The Earl and the Executive

by Kai Butler

  “Oh, no, no,” Tiral exclaimed, horrified. “It’s just that… my mother’s friend informed me that you might know a thing or two about people with money and, er, how to charm them. I’ve come to request, well, plead, really, that you teach me how to do so as well.”

  More confused than before, Zev wondered if Tiral was suggesting that Zev teach him how to ‘charm’ himself. Was he implying that he knew Zev had money?

  At his silence, Tiral rushed to explain, only compounding Zev’s confusion.

  “I understand that you wouldn’t want me getting in the way of your business, and I wouldn’t, at all. I’m a quick study, and you’ve already helped tremendously. I know it was funning, but those topics you suggested at the boat party, they were the only things that worked. I was absolutely lost without them. And then I used them and I could talk to people.” Tiral paused and looked at Zev pleadingly. “Would you please teach me how to court the wealthy?”

  Zev wasn’t sure what expression was on his face, but he knew that it must have been dark because Tiral seemed to shrink in on himself, shoulders hunching and face dropping.

  “I’ve made a hash of this as well,” he said, and the tone in his voice made something shudder in Zev’s own chest. The tone was hopeless, as though Tiral had already admitted defeat.

  “You’d like me to teach you how to court, and charm, and… seduce,” Zev guessed. “Because you aren’t sure how to do it well enough to find a rich spouse by the time the season’s over.”

  Tiral nodded, chin nearly touching his chest. His eyes were stuck on the coffee.

  “And you think I’d be good at it because I… take a new lover every season,” Zev said. He wondered what this friend of Tiral’s mother had said that made Tiral assume he was such a Lothario.

  Looking at Zev, Tiral said, “A rich lover.”

  “Well, I'm not sure that that's always true—” Zev started.

  “I can pay you,” Tiral interrupted. “I'm sure it won't be as lucrative as your… other work, but Gret is profitable. As soon as we're out from under our debt, you can have the whole first year’s profits.”

  Zev paused. It wasn't the money that puzzled him about Tiral’s request, but that reference again to his work. Did Tiral know about his real job? Was this a threat?

  No, the idea was laughable. An earl of some distant estate threatening him? But Zev also couldn't quite believe it of Tiral, either. Of all the things that he knew about him, Tiral — the man too honest to have a conversation without revealing his finances — didn't seem the type to blackmail.

  “A whole year’s profits?” Zev asked, wavering between amused and insulted. “How much can that be from a backwater farming estate?”

  “You feel I’ve insulted you. I know it’s not much, but it is all I can offer,” Tiral pleaded, and there was that tone again, the one that made Zev wish he was a kinder person. He raised an eyebrow at Tiral. “I’m quite… desperate. I need to be successful this season and you’re the only person I’ve met who has been any real help at all.”

  “That almost makes me wish I’d been a bit less helpful,” Zev said drily.

  “No, no,” Tiral said. “You were quite smashing. I thought it was merely a fun, but then I brought up the weather with Miss Tine and it worked! She quite carried the conversation herself with that. Although it turned out she was unsuitable for financial reasons, which is a thing I’m sure you could help with.”

  “Help her with her finances?” Zev asked, not quite following.

  “Help me learn to recognize those who have money from those who don’t,” Tiral said intensely. “It’s something I need to learn. I think she must have known how to recognize it, too, because she didn’t give me the time of day after our conversation.”

  “I admit, I’m flummoxed,” Zev replied. “I don’t have a method for determining wealth.”

  Although, as he said it, Zev knew it wasn’t true. He might not have a method, but he did seem to attract the wealthy, and more often than not, those were the times when he was being seduced, being sought. After so long with the ton, Zev had learned how to see money in clothes, in attitude, and in manners. He’d learned to recognize those born to money versus those who came into it later, like him. Most of it was instinct, though, and not something that could be taught.

  “Please, Mister Yuls,” Tiral said. “I need you.”

