“You called, I came.”
“I texted,” Nicholas corrected. “And I didn’t expect you to get on a plane . . . a phone call would have sufficed.”
Caleb nodded his head. “No,” he said. “It’s rare that you ask for my help, or anyone’s help for that matter. Such an extraordinary occasion was reason enough to make the trip.”
Nicholas hugged his brother, the embrace an informal one. “Still, it wasn’t my intention to inconvenience you.”
“Bro, you’ll never be an inconvenience,” Caleb argued, dismissing Nicholas’ words. “Is there any possibility of you skipping out on work today? We could grab a beer, or two, and some lunch, or maybe a snack, dinner if you’re into it . . . get on a plane and disappear for a few weeks, you name it, I’m at your disposal . . . whatever you need, tell me and it’s yours.”
Nicholas laughed at Caleb’s words, the sound robust, loud even to his own ears. “Dude, you’re nuts.”
“I’m not joking,” Caleb said, his tone serious, sincere.
Shaking his head, Nicholas answered, “I know.”
The atmosphere in the room changed suddenly, from buoyant to solemn in a matter of seconds, and both men were aware of the swift shift.
“So, what is it going to be?” Caleb asked, staring at his brother intently. “Food, plane, or both.”
“What about your wife? Would Menzie be open to you being gone for a few weeks?”
“I told Menzie that my brother needed me, and that there was a possibility that my trip could be an extended one. She understood.”
Smiling, Nicholas pulled his brother to him once more, kissing his forehead, and then pushing him away. “Well, I have no intention on keeping you away from her for more than a few hours, but thanks for the offer.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and with quick fingers dialed Charlotte’s number. The call went straight to voicemail. Knitting his brow, Nicholas tried calling her a second time, and again he was sent to voicemail. “Rachel,” Nicholas bellowed.
Rachel came quick. “Yes, Mr. Elliot” she gasped, trying to catch her breath.
“Has Ms. Toutant returned from her run?”
“Not yet, sir,” she replied, her eyes on Caleb.
Snapping his fingers at the woman, Nicholas called her name. “Over here,” he said, shaking his head, exasperated.
“Oh! Sorry, Mr. Elliot,” Rachel apologized, seemingly embarrassed.
“Pay attention,” he sighed. “Push back the Focus meeting until later this afternoon, only announcing the time when Ms. Toutant arrives, and confirms that she is able to lead the meeting. Forward my calls to my voicemail, and when Ms. Toutant arrives tell her to give me a call. I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, quickly backing into the hallway, and closing the door behind her.
“So just lunch then?” Caleb confirmed, sighing regretfully.
Laughing at his brother’s tone, Nicholas said, “For now.”
Chapter Eleven
Much to Caleb’s shock it took them little time to travel from one part of the city to the other. Getting out of the yellow cab on Broadway and West 77th street, Nicholas led the way down the crowded sidewalk, stopping when they reached Milton’s Bar & Grill, a lowkey hangout spot that he and Charlotte had stumbled upon years back. Walking two steps ahead of Caleb, Nicholas lifted two fingers into the air, signaling for the bartender to start a tab. Nodding for his brother to follow him, he walked past the busy hostess who was clumsily flipping through her seating chart− no doubt trying to accommodate impatient patrons. Caleb followed silently behind him, his dark blue eyes taking in his surroundings. Although he was born and raised in New York, the sad truth was that he knew nothing about being a New Yorker. From middle school until he went off to college, Caleb had been away at boarding school in New England. The streets of his hometown were unknown to him, and he felt like a stranger to them, a tourist that appeared in awe of the crowds, that was captivated by the vivacious dynamic of the atmosphere.
“This is my table,” Nicholas said, stopping at a tall wooden pub table.
“Your table?” Caleb asked wryly, a slight grin on his full lips. “You come here often?”
“At least once a week . . . I paid the owner a nice little fee, so we eat and drink for free,” Nicholas explained.
“If you drink for free, what’s the tab for?”
“I add the amount from the tab to the waiter’s tip.”
