My Faire Lord: A Renaissance Flair - Book 1

by C. A. Storm

  For the guarantee of amusement at her brother’s expense, that alone would justify hiring Ms. Samantha Kelly. She had initially been surprised when her grandparents had insisted she be present for the interview, but then she had spent the night at her family’s Lyon Pride Hotel downtown and studied up on Ms. Kelly.

  The Mortal woman’s resume had been impressive for someone not even thirty yet, and her landscape designs were both brilliant and inspired, combining a whimsical beauty with ruthless functionality and a keen eye for environmental concerns and sustainability. That also warranted serious consideration, regardless of whomever Rik had his eyes on for the position. Clara ran the business side of the Estates, so she had the final decision. The fact Rik had been going behind her back was galling.

  The two women made their way to the café located in the building attached to the Wells Fargo Center. There was a small line, and the two women made casual small talk as they waited for their coffees: a soy latte mocha for herself and a caramel macchiato with an extra shot of chocolate and two extra shots of espresso.

  Clara had to raise her eyebrows at that order.

  “What?” Sam muttered defensively as she returned the look. “I neeeeds my precious after dealing with your brother.” Sam’s low hiss drew a rather inelegant snort of amusement from Clara.

  Coffee secured, and society apparently now safe from a tiny, terrifying, redheaded Gollum—and didn’t that mental image send Clara off into another round of muffled, snorting giggles that earned her a glare from said terror—the two women finally sat at a small, private table in the corner, across from one another.

  Crossing her legs, Clara regarded the other woman thoughtfully over the lip of her mug as she considered just how to approach this situation. After a few moments of watching Sam sip her own sludge, Clara decided to be direct.

  “Look, I’ve already gone over your resume and absolutely drooled all over your portfolio, so you’re definitely qualified for the position.” Clara tapped a manicured nail against her mug. “On paper, anyways, but you know that. Given my brother’s unfortunate choice of nickname, he must have done some research as well and discovered the same information I did.”

  Clara ignored how Sam hunched in on herself, trying to make herself smaller. She tried to catch the other woman’s eyes, but Sam’s entire focus was glued to that ghastly concoction she called coffee. With a soft sigh, Clara continued, “But I made a few calls last night, to some of my contacts on the West Coast, as well as to some of your previous clients. They all damn near sung your praises as if you were some Earth goddess given flesh, blood, and a hard hat.”

  Sam glanced up in surprise. Not necessarily at Clara’s vaguely blasphemous statements, since Sam’s father was a former sailor, and cursed like a true artist—much to her mother’s eternal consternation—but because Clara had actually reached out to people, even after reading about “The Event.”

  “So, why don’t you tell me your side of the story? I have a feeling you were a sacrifice on the altar of public opinion,” Clara said.

  Exhaling gustily, Sam put her coffee mug down and pulled off her glasses. Massaging the bridge of her nose, she squinted at Clara for a moment. The dazzling display had her crossing her eyes as the hypnotic patterns danced about Clara’s body. Putting her glasses back on, Sam heaved a sigh of relief as her vision was once more screened against the otherworldly auras possessed by inhumans.

  “My fiancé…excuse me, ‘The Ex-Fiancé Forever Now Known as The Bastard,’” Sam rephrased, “and his father owned the firm I was employed with, Wylde Industries. Despite the fact my plans were solid, Daddy Dearest decided to use subpar materials and the cheapest, quickest contractors possible; they cut a few corners in order to get the contract. While I was sent to oversee another project, they implemented the modified designs without my sign off or knowledge. It wasn’t until it was far too late that I had even realized what they had done, and by that point, my name was on everything.”

  Sam slumped in her seat. “As far as the courts and the press were concerned, it was my fault, especially with a few leaked details and press releases from Wylde Industries.”

  Sam didn’t want to go into how the surrounding media frenzy had driven her to her parents’ house in the wilds of upstate Washington, or that she had spent the last few months haunted by nightmares and guilt as much as she had by the press.