  He caught Zev’s eyes, his own dark gaze intense and beseeching. Zev felt that pull again in his chest. He had to admit, the idea of tutoring Tiral in love presented some appeal. Tiral was attractive and the blush of youth had not quite faded from his cheeks. Perhaps all that time in academia had preserved some of his innocence.

  Tiral needed help if he was going to arrange a good match for himself, and without a sponsor or parent to guide him, he would likely be lost amongst the more interesting specimens this season. Helping him would ease some of the tension that Zev was feeling about Tiral’s future. Perhaps with some tutoring, Tiral would look less like a lost lamb among wolves.

  “You have my interest,” Zev said. “I’ve no inkling why you’ve chosen me, but I will help you. On my own terms of course.”

  The words were a relief and Tiral wanted to reach over and clasp Zev’s long-fingered hands. He felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he just knew with certainty that he could afford to have hope again.

  The morning had gone about as well as Tiral could have hoped, despite the completely flubbed request. He had allowed himself to be side tracked with coffee and breakfast and all the things he’d used to postpone asking for such a humiliating favor. Despite all that, Zev had agreed and it was as though the sun, previously hidden by storm clouds, had come out and Tiral realized it might be all right after all.

  “Of course,” Tiral agreed, readily. “Anything.”

  At Zev’s arched eyebrow, he amended to, “Nearly anything. Within reason.”

  “This will have to be a secret affair,” Zev said. “Which I’m sure will benefit you as much as me.”

  At the words, Tiral was unhappily reminded of what he was beginning to suspect about Zev. When Rexe had presented him with the address and the facts on the house, Tiral had been initially suspicious. The house was owned by the real estate arm of the Laft Group, but the census data listed only a Z. Laft as the occupant. He’d puzzled over it for hours, long after Rexe had given up on getting any more information out of Tiral about his mystery gentleman and had gone to bed. Masub had stayed and only given in to sleep when it became clear that Tiral would have no further requests and would wake Masub if he did.

  Knowing what he did from Lord Deva, and having done some research via archived newspapers, he had concluded that Zev did always take wealthy, connected lovers during the season, but that he was very discreet. None of the papers had any details about his background and, indeed, there was a distinct lack of information about him, almost as though someone very rich was paying to keep him quiet. That combined with the house could only mean one thing.

  Zev was a honeypot.

  Based on his last name on the census data, Tiral could only assume a Laft honeypot, probably sent to the season every year to seduce information out of the Empire’s elite. If Deva and others only assumed him to be a cyprian or a demimondaine, then he was clearly very good at his job. The knowledge had sat in the pit of Tiral’s stomach on the ride over.

  He’d only become more certain of Zev’s position when he saw the house in person. It was massive, built in the style of the mansions of Central. The land alone would have wiped out a good chunk of the Gret fortune at its height. This was not the house that one kept a mere seasonal flirtation in.

  Tiral had no intention of using the information he had discovered against Zev. If Zev had refused Tiral, then he’d told himself that he’d walk away and look for other help. By the same token, Tiral couldn’t let Zev help him without telling him that he knew about his other job. It seemed unfair to hold the information in reserve, as though he might b
lackmail the man.

  He’d practiced in his head how to imply what he knew, but when Tiral had used the phrases, Zev had looked more puzzled than anything. Later, when Tiral had had a chance to script more, he might try again. For now, he was too focused on Zev’s words.

  “You will do everything I ask,” Zev said. He held up a hand when Tiral opened his mouth. “Within reason. I won’t have either of us in the gaol over a romance.”

  Tiral felt some of the tension climb back into his neck, but said only, “I’ll still use my own best judgment. Signing a blank cheque to your methods is beyond my abilities.”

  Sighing, Zev added, “This will also be a practical education.”

  “What?” Tiral asked.

  “You cannot teach lovemaking through books, reading, or even mere observation,” Zev drew out each word. His golden eyes looked hungry in the morning light, and Tiral felt an excited thrill jump in his stomach.