“Uh-huh,” Caleb said, glancing down at his menu. Feeling his brother’s eyes on him, he looked up to meet Nicholas’ gaze.
“It’s Charlotte’s favorite bar,” Nicholas offered, a frown tightening his masculine features. “I’m not a snob.”
Caleb laughed. “Don’t explain your actions to me, bro, you owe me no explanations,” he said before looking down at his menu once more.
Nicholas watched his brother in silence for a moment longer, and then began to flip through his own menu. He already knew what he wanted to order, a crab pretzel with fries and a shot of Grey Goose, his usual, but still he looked, needing a distraction. A disruption from his thoughts as they tried to sway his already calculated decisions. “The beer is pretty good here, they have a brewery in the back,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Do you have any recommendations?”
“They have something called Crepson, it’s malt−”
“Hey Nick!” a bubbly waitress interrupted him. “Your usual?” she asked before she even made it to their table.
Nicholas turned his attention to the petite bright- eyed woman standing to the right of him. “Michelle,” he smiled at her. “Yes, please. I’ll have the crab pretzel. Thanks.”
“And a shot of Goose?” she asked, returning his smile.
“Yup.”
“And for you, sir?” she whispered to Caleb, her voice barely audible.
“What would you suggest?” he asked meeting her gaze, his full mouth molding into what could only be described as a smile.
“Oh, well, a burger, maybe. Or a steak . . . the crab pretzel is pretty good . . . Nick gets it every time he comes in,” she stammered, quickly looking away from him.
“Nick has good taste,” Caleb offered, his dark blues still on her. “I’ll have what he’s having, but instead of the shot I’ll try the Crepson, please, and thank you.”
“OH. Okay. Okay. I’ll be back with your drink orders,” she said, darting away from their table.
Nicholas leaned back into his chair, amused, his steel greys on his brother. “Nick has good taste,” he repeated. “Why do you play with these poor women?” he laughed, shaking his head.
“What did I do?” Caleb laughed, the sound mirroring Nicholas’.
“Oh, come on. You know damn well what you do. At my office earlier, my secretary, she could barely close the door without falling onto her face.”
Caleb raised his brows at Nicholas’ words, feigning innocence. “I barely said a few words to the woman. How am I to blame for your staff’s clumsiness?”
“Dude, you’re a flirt.”
“Me? Look at the pot calling the kettle black. You’ve always been the ladies’ man . . . the playboy among the two of us.”
Nicholas chuckled then. “No. If I remember correctly, you were the playboy, and I was a bit of an asshole.”
“Well your memory hasn’t always been the best.”
“Regardless, you’re a shameless flirt and you should just admit it.”
“I’ll admit that I’m a flirt, if you admit that you were absolutely the whore between the two of us.”
“Here are your drinks,” the waitress said as she carefully placed the full shot glass and large beer mug on their table. “Your food should be out shortly.”
“Thanks Michelle,” Caleb said, his tone endearing.
Michelle smiled at him sheepishly and then abruptly turned on her heels, her words stuck in her throat.
“So, little brother, what can I do to
be of your assistance?” Caleb queried, his tone growing serious.
Nicholas brought the skinny shot glass to his lips not wasting anytime in tossing the smooth substance down his throat. Then reaching for his brother’s beer he took two long swigs before placing it down in front of him. Looking up, he met Caleb’s inquisitive gaze. “I need your help, but the last thing I want to do is involve you in my problems,” he sighed. “The less you know the better . . . that way you stay guiltless.”
Caleb frowned. “Okay.”
“I want to buy your shares to Plotus Cosmetics.” Nicholas spoke the words casually, though there was nothing casual about what he was asking.
Being a shareholder in their father’s company meant receiving a generous check every quarter. A check that was no doubt seven times the average person’s yearly salary, and being that Caleb was disinherited and would undoubtably receive nothing after their father’s death, Nicholas knew that he was asking for a lot. While Caleb wasn’t poor by any standards, he also wasn’t living up to the means that his surname entitled him to. A life of luxury and comfort he gave up to be with his wife, Menzie, a woman their father hadn’t deemed good enough to carry their name. “I don’t want the money that comes along with being a shareholder,” Nicholas explained. “I just want the rights to the share itself.”
