by Lula Baxter
Astrid
“What?”
I pull away, pressing against the back of my seat to stare at him. I can see the instant regret on his face, but the damage is done.
“That came out—”
“Exactly how it sounded,” I finish for him.
Alexandre stares at me with those cool green eyes of his. They look as calm as the sea they resemble, but I can see underneath the surface as his mind works to figure out a way to undo what he’s just said.
“You couldn’t just ask. You had to bribe me, and with the one thing you knew you could dangle in front of me as a carrot on a stick. You’re no different from the Campbells.”
His eyes flicker at that, but he still doesn’t say a word.
“I’m done being used for other people’s ambitions,” I say, picking up my drink to finish it so I can go. “I can’t be bought, Alexandre.”
“I wasn’t trying to buy you, Astrid,” he says patiently. It’s not patronizing or taunting, but it irritates me all the same. He’s still rolling his beer bottle between both hands, which is driving me up the wall.
“But you could,” I say, giving him a snarky smile. “Is that why it came out so easily? Fifty-million dollars. It must be nice to have that kind of money to throw around. Do you even care about the good that the company you’re thinking of investing in can do? The products Hawthorne Pharmaceuticals could create to improve so many people’s well being? The lives my dad could save?”
I see a flash of anger in his green eyes. He sets the beer down on the table so hard that what little is left sloshes around in the bottle.
“Don’t talk to me about saving lives, Astrid. I know first-hand what a company like his can do. I know that it can save lives. I also know that it can destroy them. You think I’m the one dangling a carrot in front of you? You have no goddamned idea how precious that carrot can be to someone. Someone who is at the mercy of shareholders and CEOs and boards of directors who insist on that extra margin of profit no matter what the expense, no matter whose lives are at stake. And your father, as decent as he is right now, was this close to letting the fucking barbarians through the gate.”
“That’s not true!” I say, just a bit too quickly. I glare at him, not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right. I knew what kind of people the Campbells were bringing to the table as far as Hawthorne Pharmaceuticals was concerned. The idealistic part of me figured my dad, the superhero, would be able to withstand their influence.
That was the old Astrid.
Now, I know how the obscenely rich operate. Exhibit A is sitting right across from me.
Alexandre closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. I just sip my wine, wondering why I’m still here. When he opens them again, he exhales.
“Listen, Astrid. I didn’t mean to use your father’s company as leverage to get you to come. It was wrong of me to bring it up at all. The truth is, I plan on investing the fifty-million dollars whether you chose to come or not.”
I sit up straighter, despite my reluctance to show my hand. I know it makes me seem desperate and weak, but I can’t help it.
“And what happens if you lose interest in me at the end of the month? Or even hate me? The fact is, that fifty-million dollars will be hanging over my head the entire time, tainting everything. Letting me know that one misstep on my part and it’s gone.”
All I can think about are the same words Bruce used with me: play the game. Be a good little girl, behave yourself, do what the rich man wants, play nicely and the money is all yours.
“That’s not true,” he replies, still in that infuriatingly patient tone of voice. “I would never ask you to be anything other than yourself with me, Astrid.”
“You don’t have to ask, because the answer is no.” I finish off the last of my wine and stand up.
“Astrid.” It’s lower and deeper than his usual tone of voice. But his eyes are still completely indecipherable. I can’t tell if he’s angry, sad, disappointed, or just horny.
And I don’t care.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I walk out of the bar.
My parents were back in the room when I got back and I had to make up the excuse of going for a walk. Even at this time of night, New York is bustling enough for that not to be a complete stretch.
I try to put Alexandre out of my head. I hate that I gave him the one part of me that, by default, will forever etch out a place for him in my memories.
I have no idea what he plans on doing as far as Hawthorne Pharmaceuticals is concerned. Did he really mean it when he said he was going to invest anyway?
I try not to think about the fact that I fell victim to the same old ploy. The moment I had a tiny bit of independence carved out for myself, I’m used as a pawn in a rich person’s game. I thought Alexandre would be different, but that one little slip-up reminded me that he’s just like the rest of them.
The next morning, before my parents wake up from their own late night, I get another delivery. After checking once again with the front desk, I open the door and I’m surprised to see one of the bellhops holding a huge vase of tulips.
I take them and set them down on the little table. All of the blossoms are white with the exception of one red tulip in the middle. I scan the flowers, too fast the first time around. The second time, I painstakingly count each one.
Fifty white tulips. Fifty-million dollars.
I don’t need to read the card to know who it’s from. I pull it out to see what message he’s imparting to me.
They say white tulips represent forgiveness. These are my fifty white flags. Forgive me, Astrid.
I’m investing because it’s a worthy company, not so you will say yes or no.
Say yes.
A.R.
I feel my pulse quicken.
He didn’t explain what the one red tulip meant, leaving it completely open to interpretation.
Say yes.