  Managing to dredge up a nonchalant shrug, Sam grabbed her coffee and took a noisy slurp before she continued. “After that, well…well, that’s all they wrote. In the matter of one day, I lost my job, my reputation, and my fiancé because I dumped ‘The Bastard’ and hightailed it out of there.”

  Meeting Clara’s sympathetic gaze, Sam gave a small grimace. “Last week, I got a call from your grandfather. He’s old friends with my father, apparently. He told me to come out here for an interview. He wired some travel money when I told him I don’t like to fly, and reserved me a room at the Lyon Pride Hotel. I got here yesterday, spent last night getting ready for this morning, got up, met your buttmunch of a brother, and I’m now having coffee with the jerkface’s sister, telling my sob story.”

  Clara had remained silent during Sam’s story, studying the other woman intently. Sam barely resisted the urge to squirm under that intense regard. Instead, she firmed her jaw, tilted her chin up, and leveled a stare back, only relaxing when Clara flashed a cheery grin.

  “In that case, when can you start?” Clara asked.

  Taken aback, Sam blinked in confusion as her mind scrambled to try and catch up. “Um, immediately I guess. I mean, Mr. Leon…your grandfather, Mr. Leon, not your brother, Mr. Leonjerk…told me to pack for two-to-three weeks, since I was driving out here, and emailed me a list of things I should make sure to pack.”

  Sam canted her head, brow furrowing as she stared at Clara. “And, uh…not to sound ungrateful, because at this point I’ll be lucky to work ever again, but…what position was I actually interviewing for? Your grandfather was a bit…vague.”

  “That sounds like my grandfather,” Clara admitted ruefully. “We’ve been looking for a Landsmaster, or Landsmistress, for the entire Estate. We need someone that can not only manage the current grounds, direct maintenance and the groundskeepers, but can also design and implement improvements and expansions. It’s a lot of management, a bit of landscape design, switching us over to more eco-friendly and sustainable infrastructures, that kind of stuff.”

  Considering Sam thoughtfully, who was looking rather shell-shocked, Clara said, “Why don’t you go back to the hotel, get changed into something a hell of a lot more comfortable, and meet me at the Estates? They’re about two hours west. I’ll text you the address and you can meet me at the Château for dinner this evening, say around six or so? You can spend the week up there, look around, get to know the staff and get a feel for the land, and we can go from there.

  “You don’t have to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ yet,” Clara interjected, seeing the onset of Sam’s suddenly stubborn jawline, “If nothing else, think of this as a vacation—one you can obviously use. Either way, after all is said and done, if you decide to move on, you can use me as a future reference. I’ll be more than happy to provide a glowing recommendation.”

  Trying not to gape like a fish, Sam finally managed her first real, honest grin in longer than she cared to admit. “Sounds like a plan then. Yeesh, I’ll just be glad to get out of this monkey suit!”

  With a surprisingly hearty laugh, Clara reached out and once more shook Sam’s hand as she said, “It’s a deal.”

  Sam tried her hardest to ignore the strange sense of foreboding those three little words gave her.

  Chapter 6

  Following the departure of his sister…and his anam cara, fuck…Rik stalked back to his private office and into the en suite bathroom. Shoving open the closet and tugging out a new dress shirt, Rik was unsure if he should actually be glad he kept an entire week’s worth of clothes at the office. Yanking off his ruined shirt, he pointedl
y ignored the tingling in his left pectoral muscle, refusing to even look into the mirror as he pulled on a fresh shirt and buttoned it to the neck. He’d deal with that later. Much later.

  Fuck. Goodbye happy bachelorhood! Rik thought morosely, although he was a bit shocked to find he wasn’t as regretful as he may have been just days ago. Hell, even just an hour ago.

  Quickly, he finished getting dressed, grabbing the first tie to come to hand and tying it in a perfect Double Windsor before he secured it with a lion-headed pin. When he went back into his office and saw his bag still lying next to his fallen chair, Rik couldn’t stop the small chuckle that escaped. His cara was something else. She had managed to knock him off his feet with just a few words; and considering she not only apparently possessed a finely honed Irish temper, it was reinforced with the legendary fire of redheads. His eternal life just got a lot more interesting.

