The Earl and the Executive

by Kai Butler

  Surprised, Tiral shook his head. The fact that her family worked as servants for her Imperial Majesty hadn’t even occurred to him.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “I asked you because you’re the only one who keeps to her deadlines. I knew you’d be a crack social secretary and keep me to my own timeline.”

  "Deadlines," she said.

  "Well, yes,” he tried to explain. "And you are quite smart."

  "Deadlines," she said again dryly. “I thought it must have been my sunny disposition.”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “It very much was how quickly you acquire new material and the fact that you can keep to a schedule. Your parentage didn't even occur.”

  She narrowed her eyes, as though trying to determine if he was having her on. “You know I think this is a waste of my time and yours.”

  “But you’re so good at it,” he said hopefully. “With your help, I’ve a calendar that’s full of potential places to meet a rich spouse.”

  “You and every other youngster straight from the schoolroom,” she said. “How on earth do you intend to entice a suitor? You aren’t exactly in the prime of your youth, you know.”

  “I’m only thirty!” He took her barb with good humor and gestured to his new clothes. “What, am I so decrepit that they’ll think me the lord who’ll be prey to a fortune-hungry youth?”

  “You’re an earl of a family of good standing, which means that most, if not all, available partners will think that you have no need of a fortune,” Rexe said frankly. “And although you cut quite the figure, it is mostly because you look nothing like the lords of fashion. At least, none that feature in news clips or holo reels.”

  “Ah, but that should make me stand out then,” he said. She huffed in amusement and picked up the correspondence, shuffling through it to check for any new interesting invitations.

  “You have a party tonight,” she said. Her tone was bland, like when she was trying to explain a disagreement with a more senior member of their field. Something that didn’t have enough emotion in it to leave her open to the charge of being overwrought.

  It made him suspicious because he knew that when she employed that voice she was feeling passionate. He had always found the points she made in that tone to be some of her most incisive.

  “A ball?” he asked.

  “No, a boat party on The Hidden Star,” she replied. “An intimate gathering, if I understand it. Likely no dancing, but I can’t be sure.”

  “As you have no idea how the ton works.”

  “Precisely, my lord,” she said; though her tone was even, the title was pointed.

  Rexe stood, letters held in one hand, and nodded at him, as if she were still his student leaving office hours. He was struck, not for the first time, that she could have said no. Although she’d claimed that she only applied to Somnu University in order to work with him, he knew that it was grossly stretching a point to employ her thus. Yet, Rexe took to it as easily as she did anything and Tiral was deeply appreciative.

  “Thank you, Rexe,” he said quietly.

  “Just… get this done quickly so that you can come back to teaching,” she said. “It would be a waste of a semester, otherwise.”

  Tiral nodded, but from her pained expression, they both knew he wouldn’t be returning to the classroom any time soon.

  She left and he felt a buzzing in his pocket. When he pulled out the fob it revealed Renn’s austere face, indicating he was calling. Tiral pinched the bridge of his nose momentarily and then straightened his shoulders, opening the fob. A gold emblem flashed and then Renn’s face became visible.

  “My lord,” Renn greeted with the brief bow that was appropriate for holo calls.

  “What news?” Tiral asked.

  Renn glanced down and then back up into Tiral’s eyes. His expression wasn’t hopeful. “The bank refuses to extend the loan or offer another to cover the first.”

  Tiral tightened his lips and said nothing. After a pause, Renn said, “I have spoken to nearly all of the Empire’s banks and to one outside the Empire. All say that the risk is too great for them. Since the estate has not paid off a single loan your brother took out, they feel it is throwing good money after bad. The holders of the current loan have also made it clear they would prefer to repossess Gret and the rest of your holdings and get what they can out of an auction.”

  “Thank you,” Tiral managed. “How much time do we have?”

  “We can manage five full monthly payments, maybe a sixth, if your sister is accurate about the newest crops,” Renn replied.

  “We’ll have to talk later, Renn,” Tiral said. “I have a party.”

  The words sounded absurd, but the party felt like the most important thing now. He could not afford any distractions. He had one job. He had to find a rich spouse. Tiral had no choice but to succeed.

  2

  The ship was hovering above the roof of the Laft Group Tower and Tiral knew whose party it was before he even stepped off the elevator, where an elegant woman wearing all black checked his name against the list before allowing him to climb the stairs into the ship. Although it was a boat party, most of the other guests also wore formal dress, and Tiral was relieved that Masub had silently judged him out of his initial outfit and into evening dress. He still felt awkward wearing this sort of thing on a daily basis, but knew from the subtle glances he received that even with the correctness of his attire, everyone was still comparing him to his fashionable brother.

  Inside the ship, a servant offered to take his outer coat and he handed it over, feeling ludicrously like he was stripping off a layer of armor. Tiral followed the flow of guests down the corridor, passing massive photos on the wall displaying different aspects of the Laft corporate empire. He paused by one showing a flyer mid-construction, the engine half-formed and open to be viewed. It was gorgeous.

