26. Phoenix
Phoenix
I t wasn’t hard to convince Michaela to ditch the gala.
Thank God. Breathing the same air as Brock and Marie-Clémence is hazardous to my goddamn health.
The thought of spending any more time under the same roof as those two was nauseating.
I might have to tolerate them during the awards, but tonight, I’d rather not be in their presence.
It’s a beautiful, warm night, and the spectacular view of Paris under an indigo sky is incomparable. A chillout lounge vibe spills from the exterior speakers, adding to the ambience.
“That was ridiculous.” Michaela pops the last bite of French lemon tart into her mouth. “The pastry chefs at the Pompadour are going to make it impossible for me to stop stuffing my face with yummy sweet goodness.”
“Desserts here are decadent,” I say. “I could’ve asked our chefs to prepare something comparable to our Israeli feast, but nothing beats the real thing. Not to mention, I never miss the opportunity to stop by L’As every time I’m in town.”
“The last time I was in Paris, I ate at L’As nearly every day. It’s so good.”
“I still can’t get over your mastery of French.” I change the subject.
“I have an accent, I forget how to say certain words, and I’m not always the best with complicated French conjugation, but I speak it well enough to shut that woman up and put her back in her place.”
“It was priceless,” I say. “Did you learn French in school?”
“I’ve been studying French for years. On top of the two summers in Nantes, I spent six months in the Pays de la Loire, in western France, after graduating.
I stayed with a lovely family. I chose that particular area because it’s one of France’s wine regions.
I was getting ready to step into the family business full-time.
Then, Thana happened and my dream went to hell. ”
He nods. “Thana, the two-timing witch.”
“That, she is.”
We each take a long sip of our Sauvignon blanc, eyeing each other over the rim of the glass.
“Speaking of another she-devil, can we talk about Brock and Marie-Clémence?” Michaela puts an end to the mellow mood of the evening. I knew this was coming. “We’re bound to bump into them again in the next few days.”
“You’re right. As much as I’d like to, we can’t escape them.”
“Did you and Marie-Clémence date or… sleep together?”
No waffling. She goes straight for it.
“We had a thing for about six months.”
“How does Brock fit into the mix?”
I consider her question.
“I don’t want to pry, but whatever happened between the three of you must’ve been pretty significant. The palpable animosity hung thick in the air. Shouldn’t I know why?”
I wish I didn’t have to go down memory lane, but she deserves an explanation.
“Marie-Clémence was a makeup artist. She mainly worked TV shows. Now, her full-time job is being Brock’s wife.
We met at a function. There was an instant attraction.
We started seeing each other. It was casual, and she knew what to expect.
Not that I dated, but I was in no headspace for anything more.
Barron’s death forced me to step into a role I wasn’t prepared for.
I had big shoes to fill. And, I was still grieving for Mom.
MC seemed understanding enough at the time.
” I pause. “Brock was Barron’s assistant.
He was twenty-seven when I took over my brother’s position and he had lofty aspirations, which I encouraged.
As I was learning the ropes, I relied heavily on him. That was a mistake.”
“He wasn’t supportive?”
“He was supportive. I didn’t know it was a facade. While he was smiling at me, he was backstabbing me to advance his career.”
“What? How?”
“A lot of the deals we were vying for seemed to slip from between our fingers right when it was time to close. I thought it was me. I was certain I was making rookie mistakes and losing those prospects right before they signed the contract. Dad assured me it had to be more. This went on for a while. Time and time again, we were losing out on amazing properties. And the worst part is, we were losing out to the Madigans––”
“That must’ve been so maddening.”
“It was infuriating, and it was driving me out of my mind because I couldn’t figure out why it kept happening,” I say.
“The board was growing impatient with me. I didn’t have an explanation.
Everything became clear when I returned early from a business trip to London.
Because I was so dead set on proving myself to the board, I asked my chauffeur to drive me to the office instead of going back to my place.
I wanted to fine-tune a few proposals for upcoming meetings.
Since it was nine o’clock at night on a Friday, the executive floor was deserted.
As I was approaching my office, I heard moans.
I thought it might be the cleaning crew.
I was about to enter my office to find out what the hell was going on when a woman’s voice stopped me dead in my tracks.
It was a voice I knew too well. A voice that was calling out Brock’s name, pleading with him to make her come all over his face. ”
A violent torrent of emotions swirls through me, flashing back to that day.
“I assume it was Marie-Clémence,” she says.
I sneer. “I opened the door to find MC spread out naked on my desk with Brock sitting on my chair, eating her out.”
“What did you do?”
“For a long moment, I stood there as my brain tried to compute what I was witnessing. Since her eyes were closed, MC was unaware I had caught her red-handed.”
“Unbelievable,” Michaela says.
“By the time Brock made her come, she was calling out all the saints up above. When Brock stood up—buck naked, unsheathed cock on alert—he froze in shock when he caught me standing there, staring right at him.”
“He must have been freaked out.”
“He was as white as a ghost and his rock-hard cock turned limp. MC must’ve sensed my presence because she opened her eyes. She panicked so much, she rolled off my desk when she saw me.”
“How did they react to being caught?”
“They went into this pathetic song and dance of, it’s not what it looks like , but I didn’t have two shits to give.”
“You caught them naked, and you heard Marie-Clémence begging Brock to make her come. That’s pretty black and white.”
“Exactly. I called security to have them escorted out of the building. I revoked Brock’s security card and made sure every security guard knew he was persona non grata. I was livid.”
“It’s understandable you were angry with them. They betrayed you.”
“They were doing a lot more than sleeping together. They were conspiring against our company.”
Her eyebrows hit her forehead.
“What do you mean?”