“Why?” Caleb asked softly, failing to hide the concern in his eyes.
“I can’t tell you.”
Caleb narrowed his gaze, contemplatively. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Won’t,” Nicholas answered, reticently.
“What kind of trouble are you in, Nicholas?” Caleb sighed. “How bad is it?”
“Do you trust me?” Nicholas asked, ignoring his older brother’s questions.
“More than anyone else.”
“Than do this for me. Sign over your shareholding, and trust that I’ll make good on my word. I won’t retain the funds from the account . . . I’ll transfer the money to your account as soon as it’s deposited. You have my word.”
“Nicholas, I could care less about the money. Give me a little more credit than that. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the type of problem that you can’t even talk to me about . . . .”
“I don’t want you to be collateral damage, that’s all. I’m protecting you.”
“From?”
Nicholas didn’t respond, rather he brought the warming beer to his mouth once more, his silver eyes never leaving Caleb’s hunted blues.
“Fine,” Caleb said after a long silence. “Fine. But if whatever you’re planning goes astray, and you need me for anything, I don’t give a damn what it is . . . you call me.” His words were spoken quietly, but Nicholas heard the demand in them.
Smiling, Nicholas nodded his head in silent agreement. “Thank you,” he breathed, relaxing for the first time since they arrived.
“You’re welcome. Now let’s drink.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte lay on her couch wrapped in a satin duvet, her eyes focused on the muted television screen in front of her. The day had been long, torturous even, and she was exhausted. Exhaling into the soft blanket she closed her eyes, unwanted flashbacks from hours past clouded her thoughts, forcing her to relive the moments she desperately wanted to erase.
“Thank you for your patience,” Charlotte addressed her fellow employees as she made her way into the large conference room with her purse in one hand, and a briefcase in the other. “I apologize for my tardiness,” she said, walking quickly to the front of the room. While it wasn’t apparent on the outside, on the inside she was a bundle of nerves. Though Charlotte hated being the center of attention, with practiced poise and natural grace, she easily managed the air of a woman who felt at home in front of an audience. Her tone was eloquent and clear when she spoke to her staff, her big almond brown eyes moving from face to face. “There isn’t much to tackle on the agenda for today . . . this focus meeting is simply a continuation to what Mr. Elliot has been discussing over the past few weeks. He has read through each of your articles, just as I have, and we, both, would like to applaud all of your hard work and enthusiasm. With Spring, just around the corner, I can only imagine how exciting and nervous most of you must feel, especially with this being our first big wedding season after coming over to Gizzelle Bridal. With deadlines for the blog and the magazine quickly approaching, both Nicholas, and I would like to remind you that our doors are open if you need assistance of any kind.” Pausing briefly, she asked, “Does anyone have any questions about our expectations?”
Silence.
“What about writer’s block? Is anyone struggling with the writing process as a whole?”
Silence.
“Awesome. That’s great news . . . so if there is nothing else I’ll end here, and Mr. Elliot will reach out to everyone via email to discuss the make-up date for today’s focus meeting. Enjoy the rest of your day,” Charlotte smiled. As if on cue her co-workers rose from their chairs and exited the conference room in little time. Charlotte exhaled aloud as she gathered her belongings, reaching into her purse to grab her phone.
“I have a question,” came a voice in the now quiet room.
Charlotte froze, her eyes becoming tiny slits as she looked up to meet the other woman’s gaze heavy on her face. “Penelope,” she said the woman’s name, her tone brazen. “What can I do for you?”
Standing, Penelope asked, “Where is Mr. Elliot?”
“Why is that any of your concern?”
“It isn’t, well, not yet anyway. Still, I’m curious as to where he might be?”
“He’s out of the office for the day. Is there something that I can do for you?” Charlotte asked, speaking the words slowly, pronouncing every syllable.