  Tiral had seen the insides of many Laft flyers before, but something about how the photographer had captured the tech gave the image a sense of vitality that was missing from most specs. He could name each part that he saw, and was curious whether it had been purposely photographed mid-construction or if the photographer had staged it.

  It was obvious why Rexe had sent him here, Tiral reflected. He couldn’t even be angry at her for her presumption. The Laft Aeromech Division had a reputation as the place where new ideas and a strict work ethic were rewarded. The Laft Group CEO was known as a taskmaster who required more from his employees than most, but who also developed some of the most advanced technology on the market.

  If Tiral’s engine was finished, or if he even had a few solid tests, he might have put it up against anything even Laft could produce. But as it was, Tiral didn’t feel ready to introduce the engine to anyone, much less Detzev Laft, who had been the first one to consider using distance-holo tech to develop new navigation systems.

  After a few moments, Tiral realized that he was drawing attention just by standing still. None of the other guests were lingering to admire what amounted to corporate advertising. Hurriedly, he followed the next wave of guests, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. Hopefully no one significant had noticed or paid attention to his lapse.

  The pathway ended at the observation deck, a massive room shaped like a bubble at the top of the ship. Nearly all the walls and ceiling were translucent to allow an expansive view of the sky. When the ship took off, and rose higher into the atmosphere, it would give the impression that guests were on a spacewalk, with nothing between them and the stars. The lighting, deep purples and blues, emphasized the experience.

  After an initial glance, though, Tiral observed most of the guests were turning to each other to engage in intimate conversations that required proximity to hear over the noise of other voices. With a twist in his chest, Tiral realized that most of his peers were also here for the same purpose as he was: to form alliances in marriage, friendship, or intimacy. He wasn’t alone in his goal for the next few months.

  He felt awkward standing near the entrance with
no conversational partner, so he moved towards the long buffet table covered in delicacies from a hundred different worlds. Too uncomfortable to take a plate and then be stuck eating alone, Tiral tried to look as though he was waiting for someone. The crowd was growing thick as the hour grew closer to takeoff, and he was pushed farther back until he was against the wall.

  “Overwhelmed?” a quiet voice inquired.

  Tiral turned and saw a well-heeled woman nearby. She appeared to be his own age, but he knew he was a bad judge of that sort of thing. Swallowing the sudden saliva in his mouth, he smiled.

  “I imagine most are here to see the ship take off. This sort of boat isn’t even on the market yet and, from what I’ve seen, the features are amazing.” He watched as her eyes skimmed his attire, grateful yet again that Renn had convinced him a small portion of what was left of their money needed to be spent on new clothes. Lecc would have disdained his modest attire as out of fashion and boring, but at least Tiral didn’t look as impoverished as he felt.

  “You’re very new to this, aren’t you?” the woman noted with a laugh. “The party itself was well attended last year, but this year it’s an absolute crush because Nosre Laft has said that his brother Detzev Laft will be attending.”

  “Detzev Laft?” Tiral felt heat rise on his cheeks, as though his early fantasies of presenting his idea to the reclusive CEO had resulted in the man’s actual presence.

  “Don’t tell me you’re hanging out for him as well,” she said.

  “Oh, no,” he temporized. “I came for the ship. I prefer to look at things that are within my ken.”

  “The ship does display itself well,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  “You don’t think that he’ll toss his handkerchief tonight?” Tiral asked.

  “I’m a bit too practical for that,” she replied. “No one has ever seen him on Lus. I daresay Detzev won't appear and offer marriage tonight like a prince out of some child’s fairy tale.”

  Tiral nodded and gestured at the sky above them. “Do you hail from here?”

  “No. I make my home on Socis. Not many live on Lus past the season,” she said. “Most head back to their own estates or even to Central for politicking.”

  “Yes?” he asked, curious. Tiral was suddenly aware that they hadn’t been introduced and worried that he’d broken some social protocol he’d forgotten in his years as an academic. He glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention, and he allowed himself to relax into their conversation.

  “I spend most of my time on the estate,” the woman informed him. “The season is once a year and allows me to prove that I am still a peer of the realm.”

  “That, I’m sure, no one doubts,” he said. She looked the part of a lady, and her manner of address was flawless. From her first word, Tiral could hear the Central in her vowels. She sounded like Lecc and had probably attended the same schools as him.

  “You’d be surprised what people from the core believe about us rustic peers.” Extending her hand, she said, “Honia Enla, Duchess of Socis.”

  Tiral recognized the name as belonging to an estate some distance from his own, but a large, proper domain. Taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to it, he introduced himself, “Lord Gret.”

  Lady Socis released his hand and picked up her fan, opening it slowly. “I was so sorry to hear about your brother. How fares your mother?”

  “In mourning, still,” he said. “Lecc is yet in her thoughts.”

  The words dripped from his tongue, not quite lies, but far from the truth about his own mixed feelings about Lecc. He made an attempt to change the subject. “Socis is mostly farms, is it not?”

  “Several farming planets,” she agreed. “And one that deals in the packaging and shipping.”

  “And business is good?” The question felt too large in his mouth, intrusive in a way he didn’t intend.

