4. Roman
Ihad just finished a quick meeting with the execs in Sweden when Nelson brought my morning coffee in. The first thing I noticed were the two French pastries on a dessert plate.
“Morning, sir,” Nelson said, placing the tray on my desk.
“Morning Nelson, so what do we have here today?”
“Oh, remember the madeleines yesterday?” He poured my coffee and cream.
Did I remember the madeleines? How could I forget?
“Well, what I didn’t tell you was that your father’s new reader has been gracing us with baked goods every morning. She’s a magician in the kitchen.”
Not the only place where she’s a magician, but please carry on.
“Anyway,” Nelson continued. “These are profiteroles, a French choux pastry ball filled with vanilla bean cream and glazed with toffee caramel.
The warm feeling inside me was back, and I had to put my best nonchalance to the test. “How thoughtful of you. I’m looking forward to eating them.”
“Will that be all, sir?” Nelson asked formally.
“It’s all, thank you.”
As Nelson walked to the door, I relented. “Actually there is something, Nelson.”
He faced me again. “Yes?’
“Will you please put an audio recorder in my father’s room, something I can monitor from here?” I asked as casually as possible.
“Sorry, sir? You mean… Yes, yes fine I could do that.”
“I would also like for that to stay between you and me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I just want to be more aware of how things are going without physically intruding.”
“No explanation needed,” Nelson said lightly. “Your concerns are noted, but I would like to add that the reader’s efforts are well-intentioned. We’re all touched by her attempts to get your father well. I’ll let you know when things are set up.”
“Thank you, Nelson.”
I waited until he left before I lifted the first profiterole, inspecting it with my newfound knowledge of French pastries. Not that I was viewing them through the eyes of an expert, but they looked absolutely perfect.
Was I influenced by the fact that Isabel made this? Oh yes. However, I was going to judge the taste by her standards; the same standards the prestigious Belmont Hotel had apparently failed miserably.
The madeleines were small masterpieces, but they also didn’t appear particularly difficult to make. Not that I would know, but anyway.
Profiteroles,on the other hand, looked like they required some skill to make. That first bite melted in my mouth, and there was no denying these things had just become the second highlight of my day.
My glimpse of the nymph this morning being the first.
Then it struck me that the profiteroles resembled the pastry she’d torn apart in the penthouse, brushing the whipped cream over my very eager cock. I’d watched her lick off every morsel before she crawled over me and slowly slid down, inch by inch until I filled her up.
The memory created a growing desire that absolutely no one but Isabel could satiate. I felt powerless against it, and powerless wasn’t a feeling I was at all familiar with. Until now.
I was also unfamiliar with this torment clawing through me. All I wanted to do was go to Isabel and apologize for leaving her to wake up alone in the penthouse. And for having to face Steven and Celeste.
I wanted to explain to her what an impossible situation I was in. The most ironic thing of all was Isabel trying so desperately to mend my father, the one man who stood in the way of any future we might have together.
I couldn’t imagine what she would make of that. My only hope was that she’d want nothing to do with me anymore, solving the problem for both of us.
That was also my biggest fear.
When I wanted something in business, I went to great lengths to get it. The difference here was that money and savvy weren’t factors at all. This involved more delicate components, most of which had been foreign to me before I met Isabel. I finally had to admit that the luminous nymph had become my kryptonite.
The meeting with the board members was called in, saving me from wallowing any further in matters of the heart. One by one the board members appeared on the big screen. When they were all finally there, I joined the meeting. “Gentleman, good morning.”
There was a chorus of greetings, and one of them, Richard Ford, who was also the closest thing to a best friend my father had, smiled at me. “Roman, my boy. We took our first vote this morning. It was unanimous, but we do have a few final questions.”
“I’m ready when you are,” I said, and took a seat behind my desk to settle in for the grilling.
The next hour was a blur of questions, and my answers were the best I could give. Everything rushing toward the end, when it seemed all but certain that I would be the obvious choice to take my father’s place as chairman of the board. At least for the interim, until he could take his rightful place again.
The chances of that were probably slim, but not if one trusted in Isabel’s faithful belief that the possibility was not as far-fetched as everyone else seemed to think.
It was too early for a whiskey, but there was a moment when I wished I could go to my father’s room and simply sweep Isabel off to my apartment to celebrate with a bottle of her favorite champagne, Laurent-Perrier Grand Siecle.
My analytical mind throttled the idea immediately. After all, what was there to celebrate exactly? This victory cemented the very doom I dreamed of thwarting.
I had to think about all of this carefully, and the first thing I had to figure out was how Isabel felt. If there was a remote chance she’d be willing to forgive me, I could at least start looking for a way to make this work for us. How, I had no fucking idea. I’d have to explore every possibility, and put the question to Isabel. In the end it should be her decision to make.
But now that I’d set myself upon this course, there were no lingering doubts. No more yielding to what-ifs. I had to see where this could go, and I was curious about the woman who’d evoked these impossible feelings inside of me.
Her beauty aside, there was something about Isabel so immensely intriguing, if complex, that I wanted to unravel it layer by layer. Until I fully understood what kind of woman it took to temper the unyielding character of a Belmont man.