  Righting his chair, Rik sat down and pulled on his shoes. As he tied the laces, his gaze caught the golden, glittering ink on his day planner once more. His grin slipped away as reality sunk in.

  Ms. Samantha Kelly was a Mortal. She had to be. As a Sidhe, a direct descendant of the legendary Tuatha Dé, and the heir apparent to the Clan Leon, the Shields of the Courts, his family was familiar with all the Leanaí—the term used as a catch-all for all those associated with the Tuatha Dé, from their Sidhe descendants to the Faefolk who had migrated to the Mortal Realm from the Otherworlds.

  She wasn’t Fae, wasn’t Sidhe, and while her temper could be due to shifter blood, she didn’t have the sheer animalistic presence possessed by all shifters. She had the pale complexion of a vampire, but there was no way she was old enough to survive being out in the sunlight as often as she obviously had, going by the freckles dotting her skin. She could be from one of the witch families, but that didn’t feel right either, and the witches were just as rigid about maintaining their bloodlines and keeping familial records as the Sidhe were.

  Rik buzzed Lizzy’s desk, and when she answered with a chortle, Rik snorted his own amusement. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I done fucked up right good. Like I said, you’re the nice one. Anyways, if you’d kindly do some research on Ms. Samantha Kelly for me, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

  “Planning on stalking the poor woman?” Lizzy teased.

  “Yes,” Rik said honestly. Leaning back, a wide grin crossed his face. “I seem to have pissed off ma petite flamme, and I have a feeling she’s not going to make it easy to earn her forgiveness. So I need to be properly prepared.”

  “Good.” Rik heard that, even if Lizzy muttered it under her breath. Giving another snort in amusement, Rik looked at his planner to see what the rest of his day looked like.

  It would probably be a good idea to let his sister calm Sam down. Chasing after her—as much as his body craved it—and causing a scene in a coffee shop was something his grandparents would have his head for. He shuddered.

  Dammit, Clara’s going to tell on me. I’m fucked, and not in the happy fun way I really want right now.

  Cracking his jaw, Rik got to work.

  The rest of the day went as usual. Cœur de Lyon Enterprises oversaw more than just his family’s Estates. His family was old, the American branch of the clan coming to the Americas following the Great Schism in the 16th Century, when the Enochs had driven the Tuatha Dé from the Mortal World and sealed most of the portals between this realm and the others.

  While there were still European branches of the clan, the American Leons had spread throughout North America. His grandfather, Jean-Paul, had assumed the mantle of Clan Patron, overseeing the entire Leon Clan, during the First World War, when his older brother had been killed without an heir. The family had always been wealthy, making money in smart investments and political maneuvering throughout the centuries, but the American Leons had truly begun to come into dominance over the last century.

  Rik’s father, Sebastian, had formed Cœur de Lyon Enterprises in the 1920s, bringing together the disparate Clan businesses under a unifying banner, leaving Jean-Paul free to focus on clan affairs. Every clan within the Sidhe had a “divine” purpose, their noblesse oblige given to them by their Tuatha ancestors. The members of Clan Leon had always been Knight Protectors, the shields that protected the Leanaí. In the New World, Jean-Paul had interpreted that as not only protecting the fae and Sidhe and guarding those sacred places that served as portals to the Otherworlds, but to also create sanctuaries where all supernatural beings could find protection. Throughout North America, and even on islands in the Caribbean and Pacific, the clan had secured properties, building businesses and resorts, but also being careful not to become too popular, or too large, to avoid drawing too much Mortal interest.

  Clan Leon was not the only Sidhe family to incorporate, however. Perhaps inspired by the American spirit, the North American Leanaí had begun to align themselves into more modern organizations. There was still the lingering, traditional hierarchies and “noble” aristocracy, but instead of serving in courts or swearing fealty to a king or queen, the American Leanaí formed corporations, with CEOs, CFOs, boards, holding companies, and all the other trappings of corporate America.