Penelope snorted indignantly. “Hardly.”
“Well then off you go,” Charlotte replied, gesturing with her hand for the woman to leave the room.
“You know, it boggles me what you have over him. It’s obvious that he sees something in you . . . but for the life in me, I don’t see what it is. You’re nothing special, quite basic if I’m being honest.”
With shaking hands Charlotte picked up her purse, and then her briefcase, her brown eyes fixed on Penelope’s make-up covered face. With a slight smirk on her thin lips Charlotte made her way around the long table, her frustration deeply hidden. Stepping in front of the shorter woman, Charlotte looked down on her, her expression un-readable. “It seems we started off on the wrong foot, so allow me to resolve any misunderstandings you seem to have about me. I am your boss, the one You need to impress to make it at this establishment. Without my say so your work will not be published, without my approval your column will cease to exist,” Charlotte explained, her voice light, kind even. “And more than that I am your Chief’s fiancé,” she smiled viciously. “You’re a smart woman, at least you appear to be, and far from blind; you’re aware of how he looks at me. Like I’m the only woman who exists, like I am the very air he breathes . . . and I am just that, his oxygen. Everyone sees it, including you. With one word, you’d be jobless,” Charlotte said snapping her fingers in front of the woman’s face. “And if ‘I’m being honest’ I’m not above being petty if it means that I don’t have to look at your smug face ever again. Using my charms to get what I want from him would be a simple feat. So, if I were you, I’d come at me differently from here on out. Got it?”
Penelope made zero attempts at trying to hide her shock at Charlotte’s words, nor could she stop the sudden shudder that ran violently through her small frame. Staring up at Charlotte, she opened her mouth to speak, but then suddenly closed it. Visibly pouting, Penelope turned on her heels and headed for the door, leaving Charlotte to stare after her.
“Dimple,” Nicholas called from the foyer. “Where are you baby?” he asked, slurring his words.
Charlotte leaned over the couch, meeting his gaze from the living room, a faint smile on her lips. “Are you drunk?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Drunk,” he repeated the word, a sheepish grin teasing his full mouth. “I don’t think so,” he whispered. Taking his shoes off, Nicholas made his way into the living room, his glassy eyes on Charlotte. “How was your day angel?” he asked, taking a seat on the arm of the couch.
“Baby? Angel? Those are new terms of endearment,” Charlotte acknowledged. Repositioning herself on the couch she turned to face him. “How much have you had to drink?”
“What? I can’t call you names to show that I love you?” he demanded, his tone rising an octave. “I don’t have the right?”
Biting down on her lip Charlotte met his gaze squarely, her low mood dissolving un-expectantly, his quiet irritation feeding her internal conflict until it was enlightened with a fervor of its own. “Come here,” she ordered, her voice low, needy.
Nicholas watched her steadily, saw the sudden change in her demeanor. Leaning forward he pressed his hard body against hers, easily guiding her smaller frame to lay beneath him. Wrapping her arms around his neck Charlotte pulled him to her, taking his mouth with a ferocity. Parting his lips with hers, she moaned into his mouth, her tongue crashing against his wildly, causing a low groan to pour out of him. Dragging her hands down his back she pulled at his cardigan, wanting the hinder some material far away from them. There was a neediness in her touch, in the way she had kissed him. Nicholas pulled away slightly, his silver eyes dazed. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked against her mouth, his breathing heavy.
“Nothing yet,” she purred, lifting her lips to meet his once more.
Her words made him flinch, his body visibly tightening above her. “Dimple,” he moaned, attempting to lift his body from hers, but just as he moved she quickly wrapped her legs around his, holding him to her with a vise like grip. Nicholas laughed then, the sound low, but savage, it was her undoing. “Baby,” he whispered. “Let’s not start something we can’t stop.”
“That’s the point. I don’t want to stop.”
“Dimple.”
“Nicholas.”
A Winter's Vow (A Winter's Tale Series Book 3) Page 6