Bryce: Ex-Business: An Ex-Club Romance

by Camilla Stevens

  It takes a full five minutes before “Mr. Wilmington’s secretary” finally comes to collect me. She’s at least in her early sixties, with a head of bleach-blonde hair fluffed to twice the size of her face. Reed thin, but dressed to kill. It’s a brassy sort of look that makes me think she probably refers to herself as a “broad,” but will take you to task if you dare to as well. Especially with that cynical, no-nonsense expression on her face. It tells me she knows exactly who I am, but she doesn’t give a single, solitary shit.

  “Bryce,” she says with a sardonic smile. “Follow me.”

  The quick pace she leads with tells me it certainly wasn’t her walk to the front that caused the hold up. Which means Pierce deliberately kept me waiting.

  I repeat, dick.

  She studies me with cool eyes as she gives a quick rap on Pierce’s door.

  “Come in,” I hear his voice say.

  She opens the door for me, still with that cooly sardonic look, then closes it after me.

  Despite being the owner’s son, Pierce doesn’t have a corner office. Dad’s nepotism ends at the front door, after which you have to earn your keep. I would chalk it up to integrity if I didn’t think Dad enjoyed putting our noses to the grindstone so much. Competing with men and women who have been in this masochistic game of finance since we were in grade school means Pierce still has a long trek to go.

  Still, the office is very nicely done and has a full window with a peek at Governor’s Island.

  “I was this close to going straight to the big man himself and leaving you in the dark,” I say.

  Pierce gives me a dry smile. “We both know you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to make me a witness, if only to prove how distanced you are from all of this.”

  “Speaking of which, care to direct me to his office?” Yes, it’s been that long since I was here. In fact, I don’t even think his office is on this floor.

  Pierce leans back to assess me, his fingers tented in front of him. “Right after you tell me what this is about.”

  “And ruin the surprise?”

  “If I’m going to lead you by the nose directly to the king, I need to know that my head won’t be on the chopping block when the dust settles.”

  “I didn’t realize he had such a firm grip on your balls.”

  “He has a firm grip on everything, Bryce. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll be at peace. And I know that information is power, so spill.”

  I think about digging my heels in. Shocking Pierce and Dad at the same time is just too good. Instead, I take my cue from him. I might as well get some information while I’m here.

  “What do you know about Cheval Blanc?”

  His face is blank, then creases into a look of confusion. “Cheval Blanc?”

  “I’ll take that as you knowing squat about it.” Which is interesting. Why is Dad being so coy about all of this? The first seeds of doubt begin to sprout in my head. Maybe Dad isn’t involved in this and Edie and I have it all wrong, despite everything said last night.

  “What is Cheval Blanc?”

  “It’s apparently a media corporation. Picking up the publications Conniver is likely to let go of, including mine.”

  “And you think Dad has something do with this?” He looks understandably skeptical.

  “I know Dad has something to do with this. I just can’t figure out why. Are you guys suddenly in the media business here?”

  “What makes you think Dad is involved?”

  “Cheval Blanc? White Horse? More importantly, the fact that my name and my magazine seem to be the selling point for this corporation. He might as well be waving a red flag.”

  “What’s this White Horse business?”

  “Lickety Split,” I say, unable to keep the perverse grin from my face.

  It takes him a moment. “Mom’s horse?”

  “The very one.”

  “That’s kind of tenuous, isn’t it Bryce? Dad has never shown an interest in the magazine business, beyond what securities might be attractive to our investors—and, FYI, literally none of them are these days.”

  “Hence the meeting with him,” I hint.

  “This isn’t as juicy as promised,” he says with a frown.

  I’m saving the plot twist for the actual confrontation. “And yet you knew nothing about it. I’m sure you’re as curious as I am to find out what Dad’s up to. More importantly, why.”

  “Don’t overestimate my interest in your affairs, Bryce. But I did make a promise.” He picks up the phone. “We should do this now. I know he’s got a phone conference with our offices in Singapore in a bit.” There’s something in his gaze that turns his blue eyes to steel at the mention of this.

  He presses a button and waits, eyeing me with disappointment.

  Oh, just you wait, dear brother.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he says as Dad picks up on the other end. “I’ve got Bryce here and he wants to meet.”

  I read his expression to see which way the wind is blowing in response to that. The slow grin that appears on his face is encouraging.

  So Dad has been expecting me.

  “Will do,” he says, setting the phone down. He faces me with a smile. “It looks like we have an audience with His Royal Majesty after all.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Bryce

  Dad doesn’t just have an office, he has an area. It is on a separate floor, just as I remembered, which makes sense since it takes up almost a quarter of the entire square footage. The entryway alone is bigger than Pierce’s office. The dark wood and slate features are so symbolic I’m surprised there isn’t a statue of a Greek titan thrown in as well.

  There are no less than four women situated in the open area before the space that houses a few conference rooms, a private bathroom, and a lavish sitting area with a chrome cappuccino machine and library.

  I doubt even the Oval Office could compare.

  Then again, I also doubt the President is as powerful as my father.