  “You can,” Zev continued, “only teach it through example and practice.”

  That last word made something light inside Tiral. He wanted to know, intimately, what kind of practice Zev had in mind.

  “Practice,” Tiral said. He felt a thread of joy wind its way around his heart. “So, workbooks and dry labs?”

  “Is that how you train your students? A wonder any of them can build more than a paper flyer,” Zev teased. “There must be more to it.”

  “Ah, yes, there’s observations and, of course, internships,” Tiral said. “You’d have me intern with a man romancing?”

  “I’m happy to take your application,” Zev said. “I’d be quite interested to see what you have listed as your experience.”

  “Well,” Tiral said. He felt his smile drop, joy diluted back to seriousness. “I do have some. But I don’t know that it would do much good.”

  “Undergraduates? A few liaisons between student and teacher?” Zev guessed.

  Horrified, Tiral said, “Oh, no. Nothing so untoward. Just, most of my real experience was with other academics, other professors. None in my department, not since I’ve become head, but the closest I’ve come to a real match —”

  Tiral broke off, not sure how much he wanted to admit to. His financial woes were something that would likely soon become public knowledge, but his life in academia had always been more or less private. Being the younger son of an earl had left Tiral in obscurity. Most of his colleagues hadn’t even known he was considered “Lord Tiral” until he left for his brother’s funeral. If he were to guess, some were still expecting him back, unaware of his changed circumstances.

  Tiral’s romance with Jolip had been something even his family hadn’t been aware of. If any of them had known, it would have been something that they didn’t speak about. Not necessarily out of shame, but definitely out of a sense of discretion that let all sorts of darkness glide by under the surface of their lives. Continuing, apparently, with whatever had driven Lecc to mortgage the whole estate.

  “I would like to know what sort of experience you have,” Zev said seriously. He stabbed his sausage with a fork and brought it to his mouth. The motion reminded Tiral that he was here at Zev’s discretion. Zev did not need him.

  “Two years ago, a professor of linguistics was hired temporarily to take over for one of the tenured professors who’d taken ill. He was very likable,” Tiral began. “We met at a faculty party and hit it off. At first, I merely wanted to help another young academic find his way around Somnu, but as time wore on we became much closer and developed…”

  “Feelings for one another?” Zev guessed. He cut another piece of his sausage, eyes on the plate, but Tiral knew that his whole attention was on Tiral.

  “Yes, and physical intimacy soon followed. At the end of the term, he was offered a job at Somnu as a junior professor, but was offered another position at Central University. He took the latter, which would be of much benefit to his career,” Tiral said. It was easy to say the words to his hands, and when he looked up, Zev’s eyes were soft on his face. He’d never seen that expression from him before and it startled him, to see Zev looking so kind.

  Tiral realized that he was so used to the banter they shared, the way that they seemed to share the same jokes before they’d even been introduced, that it was strange to see Zev in a different light. Then again, Tiral hadn’t been this emotional talking about his estate. Perhaps it was the first time he’d shared something real with Zev.

  “I’m sure it will be,” Zev said finally. “Although I doubt his heart will forget yours any faster than you have forgotten him.”

  “That may be,” Tiral agreed. “Although that matters little now.”

  “Because you must marry for money and a linguistics professor has none?” Zev’s mouth twisted.

  “You see the crux of it,” Tiral said. “Sadly, what such a position rewards in labor and scientific achievement, it does not pay for in balsam.”

  “Poor academics, indeed,” Zev said. “Your romantic education, when do you want it to begin?”

  “As soon as you see fit,” Tiral said eagerly. He tried to shake off the melancholy that came from speaking of Jolip and focused instead on the possibility of making a good match.

  “Tomorrow,” Zev said. “After you’ve slept for the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon. My abilities do not stretch to teaching those who look a few hours from death.”

  “I’m not so poor off,” Tiral protested, even as the mere image of his bed made his eyes feel heavy.

