Southern Charmed Billionaire

by Frasier, Kristin

  “You’ve been thrown to the wolves, Kate.”

  “I have.” I replied shortly.

  “You might say, a bridge has even been burned. But you know what happens when you burn a bridge? You have to learn to fly or swim. I think you're gong to soar.”

  “Wh…what do you mean?”

  “Now, I know a lot about these types of things, these bridges.”

  "But I swear to you, Mr. Branch, I didn't mean for the bridge to come crashing down."

  "Neither did my friend Henry Ford when he was summoned by those pretentious elitist Yankees in that highly publicized press conference where they made him read passages of books and he refused,” he replied. “They knew he finished eighth grade at the age of seventeen and didn’t have much of an education. Their media bullying made him a laughingstock. It was a trap. He was an everyday man creating the everyday car that would change American history. Oh, and when he went back home to Michigan, and knew everyone in the country was talking about him, he got down alright. I saw this firsthand, I tell you. People called him all sorts of things. But he was a mastermind with marketing and he knew how to counteract it.”

  His story was compelling, but I failed to see the resonance. I wasn’t creating a great American classic; I just wanted to make my own little dreams come true. As if he read my mind, Mr. Branch continued.

  “Now you may wonder why I’m telling you this story about my friend Henry. And I’m going to tell you as soon as you hand me a cup of that delicious coffee.”

  I couldn’t help but to laugh at his charm. I poured him a cup and myself one as well.

  “Now, let’s go sit over yonder, right in there.”

  Over yonder. How precious was he!

  “Now, I see talent when I look at you. And I see success. I saw your business plan and you had a lot of things thought out. You were very purposeful. You are driven and you have charisma. Not to mention, your cupcakes are pretty delicious. There will always, always, always be haters in this life and traitors who light fire to our bridges, our set paths that we think we need to take to get us where we’re supposed to be. But you know what leaders do?”

  "They create new paths for others to follow."

  "You're a pioneer. Remember who you are and what you are. You're a… what did you say, last night, a Scorpion? Now I’d never exactly think of a lady being one of those creatures. But you know, it works."

  He nodded his head thoughtfully and sipped his coffee. I wanted to burst out into laughter at that scorpion comment, but the truth was I felt like I was receiving wisdom from an old sage. So this is what it must feel like to have a real Grandfather! His charm was undeniable.

  "It's an astrology sign. I’m a Scorpio. The less evolved actually is a scorpion, the more evolved is a phoenix."

  He nodded in a great deal of thought at this.

  "Yes, yes. The phoenix takes great flight. It does indeed work. That's how you make it in business; you rise above! You have to have your mind so set up to win that even the toughest blow can't shake your firm foundation. I started my company in 1954 at fifteen with only a few pennies I found on the street. You probably don't know this about me but I don't even know my Daddy.

  “It was the year of 1939 and my mother was forced at sixteen to be a waitress to help ends meet at her own home. Oh it was a very poor time in the south. The ten years of the Great Depression had just barely ended. Poor was all my mother knew. She worked hard though, and that's where I’m convinced I got my gene.

  “She worked as a waitress during the night and as a maid during the day for the Jones family here in South Carolina. Ever hear of keeping up with the Joneses? Well, I knew them firsthand and let me just tell you, they were the richest family I ever knew. They were in cotton manufacturing and other business ventures. I remember coming up to their grand estate as a young boy.

  “I'd feel so intimidated being around such wealth. But for some reason, Mr. Jones always took a liking to me. He paid for me to go to a special all-boys school. Do you know how badly I was ridiculed? I was called the poor boy. I wore the same shoes for years. I'm convinced I have these crooked toes because I kept them crammed in shoes that didn’t fit, but were the only paid I had, for so long. Oh, but I polished those shoes just right. They always looked sparkly on the outside.

  “I knew deep inside I was gonna be someone. Give me time, I'd make good use of the cards the good Lord dealt me and I'd win in life. Laugh at me all you want. Call me a bastard’s son. Now I hate that word. Foul language is for those with an ill-established vocabulary. Now, I'm not judging you or anything from your choice of words yesterday afternoon but hear me out, now. Something burned inside me like gasoline. A drive so great it kept me up at night to be better. To go further and faster than anyone could ever imagine. I allowed myself to dream and see myself on equal level of the likes of Jones family and all the boys at my school.”

  He pointed to his heart and in his head. “And that's where all the success starts, in here and in here."

  "Our electricity was often turned off because mother had to make a choice between food and bare necessities or light at night. We used a stove oven to keep us warm and a fireplace in the winter with blankets from the poorhouse - the uh, Salvation Army. And that's how I began making candles, which, as you know is the heart of the spa business. From candles, I expanded to stores, and to spas all over the world. Someone great once said: necessity is indeed the mother of invention. Out of sheer necessity, I created candles so that I could study and better myself. Funny thing was, I was good at making them. And people liked them and I began getting orders so big, I had to pay my buddy to help me out in the evenings.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes from his story. I knew exactly how he felt. Exactly. Being the poor motherless girl with a drunk father; it was shameful. But hearing this successful man sitting before me, I couldn't believe my ears.