  The image of Dad snorting coke and eyeing Edie’s mom as she rode around naked on a horse would be humanizing if it wasn’t so perversely hilarious. And disturbing.

  I shake the image away, saving it for later. I fully plan on learning more about Cheval Blanc first, then using the party as a trump card if he decides to claim amnesia.

  “He’s expecting us,” Pierce says to one of the women closest to the main door.

  She gives him a pleasant smile, then eyes me with brief curiosity before nodding and tilting her head that way. I doubt Dad has any happy family photos sprinkled around his office that would familiarize her with me.

  Pierce walks right past and opens the door.

  Dad’s office is as stately as one would expect. It exudes wealth, but not opulence. The kind that tells the client you are doing quite well, thank you very much, but no you aren’t bilking your customers to achieve it.

  Dad has the same hard but lean jaw with a dented chin that both Pierce and I inherited. A straight nose and high brow that could have easily had him well suited to be a male model if he had chosen that path, especially with that salt and pepper thick head of hair. I’m sure the very idea would have him slicing right through anyone who suggested such a thing with just a gaze.

  He’s sitting behind his desk staring at the door expectantly with the same hard blue-eyed gaze that used to see right past all my bullshit as a kid. I attribute that stare to my ability to charm my way out of sticky situations to this day. With everyone but him, of course.

  “Good morning, Father. It’s been a long time,” I say with a cheerful smile.

  His mouth doesn’t so much as twitch. “Let’s dispense with the formalities. I have quite a busy day, and I think I know what this is about.”

  I walk in toward one of the chairs opposite him.

  “Don’t bother sitting, this won’t take long.”

  “Oh, but I’m still pretty floored at the idea that my own father would try to undermine me and the busi
ness I built from the ground up. So I think I will take a seat,” I say, meeting him with a level gaze as I sit down. The warm brown eyes I inherited from my mother may not penetrate as hard, but they can do a fair bit of damage when I’m feeling it. And I’m most definitely feeling it right now.

  “You mean the magazine—” I don’t miss the tone of disdain in his voice. “—that you somehow managed to make attractive enough to then sell to a publishing corporation? One that apparently has no loyalty to you whatsoever.”

  Something about that flips a small switch in me, but I’m too damn high on my horse to notice what it shines a glaring light on.

  “Is that why you decided to be so wonton in using my name to corral other magazines into this Cheval Blanc business of yours? Or did you think I wouldn’t pick up on the fact that it was you behind the curtain?”

  A thin, humorless smile barely cracks his lips. “Admittedly, I didn’t think you’d make the connection to your own father so quickly. In all fairness, that part wasn’t meant for you.”

  Whatever the hell that means.

  “Well, it isn’t as though I was in attendance at a certain party during which a white horse made an appearance. It certainly gives new meaning to the horse hanging in the bedroom of the Hamptons home.”

  I study Dad closely. Anyone who thinks poker players are masters at hiding their tells has never met a man in the business of handling securities for a living. But I’ve been reading Dad for a long time and I know when I’ve pierced that titanium skin of his.

  And that comment most certainly hit pay dirt.

  Even if it was just a slight twitch in his lips. For my father, that’s the equivalent of a nuclear explosion.

  He recovers quickly, tenting his fingers in front of him and leaning back in his seat. “And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, Bryce?”

  I stare at him a moment, wondering if he really expects me to spell it out for him right here in front of Pierce. “That you cheated on Mom with Cassandra LeFleur at that party—after she rode around naked on a white horse.”

  Dad’s eyes narrow in response. He leans in to pierce me with what little I can see of those icy blue irises.

  “That is a baseless accusation, and if it were uttered by anyone else, I’d already have my lawyers slapping you across the face with a lawsuit so devastating your eventual grandkids would be paying my estate from their piggy banks. But, seeing as how you are my son, I’m going to set you straight, under the assumption you actually give a shit about your mother, if not me.

  “Cassandra LeFluer—” I note the tone of utter contempt in his voice as he spits out her name, which is telling. “—making a complete fool of herself in yet another desperate attempt for attention has nothing to do with me, certainly not in the way you’re implying. I would cut off my own dick before I so much as considered cheating on your mother with that woman.”

  Whatever it is, there’s obviously some bad blood between the two of them. Perhaps Cassandra blackmailed him after the fact? That would certainly be enough to piss him off.

  “Since I’m short on both time and any patience that I’m willing to dedicate to either you or this topic, I’ll just give you the answer you went out of your way to come here for. Yes, I did start Cheval Blanc with the intention of creating a media corporation. Once I heard about the announcement from Conniver, I made my move.”

  Which means he wasn’t working with Conniver beforehand. He just saw an opportunity and took immediate action. A bit rash for someone like Dad.

  Too rash.

  I feel my gut begin to drop as a slow smile creeps to his face.

  “And yes, I did use your magazine to spread the word because it is in fact now mine. Probably purchased for more than what it’s worth. But for me, it’s absolutely priceless.”

  At least now I know what he meant by loyalty from Conniver. They probably jumped for joy when my father made the offer.

  “You son of a bitch,” I say in a low, dangerous tone.

