offices of Contempo Woman.

  I shouldn’t look that gift horse in the mouth. Yes, Ideal Gentlemen is a completely different audience, but he does have experience getting a publication up and running from scratch. Though, I suspect Daddy’s money had a lot to do with it. All the same, no amount of money can help if you are terrible at what you do, and he has lasted long enough to obviously know what he’s doing.

  I can’t help but wonder if it’s the advice I’m seeking or something else. A reluctant smile comes to my face, forcing me to bite my lip as I think about last night. The cognac haze can’t erase the memory from my mind or the feel of it throughout my body.

  Even the taunting this morning was worth it.

  But I can’t think about that now!

  I shake my head in irritation as I ride the elevator up to the offices. This is exactly why I avoided it for so long. Our morning walks to the elevator are enough of a distraction without adding sex-on-the-brain to the mix.

  No matter how spectacular it was.

  I see that Veronica is in her office. She notices me and smiles in acknowledgment. I should have known that she of all people would be here. Reliable as ever. She probably has as much a vested interest in saving Contempo Woman as I do. It’s good to have another competent head to try and figure out the next steps with. Especially one with so much experience in the industry.

  “Please tell me you aren’t writing your letter of resignation,” I say with a wary smile as I lean in her doorway.

  She chuckles and relaxes back into her seat to focus on me. “Don’t worry. I cut my teeth on this magazine, I’m not about to bail.”

  I breathe out a laugh that is partially a sigh of relief. “I was going to drop my stuff and then get something froufrou in the coffee place downstairs. Want anything, on me?”

  She grins. “If they have one of those almond croissant things I’ll take you up on that. I’m already too buzzed on coffee right now.”

  “Done,” I say with a smile.

  Despite the coffee I already had at home, I order my froufrou latte with an extra shot. I desperately need mental stimulation, if only to take my mind off last night.

  I return to Veronica’s office and hand her the croissant. I settle in the seat across from her and we both take a moment to enjoy our guilty pleasures before getting down to business.

  “So, I guess I should start by making it perfectly clear that, so long as I have a magazine, you will be my editor, should you choose to stick it out.”

  She smiles and nods in appreciation. “I guess the bigger question is, will we still have a magazine to work at?”

  “Well, I have a few options. One, get more funding—I mean, that’s an obvious one. Unless we decrease circulation, which is a destructive catch-22, we will need more money to replace everything Conniver has been funding to date. But being summarily dumped by our parent corporation is not a good look for financiers.”

  “It’s an established magazine with a well-known brand,” Veronica points out after swallowing a bite of her croissant.

  “Some might call it a relic,” I say with a sardonic smile. “I mean, you were there when mom first started, and frankly one of her closest confidants at the time. Is the interest today anything like it was back then?”

  She twists her lips to the side with a bit of humor. “Back then Cassandra LeFleur created her own interest. She was the magazine.”

  “Right,” I say with a sigh. I ignore the unspoken message there. I’m certainly no Cassandra LeFleur.

  Hell, even Bryce himself is almost as well known as his magazine. The playboy son of one of the wealthiest men in New York, pooh-poohing the family business to strike out on his own with a magazine? And then making a success of it?

  The media ate it up.

  It didn’t hurt that he had a handsome mug to slap right
next to any article detailing his success. Ironically enough, he’s been the cover boy for many of Conniver’s other “more serious” publications dealing with finance and business.

  The most lip service I ever got was that I was a savvy businesswoman who managed to bring Contempo Woman magazine out of the red and slightly into the black, at least in the beginning. In retrospect, despite that success, it should have been a sign that the magazine might be its prime, at least as it is.

  “Edie, any magazine that relies on the owner to make sales isn’t worth its brand. You’ve made Contempo a success in your own way.”

  I give her an appreciative smile. Veronica isn’t the type to brown nose or give false flattery, so her words mean something. That still doesn’t help my case.

