“So far the only other thing we’ve got is this school she seems to be scoping out. It’s…unconventional to say the least.”
“She hasn’t enrolled him yet, has she?” I ask with alarm.
“It’s the end of spring, Archer. I guess she figures since he’s five it can wait.”
“So what’s unconventional about this school?” I ask with morbid curiosity.
Mike laughs. “Well, they basically let the kids pick how and what they want to learn.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, no real structure or even any classrooms as far as I can tell. Some kind of new age thing. ‘Self-actualization through auto-directed learning,’ is what the brochure says.”
“In other words, bullshit through bullshit learning.” I sigh. Why the hell am I even surprised? “Any other updates?”
“Nothing major. So far the kid looks healthy and happy—well, as happy as a kid who just lost his parents can be.”
I leave that one alone. The weekend spent in the company of Stuart and Simone seems like a lifetime ago, which is a good thing. There were moments—brief moments—when I seriously reconsidered taking over guardianship. As different as her style of parenting may be, I can tell she truly does care for Stuart and wants what’s best for him.
Now that I’m a thousand miles away I can look at it from a more objective angle. She’s twenty-five, with absolutely no experience raising a child, certainly not one who is now worth eight-figures. That alone erodes any emotion that might weaken my resolve.
At the Knickerbocker School, Stuart will be surrounded by boys who are like him. Boys who will grow up to be CEOs, politicians, maybe even President of the United States. Certainly much better company than CoCo, if that’s even his real name.
“She’s taken him to some child therapist,” Mike continues.
Once again I’m alert. I imagine some frou frou witchdoctor, incorporating all sorts of ridiculous and untested practices on Stuart’s impressionable young mind.
“And?” I press.
“Nothing to report there. Top notch all the way. All sorts of awards, acclaim, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Are you sure?” I ask skeptically.
“As far as ammunition, this doctor is one you should leave out of the arsenal.”
“She works fast, I’ll give her that much,” I say, settling back into my chair.
I suppose I should be relieved that Stuart’s head isn’t being completely screwed with by some quack. Plus, it probably is a good idea for him to have a professional working with him to help him deal with losing both of his parents.
Before I can fall back down the rabbit hole of actually thinking that Simone maintaining guardianship might not be so bad, I shake it off and come to my senses.
“Alright Mike. Have your men keep at it. I want to hit the ground running as soon as my plane lands in New York.”
“Aye aye, cap-ee-tain,” Mike says jokingly.
I roll my eyes and hang up.
It’s late, but I finish going through my work email, handling any immediate fires and leaving the rest for later. Just as I’m about to close out for the night a new message appears in my in-box.
It’s from “A. Friend” which is suspicious as hell. The subject heading piques my interest though:
Looking for dirt on Simone Parker? Enjoy.
What do we have here?
Chapter Fifteen
I’ve come back to New York a week early. The London office is in perfectly capable hands with Charles and there is far too much going on back here for me to let it sit.
“You’re looking…different,” I say, stopping to look down to Agnes as I walk toward my office. She’s straightened her hair so that it falls down past her shoulders in attractive auburn waves. She’s also done something different with her glasses so that her green eyes are more noticeable, in a good way. She actually looks halfway attractive like this. Still not my type—not that I’d ever dabble in the company pool—but certainly an improvement.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Bennett,” she says, actually blushing. “Simone—Miss Parker gave me a makeover. Do you like it?”
“It’s…very nice,” I say in a neutral tone. I don’t like the idea of Simone getting so cozy with my staff.
Thinking about her reminds me of why I came back early and I quickly forget about my secretary’s new appearance. My highest priority is the email with the attachment I received yesterday. I wasn’t stupid enough to open it on my own damn laptop. I also wasn’t stupid enough to delete it. I forwarded the email to the head of IT at Bennett Financial, George Tanaka, while I was in London.
“Call George in IT and have him come to my office ASAP.”
“Yes, Mr. Bennett.”
She announces him just as I’ve finally settled in behind my desk. That was quick.
“Send him in.”
He walks in looking like a rabbit that’s come face to face with an actual jaguar. I’m fully aware that I have an imposing reputation among my staff, but his expression seems especially wary.
I motion impatiently to the seat across the desk and he breathes out a heavy sigh before walking over to take it. He has an iPad in his hands, which I’m assuming has this damning little tidbit about Simone.
“Well?” I say expectantly.
“Well, the good news is it wasn’t a virus,” he says quickly.
I wait, my impatience growing.
“The…ah…good—er—other news is, well….”
“George, I’m a busy man. Perhaps you can get to the point.”
His brow wrinkles with concern. “Perhaps it would be best if you saw it for yourself, Mr. Bennett.”
He quickly stands up and hands over the iPad. I grab it out of his hands and see that it’s a video waiting to be played. My eyes roll up to George who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He doesn’t seem very eager to tell me what I’m about to watch.
I press play.
The video starts in a blur, the camera man or woman swinging their arm in preparation for filming.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Josh.”