  She smiled, amused at his awkwardness. “Quite good. We’ve been developing some new hybrids recently that allow us to keep the flavor of some of our fruit while maintaining freshness for shipping.”

  “I’d heard that there was a lot of talk about the new bioengineering going on in that quarter,” he said. Lady Socis’s smile turned genuine and she began explaining some of the new ideas that had been integrated into the farms.

  Tiral was impressed at her understanding and also at her ability to explain it all to a layperson. While speaking, her eyes sparkled and she gestured with both hands. It would not be so bad, he realized, being married to someone like her, who also was passionate about their work.

  “We’re considering building additional labs on each planet so that scientists are able to work more closely in the actual environments they're studying,” she concluded. “Rather than outsourcing it to megacorps, like Laft Bio.”

  Lady Socis said the last somewhat ironically, gesturing to the party around them. Tiral understood her feelings. Most of the ton was happy to enjoy the fruits of their estates without bothering with the day-to-day management and didn’t even notice if a percentage here or there was spent on work that they could do in-house.

  “But does Laft Bio do good work?” Tiral asked, curiously.

  “Oh, of course,” she said. “But I find that I’m as much of a perfectionist as they say Detzev Laft is. It’s hard for me to not have complete control of the process.”

  Tiral forced a smile. He knew he had to say something if he wanted to continue talking, and perhaps even pursue a relationship with Lady Socis. She was smart, devoted to her work, and lacked no qualities he wished for in a partner.

  However, it was unfair to continue with her without letting her know the truth of his situation.

  “Lady Socis,” he started. Tiral wet his lips as she looked at him expectantly. “I find I must be truthful at this juncture. It would be unfair to be false even by mere omission.”

  Her eyebrows were going up as he spoke and he could tell she was still more curious than offended. He hoped that would not change.

  “I have come to Lus for the express purpose of finding a spouse.” He looked down as he forced out the next words. “A wealthy spouse.”

  The implication sat heavy between them, and Tiral’s pulse raced even as he told himself that she had not yet refused him. That there was still a chance that she wasn’t repulsed by his forwardness.

  But when he looked back up, she looked partially confused and pitying. Lady Socis drew her fan up to cover the expression quickly, but it was enough.

  “I’m sorry for my —”

  She interrupted him quickly. “No, no, it’s refreshing to hear someone speak so bluntly rather than leading one to develop a tendre and speaking of it only when your vision is too clouded by affection.” Gently, she laid a hand on his forearm. It burned him and he stood stock-still, aware that he must be looking pale from tension.

  “Unfortunately, as Duchess of Socis, I have no need for a second title. I wish you success. You’d have better luck with one whose family has only recently come into money and wants the honor of peerage,” she said. With a last glance, she moved away smoothly, leaving Tiral alone again.

  He shook off the morose feeling that settled over him. It would be too much to ask that he should find exactly what he was looking for with his first attempt, and Lady Socis herself seemed to be too perfect for his needs. Tiral thought that perhaps he should tip off Edah to Socis’s interest in agriculture. The two of them would likely have much to talk about and a friendship between two like-minded ladies was at least one positive outcome he could hope for after the social atrocity he’d just committed.

  Taking a glass of something purple and bubbly off the tray of a passing waiter, Tiral looked around to make sure no one had noticed his failure. Everyone still seemed taken by their own conversations, except for one man who was staring at him with evident curiosity. Tiral quickly glanced back at his drink, praying the man came no closer.

  Zev was bored. The party was decorated blandly, as though Nosre had wante
d everyone to be perfectly aware that it was first and foremost a corporate event. The assembled comprised those wishing to be in the Laft Group’s good graces, a few curious about the new ship, and a contingent of those who wanted their heirs to have a chance of matching with the Laft CEO.

  All in all, he’d been to worse parties, but none that he’d ostensibly hosted.

  At least The Hidden Star was something he was proud of, even if it had been dressed by what he assumed was an expensive party planner who’d been instructed to be inoffensive. It was the newest in everything, although most of that tech was hidden in its engine and computer systems and was thus invisible to the guests.

  He was amused that his time with the ton had been good for one aspect of his business. Experience with the upper crust meant that Zev knew what the wealthiest wanted when it came to luxury: everything at hand, expansive views, and the subtle appearance of expense. They wanted something that looked like it was vastly different from what the common riff-raff took when they went planet-hopping but was actually familiar enough that they didn’t need to learn anything new in order to work the systems.

  Meeting those expectations was an awkward balance, but Zev felt that they’d managed it and was pleased at the wonder he saw when people looked up, before they realized how naive they must look and reverted back to polite interest.

  Without moving from his vantage point, Zev managed to nod at most of the people he knew from various balls and gatherings. He could see two of his former lovers in the crowd and was amused at how one ignored him, while the other sent him a hooded glance that promised an approach would not be rebuffed.

  Briefly, Zev considered it. The widower was still attractive, with his plush lips and ice-blue eyes. The season they'd spent together had been electric, their passion feeding off each other. But, likely that had been because of the fact that it was transitory. Each had known how the season would end.