Chapter Thirty
Alexandre
It takes Astrid a full week to call the number I left on the back of the card. If she was trying to teach me a lesson, it worked. Working at Bernard Financiers has conditioned me to use cunning, finesse, pressure, or pure blackmail to get my way when it comes to negotiation. I never thought about just laying all the cards out on the table, making myself vulnerable, and allowing the other party to come to the decision on their own.
“Astrid,” I say, reclaiming my composure as I answer the phone. For the past week, it’s been nothing but doubt, impatience, and anger. All very unfamiliar and very undesirable feelings in me.
“My father was approached with an offer to invest fifty-million dollars from a certain unknown company two days ago. I suppose he has you to thank for that?”
“I’m a man of my word.”
There’s a long silence on the other end.
“Why do you want to spend a month with me?”
“Because I enjoyed our time together and I’d like to enjoy more time with you.” It’s the simple truth.
“What could we possibly do for an entire month?”
“Enjoy ourselves.”
“A month is a long time.” I can hear the “yes” in her voice but, this time I don’t push her.
“I promise to make it somewhat bearable,” I reply in an amused tone.
“No strings attached? No demands? No tricks?”
“Just you, Astrid. That’s all I want.”
There’s another long silence. “Yes.”
My heart is the first to react, announcing the good news to the rest of my body with a quickened beat, sending the blood rushing through my arteries. My brain is the one to temper it, calming me down, before I reply.
“Wonderful. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Gabrielle is not pleased.
“You never take time off, Alex. Even when you go to Monaco it’s to check on our hotel.”
“All the more reason to take some time now.”
“An entire month?” she asks, her h
ands on her hips, staring at me open-mouthed.
“That’s what I said. I’m sure you’ll do fine without me. You’ve always wanted more control. Consider this me giving you that extra two percent ownership you need to have the final say.” I give her a dry grin. “Only for thirty days, of course.”
Her only reaction is to narrow her eyes with suspicion. “It’s that girl, isn’t it?” I can hear the jealousy creep back into her voice.
I lean over on my desk and give her a dark look. “If by that woman, you mean Astrid Hawthorne, then yes, it is her.”
Gabrielle huffs out a laugh. “I knew it. The first moment you came back from Monaco.”
“What does it matter, the reason? I would have thought you’d jump at the chance to take over, especially without me in the picture. It gives you free rein to be as vicious as you want with whatever target you choose next. Frankly, it gives you free rein to choose who the next target is.”
That does nothing to qualm the anger in her eyes. Gabrielle’s favorite target has always been me. And I’m no longer “ripe for the eating,” as she might mistakenly put it.
She leans over on the desk and a gleam comes to her eye. “Speaking of our company, does she know exactly what it is we do here? Does she know you by your alter ego, Lord Wilmore?”
I can actually feel the flash of anger in my eyes as they capture Gabrielle’s in a deadly gaze. “Careful Gabrielle. Jealousy is one thing I can tolerate, though even that is becoming tiresome. Don’t become reckless.”
“I’ll assume that’s a no,” she says with a vengeful smile, completely unaffected by my dangerous mood or my words.
I lean in closer to her and let the fire in my eyes cool to below freezing. “Gabrielle, we’ve worked well together for all these years. That’s because neither of us has been proprietary with one another. I’m willing to allow that you may feel put out by my interest in Astrid. Don’t mistake that allowance with forgiveness if you cross me.”
“Is that a threat?” she purrs, as kittenish as ever.
I let my hard gaze do the talking before I give her a response. “Your father gave me more control because I know when to use a soft touch with the companies we go after. He also chose me because I know how to be diabolically ruthless when it comes to destroying them. Don’t force me to use my skills on you.”
All hints of that sex kitten are gone, replaced by the lion with a thorn in its paw. She’s wounded, angry…unpredictable.
“She’ll find out the truth eventually, what kind of man you are. The things you’ve done to companies like her father’s.”
“Perhaps,” I say. “So long as it doesn’t come from you.”
“You’ll show your stripes. You’ve lived most of your life hating everything so much that I don’t think you are even capable of love anymore, Alex.” She punctuates it with one last hateful smirk and before I can respond, she’s turned around to leave.
I watch her go, willing my mood to reach room temperature again.
I don’t love Astrid.
I just can’t stop thinking about that short time we had in Monte Carlo.
I just can’t stop wanting more of her.
I just can’t get her out of my head.
Merde. Shit!
I briefly wonder if part of the goal for this month with her is to allow this ridiculous infatuation to pass. I can’t even imagine what it will be like if things end up reversing course and going in the other direction.
“She’ll find out the truth eventually.”
I feel the control, which I was so certain was held firmly in my grip, begin to slowly seep through my fingers.
Chapter Thirty-One
Astrid
He sent a car. It’s a shiny black thing that’s sitting outside my friend Angela’s apartment. We both stare down at it from her window.
