I close my eyes briefly. Dad’s nonsensical rivalry has been going on for years, although the only people who seem to be aware of it are him and his assistant Joey.
It’s possible Lucienne wants something similar—because there’s some rivalry only she knows about. But why would she want to marry somebody from the Sebastian Jewelry fortune? Why not a handsome guy who’d be ecstatic to marry a meal ticket? She’s only twenty-five. Doesn’t she want somebody closer to her age? Someone whose hobbies include clubbing and snorting coke? I’m a thirty-four-year-old CEO who’s set in his ways. The only exciting thing I do these days is play tennis, because polo matches take too long. And she probably doesn’t even know how to hold a racket.
Assuming she doesn’t have some nefarious intent to screw my family out of the shares, she’s making me suffer over some passing fancy.
Damn her.
I hate her for it. I want to punish her.Nobodycorners me, tries to control me like some soulless puppet and gets away with it.
I’m going to find out what’s truly important to her and rip it from her in a way that doesn’t damage Sebastian Jewelry. That’s the only way to even the scales.
But there’s no time to stew over how to strike back. My phone pings, reminding me that I have a meeting with the Comtoises.
This won’t be pretty. But it’s necessary.
I’m a fair man, after all. Lucienne won’t be the only one to suffer.
Christoph’s voice comes over the intercom. “Your family’s here. I put them in the Topaz Room.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Your mother really wanted some tea, though…” he adds hesitantly.
“And…?”
“I told her we were out.”Like you ordered me to. I can hear the silent addition. His low throat clearing betrays his discomfort with the lie.
“Good.” Mom should know this is no friendly conference.
I put on my jacket and head out of my office, carrying an accordion folder stuffed with documents my lawyer has drafted.
The Topaz Room is one of our most basic conference rooms. It has a view of the city, but nothing else. A long oak table and seven executive chairs, upholstered in black faux leather.
This is where I fired Preston.
There are no refreshments. Displeasure and tension stretch in the air like violin strings pulled too tight.
On one side of the table are my grandparents. Grandmother is in a jumpsuit that flows over her petite frame perfectly. The fabric’s satiny, and it’s in the exact shade of pastel blue from Sebastian Jewelry’s logo. If she thinks that’ll soften me into accepting my “duties” stoically, she’s mistaken.
She must not be feeling too confident. Although she’s smiling serenely, one corner of her mouth is higher than the other—a sign that she’s uncomfortable. A fifteen-millimeter South Sea pearl of exceptional luster glows on her finger, a gift from Grandfather on their thirtieth anniversary.
He’s holding that hand, running the pad of his thumb over the stone. He says it helps him feel more connected to her, but it’s really a supportive gesture because he can tell she’s unhappy. His silver hair is slicked back, revealing his high forehead. There’s nothing but open friendliness in his deep brown eyes.
But I know better than to be fooled. He’s one of the best poker players in the family.
On the opposite side sit Mom and her husband Travis. She’s decked out, more so than last time, in a bright scarlet suit and smoky eye makeup that say, “Nobody messes with me.” The same diamonds are around her throat again, and she has a matching bracelet on her wrist as well, which Dad gave her because she asked on a whim. I hope that isn’t a hint that I should do the same and give her whatever she wants, because Dad and I are polar opposites. He thrives on scandals and being obnoxious. I like my life orderly and calm.
Mom is probably under the delusion that she needs to come down on me stronger than last time because I haven’t given her an answer to the outlandish proposal. She’ll never understand I’m not interested in taking responsibility for Preston’s unfortunate failure to master the art of keeping his dick where it belongs.
Travis is your typical dark-haired, dark-eyed pretty boy with the square jaw Mom loves so much. Now that I think about it, he kind of looks like Dad. But unlike Dad, Travis is quiet and unassuming. Or at least he tries to give that impression. But you don’t get to marry—and keep—somebody like my mother by being meek and timid. He has a few sneaky moves up his sleeve.
“If there’s no hot tea, could we at least have some ice water?” Mom says. “Your assistant just left without asking. It’s so rude. I thought we taught you better.”
My grandparents and Travis nod.You’ve been a bad boy, Sebastian.
“There’s no water either, Mother,” I say as I take the seat at the head of the table.
Uncertainty slackens her jaw. Wariness settles over my family. They know I don’t call her “Mother” unless I’m out of patience, and they were probably hoping the intervening two weeks had replenished my tolerance.
