by Mia Caldwell
“It’s going to be a busy day tomorrow,” I warned her with a false smile as I strolled towards my master suite. Kiona glanced after me, her wine glass held contemplatively as I left the room. “If I were you, I’d get my rest.”
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Chapter 14
Kiona
The Next Morning
Under a magnificent pavilion in an exorbitantly opulent rooftop garden, sixty stories above street level, Cole Andrews and I stood side by side. The minister recited from the open book in his hands as our witnesses – Aiswarya, who was taking a long, early lunch, and one of the nameless suits from Andrews Enterprises – stood in observance nearby.
Cole firmly squeezed my hand. Although this entire thing was nothing more than some weird business deal, set up to benefit a second, later business deal, there was an odd air of finality to it all regardless.
This arrangement may have been improvised at the last second, but it was the most beautiful wedding spot I’d ever seen. The stresses of producing my birth certificate and getting the papers in order this morning, even with Cole’s resources and ability to get things done, had evaporated upon seeing the fantastic landscaping of the fairytale rooftop. Even the normally gloomy sky had been a stunning, endless blue for us, as if welcoming this little arrangement.
But when I looked into Cole’s eyes at the end, as he placed a gorgeous, silver diamond wedding ring on my finger, I saw a brief glimpse of something more than the typical Cold King Cole treatment. In his eyes, there was…love, compassion, and admiration?
It caught me off-guard, but I didn’t have to improvise a smile in even the slightest. This may have been some mutually beneficial, arranged sham of the act, but I did find myself drawn to this ridiculous man – and I wanted to know more about him.
We exchanged our “I do’s”, and when prompted, he drew me close and planted the traditional kiss on my lips. It was supposed to be for show…
And I felt honest-to-God sparks.
I knew he could feel them too, because his lips lingered against mine longer than necessary, and as he pulled back he was staring searchingly into my eyes, confused but intrigued.
“That was some first kiss,” I whispered, barely audible.
There was minor clapping from the minister and our witnesses, snapping us out of the moment. When we turned, I gazed upon them all in a small daze, surprised by the brief moment of passion that had erupted between us out of the blue. Where the hell did that come from?
After that, we signed the marriage license, complete with witness signatures, and everyone departed. Cole escorted me privately back down to the street level and climbed into the driver’s seat of a gorgeous Audi R8. For a moment, I wanted to laugh. It figured that he’d drive an Audi. Typical billionaire!
“Where do you want to honeymoon, my blushing bride?” He asked nonchalantly as I joined him in the car. It was the first words we had exchanged since the marriage ceremony. It occurred to me that this is why he’d asked me to pack a few changes of clothes to bring, but I still hadn’t gotten over his personal choice of car.
“Cole, are you sure you haven’t been reading any billionaire romance novels lately? There had better not be handcuffs and spanking paddles in the trunk…”
“Key, I assure you I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied with a look of misunderstanding and confusion on his face.
“Okay,” I replied, dropping the subject. “How about Venice?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted to see the drowning city…”
Cole paused awkwardly, his gaze turning to face out his window. “Let’s keep it in the States, perhaps.”
“Oh. Okay. How about…” I thought to myself, my eyes falling upon my diamond ring. I began to absentmindedly twist the band along my finger. My thumb brushed across the etched markings along the band as I thought to myself.
“Yes?”
“What about New Orleans?” I asked. “I’ve heard so much about it, but I’ve never been.”
Cole contemplated this, a strong smile sliding across his lips. After a quick nod, he turned the key and brought the engine roaring to life. A moment later we were accelerating onto the freeway as he used the steering wheel controls to place a phone call to his assistant. Her voice filled the cabin of her sports car with congratulations and well wishes. Cole gave her a moment to finish, and finally spoke up.
“Have the pilot prep my jet. My wife and I are flying to New Orleans.”
* * *
The flight took roughly three and a half hours. In that time frame, Cole and I enjoyed a few pairs of daiquiris, delighting ourselves in conversation about the impending itinerary upon touch-down, how long we were staying, and all the delicious Cajun food we were about to eat.
We settled on three days, considering that we didn’t know each other all that well, and Cole had to return for business soon anyway. He informed me that, in the meantime, the board was handling Andrews Enterprises – I was briefly reminded of the interference in Larry’s promotion, and felt responsibility for my part in dismantling it.
The Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport was not directly in New Orleans, but rather on the very western outskirts – arguably part of the border town Kenner. Upon arrival, we were immediately picked up via small, black sedan and driven in New Orleans proper. The route wrapped around the airport outside, stretching along the airfield for quite some time before giving us a few turns and depositing us on Interstate 10, right in front of the city.