Simone’s voice is unmistakable.
Josh. It takes a moment for me to place the name, then I remember the night of her “Manhattan Wake.” The name I wasn’t allowed to mention. What comes next gives me a better idea why.
The sound of her voice is followed by the camera panning to bring her into view. I can’t hide the surprise that hits me when she finally comes into focus.
She’s completely naked, somehow managing to strategically cover her more intimate parts. One arm is pressed across her breasts and the hand of the other is firmly planted where Eve’s original fig leaf was located.
She looks just as young and immature as she did during Kevin’s wedding, back when she was only nineteen. This must have been taken not too long after that. This is nothing like the somewhat more mature version I know today.
In the video she’s got her head cocked with a smile that says: I’m almost convinced, just push me a little bit more.
It doesn’t help that her giggles indicate a few glasses of champagne, or some other alcoholic beverage, have already pushed her halfway there.
“Come on, Babe. Kim Kardashian. Pamela Anderson. Everyone’s doing it, and you’re way hotter than them. Don’t you wanna be famous?”
“Not like this, you perv.” But her laugh hints that maybe he’s bringing her around.
“What if I promise never to show anyone?”
So much for that promise.
“What happened to being famous?”
“Your call, Babe. It’s my personal spank bank until you give the go-ahead. All I know is, you have a body and face made for film.”
“You mean porn?” she laughs.
“Nah, you’re all class, Simone. Come on, you know you wanna. We can sit back, grab a bowl of popcorn, relive me sticking my dick in that sweet pussy of yours…”
“Josh, don’t be disgusting!”
He’s laughing
. Meanwhile the tension in my body has reached levels that could snap an iron bar. I have an irrational hatred for the man and I don’t even know who he is.
“Okay, serious now. I promise I won’t show or send this to anyone. Just my own little present. Got it? So can I get a little show and tell?”
Her head is still cocked again as she mulls it over. The smile on her face already tells me the answer. Besides, why would anyone send me this video if she didn’t bare it all?
“Okay, fine,” she says, giving an embarrassed laugh.
Before I can close the video I catch a brief flash of Simone Parker completely naked as she quickly removes both hands covering her body.
I don’t know why, but for some reason I feel guilty having gone this far. I knew exactly where it was going, so why didn’t I close out earlier?
In the split second it took to hit pause, the image frozen on the screen is etched on the part of my brain that will no doubt be filed away in my own “spank bank,” no matter how reluctantly. Josh was right, Simone does have a face and body made for film.
Goddammit, this is not the kind of distraction I need.
I’m pissed to realize that George is still sitting across from me, looking even more uncomfortable than before. I had completely forgotten he was there. He refuses even look me in the eye, and who could blame him?
“So how much of this did you actually watch?” I ask, making sure that my face and tone are completely neutral.
“Well…I…er, I had to make sure that…um.”
“It’s okay,” I say dismissively. “I’m sure you were just being thorough, and she is an attractive woman.”
His eyes flash up toward me, filled with panic. “No, Mr. Bennett, I didn’t…I mean yes, she is…but I would never—”
“George, there’s one thing I won’t tolerate and that’s lying. You don’t have to tell me you sat there and jerked-off to the thing, but I do need to know if you saw the entire video and, more importantly, who else might have seen it.”
He straightens his shoulders. “You told me not to involve anyone else and I haven’t,” he says firmly.
I nod with appreciation. “And it will stay that way. I’ll hold on to this,” I say, holding up the iPad.
“Of course.”
“I do want you to make one more copy for me. Then you’re to delete any and all others permanently, do you understand?”
“Of course, Mr. Bennett.”
“After that, I want you to focus your attention on who sent it.”
“Well, that may be difficult since—”
“But not impossible?” I hint, cutting him off.
He pauses and I can almost see the sweat begin to bead on his skin. “Perhaps not….” he says slowly.
“George,” I say, leaning in over my desk. “This is a billion dollar company. If you can’t do it, I don’t want to find out that someone else can.”
Even though his face goes a bit green, he nods. “I’ll start working on it right away sir.”
“Thank you, George,” I say by way of excusing him. He’s all too eager to leave.
I steel myself, erasing any bit of emotion and hit play again. This is strictly for informational purposes, at least that’s what I tell myself. It goes as expected. A lot more show and tell. The obligatory blow job; she’s surprisingly enthusiastic, and I note, to my puerile satisfaction, Josh is below average when it comes to size. Various positions of the sex act itself: her on top, from behind, underneath him on the edge of the bed, then an abrupt end.
“Josh” never manages to show his face, which makes me hate him even more. It smacks of cowardice. What the hell did Simone even see in this guy?
Once I’m done, I turn in my chair to look out the window that spans the East River. “Dirt” doesn’t even begin to describe this. A bona fide sex tape. It’s all the ammunition I need to get complete guardianship over Stuart.
So why do I feel so disgusted at the thought of using it?
Chapter Sixteen
“Archer Bennett?”