“I was pleasantly surprised by MC’s interest in what I did and how I was adapting to my new responsibilities. It’s such a departure from her profession, but she was full of questions every time we were together, and she seemed to soak up every detail.”
“She was playing you?”
“Like Brock was.”
“How did you find out?”
“I couldn’t prove it then and I still can’t now, but I’m certain Brock was feeding information to Ripley Madigan. I may not have proof, but I’m certain Marie-Clémence was feeding Brock intel.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I made the mistake of allowing her to hang out at my place when I had to leave early for the office. Sometimes she’d come by the office and I’d hand her the key to my old penthouse when I was caught up in a meeting or on a conference call.
It was casual, but I felt comfortable with her.
I always brought files home. Left home alone, she was able to snoop to her heart’s content. ”
“Why do you say you couldn’t prove it? It sounds like you could.”
“When I called my father and brothers to tell them I found my assistant fucking the woman I was seeing, Dad was puzzled I’d found them in my office, of all places.
Why not a conference room or Brock’s office?
That got me thinking. They seemed at home in my office.
A little too cozy. Dad demanded our tech team analyze Brock’s computer and his company phone. ”
“Did they find anything?”
“Brock had several booked time slot entries in his calendar marked only with RM,” I say in quotation marks.
“There was also a string of texts from RM. All of them had cryptic messages like, ‘I just texted you something. Check your other phone.’ Or ‘You’re sure she won’t turn on us?
’ Or ‘Can she dig a little deeper?’ ” I pause. “Turns out, RM was Ripley Madigan.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I wish that episode of my life was a bad dream, but it was more like a horrible nightmare.”
“So why couldn’t you nail Brock’s ass to the wall?”
“We never found the other phone Ripley alluded to. My guess is any secret conversation they were having was happening on that other phone. Without it, we couldn’t go after Brock or Ripley.
‘RM’ marked in a calendar would never hold up in court.
Sure, we called RM’s number from Brock’s company phone and we confirmed it was Ripley, but that wasn’t enough.
There was nothing concrete we could use to pin Brock with corporate espionage, even if all the signs pointed to it.
Brock was playing me, which explains why Ripley’s team always one-upped us.
I even hired a contact of mine who heads a topnotch security firm to see if he could find anything that could help us, but it was too late.
By then, Brock and Ripley knew the cat was out of the bag, they had time to cover their tracks by getting rid of any evidence. ”
“Brock is such a tool,” she says. “I still can’t get over Marie-Clémence’s betrayal. If she was more interested in Brock, why not be upfront about it?”
“After I kicked them out, she made sure to text me to let me know she was sleeping with Brock and me at the same time. She was being spiteful. Realization hit me with the force of a heavyweight champion’s blow.
Her interest in my work made sense. She was another pawn in Ripley’s game—and most certainly paid well for her role. ”
“They’re awful people.”
I nod. “Brock and MC made me look like a fool. It was humiliating. Because of them, we upped security measures by installing high-tech keyless touch-pad locks on the doors of every office on the executive floor. They’re tamper-proof Wi-Fi-smart locks, which can only be unlocked via a secure smartphone app.
Only Dad, my brothers, our head of security, Dad’s long-time executive assistant, and I know all the combinations.
That’s also why elevators require a key card to access the executive floor.
I will never underestimate anyone ever again.
As far as I’m concerned, anyone can be a backstabber. ”
“Smart.”
“Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me and you don’t get to fool me again,” I say. “Ripley must’ve dangled a golden carrot in front of Brock’s face. He never had any qualms about being ambitious and since Ripley would sell his mother’s soul to secure a business deal, it was a match made in heaven.”
“I guess that explains why Brock works for Ripley now,” Michaela says.
“Two weeks after I unceremoniously kicked Brock out of my office, I caught wind he was working for Ripley as a VP of boutique acquisition or some bullshit title like that. From my understanding, he heads the team that buys out family owned hotels looking to sell.”
“Evidently, it pays to be a snitch.”
“I blew a gasket.” I close my hand into a fist. “That position was Brock’s reward for allowing Ripley to profit from our hard work and strategic thinking. Six months later, as I was putting the MC and Brock debacle behind me, I found out they got married.”
“Brock and his wife form the perfect couple––two venomous snakes in blissful marital harmony.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her comment. “Well said.”
“It’s been a recurring prayer since yesterday morning, but I’m so grateful Daddy didn’t hand me over to Ripley,” Michaela says.
“I know he had no intentions of marrying me, but the thought of being his captive prisoner is nauseating. From everything you said yesterday, I’m sure he would’ve treated me like a whore. ”
She’s right. He would’ve. In Ripley’s world, women are disposable cunts meant to be used. Nothing more. Nothing less.
I reach across the table and open my hands.
She obliges and places hers into mine.
I squeeze them before bringing them to my lips and dropping a soft kiss against them.
“Your father made the wager of a lifetime with the most precious person in his life,” I say. “I’m the lucky guy he trusted. Looks like his gamble paid off for both of us.”
“Looks like it,” she says.
Something passes between us, and this fake marriage doesn’t feel so fake.
“Not to mention, I’m fairly certain you make for a much better lover than Ripley,” she says.
I like where this conversation is going.
“Speaking of which, I made you a promise after that brilliant performance, Mrs. Konig.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “I might need you to refresh my memory. So much has happened tonight, I can’t keep track anymore.” Her flirtatious tone doesn’t go unnoticed.
I stand up and round the table.
I extend a hand. “Let’s go inside. I’ll remind you.”
“Shouldn’t I know what I’m getting into?”
My gaze burns over her exposed shoulders, and my nostrils flare. “I’m going to fuck you hard in nothing more than your heels, your wedding ring, and the necklace I gave you to show my appreciation for having my back tonight.”
She grabs my hand, her green eyes veiled with lust.