“You do need to move fast in business,” Dad says in a sympathetic tone.
“Obviously,” I say, poking at my mashed potatoes again. “Except, there’s something weird going on with the company.”
“I was saying the exact same thing,” Sergio says. “This Cheval Blanc, I don’t like it. You start your own company, Lola.”
I perk up and face him. “Why? What do you know about it?”
“Well,” Sergio purses his lips. “Nothing.”
“I see,” I say, sagging back down again.
“Except, it is somewhat familiar isn’t it?” Dad says, looking at Sergio. “Something about it tickles my brain. Especially with Corey being so coy asking about you and Contempo Woman.”
“I was saying the exact same thing,” Sergio says, once again looking outraged. He loves stirring up drama.
But this is getting interesting.
“Familiar?” I urge, desperately looking back and forth between the two of them. “Cheval Blanc? How so?”
“Eat your dinner, sweetheart,” Dad says. “It will come to me.”
As if I could eat right now. “Maybe White Horse? That’s what it means in English.”
Dad gives me a scolding look. “I do know French, Lola.”
Probably just enough to order a mango cocktail in Tahiti, but I don’t challenge him on that.
“But that does add another tickle,” he ponders.
I tear off a piece of duck with my fork and bite down on it just to appease him so he doesn’t get distracted trying to encourage me to eat. It’s actually not half bad, delicious even.
“They claim to have brought Ideal Gentlemen on board even though he assures me that he’s not part of it,” I say, just to give them more information to work with.
“He?” Sergio interjects with a knowing smile.
“Bryce…Wilmington,” I eke out, trying to sound neutral about it. I grab my wine and take a sip. “They’ve been using his name as someone involved with the company, even though he isn’t.”
“Wilmington,” Dad says. “Now there’s a name that takes me back.”
“You knew the Wilmingtons?”
“Everyone knew the Wilmingtons, Lola.”
“Yes but, personally?”
Dad gives Sergio an overly amused smile. I turn to find Sergio’s eyes dancing with glee.
“What?” I ask, suddenly not giving a damn about Cheval Blanc in light of this air of something juicy.
“Pierce and Alice weren’t always as straight-laced as they would have you believe. Not that they probably remember much. It was the eighties after all.”
They both laugh at whatever inside joke is passing between them.
“Will you two clue me in?”
“It’s nothing, Lola. Sergio and I are just being two gossipy bitches.”
“I don’t mind a bit of gossip,” I hint.
Dad gives me a pursed look, as though he knows he’s being perfectly irresponsible, not setting any kind of example as a parent, but he just can’t help himself. Then he caves.
“The young Wilmingtons were regulars in the party circuit,” Dad says. “Not so much on our end of the spectrum, but then again, there was so much mixing and matching at these things who knew what anyone was. Not as much as in the seventies of course, when one really had to remain hidden, and you had no choice but to infiltrate the straight world. Still, one does hear things,” he says in a smugly cryptic voice, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “At any rate, the Wilmingtons weren’t quite as discriminating as they are now when it came to who they associated with. High or low, gay or straight, black or white, rich or poor. They didn’t care, as long as it was fun. And honey, we were fun!”
So the Wilmingtons liked to party in the eighties. Big whoop. It’s just a reminder of my own pathetically boring life. Even more, a reminder that we’re completely off track.
“But back to Cheval Blanc, or White Horse?”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Dad says, his bottom lip sticking out as he thinks hard on it. I watch him, secretly willing something to come to him that will clear up the mystery behind this company. At the very least, it will give me some insight as to who may have revealed what Bryce and I have been working on, if anyone.
“White horse, white horse, white horse,” Dad mutters to himself like it’s some mantra that will open the vault in his head.
I tepidly eat my duck, each bite making me more hungry.
When Dad suddenly perks up with a gasp, his eyes wide, I reactively drop my fork with a clink against the china.
“I’ve got it! Of course! The eighties!”
“The eighties?” I repeat in a prodding tone.
Dad turns to me with a smile that is almost impish. “The eighties.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bryce
“This is earlier than I expected,” I say when Lucien finally arrives at the bar we’ve agreed to meet at. “Was the party not as worth it as you thought?”
Lucien’s lips tighten with dismay and he waves it away. “Just running into people you’d rather not. It’s bound to happen in this small world of ours.”
Indeed.
“Drinks on me,” I say, getting the bartender’s attention.
We order beer and I wait for them to be served before I start the interrogation. If I felt shitty about this back in the office when I called him, I feel downright despicable right now. The two of us go all the way back to prep school, connected by the fact that we both definitely have father issues. His are more unfortunate than mine, I’m at least willing to admit. Photography was his escape, which has turned out well for him.
“So what’s up?” he asks after taking a long swig from his bottle.
“This Conniver business. More to the point, this idea I told you about? The corporation I was thinking of starting with Edie?”
A slightly taunting smile comes to his face. “The one that most certainly wouldn’t be mixing business with pleasure?”
I offer a half-smile. Under any other circumstances, I’d appreciate the ribbing.
