“Yes, but we are right on it,” my father answered. I gave my assistant a knowing smirk.
“Yes, he said you hired Claude Rene to take photos. He is a favorite of mine. An artist. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered to myself. We didn’t have any relationship with the exclusive bastard, so I didn’t have any idea why Henry had the nerve to tell him that bullshit. What was wrong with that fucking asshole? When I saw him, I was going to punch him in the balls.
“Excuse me,” Jaques said on the other end.
“Sorry, sir. My other son choked on his coffee.” My father glared at me like I’d lost my mind, as if I was the one screwing over this company one major fuckup at a time.
“You have another son?” he asked, sounding super suspicious of us through no fault of his own. My brother and father had to take all the blame for that.
“Yes, my younger son.”
“It must be wonderful to be blessed with two boys. C’est magnifique.”
“Thank you. I am. My son, James Keaton, is assisting to ensure your campaign goes off smoothly.”
“Are you a part of the business, Mr. Keaton?”
“It is a family business,” I lied. I didn’t want the man to believe that my father brought me in because he mismanagedthe project. Now I’d have to pull a miracle out of my ass to turn this campaign around in less than a week.
“Great. Shall we get…how do you say? The ball rolling?” he said in a thick French accent.
“Yes, we’ll get right on it, Mr. Jaques.”
“Très bien.” He ended the call, and now I had to run interference and figure out how the hell I’d get Rene to take the photos or where Rene even was at present.
“Dad, we need models that would suit the look of the perfume. I need to get a hold of my asshole brother.” My first call was to him because I wanted answers. No, I needed to demand answers from the prick, and I required them fast.
I dialed his number, and he picked it up on the first ring. “Why, hello, Jimmy.”
“Don’t call me that, asshole. Why would you lie to that man?” I barked.
“Who? And about what?” Of course, he lied to every soul he met.
“Jaques.”
“It just slipped out, and if you keep talking, something else is going to slip out. I’m kind of busy.” I heard the sounds of slapping flesh. Either I’d been so pissed at him or he’d paused his activities, but I hadn’t heard him fucking until now.
“You stupid prick. We have a mess you made, and you’re fucking someone right now.”
“Yes, I needed to de-stress. I’ll call you back.” He ended the call like the smug bastard that he was while I stood in my father’s office, wanting to punch someone in the face. I was hitting the ring tonight. My assistant looked right at me.
“I’ll call Tommy and make sure he’s ready for you—say six?” she asked as she pulled out her cell.
“That’s great, Elizabeth. Thanks.” She stepped away to make the call. “I need to find a way to get ahold of this photographer and make a deal with him.”
“He does live here as well.” Yes, but just because he lived in New York didn’t mean he wasn’t swamped or even on vacation. Hell, he might just tell me to go fuck myself. I searched the internet for his number and found one listed for his assistant. If I could get past them, I might get in.
“Hello, my name is James Keaton, with Keaton Ad Agency. I was wondering if I could speak with Mr. Rene.”
“Mr. Keaton, Mr. Rene is currently in the middle of a shoot. He’ll be in it all day. If you’d like to speak with him, you’ll have to come to the studio today before he departs for his holiday tomorrow.”
“A holiday?” My shoulders fell and my temple began this slow, steady throbbing like a bongo drum.
“Yes. He’ll be gone for a month.”
“Oh God. This can’t be happening.” That drum picked up the beat.