  He idly closes his eyes as though the point is moot. When he opens them again, his gaze is as dark as my tone. “I also bought that filthy rag run by your little friend, Cassandra’s daughter. Lola something? Such an odd name.”

  That one takes a moment to sink in. When it does, I’m glad I decided to take a seat.

  “What the hell have you done, Dad?”

  “I’ve protected my interests, that’s what,” he seethes. “And now, I’m giving you a choice, just as I always have. Hopefully, this time, you’ll choose wisely.”

  I just stare hard at him waiting for him to get it out.

  “You can join me here at Wilmington. A junior-level position, of course—we all have to earn our chops. And in return, I’ll allow Contempo Woman to continue on. So long as you have nothing to do with that woman or her daughter. Ever.”

  I’m still so struck, I almost miss how insistent he seems on that last bit.

  “Or, you can go back to your precious Ideal Gentlemen,” he pauses for effect, making sure to train his gaze on me once again. “And I will destroy her magazine, right down to the last archival copy. And before you try to call my bluff, don’t think I’m ignorant about this little partnership between the two of you. The idea that a Wilmington would have anything to do with that family, quite frankly, is disgusting.” He spits the last word out as though just talking about them literally puts a bad taste in his mouth.

  “So it’s either my magazine or hers is what you’re saying?”

  His face mockingly transforms into one of deep consideration, then he shrugs. “Just to sweeten the deal, if you join Wilmington Financial, I’ll allow Ideal Gentlemen to continue on without you. You’ll be too busy working here, in your rightful place, to continue on as editor-in-chief.”

  My mind is working through all of this, trying to find either a catch or a loophole, and I come up empty. I should have known better than to go up against Dad half-cocked.

  “You really are a grade-A asshole,” I say in a surprisingly even tone.

  “Surely you should have realized this before now,” he says with a placid expression.

  “Whatever happened at that party must have been something big. Big enough to want to shut people up about it.”

  “Whatever did or didn’t happen at a random party in the eighties is none of your concern,” He says tightly, obviously getting worked up again. “And if you ever bring it up again, then I have no problem dissolving both magazines.”

  He exhales with satisfaction. “That said, you have until,” he checks his watch. “Let’s say ten o’clock exactly a week from now to decide. So next Tuesday I expect an answer. Then, we’ll get the ball rolling from there.”

  Dad exhales as though the meeting is officially over. “Now, I have a conference call with some people from Singapore, a venture that actually will earn me money.”

  I remain seated still staring at him with contempt.

  “Bryce,” Dad says in an impatient tone.

  “I’m gone,” I say, rising up. “Wouldn’t want Wilmington to miss out on another multi-million dollar deal.”

  “A billion actually,” he says with a sardonic look. His eyes slide to Pierce behind me with a note of pride in his eyes. “Thanks to your brother. This is the kind of important wheeling and dealing you’ll be involved in when you finally see the light and join the firm. Or you can continue pretending to live the good life with your little hobby.”

  I want to jump across the desk and strangle him.

  Instead, I turn around to walk out so I don’t have to look at his damn face anymore. Pierce is still leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. He has a slightly patronizing look on his face, as though to tauntingly ask, “how did you expect this to go down?”

  I slide my eyes away and pass him on my way out. I hear him follow me and once we are out of earshot of Dad’s team of assistants and secretaries he speaks up.

  “I don’t know what you thought would happen, but I could have told you Dad wou
ld have every base covered ten times over. At any rate, you promised a slaughter and you delivered. Just not in the way that you expected.”

  I stop in the middle of the hallway. “You do realize Dad cheated on mom with her at that party, Pierce. Why else would he go to all this trouble just to keep me from having anything to do with Edie or her mother? I don’t know why you’re defending him.”

  “Obviously I picked up on that,” he says, an angry glimmer coloring his gaze. We both favor Mom for obvious reasons. “That doesn’t mean I’m okay with it. But what does it matter? If no one has spoken about it since then what makes you think they will now?”

  “I don’t know, but now I’m even more determined to find out the details. And there’s still at least one person who can fill me in.”

  Which means Edie is going to kill me.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Edie

  I’m in my office with Veronica, informally hashing out article ideas for future magazines. There’s still a chance Conniver isn’t letting us go, and I want to be prepared just in case.

  I like to have these casual meetings with all the heads of the departments to help the free flow of ideas without the formality of a boardroom making everything seem official. Some of the craziest, yet most successful ideas have happened right here over two cups of coffee and chocolate macaroons.

  My cell phone vibrates (I always turn off the ringer during meetings) and I cast a brief glance at the caller ID. My mouth hitches up into a half-smile when I see that it’s Bryce.

  “Take it,” Veronica says. My eyes slide up to see her giving me a knowing smile. “It’s obviously someone you’d much rather talk to.”

  “Nonsense, he can wait. After leaving without saying goodbye this morning, it’s all he deserves,” I reply. My eyes go wide and I literally bring my hand up to my mouth when I realize what I’ve just let slip.

  Veronica laughs. “I don’t know why you’re being so secretive about it. If I had a man who brought that kind of smile to my face, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops. You might as well enjoy it publicly.”