  “Listen, you’ve been wanting to change the magazine for ages. Talk about more serious issues.” She gives me a sarcastic smirk. “No more ‘What Your Favorite Sex Position Says About Your Personality’ quizzes, or ‘Ten Ways to Tell If He’s Thinking About You While He Masturbates’,” she adds with sarcastic flair in her voice.

  I cough out a laugh. “Good God, we didn’t actually ever run that did we?”

  She laughs. “Honestly, I don’t even know. Knowing Cassandra, we probably did.”

  We both laugh even harder.

  As it dies down, I sober up with the reality that I’m still back at square one.

  “The fact is, that heavy focus on sex sold those magazines. Sex sells, even for women.”

  “Fifty Shades of Grey taught us that much,” she says, with a dry smile.

  I lift my coffee in an ironic salute, though I’ll die before I confess to her that I read it, if only the first book.

  “So we keep the sex and relationships. And obviously fashion and beauty, those garner interest too.”

  “In other words, essentially what we already are,” Veronica says with a smile.

  “I guess Mom knew what she was doing way back when.”

  “Not that far back,” Veronica protests with a dry smile.

  I breathe out a laugh. “Don’t go getting the idea you’re a relic, Veronica. I need you with me to help guide this ship to calmer waters.”

  “Aye, captain,” she says before taking a bite of her croissant.

  “The only question is, which way to turn the ship. Or at least get it in good enough order so that it can survive the voyage.” I’m mostly talking to myself now, thinking aloud. “I suppose I might as well start with the expert. It can’t hurt, at any rate.”

  Veronica smiles around her bite of croissant, knowing exactly who I’m talking about.

  I sigh in resignation. “Time to call Mom.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bryce

  After exhausting every other option, my head keeps slamming against the most obvious solution. I have to go to Dad for financing should the worst happen, which at this point is very likely.

  There are very few things that could eclipse everything that happened last night with Edie, up to and including a catastrophic meteor colliding with the planet.

  Then again, the complete annihilation of life on Earth has nothing on the force of my father’s stubborn will.

  I know better than to show up, hat in hand, hoping to play on any paternal sentimentality. If anything, the fact that I’m his own son would work against me. Dad only approves of nepotism when it works in his favor.

  I’ve spent the morning in the office coming up with the outline of a proposal and new business plan, just to have as much ammunition when I go to him. Business school was good for something I suppose, even if I was strong-armed into going.

  Now, I’m sitting back reviewing it. With anyone else, it would seem perfectly sound, worthy of at least some investment. For the Wilmington pater familias, it’s going to be a hard sell.

  I reach up to grab the back of my neck, massaging it as I consider my options yet again. A slow breath escapes me as the next most obvious solution comes to me.

  I grit my teeth and pick up my phone. It’s answered on the third ring.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Bryce.” I can hear the sardonic undertone in my older brother’s voice.

  “I was wondering if you were up for a drink?”

  “Now? It’s a bit short notice don’t you think?”

  “When have you ever passed on a free drink?” I say, trying to sound casually amused.

  “Throw in a late lunch and I’m game.”

  “Ever the hustler, I see.”

  “I know when I have the advantage. It would be stupid for me not to use it.”

  “Lunch it is. I’ll even let you pick the place.”

  “I was going to anyway.”

  This should be fun.

  I’m forced to travel downtown to Pierce’s territory in the financial district. That was no surprise. What is a surprise is the Mexican restaurant he’s chosen, Mad Dog and Beans. Nothing about it screams finance industry, not that I’m complaining.

  “This place doesn’t exactly seem like it meets the Wilmington Financial snob test,” I say after we get our drinks, a Dos XX for me and red sangria for Pierce.

  “Why do you think I choose it? Even finely aged steak and three-hundred-dollar bottles of wine get old eventually.”

  “You poor thing, you.”

  He returns a dry look and sips his drink.

  I sip my own as I consider him and collect my thoughts.

  Pierce has the same steely blue eyes of our father, though his are slightly less soul-piercing. Other than that, it would be almost impossible not to assume we were brothers, save for Pierce’s perpetually clean-shaven face and corporate haircut.