I turn to the woman who has just approached me as I head toward my office building. She’s attractive and dressed professionally like most people who work downtown. I rapidly flip through my mental rolodex, trying to place her. I’ve gone through a fair number of one-night stands. Most of them understand how it is from the get-go: no strings; no attachment; don’t call me, I’ll call you.
This one doesn’t look familiar. She also doesn’t look like she’s about to start an embarrassing confrontation. In fact, she has a pleasant and perfectly neutral smile on her face.
“Yes?” I say warily. Which was my mistake.
“You’ve just been served,” she says in a chipper tone, digging into her tote bag and pulling out a folded set of papers to hand to me. She gives one final bright smile then turns and walks away.
What the fuck?
I quickly open the documents I’ve just been served as I walk angrily to the elevator.
When I read through the first part, I stop in my tracks.
Son of a bitch!
My guardianship over Stuart’s estate has just been challenged…by my own damn mother.
“What the hell is this?”
Simone rushes into my office and toward my desk waiving a set of paperwork in my face that’s similar to what I was handed this morning.
You’ve been a busy little bee, Mom.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bennett! She just—”
“It’s okay, Agnes,” I say dismissively.
She looks back and forth between the two of us with worry written all over her face, before deciding it’s best to just leave and close the door to my office behind her.
“Is this some sort of double-team thing between you and your mother? You get the estate and she gets guardianship?”
She doesn’t know that I’ve also been served and I intend to keep it that way. Let her rant and rave and drop all her juicy little bits of dirty laundry for me to collect. I don’t plan on returning the favor.
“That’s an interesting turn of phrase,” I say laconically.
“Don’t you dare turn this into some kind of joke,” she spits.
“To answer your question, the last person on earth I would ‘double-team’ with is my mother.”
“Well, what the hell is going on?”
“It would seem that my mother thinks she’d make a better guardian of Stuart than you.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she retorts. “The question I want an answer to is why? She wasn’t exactly the doting grandmother,” she casts a cynical look my way, “though better than some of Stuart’s other relatives.”
“Perhaps you should ask her,” I suggest.
“Oh, I intend to, don’t you worry about that.”
Good luck with that. One thing I inherited from my mother was cunning. She’ll have Simone talking in circles as she digs a hole for herself that’s too deep to get out of. Then I’ll have my mother to contend with, rather than Simone.
Miranda Bennett wasn’t exactly Donna Reed, nor was she Mommy Dearest. She was just a woman born of an era where her ambitions in life were usurped by a husband whose career and image took precedence. She was repaid with an extremely comfortable lifestyle, which included boys who were shipped off to boarding school so she didn’t have to spend too much of her valuable time raising us.
When our father died and both Kevin and I were finally out of the house, she picked up right where her original plans had stopped and started making moves to start her own fashion company. She finally managed to get one going about three years ago. Although we don’t talk much—a phone call at Christmas and birthdays—I have kept tabs on how she’s doing business-wise. I’m mildly impressed with her success. Who knew she had it in her?
The problem lies in the fact that some judge might just come to the conclusion that this little hobby-turned-business of hers makes her competent enough to take over Stuart’s estate.
My concern right at this moment is wh
at other competencies she has in her. Has she turned out to be a decent enough grandmother to take over full guardianship?
“Are you concerned she might win?” I ask idly.
Simone straightens her shoulders and gives me an indignant look. “Of course not!”
“Well then…,” I reply.
She stares at me, blinking. “I mean…it isn’t like she is a complete stranger to Stuart.” The personal dig isn’t lost on me. “He knows her well enough and seems to like her.”
She falls into the chair opposite me and stares out the window over my shoulder. “The only thing is, she has raised two sons.”
I cough out a laugh.
Simone turns to give me a look that’s both angry and startled.
“If her parenting abilities are you’re main concern, I’ll be more than happy to be your first witness to the contrary on that count.”
“It isn’t me I’m concerned about here, Archer,” she says testily, “it’s Stuart.”
My face settles back into passive concentration again, ever the attentive ear to her thoughts.
She gives me a considering look. “Do you think she’ll win custody?”
I lean in on my desk and give her a direct look. “Honestly, Simone, I don’t know. If it makes you feel any better, I’d rather you maintain control than my mother.”
Which is true. It isn’t just that, despite our mutual disdain for one another, I know that my brother’s sister-in-law will be far more easily to manipulate. It’s that at least I know what her motives are. She genuinely cares about Stuart.
When it comes to my mother, I have no idea what her endgame is.
Chapter Seventeen
“By all means, do come in, Archer.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I reply strolling in ahead of the assistant who’s tried to block my entrance into my mother’s personal office.
Miranda Fashion is located in the Grace building. My mother’s company takes up only one floor, which isn’t horrible for being only three years in. Her own office is huge, overlooking the Bryant Park below us. There are bookcases filled with binders and magazines, long tables covered in photographs and fabric samples, and plenty of fashion photos and contemporary art on the walls.
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