  I took everything in slowly. It was a privilege to learn of his story. I felt like I was given a special secret language, a gift I'd cherish forever.

  "You're life is so... touching. I didn't know all of that."

  "Well, now you know. And you have your own story to tell, young lady."

  I looked down at the floor feeling inspired yet deflated, like a waning balloon that's been floating at a party into the wee after hours.

  I lost my reputation, again. I was sitting in another’s house again but not my home. My home.

  But I'd figure it out just like him and a part of me was determined to buckle down—as I heard so many southerners say over my time in South Carolina. I'd make this work. Maybe he was right.

  He was right!

  "And it’s time to stay the course. Regardless of the rumors, regardless of the press. Set your face like flint and make that cupcake business a success. Now, speaking of cupcakes, I'd like to invite you to my special birthday party tomorrow. I'm turning eighty. You'd be my special guest. It would mean the world if you'd come and celebrate. And I would like for you to bring as many cupcakes as you can make. Have your business cards ready too, if you can. There will be a lot of important people there and I’d love the finest people of Charleston to taste your cupcakes. There will be many different types of food and delicious drinks at this party. You can have your setup anywhere you like. And you don’t have to stand there and sell them. Just display them. That’s all. Because like I said, you’re my guest. And guests mingle, they dance. They eat and they drink."

  "Are you sure? Won't that cause a scandal?" My heart pounded and my adrenaline already surged through my veins calculating how many I could make and how fast. I’d have to enlist Claire’s help for sure.

  "Honey, do you know of the Branch grandchildren? Scandal has become their middle name and I'll spend my last fighting breath seeing to it that they straighten out."

  "That's a lot of pressure for your last few days on Earth."

  Something on his face changed as he perched his elbows on his legs and leaned over a bit. "Uh, mind if I take a smoke?"


  "Certainly. After all it's your housing anyway."

  I watched him light his pipe, the embers glowing in the sweet tobacco. I waited for the wise sage to speak, holding my tongue that smoking may not be the absolute best for someone in his dire condition.

  He inhaled his sweet smoke and for some reason, I found this to be rich with southern charm.

  He bit his pipe thoughtfully and looked my way as if getting ready to spill some sort of beans.

  "I don't have cancer."

  "What?" My chest burned with shock. My jaw opened so wide I’m sure a thousand fireflies could have flown in.

  "Nope."

  "But I don't understand."

  "Oh, I'm going to live a long, long life, oh yes sirrey. Well into my hundreds. That's my prayer and that's my plan. I still have work to do on God’s green Earth."

  "Then, why the...um....?" I stopped and scratched the back of my head completely bewildered. I didn't want to call it a lie because that sounded so harsh. But it was the truth.

  "My grandkids need a wake up call. They need to step it up a level, get out of their comfort zones and really do what the good Lord’s placed in their hearts."

  "And...this worked so far?"

  "Like a charm." He bit down on how pipe. “Now uh, that's just between you and me, you hear?”

  My face spread into an easy smile, the biggest one all day.

  "Mr. Branch, may I tell you something? I have a secret too: I'm not really pregnant."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kate

  Atticus Branch the First is a true gentleman. He may be eighty, but he still knows how to charm a woman and make a lady feel special.

  And even cuter, he knows how to text message.

  My Lady Kate,

  Please be ready for your personal driver by six PM. I am sending you a hair and make up stylist at three to ensure you feel your absolute best, my dear. The treat is on me. You are my special guest tonight.

  Cordially yours,

  Atticus Branch

  I knew it was customary for women in this social circle to not be photographed wearing the same dress twice. I had attended only a few events but I knew this was a very important fact. I rummaged through my rack of designer dresses to see if anything caught my eye. All of the other dresses were in the country home. I hadn’t even thought about dressing for the event since I had spent all day and night prepping my cupcakes for the event. Claire was tre annoyed, but I made up for it with the stocked wine bar in the home.

  It was then, during a sheer act of coincidence that my doorbell rang.

  “Hi, Kate?” A perky blonde with badass retro glasses, smartly dressed in the latest fashion, held a few garments in a very thick garment bag.

  “Atticus sent me your way today. The first. I’m Ashley.” She smiled kindly. “May I come in and show you your gowns for the party tonight?”

  Oh the life of luxury, having everyone at your beck and call with the best of everything. I still felt uncomfortable about it, yet part of me felt like Cinderella. But where was my prince?

  I thought we were falling for each other. The way we touched each other, shared our feelings with each other, connected. I thought he would have come running to my aid by now, to comfort me after the big media scandal. But he did nothing. I didn’t understand it, but one thing I did understand was that actions spoke louder than words.

  “Oh my Gaaaaaaaawd, that dress!” Ashley exclaimed.

  It was the most beautiful gown I had ever laid eyes on.

  “Do you like it? It’s a custom Michael Costello.”

  “Do I like it?”