“Apparently another company, or person, I’m not sure—at any rate, they’ve taken the idea and run with it ahead of us.”
“You’re shitting me?” He says, the beer halfway to his mouth.
The look on his face seems genuinely surprised, which is both a relief and a frustration. But I continue on.
“The kicker is, they’re using my name and my magazine to encourage others to join.”
“Ideal Gentlemen?”
I nod, taking a sip of my beer. “From what I’ve heard, they’ve already reached out to the editors at International Male and Obsessed.”
Lucien nods, as though those publications make sense, which they do.
“It’s called Cheval Blanc Media. Does the name ring a bell?”
Lucien’s jaw works to the side and his brow furrows with thought. “Nothing, man.”
“White horse?”
Again he shakes his head no.
“And I guess there’s no point in asking if you had anything to do with this?” I say, feeling disjointed enough to just get this over with.
“Oh yeah, I may have accidentally posted about it on Facebook. Sorry about that,” he says.
I nearly cough up the sip of beer I’ve taken, only to find Lucien laughing at me.
“In all fairness, you deserve that for asking me,” he says, smiling behind his bottle as he takes a sip.
“Fair play,” I say, sighing and taking another sip.
“Come on, Bryce. Me? The guy who probably spent more time at your house than I did my own growing up? Why would I screw you over that way?”
“You wouldn’t. Which just leaves me even more mystified. I questioned Smith, and I’m sure it’s not him either.”
“And Edie?”
“Don’t ask. We got into it today and I’m pretty sure I came out looking like the asshole.”
“Probably.”
I give him an irritated look and
he just laughs again.
“I wish I could find as much amusement in all of this,” I say, feeling disgruntled.
Lucien sets his beer down and gets serious. “So let’s analyze it. One, why would someone start such a corporation, and so soon? Maybe they were working behind the scenes with Conniver all along?”
I perk up at that. “And it’s odd that Conniver hasn’t said anything since they dropped the bomb over a week ago. Even with this smokescreen bullshit of supposedly auditing their holdings, they would have had some follow up by now. So why has it been radio silence since then?”
“In which case, some big money is probably at play,” Lucien says.
A troublesome thought. “And this name. Something about it has been eating me up ever since I learned that it means White Horse.”
“All the more so since they’ve been using your name and magazine without your knowledge.”
“So it’s got to be something personal.”
“Who the hell have you pissed off in the industry, Bryce?” Lucien asks, only half-joking.
“Everyone loves me,” I scoff, though the question does get me thinking. “Besides, who the hell has that kind of money and influence?”
He gives me a pointed look.
“As well as an interest in the industry?” I say, dismissing that idea. My father cares about magazines as much as I care about securities investments.
“You sure? I mean, business is business.”
“I’m sure. Besides, Dad would be the type to rub my face in it. He wouldn’t be this cryptic.”
“Wait a sec,” Lucien says, almost shooting out of his seat. He gives me a penetrating look. “White horse.”
“White horse,” I repeat, still completely lost.
“Your parents’ bedroom in the Hamptons?”
That’s no help. I haven’t been to the family home in the Hamptons since at least college, so it’s no wonder everything about it has become a faded memory.
But now it comes raging back with the force of a thousand-horsepower engine.
Or just one damn horse.
Lickety Split.
That was the name of the white horse my mother had growing up as a teenager. It died the year she and Dad got engaged. As a wedding present, he had a painting done of the horse for her. It hung in their bedroom in the Hamptons where I spent almost every summer. Lucien as well, more often than not.
Neither of us made a habit of sneaking into Mom and Dad’s massive master bedroom that was bigger than many people’s homes. Unlike the parents of many of our classmates, mine never had anything scandalous hidden away like dirty magazines or “toys.” If it weren’t for Pierce Numero Cuatro and Yours Truly, I’d wonder if my parents ever even had a sex life.
Dad’s true love was Wilmington Financial and Mom always busied herself with some nonprofit cause or another.
But that horse, particularly that painting, was revered by my mother. My father loved telling anyone about how he had the painting made as a tribute to their nuptials. That’s the main reason I remember it so well.
“Lickety fucking Split,” I mutter, then say what I really mean: “Fucking Dad.”
Lucien lifts his beer in salute to the sentiment. If I have father issues, he could write a book on the subject. His mother died when he was much younger, leaving him in the reluctant care of a father who was already fully committed to his second family.
I down the rest of my drink and get the bartender’s attention to order a bourbon, double.
“At least now I know where the money came from.”
“But why would your father pull this now?” Lucien asks. “You’ve had this magazine for how many years? And all of a sudden he’s making his move?”
“Obviously because he heard about this business with Conniver. According to my brother, they’ve known at least a soon as I found out, probably sooner.”
“Maybe they were working with Conniver this whole time? Hence the audit?”
“But that begs the question of why and why now? And again, why is he being so secretive about it?”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Lucien says, giving me a sympathetic look.
Going directly to my father.
