my father’s vaults. It looks like it was recorded sometime in the late eighties. Maybe the nineties?’ My attention swings to his grandson. ‘It’s hard to tell from hairstyles alone. There wasn’t a lot to go on in terms of fashion, if you catch my meaning.’
‘What’s this about, Grandfather? Blackmail? What does he have on you?’
‘That snake. He gave me that film, and I destroyed it, but not before I paid him well for it!’ His grey eyebrows pull down as his grandson’s hand retracts slowly from his arm.
‘Tell me what he’s talking about,’ he demands. But the older man doesn’t respond. He has eyes for no one. No one but me as I sit on the opposite end of the long table with my legal counsel, who has no idea what I’m talking about but the good sense to pretend otherwise.
‘Those things happened a long time ago.’
‘Did they happen before Monaco created laws? No, I didn’t think so. Pelletier, the paperwork.’ I’m already pushing back my chair as I reach in to the inside pocket of my jacket for my phone. As I leave the room, I spare no time for the thought of the poor girl in the video, splayed out and comatose under a younger version of the old man. Not because I’m heartless but because it happened a long time ago.
Your wealth was built on her suffering. I acknowledge the thought as something beyond my control, pushing it away clinically.
Tell the steel company they can call off their dogs, I type out. Hayes Construction belongs to Wolf Industries now.
D’accord, Everett types back. Congratulations on eviscerating another of the competition. His sarcasm rings loud and clear. He liked the idea of blackmail much less than myself and would’ve preferred to hand the evidence of the young woman’s abuse over to the authorities. But men like Carson Hayes rarely face justice, especially thirty years after the fact. And while I would welcome any attempt to expose my father as the conniver he was as opposed to the paragon of success and philanthropy he sought to portray, blackening the Durrand name would not serve my purpose. Ruining the Hayes company, absorbing it into my own, does.
There’s something poetic about it.
And the girl? Hénri, my security for today, holds open the elevator door and I step in.
Correctly, Rhett intuits the topic has moved on. Already situated on the twelfth floor, according to the dragon.
Good.
You must feel like the dogs bollocks manipulating two people before lunchtime, eh?
What can I say? Today already feels like a good day. I’m just about to slip my phone back into my pocket when my gaze happens on Carson’s grandson and his haughty disdain. Once upon a time, I might’ve been like him. Entitled. Wet behind the ears. Possibly feral. The difference is, I knew what my father was capable of.
Carson Hayes’ grandson, I type out as the elevator doors close. Get me all you can on him. Just in case.
16
Rose
Things could not be worse.
Tuesday of the following week and I’ve yet to set eyes on Remy—seven whole days and not one peep from him! What kind of fuckery is this? I mean, is he trying to make me expire from sheer suspense? If that’s his endgame, then all I can say is, well played, sir. Well fucking played.
Or maybe he isn’t playing games at all. Maybe he’s placed me in a box marked strictly business. Maybe employing me was just a mistake, and now that I’m here, he no longer thinks about me. Maybe he feels that, in giving me a job, his debt is complete, so he doesn’t need to concern himself with me anymore. And if that’s the case, why am I thinking about him? Gah!
Oh, my God. I’ve been ghosted!
This is why I don’t do relationships—the lesson I was supposed to learn from watching my mother! Relationships are a balancing act of power, and in thinking about him, obsessing over him, I’ve handed control over to him. Not that he knows it. Because he’s not here! Gah!
‘Ça va, Rose.’
‘Oh, hey, Charles.’ I glance up at my co-worker and force a smile. Ride that man like the stallion he is? I don’t know about that, but I’d sure like to hogtie and whip him. Show Remy exactly how much I’ve missed him. Missed him so much, I’m not crazy.
‘Why are you making the face?’ I look up once more to find Charles pouting. And that’s not Charles with a Ch but Charles with