PROLOGUE
LOUIS
Zack and Bob Johnsonare the business partners I've never wanted. Loud, arrogant, rude, brash Americans. Yeah, I know. I sound like a snotty Frenchman. I fucking am. A Parisienne through and through, which is the worst kind of Frenchman, if you go by stereotypes. But I'm also a worldly business owner who built a fashion empire from the ground up. I've seen enough of life to know stereotypes are bullshit.
There are kind, polite Frenchmen. Just like there are good, refined American business owners. People with manners and ethics and morals. But the Johnsons… just aren't that. Their dad made the family rich with a fast food joint that took off in the sixties in Texas and grew across the United States, becoming a multi-million dollar franchise by the mid-seventies. The company moved into grocery stores with a frozen food division and into backyards with grilling equipment, too. It wasn't until Daddy Johnson started having health issues ten years ago, and a battle ensued for C.E.O. that would have rivaled the best episode ofSuccession, that the company diversified into auto racing. Because the sons wanted it.
And that’s how I’m here, in hot and humid Houston, Texas, sitting across an obscenely large conference table from Zack Johnson and his brother Bob. Because they needed millions, and I had millions, and I wanted to invest in a racing team. Not for me, but for my son.
Bob clears his throat, making this thick, wet sound that makes me want to shudder. "I don't know how this will work now."
“The same way it was working last week,” I reply, trying not to sound as annoyed as I am. Luckily my thick French accent when I speak English always makes me sound slightly annoyed, so he isn’t going to notice a difference. “Nothing has changed.”
"We're a family-run business. We have… strong Christian values and your son… I mean, first the paternity issue…"
“Two different paternity tests proved he wasn’t the father,” I remind Zack.
“And now… the accusation by a member of your staff,” Zack shoots back. Like I’m a fool who forgot.
“Accused is not convicted. And it’s aformermember of my staff,” I say because facts are key here. “She was fired weeks before she made the accusation.”
"It's an image issue for the entire teamifhe continues to drive for us,” Bob adds.
“Heisdriving for you,” I reply, again, cooler than a cucumber because regardless of this woman’s lies, I hold the cards in this business relationship. “You’ve had image issues before, so this isn’t new. Remember when everyone was talking about how you lost so much money in the E. coli outbreak settlement at your restaurants that you weren’t going to have enough money to keep the Formula One team going? You survived that crisis by taking my money, which guaranteed my son a seat on your team.”
“Yes but… PR nightmares cost more money.” Bob pulls off his hat, a cowboy hat, of course, and places it on the table. Then he takes one of his meaty hands and wipes away the sweat plastering what’s left of his fine hair to his oddly squarish head. Look, I’m usually not this judgmental or crass about people’s looks, but I’m fighting for my son. His career and his reputation. I’m a single dad, by choice, and the biggest baddest mama bear you’ve ever seen. Proud of it.
“I’ll handle his PR,” I offer. “On my dime. On top of the money I’ve already invested.”
Zack glances at Bob. “He just needs to clean up. Settle down. Last night he was out at some bar, drunk, with an Influencer or some such nonsense. The pictures in the papers make him look….”
“Like he isn’t taking this—us, our brand, and his job with us—seriously,” Bob finishes for his brother.
“I’ll hire the best public relations, just like I got him the best lawyer for this false accusation,” I fold my arms over my chest, which is covered in one of my own designer suits. “I. Will. Handle. It.”
Bob still looks leery but Zack doesn’t. At least not as much as he did. I lean forward and decide to gently explain to these men how it’s going to go. Because they honestly don’t have a choice. “I am not just saying this as a blind-eyed parent. Gabriel’s innocence will be proven in time. But the simple fact is you have two options. Stay the course, with Allard Couture money bankrolling this season and my son as your second driver, or drop him and repay me.”
“There’s nothing in our contract that says if we drop Gabriel we have to repay you,” Bob says, his voice now too growly for my liking. “You wanted it that way.”
I did. Because I didn't want Gabriel to be saddled with being called a pay driver, which is someone who only gets a seat on a team because he's bringing bank, not because he knows how to drive and win. But my rightfully talented son has been labeled it anyway so I might as well play the card. This fucking sport…merde.
I stand, done with this meeting. “But there is also no morality clause in that contract so if you fire him for something that hasn’t been proven, wewillsue and Iwillget my money back. And then I’ll just buy the entire team from you when you can’t afford to keep it going. You seem to forget the four sponsors that came on board when our deal was announced. Because of me.”
“We lost two different ones when the most recent scandal broke about Gabe,” Zack says.
"I'll find you more," I throw out with confidence because I fucking will. You watch.
The two men exchange glances again. Zack turns his ruddy face to me. “Can we get that in writing?”
“No. Because you don’t need it in writing because it’s a favor,” I reply. “I don’t owe you this. I gave you your options. Keep him, and my money, or deal with the legal hellfire I will rain down on you. You can call my assistant with your decision. Or email me.Bonne journée.”
I walk out of the boardroom and don't stop walking until I'm out of the building. Henri is behind me the entire time. Like my shadow, silent but always there. His technical title is Director of Global Affairs, but he's just an executive assistant with a marketing degree. But he's efficient, smart, and puts up with my type-A personality.
I resist the urge to curse the Texans. I remind myself of all the fine, charming American men I’ve dated. And that this isn’t about their nationality. This teamisa good fit for Gabriel, even though it’s owned by cretins.
I yank my cell phone from the pocket of my pants before I get into the waiting SUV, which thankfully has tinted windows and the AC already blasting. I am not a fan of air-conditioning normally, but in Texas, it's required. I punch Gabriel's number on my cell. My son,mon coeur, sends me to voicemail. I end the call. No point in leaving yet another message. He hasn’t responded to the last six. I swear under my breath.
"You know it's going to make it very hard to save his reputation and clean up his image if he won't even take your calls," Damien murmurs quietly like his tone can soften the blow of that blunt statement. It can't. Damien is the head of my legal team. I had him waiting in the car in case things got ugly. He's working in tandem with Henri on Gabriel's latest image issue.