  “If I didn’t hear you talking, I would call the coroner. What, were you so eager to see me that you were up all evening?” Zev asked. He was back to smiling and Tiral let that carry him into his own grin.

  “And well into the morn,” he admitted. “My butler even went to bed before me.”

  “No! What a Brutus to abandon his master in his hour of need,” Zev teased. He had finished his plate and leaned back, fingers wrapped around the delicate coffee cup.

  “I did send him to bed, as his worrying was enough to drown out my own,” Tiral said. “He thinks it quite irresponsible to stay up all night when one should be in bed.”

  “On that, he and I agree,” Zev said. “Go back to your home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow I will fetch you for our first practical exercise in courtship.”

  “Do I get some advanced notice of the testing material?” Tiral asked. He found himself wanting some clue for tomorrow’s activity, although he knew that it would only serve to make him worry more.

  “No. Do ask your valet to find something in your closet that doesn’t look like it was purchased by your mother,” Zev ordered, eyeing his apparel critically. Tiral blushed, heat making him nearly sweaty.

  “I will,” he said.

  “Tomorrow,” Zev promised. “Now, go get some sleep.”

  Feeling as though he’d been promised a flyer made of gold, Tiral stood, bowed shortly, and left. He knew that for all his body needed the sleep, it would be a long time coming.

  6

  “Zev?” Ovi asked, frowning. Her stylus tapped on the side of her tablet, and she was looking at him strangely.

  “Hmmm?” he said, glancing down.

  “You’ve got a message.” She gestured to the slowly pulsing light on his desk. Frowning, he tapped on it and when he saw the sender, his frown deepened and he swiped it away.

  “Did you hear anything else from the shipping arm?” he asked. Ovi nodded and began reading the most recent missive, her voice steady as usual.

  There was a ping and a new message came up from the same sender. Glaring now, Zev opened it and read the contents unhappily. The actress wanted to have their next liaison that evening. She insisted that Zev should arrive through the servants’ entrance, citing the press and her fans as the reason he had to enter with the maids and footmen.

  He swiped it away, pressing two fingers between his eyebrows to ease some of the tension. With Ovi next to him, Zev was aware that he was wearing the same expression he did when one of his employees brought him
a problem that would be very expensive, very time-consuming, or worse, both.

  “Would you like me to filter her messages?” Ovi asked, interrupting her summary of the latest report.

  “Please,” Zev said. “I had no idea that she thought so little of me.”

  Ovi was focused on her tablet and didn’t look up when he glanced over. Her expression was blank, but Zev felt like he could sense judgment in her red eyes. She finished, and the two messages from the actress disappeared.

  When Ovi looked up, she raised an eyebrow, and Zev asked, “What?”

  “Nothing, sir, do you want me to continue?” She looked at him placidly, and Zev sighed heavily. The best part about Ovi was that she kept her own counsel, meaning he could trust her to keep his secrets. The worst part was that he was positive that she was judging him most of the time.

  He waved her to continue and immediately found his mind drifting again. It was irritating that he still couldn’t decide where to take Tiral for their first “lesson.”

  At first, Zev had thought that one of the balls where he usually met paramours was the answer. There had to be one that evening, but as soon as he’d thought it, Zev realized that would mean that their affair wouldn’t be private, which would be unhelpful for both of them. For Tiral, because it wouldn’t do for someone purportedly looking for marriage to be seen in his company. For Zev, for more familial reasons.

  He’d settled on a gentlemen’s club, one where he might hire a private dining room or at least a table hidden by some well-placed decor. Most upscale establishments had at least a few rooms where gentlemen could hash out business, financial or intimate. Zev just had to figure out which would best meet their needs.

  One where neither of them was likely to run into a friend who would elbow in, that served good food, and had acceptable ambiance. Zev was frustrated that it was taking so long to decide on a location. Had it been that long since he had simply enjoyed a man’s company?

  “Hart’s,” Ovi said quietly.

  He raised a surprised eyebrow, but she was tapping at her tablet.