  I immediately touched the gold sequins and the sheer fabric that barely covered the shoulders. It was one of those plunge dresses where the front swept down generously between the cleavage, plunging inches above the navel. One would have to wear cleavage tape to ensure the dress stayed put.

  It was just the type of dress one would wear the Oscars. I was in love.

  “I don’t even have to try this baby on, I pick this one.”

  “It’s an excellent choice. One of my personal favorites. You have good taste.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, you made my job very easy. Why don’t you at least try it on to make sure you like it?”

  She didn’t need to tell me twice. Less than five minutes later with her help zipping it up, I spun around feeling like a child playing dress up. It. Was. Gorgeous.

  “Wow, it fits you like a glove.” I stood back and surveyed the beautiful art work. It was truly stunning and took my breath away.

  “Thank you. It really is art, right? The design is impeccable.”

  “Listen, I don’t mean to pry but, I mean, I never in a million years thought I’d be able to ever for once be right in the center of the latest news action. Where I’m able to actually like, see the person who the whole world seems to be talking about it. Well, here in the south, I mean, everyone makes everything a big deal and Charleston is its own world after all, right. Let’s be real.”

  “What is it you’d like to ask me? You seem to be beating around the bush quite a bit.” I surprised myself with how snappy I sounded. I instantly recoiled at my tone. I didn’t mean to be so snotty. I was just tired of this whole deal. I didn’t really do the whole spotlight, defaming thing.

  “It’s not like I’m going to lose my job or anything by asking, but are you really an escort?”

  “No! I’m not!”

  “Is it a different name these days?”

  “I have no earthly idea! But that story is completely false.”

  “So you’re not Atticus’ girlfriend?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  That makes two of us.

  The questions continued. “Then if you two are at odds, how come you’re getting such special treatment from Atticus the first? Are you his escort? This is so confusing.”

  “What are you some sort of reporter?”

  “I’m just curious is all.”

  “I’m his friend.”

  “Like girlfriend?”

  “Why don’t you really just come out and say what you really want to say.”

  She sat down on the chair and crossed her legs sighing. “I’m a stylist to the rich because I love beautiful things. I’ve seen a lot and it’s not every day you see a duck out water - so to speak - get this type of attention and social climb here. It never, ever happens in Charleston, trust me. I was just wondering what your secret is. And if all that sleeping around business is really true.”

  “Ashley, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “My advice to you. Don’t seek it. If you truly do what’s right in life, what needs to find you will find you.”

  “Like Rumi? The thing you are seeking is seeking you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But, were you seeking this all?”

  “Can you help me out of this dress please? I have some work to do before I get ready for the party.”

  She helped me very gently.

  “To answer your question, no. I did not seek this. It seemed it sought me out and now I’m in a fucking mess.”

  “Well, can I be honest with you?”

  “Haven’t you already been?”

  “It’s a really pretty fucking mess and I’d take advantage of it all if I were you. Drama or no drama; scandal or no scandal. You’ve entered the court of high society. It’s very hard to get a key to these people’s hearts. Fuck what the press says. Use this for your advantage.”

  The same message twice in one day. Okay, I’m listening, God!

  She actually was right.

  “Thank you, Ashley, I appreciate your advice, I do. Listen, um. Do you have a business card or anything?”

  “Certainly do.”

  I liked her candor and I had a feeling I’d need this reminder.

  “Listen, um, this may be last minute, but do you maybe want to help me out tonight? I’m bringing
my cupcakes and I could use an extra hand for staging while and if I mingle or dance, or whatever.” The last words got out mumbled.

  “For real?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hell yeah! Seriously hell yeah.”

  “Okay, I’ll get you on the guest list. I just need you to represent my cupcake line. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone special.”

  And because God knows Claire certainly wasn’t capable of minding her Ps and Qs!

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kate

  It was a scene straight out of a movie. (And when was I ever going to stop making this comparison?)

  I found a way to make myself laugh, even in midst of the despair nature I found myself conflicted in. It was a strange dance, to be delighted that the elite of the elite in Charleston were happily eating my cupcakes, and to actually be able to say, “Yes, these are from Kate’s Kitchen and I’m Kate.”

  It was a delight for strangers who weren’t obsessed with social media and the Internet to not have the faintest idea of who I was. What a breath of fresh air!

  I was briefly liberated in this freeing state. I enjoyed the big band music with its members all dressed in white. With the romantic dreamy keys and the clarinet sassed off melodies, they made sounds that would make even one in the gravest of moods want to dance.

  The female singer was fantastic. Her voice reminded me of the singers Atticus and Lacey had played and introduced to me. They were the classics, I guess. But even in my delighted observation of this storybook party, my nerves were wrecked. I still hadn’t seen him yet.

  And damn it, even in my anger, I still thought of him the entire time I got ready for this party.

  “Might I have this dance?” A light touch rested on my shoulder. I was about to object when speaking of the devil appeared right in front of me.

  I looked down to see a well-manicured hand, but not just any hand: his hand. My body knew that hand, and remembered his magic touch. My body melted, buzzed with electricity and wanted to be held against him once more to feel that connection.