“So, you’re sure you want to go through with this? I mean, it sounds majorly awesome and all, talk about rebound, but don’t you think maybe your parents—”
“My parents cannot know about this,” I say firmly, before she rambles on enough to make me reconsider. As much as her mouth has a habit of not stopping once it starts, Angela knows how to stay tight-lipped when it comes to keeping a secret. She’s also been one of the very few people that, one, seemed genuinely upset for me once my life went to hell and, two, didn’t drop out of the picture once I was no longer a person worth knowing.
“Got it,” she says, nodding her head vigorously.
I lied and told my parents I was going to spend the last month of summer with Angela, before my last year of school started. Just like I lied when I told them about the vase of tulips back in New York that I couldn’t very well hide out of sight. After plucking the one red tulip out for some reason, and of course the card, I told them that it had been sent to me accidentally.
“So, bags packed? Passport on hand? He didn’t tell you where you were going? I mean, isn’t that a little—?”
We both jump when the driver knocks on her door, interrupting yet another barrage of questions. We stare stupidly at the door before Angela gets the bright idea to actually open it.
“Hiya!” she says chirpily to the driver on the other side.
“Good morning. Miss Hawthorne?”
“Wrong gal,” she says before chucking her thumb my way.
“Ah, yes. Miss Hawthorne, I’m here to drive you to the plane.”
Not “to the airport,” but “to the plane.” The. Plane.
As he walks in to take my suitcases, Angela raises her eyebrows at me from behind him, meaning even she caught that phrasing. He carries them out and down the hall and I go over to hug her.
“Thanks for this,” I say, truly grateful to have one friendly face left in my circle.
“Are you kidding? Of course!” she replies. “Call me for anything, anything at all. I just want all the juicy details when you get back. You’d better make them rebound worthy too.”
I laugh and hug her one last time before following the driver to the car. He already has my bags in the trunk by the time I catch up to him. He opens the back door to let me in and I settle into the black leather seating. When the door closes behind me I feel it hit me; that unease.
Everything about this is everything I left behind when I returned Bruce’s ring to him. For the tiniest moment, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Then, I think about why I gave that simple answer over the phone to Alexandre: Yes.
It wasn’t because my father all of a sudden had an investor who was willing to give a fifty-million-dollar cash injection to Hawthorne Pharmaceuticals. Just enough to get the ball rolling on his expansion.
It wasn’t just because the Sharon Dobay Scholarship Foundation all of a sudden had a paid-in-full location for a charity auction this fall, at the Four Seasons of all places. I have no doubt that was arranged by the same financier-slash-hotelier that also anonymously donated a stunning diamond necklace from Ardant Jewelers for the foundation to auction off.
It was because I wanted to be with him. Even before the tulips arrived, I had those pangs of regret from walking away from Alexandre. Maybe I had been too hard on him. He was obviously a man used to getting his way through wheeling and dealing and that offer was his way of getting me to say yes. It was the taint of it that had soured me, far too reminiscent of the life I’d just escaped from.
But this was Alexandre, not Bruce or the Campbells, or Dad’s would-be investors, or Mom’s “friends” on various charity boards.
Alexandre was the man with the little boat who liked to swim naked and eat nectarines out of plastic bags and ride motorcycles through Monte Carlo. There was no public front, or pretense, or subterfuge or lies. Even the bribe, as imprudent as it was, was at least honest.
Alexandre is different. Extremely wealthy, but different.
The car arrives at some small airport that I never even knew existed and the driver rolls right up to the plane, as promised. I can see that Alexandre is already here, waiting for me. He’s stand
ing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the private jet, dressed impeccably as usual in a dark suit that fits him like a glove.
I wasn’t sure what to wear. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what to pack, throwing practically everything into my suitcase. For the plane, I settled on a simple black and white striped maxi dress with spaghetti straps. My thought was that it hit all the right notes, but not too hard. Compared to the GQ model standing near the plane, I feel like a low-level assistant at some fashion shoot.
Then those green eyes focus hard on me when I exit the car, as though there’s no one else around. As though I couldn’t have picked a more perfect outfit. As though I’m a queen.
“Astrid.”
My heart betrays me, doing a fucking foxtrot in my chest. I’m almost certain Alexandre can see it, the way his eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Alexandre,” I respond, trying to stay as calm as possible.
“So, are you ready to go for a ride on my small plane?”
That makes me laugh and I finally begin to relax.
He reaches out and pulls me in. When he presses his body into mine I go perfectly docile, any hint of a sour taste from our prior exchange, leaving my brain. I’m like a kid with candy when his lips press into mine, savoring the taste and feel of his tongue. Warm embers begin to burn inside of me, making everything from the deepest part of me to the ends of the hair on my arm sizzle with heat.
Alexandre breaks the kiss, leaving me breathless. “Are you ready for our adventure?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, smiling up at him.
He lets me climb the stairs first. I’ve been in smaller private planes a handful of times, but nothing as nice as this. It’s bigger and more lavishly decorated than anything I’ve ever seen, in chic neutral tones of black and cream. There are two small tables, each with two comfortable chairs on either side. A long couch extends beyond them. There is a bar facing the couch, which seems to be fully stocked.