I marveled at the completely different aesthetic of the buildings as we were driven down the winding, curving Interstate. On our left, the Mercedes-Benz Superdome dominated the area, the large dome carving out a space among the massive cluster of buildings. As interstate exits wrapped around like tendrils, whipping out and lifting our passage higher into the air, we curved downwards and upwards while moving towards our destination.
The driver took us off near Downtown New Orleans, and we circled around the Superdome as we merged onto the main streets of the Business District. The streets appeared cleaner, with far less people than the insane throngs of passersby that I experienced back home. Even without a subway system, the pavement wasn’t completely inundated – and the medians in the middle of the streets featured geometric art shapes, as if a pack of design students had overthrown the Tourism board and decorated everything in sight.
Our hotel was a relatively new building, not far from here. A tall, pristine building with incredible Greco-Roman architecture on the street level, the Herelton Deluxe was a fantastic display of exquisite excess. Our executive suite, somehow arranged that very day, was a fancy reimagining of the penthouse back in New York – featuring plenty of rich, red, wood paneling, a luxurious King-sized bed, and a private Jacuzzi with marble countertops and a comparably massive flat-screen television surrounded by comfortable leather furniture.
“You spared no expense!” I gasped, taking everything in as my mouth gawked open at it all.
“I am afforded certain luxuries,” Cole smiled. “Come. I’m starving, and I know you must be too.”
* * *
We chose to eat a nearby, somewhat discerning restaurant that boasted top-shelf Louisianan cuisine with criminally high prices and, in my opinion, better taste. Although, I have to admit that I’m glad I was already accustomed to spicy food, because what I enjoyed that night was on a whole other level.
For our appetizer, we enjoyed fried alligator strips alongside tart shrimp rémoulade, followed by a sampler plate of oysters en brochette, fried okra, hush puppies, seasoned butter bread, and crawfish bites.
After we had slowly but surely conquered our starter courses, our soups came out a short while later – a creamy crawfish bisque for Cole, and a bowl of hot, spicy gumbo for myself.
The main course was whisked to our table a short while after the bowls were cleared. Cole had ordered himself a free-for-all dinner that included zesty baked bell peppers stuffed with dirty rice and jalapeno, a he
arty helping of traditional jambalaya complete with chicken, shrimp, and Andouille sausage, and a robust side cup of crawfish étouffée. Meanwhile, I had gone for something a little simpler – a fried catfish platter with fried shrimp tails and hush puppies, over a wide bed of spicy seasoned fries – tossed with a blend of garlic, chili pepper, and a little cayenne.
For dessert, we split a sizzling, flambéed bowl of bananas foster. Our server was sure to whip up the incredible burst of steam and light fire tableside, eagerly presenting the classic New Orleans dish with great reverence.
“Please enjoy, Monsieur and Madam Andrews,” the server bowed lightly as he took his leave. That first bite of bananas foster was absolutely incredible, and the perfect way to cap off the perfect meal.
Cole was still suffering from the exorbitantly taxing palate of spices, and he had already gone through several glasses of water with the meal.
“I told you to drink something other than water,” I teased him lightly after another scrumptious bite. “These aren’t the kinds of spices you’re used to. Water’s just going to wash them all over your tongue. You need something to cancel them out. Here, have another sip of wine…”
I handed him my wine glass, and he eagerly took a swing of the vintage. Setting it aside, he seemed somewhat more comfortable, and excused himself from the table for a few coughs. He’d been stifling some small coughs all meal, but I naturally attributed that to the spicy food.
After we paid our meal and tipped the server handsomely for his expertise and courtesies, we went out for a night on the town. A tip-off from a local sent us in the direction of Frenchman Street, to the “best-kept secret” in the music world, a jazzy cocktail bar that was full of spirit, personality, and incredible acoustics. While we were a little overdressed for the event having come from one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, we still blended in well with the crowd and enjoyed the passion of the four-piece jazz ensemble that played incredible, soulful jazz and blues from the stage.
Cole was far more relaxed here, away from the streets of New York. Anywhere near his building or home the paparazzi were always hunting for him, but nobody knew whom this young, sharp-dressed man was down in the Deep South.
I was pretty relaxed as well. This was my kind of crowd and my kind of city.
As the musicians worked their magic, I felt myself happy in Cole’s arms, leaning against his body and absorbing the very soul of their performances. We had to keep up appearances, after all… It didn’t even occur to me at the time that we were intimately wrapped around one another while enjoying the passionate, soothing music.
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Chapter 15
Cole
New Orleans was an incredible choice. I had wondered about destinations still in the New England area, but Kiona had picked a rather inspired spot. It was my first time down in New Orleans, and I was pleased to have gotten to experience it before I had to stare down the painful realities of my life.
But I wasn’t ready to face them yet.
I needed a few distractions first.