  In North America, the Leanaí tended to fall under the auspices of one of three “parent” companies: Albrecht Industries, representing the ‘Seelie’ or Light Leanaí; Midnight Enterprises, representing the ‘Unseelie’ or Dark Leanaí; and then there were the Shadow Leanaí, those who had forsworn both factions and was determined to remain neutral in the traditional discord between the Light and Dark Leanaí. The Shadows had reluctantly given up some of their independence, however, by aligning themselves with Wyrdgard International and its CEO, Audrick Gunvald, the Black Dragon.

  Audrick had been instrumental in forming a council comprised of all the main supernatural races, forcing them to realize that as technology grew and Mortals spread to every corner of the world, the supernaturals needed to band together. It was he who had agreed to take temporary responsibility over the Shadows, or Gray Fae, until a suitable candidate could be found to protect the Shadows. Unfortunately, no candidate had yet to step forward in the last century, at least not one who could offer the same protection Audrick could, as Audrick was one of the most powerful supernatural beings in the world, one of the few remaining dragons who predated even the Tuatha Dé.

  After completing his virtual meeting with investors to go over the expansion of the Cœur de Lyon Village and the Renaissance and Fantasy Faire, Rik signed off of Skype with a groan. Although the morning and been busy, with meetings and phone calls to the various investors, he had been unable to completely focus on his work. Instead, half his mind was completely occupied with trying to strip the mental image of his cara naked, teasing him, a mental game of figuring out just how far down those freckles of hers went.

  The sound of a throat clearing and a light knock on his office door drew Rik’s head up. A scowl darkened his face as he saw Clara grinning at him with unholy glee.

  “So, Ms. Kelly will be spending the week up at the Estates. I decided to offer her the position, but she hasn’t decided yet,” Clara sashayed over to collapse in one of the chairs opposite of him. Stretching her legs out, crossed at the ankles, she rested clasped hands over her stomach, that grin of hers taunting him. Brat.

  Rik ran a hand through his thick golden-blond hair, mussing the carefully styled length on top. With a sigh, he picked up a folder and slid it across the desk.

  “Look, this is the original candidate for the position,” he watched Clara pick up the folder and flip through the paperwork. When he saw her face fall with a look of consternation, Rik nodded.

  “Exactly. I don’t know what Grand-père is thinking, but that candidate,” Rik pointed to the folder in Clara’s hand, “came with a very strong recommendation from Audrick Gunvald.”

  “Fuck,” Clara muttered as she tossed the folder back on to Rik’s desk. She looked up at her big brother. “Rik, I Oathed her, but more than that, I like her. More than that, though, I
’ve got the feeling that she’s supposed to come to the Estates.”

  Rik scrubbed his face in frustration. “What can we do? Our family swore fealty to Audrick. If he wants us to hire someone, he’s got a good reason for it.”

  “Yeah, but him?Why him?” Clara’s voice rose, her expression concerned.

  “He’s due out here on Friday,” Rik said, unconcerned. “That gives us a few days to figure things out with what to do with them, and how to deal with this.”

  There was no way Rik was going to tell his sister that Sam was his anam cara. Nope. No way, no how, no sirree! He didn’t need her playing matchmaker, or her deciding to make things more difficult just for the fun of it—it could go either way with his sisters when they decided to get involved.

  However, now that he thought about it…Rik grinned, and the look on his face must’ve been quite frightening, since Clara drew back at seeing his expression. “Go ahead and show Sam around. Make her comfortable and let her settle in.”

  “Um, okay?” Clara replied, drawing out the last word questioningly. “Are you sure about that? I mean, if you’re just going to hire Audrick’s candidate, it seems wrong somehow to lead her on like that.”

  Rik waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

  Chapter 7

  The drive north to the Estates was relatively smooth. Sam had left before evening traffic had picked up, and once she got out of downtown Denver, the GPS led her through a twisting road into the Rockies. The Estates were located in a valley nestled within the Rockies, near the city of Grand Lake, a little over two hours away. The roads were clear, but spring had obviously not yet come to the Rockies, as the peaks were a dusky white as the sun continued beyond them. The deep blue shadows kept the area cool, with the deep, dark greens of the pines contrasting against the ivory mantle of snow that lingered, resolute against spring’s advance.