“What’s her story?”Margot’s smile is almost predatory.
My sister is a terror when she smells weakness.She doesn’t crave scandal—those require cleanup—but a whiff of embarrassment?That she savors.I once believed it came from wanting Father’s approval, but even with the CEO title, she still thrives on mockery.It’s how she convinces herself she’s superior.
I rest my hands on the chair’s back, narrowing my gaze, calculating how to explain Brie without surrendering anything private.
“You’re not going to sit?”She crosses a leg and drums her fingers on her knee, nails the same burgundy as her sky-high boots.Even her leisure is a performance.
“I don’t have time.As you heard, I have a meeting and I’m already late.What brings you here unannounced?”I’d ask why she isn’t staying with me, except that I know my sister and there’s little she loves more than a splendid hotel suite and Manhattan has those in abundance.
She exhales.“We have a situation.”
Of course we do.
I wait, but she’s silent.Lips pursed, but her expression is something more than business.
“Is Father unwell?”If so, why fly here?
“Mother and Father are fine—sun-drunk in Greece.”She pauses.“But he’s concerned.”Her long, thick lashes flutter.
My sister never modeled, but she could have—her perfectly arched dark eyebrows, expertly applied charcoal shadow, and what are undoubtedly high-end augmented lashes are truly stunning.It’s probably why she’s got a thing for changing the shade of her irises the way some change lipstick color.
Another sigh.Now she’s drawing it out unnecessarily, and I don’t have the time.
“What is it, Margot?What could I have possibly done that concerns him while on another bloody continent?”
“There’s an employee you’re considering firing.You can’t.”
“Excusez-moi?”The French slides out before I can stop it.Warning enough.
“Edward Thorne.”
I go still.
“What about him?”But even as I ask, ice forms in my stomach.How does she know?Tommy knows I’m firing an employee, but I never gave him a name.
“Have you heard of The Magpie?”
“Why have you?”My stare hardens.Inside, a cold, steady Christ almighty.
“So you do know.Then hear me clearly: stop whatever investigation you’ve begun.I made an error sending Alicia Morgan to you.”
She unfolds her leg and rises, smoothing out her burgundy leather skirt, circling the room until she stops at the billiard table, as if choosing her next move.“But, in my defense, Morgan is someone we want at our disposal too, and she didn’t share her reasons for needing to reach you, or that she planned to pursue a thorough investigation of your little sex club.”
“It’s not a sex club.”The words leave through clenched teeth.
“Spare the outrage, Adrien.We’re Magpie clients.”
“You buy blackmail?”My voice lowers.“Or is it gossip now?”
She licks her bottom lip then sucks it in to chew on it.It’s a look I’m familiar with.She’s calculating how to best me—but this is insanity.
“We purchase intelligence—market forecasts, design leaks.That’s why d’Avricourt Luxe is always one step ahead.Call it competitive insight; Father calls it tradition.Now, before you get riled, no, we didn’t know at the time of your acquisition that your club is an information source for The Magpie.Obviously, they source our information from alternative sources.”
I turn to the window.New York gray presses against the glass.I need distance before I say something I’ll regret.
“Yes.Father believes in one torchbearer at a time.A ceremony of corruption.And I’m not authorized to share this with you, but I know you better than our father.I recognize your stubborn side and as far as I can tell, this is the only way to convince you to stop what you’ve started.”
Her words replay but I still have questions.“So we’re a client—one among many buying secrets.And The Sanctuary is one of their sources.”