Kiona turned out to be an admirable one overall. When I brought my sleepy bride back to the hotel room, I let her take the bed while I slept on a couch in the living room. I normally woke early, just to get the day started right. It was my way of going about things. To my surprise, my eyes opened at ten o’clock in the morning – with a blanket draped around myself, while she was back in bed and asleep.
The rest of the trip, we did the touristy things in the city – visiting the boardwalk, taking a few historical tours, spending time at the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas and Zoo, getting lost in the party-fueled throngs of the French Quarter, even seeing some magnificent views of the Mississippi River and the New Orleans skyline.
I wanted to freeze the moments in time. Those three days were some of the best of my life – delighting in a beautiful companion, temporarily free from the worries of the business world, and able to enjoy some of the luxuries I’d earned for the first time in incalculable years.
If only.
Instead, I ignored the ticking bomb deep inside me that I held hidden from the world. I focused on enjoying my time with Kiona and making this whole relationship as real as an arranged marriage could appear, never trying to take advantage of her even in her warmest, most romantic moments.
Maybe she was a little too good at her job. It was no wonder she’d managed to fool all of my staff. The ways that she looked at me sent a crystal clear message. Her eyes would glaze over slightly, only to grow fiery with passion as a smile crossed her face. Growing to know Kiona, I knew that the money was in the back of her mind – she was sincere in her budding attraction to me. She had to be if we were going to pull this off.
Truth being told, I was flattered, and perhaps more than a little scared. All the features that made me choose her – her impulsiveness, adaptability, raw talent for blending into a role – were remarkably attractive to me. But I hadn’t counted on how her natural charisma and beauty would only accentuate these features, making her the perfect companion. In another life, maybe I’d have taken the time to get to know her a little deeper. Maybe we could have been together without a Swiss bank account and a stack of annulment paperwork.
It’s a shame that it just can’t be.
I wanted to destroy the contract and keep her on my arm. All my life, people who wanted to take advantage had surrounded me. I grew up a child who would give the shirt off of his back, sent to the wrong public schools on a technicality – and finding myself in a den of thieves. When I embroiled myself in my schoolwork and managed to switch to a more esteemed high school, I was able to pull everything together, secure the notice of Yale, and win several powerful scholarships that made attending the school somewhat of a possibility.
But then, I was singled out for my aptitude. Naturally introverted, whatever attention I drew from my peers was almost exclusively to belittle me, undermine me, or try to earn the praise of our professors by being associated with me.
Sharks.
Everywhere I went, surrounded by sharks.
Of course, building a small, lucrative empire did nothing to help. It had never been in the design to become a billionaire, and the success only snowballed with the passing years. I was too tenacious, too dedicated to fulfilling that role. One day, I turned back on everything that I had built, realizing for the first time that I had gone from young university dropout armed with ideas, a promise to keep, and a few hunches…to a self-made man with a staggering net worth and almost no time in the world.
Before I could sit back and reap the benefits of my hard work, I was hit with the diagnosis.
Maybe I was a fool, but I felt like Kiona could learn to love me. I could learn to love her. Both of these were indisputable facts to me, and I wondered what the possibilities might be. But what had originated as a way to teach myself to force everyone out – just to keep myself safe from those who would try to take advantage of me – became a defense mechanism, preventing anyone from getting too close.
I didn’t want to leave anybody hurt.
My partner wasn’t attached yet, but she was a survivor. An opportunist. With the right resources, she could build upon my foundation, starting something extraordinary of her own. That’s why I had lied to her. I wasn’t going to pay Kiona fifteen million dollars for her efforts here. There was no way I could organize my charitable legacy in the short time I had left. I needed someone detail focused and driven. I needed someone adaptable who could fall into the role of conservator for my estate.
Maybe I just wanted to shock the world, one last time.
I’d already made the decision. To hell with the fifteen million. I was leaving her almost everything.
* * *
The flight back was somewhat uneventful. Drained from a long day of cramming in the last few sights we could fit, we relaxed in our window-side chairs of my private jet, bound back for New York. I was rather pleased with myself for taking a bad situat
ion and turning it around, especially concerning my somewhat temperamental partner.
Speaking of Kiona, she had fallen asleep with her face near the glass. As I stood up to stretch my legs, I glanced over at her, admiring how the light bathed her sweet mocha skin. I fought the craving to stir her from her slumber, guide her over to the comfortable bed in the back of the small jet, and explore her body with my tongue.
No, I thought to myself sternly. You know you can’t.
With a tremendous sigh, I cursed my sex drive and my strong sense of morality. What kind of billionaire can’t fuck his pretend-wife at ten thousand feet?
Pushing my feelings down, I considered quietly locking myself in the bathroom and masturbating…but decided, no, I am not going to jack off in an airplane bathroom like some sort of uncontrollably horny teenager. Instead, I pulled out my laptop and reviewed sales figures, answered some emails for the first time since Monday morning, and tried to ignore the tremendous bulge in my pants.