I glower into my freshly poured glass of bourbon. As I swallow, another thought occurs to me.
“Shit,” I say, slamming the glass down.
“What?”
“This means Edie had nothing to do with this. She wasn’t the leak. Hell, there wasn’t a leak at all. Knowing my Dad, he probably couldn’t wait to fuck me over like this. Which makes me even more of an asshole.”
A subtly amused smile touches Lucien’s lips. “I hope you have some knee pads handy.”
I grimace. “I need to call her. She has a right to—”
Before I can finish that thought, my phone rings. I sigh and pull it out of my pocket. My brow rises in surprise when I see the ID on the screen. I quickly answer.
“Edie?”
“Bryce,” she says, almost breathless.
“Listen, Edie, I’m sorry about today. I was an idiot and as it turns out—”
“Never mind that,” she interrupts. “I know who is behind White Horse, at least I think so.”
“You do?” I ask in surprise.
“I think it’s your father, Bryce.”
How the hell did she figure it out? I’m too speechless to respond.
“Can we meet? I’m at my Dad’s place right now but—”
She’s interrupted by a man’s voice in the background saying, “Invite him over, Lola! We have plenty of food.” I listen to her respond in the negative and the two of them go back and forth long enough for me to find my voice.
“I’ll meet you there. Just give me the address,” I interject.
She hesitates before answering with resignation in her voice. “Actually, that might make sense, considering.”
I have no idea what that means, but by the time she’s told me she’ll text the address, I’m already out of my seat.
When I hang up, Lucien’s expression is beyond curious.
“What did she have to say?”
“She apparently figured it out before me,” I say just before finishing off my second drink. It packs a nice punch in my gut, which is already swirling with this new development.
Just how far down the rabbit hole does this thing go?
Instead of chasing a white rabbit, I’m chasing a white horse.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bryce
The townhouse is in one of the nicer neighborhoods of the Upper West Side, close enough to Central Park to be desirable real estate, but far enough away to avoid any wandering tourists. The door is opened by a man in his sixties with salt and ginger hair, a pleasant face, and a slight paunch that’s hidden well enough underneath his Dad sweater.
This must be the infamous Alfred Hartman. He looks far more domesticated than I would have assumed based on things I’ve heard about him from years ago.
“You must be Lola’s special friend,” he says with a conspiratorial smile.
I grin at the descriptor, also at the use of her real first name. My smile broadens even more when that very Lola rushes up behind him.
“I said I’d get the door, Dad,” she protests.
“Edie,” I say, drawing her attention. “Look, about today. I’m sorry.”
She smiles and the way her eyes glitter makes my heart stutter a beat. I could certainly get used to that smile. It feels like forever since I last saw her.
“Well, don’t just dawdle out there, come inside. Come, come,” her dad says, waving me in. “I’m Alfred, Lola’s father, but you can call me Alfie.”
I walk in past them as they step aside.
“Oh, he is handsome!” I’m startled by a Latino man, almost the same age as “Alfie.”
“Don’t you start,” Edie says to them in a warning tone. “He only came to help me figure this thing out with Cheval Blanc. The last thing we need is you two meddling
.”
“Yes, yes,” Sergio says in a dismissive tone. He comes over to link his arm into mine and guide me further in. “Now how did you and our Lola meet?”
“We actually live across the hall from one another.”
“Oh, do tell! That is one little tidbit our marshmallow left out,” Alfie says in a giddy voice.
“Dad,” Edie grouses as she follows us into the dining room. Something about all this makes me feel like I’m back in high school, meeting the parents before a date. I have no doubt Edie feels the same.
The table looks like they were in the middle of a meal when Edie called me. They’ve deliberately set a fourth place for me.
“We stuck the duck in the oven to rewarm,” Alfie says. “And I’m going to heat up the potatoes. We have plenty of wine for you. I think it’s going to be a fun night!”
“Not so fun considering who we’ll be discussing,” I say, sitting down across from Edie. “The question is, how the hell did you know it was my dad behind Cheval Blanc?”
Despite my obviously dark tone, both Sergio and Alfie giggle with secret delight.
“That definitely calls for wine,” Edie says in an ominous voice.
I don’t argue, despite the beer and bourbon from earlier doing a fine job of mellowing out my nerves.
When the duck is warmed up, and Alfie has portioned me off a heaping serving of everything despite my protests, they finally get to the point.
Almost.
“I for one find this to be an absolutely fortuitous happenstance,” Alfie says, looking back and forth between Edie and me. “It’s like the eighties all over again!”
“Without the horse,” Sergio says, which has the two of them laughing with amusement again.
“Anyone want to clue me in here? As far as I know, Cheval Blanc is in reference to my Mom’s horse from when she was a teenager. There’s a painting of it in my parents’ bedroom in the Hamptons.”
For some reason, this has the laughter rolling again. I give an exasperated look to Edie, who only stares back with a sympathetic smile.
“Dad, stop teasing him,” she says, turning to Alfie. “Just…tell him the story.”
Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance Page 18