  Two years older than me, he had the unfortunate advantage of getting the Pierce Wilmington name, being the firstborn son. I personally would consider it a curse to have to attach IV to my name just to distinguish myself from the three Pierce Wilmingtons who came before me, but I’m sure my brother wears it like a badge of honor.

  “How is the investment business these days?” I ask after swallowing my sip.

  Pierce shakes his head and laughs softly. “Let’s cut the shit. What is it you want from me?”

  “Can’t a man ask his brother out for drinks without having some ulterior motive?”

  This time he laughs even harder. “I almost believe that, Bryce.”

  I twist my lips in amusement and set my beer down.

  Pierce puts up one hand. “Let me stop you before you embarrass yourself. If you arranged this fraternal little chit chat in order to feel me out about Dad I can tell you you’re wasting your breath.”

  “I take it you heard the news.”

  “Hell, we probably heard it before you did. Conniver is one of the biggest print media conglomerates in the world, Bryce.”

  “So much for keeping the memo confidential. When did the magazine industry lose its integrity?” I grouse before taking a sip of beer.

  He gives me a look of scorn. “You don’t honestly think they didn’t plan for it to be leaked, do you?”

  “That was sarcasm, dear brother,” I say in a droll voice. “It seems the investment game has ruined your sense of humor.”

  “On the contrary, I find all of this quite amusing.”

  “Glad you’re so tickled by my downfall,” I say with a bitter twist of the lips.

  “I’m sure in one of the atoms of my body a microscopic violin is playing for your tragic life, Tiny Tim.” He leans in and grins. “You had it all, right there on a silver platter for you to pluck right up. All you had to do was put in a few years at the family firm to stroke the old man’s ego and your entire trust would have been yours. Instead, you did your stint at Princeton, then business school to take a tiny portion, and left the rest to rot away.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Putting in your time?”

  “I have my full portion of the trust, not that I need it considering how much I make each year, especially with bonuses.”

  “Hell, maybe I should be asking you for
a loan,” I say in a dry tone.

  “Maybe you should,” he says with one eyebrow raised as he takes a sip.

  I narrow my eyes to study him for any truth there and only find his dancing with amusement.

  Our order of guacamole and chips arrives. I dig in, realizing that this meeting was pointless. I might as well enjoy the food.

  “The good news is, there’s always an opening at Wilmington if you decide on a career change.”

  “I would rather have a job shoveling elephant shit at the zoo.”

  “Admittedly, it does sometimes feel like that working at Wilmington,” Pierce mutters before taking his own sampling of chips and guac.

  “And yet, you persist.”

  He finishes chewing and swallows. “Money is the ultimate motivator.”

  “And how’s your love life?” I ask with a grin, knowing what the draconian hours of someone in finance are like. Not much time to cultivate a social life.

  He matches it with a grin of his own. “As I said, money is the ultimate motivator.”

  “I’m both disgusted and disappointed in you, Pierce.”

  That gets a laugh out of him. “There will be plenty of time to settle down later. I suppose with your magazine you’ve probably played the field just as hard. Or have you finally managed to melt that iceberg exterior of your neighbor, Edie who you seemed so sloppily infatuated with?”

  I pause mid-sip and almost cough on my sip of beer. “How do you know about Edie?”

  “David Crawford’s bachelor party earlier this year?”

  I frown, not remembering much from that bacchanal fest of a family acquaintance. “I don’t remember telling you about her.”

  “I’ll bet.” Pierce laughs. “Anyway, if she’s anything like that mother of hers is rumored to be, she’s probably lots of fun.”

  “Careful, Pierce,” I say in a warning voice, my gaze narrowing.

  He raises his brow and a conceding smile comes to his lips. “So the wonder boy can be serious after all. Are you two official yet? I’m sure Dad will love that. The daughter of Cassandra LeFleur? Enough said. And isn’t her dad the one who used to throw those wild parties? Not to mention her notorious magazine. ‘Twenty Ways to Tickle his Pickle’?” He laughs and adds in a pretentiously droll tone, “Dear Pa-pah will not be amused.”