Chapter 8 #2
The kettle sings and I make us all a cup of coffee and weave through the furnishings to deliver Jonty’s. “Merci,” he replies as he takes a sip. “Did you give any more thought to the auction?”
“I did and no, I didn’t come up with anything.” I sigh as I turn on my computer.
“Well…what cardigan are you wearing?” Helene calls. “Everyone is asking.”
“Umm.” I frown as I think. “It’s vintage Chanel, I think it’s seventies from the spring collection.”
“You know what will be the next question,” she calls.
“I got it at a flea market in Paris,” I call back as I try to focus on what I’m doing.
“Did you have any thoughts on the auction, Helene?”
“Honestly, what on earth can we donate as a learning scholarship?” she says as she dusts. “What exactly even is a learning scholarship?”
Leaning against the doorjamb, Jonty’s forehead creases as he thinks. “I read it as they want something educational to auction off.”
“About antiques, though?” I screw up my face. “This is ridiculous. I’m self-taught, what can I possibly donate to an auction that will teach someone what we do?”
“I don’t know.” He twists his lips.
“Maybe like a book on antiques or something.” Helene shrugs.
“This is supposed to be a main auction, a book just isn’t going to cut it.” I throw my hands up in disgust. “How did we even get roped into this?”
“It’s your boyfriend’s fault, why don’t you ask him?” Helene huffs. “It’s like he’s setting us up to look stupid.”
“I’m going to kill him.” I hit the computer keys with force.
Pascal Deschanel is on my hit list, and as wonderful as he is, this time he has gone too far.
“He put us forward for this big fancy charity auction in Monaco and said it would be a win-win situation that would bring a wave of new customers to our store. But now that we have to think of a prize to donate I think it’s a terrible idea,” I huff.
“It has to be good or we’re going to be the laughingstock of the auction.” Helene rolls her eyes. “This is just so Pascal.”
I smirk, Helene doesn’t really like my boyfriend. She thinks he’s smug and any chance she gets to blame him for something, she will.
“Why don’t you call him and try and find out what the other prizes are so we can get an idea of what to offer?” Jonty suggests.
“Good thinking.”
The bell rings over the door, notifying us of our first customer. Jonty disappears out the front. “Bonjour,” I hear him greet them.
“Bonjour.”
I dial Pascal’s office number. “Bonjour, Pascal Deschanel’s office,” Aila his PA answers.
“Hi, Aila,” I reply.
“Good morning, Alora. He’s in a meeting, I’ll get him to call you as soon as he’s finished.”
“Merci. Have a nice day.”
“You too.”
Pascal and I met at a party two years ago and we started out as friends but one thing led to another and we’ve now been dating for twelve months.
We’re on opposite ends of the spectrum, I’m easygoing, calm and grounded in small business and live my life surrounded by art and antiques.
He’s structured and highly strung, on the board of directors for the National Council of Monaco and has two PAs who run his hectic life.
While he’s making monumental decisions about the future of Monaco, my biggest decision is where can I search for my next vintage treasure and if I like a lamp enough to put into my store.
I open my emails and physically get to work but in the background my mind wanders aimlessly.
Prize, prize…. I need a prize.
PHILIPPE
The silver McLaren turns into the Monte Carlo Polo Club fields and we pull in after it.
He parks, grabs his things from the trunk before making his way over as his strappers unload his horses from the trailer.
We park the Bentley and take our time; polo is a relatively safe outing where guards usually outnumber the players.
We grab some coffee and make ourselves comfortable and an hour later the umpire throws the ball in the air and the game begins.
The loud echo of horses’ hoofs and people yelling. Adrenaline screaming through the air.
Beautiful women are in fold-up chairs along the sidelines. While cars of men line the parking lot to watch over their bosses, we’re all here for the same reason.
The Kingsmen, the Monte Carlo polo team, are some of the wealthiest men in the world. And we…we are the bodyguards that keep them safe, and although it’s the best job in the world, it’s not without its challenges.
“Yah,” he calls to his horse as he bumps full speed into another player, nearly knocking him from his horse.
“Fuck you, Prescott,” the man yells.
“Your wife already did that.” Edward smiles as he flicks the peak of his helmet. “Elizabeth loved every inch of it.” He grabs his crotch. “I can still hear her moans.”
The other man’s face falls. “You’re fucking dead,” he cries after him.
Prescott laughs as he sprints off, polo mallet in the air. The more he pisses them off, the more fun he and his team have.
Everything’s a game to them.
“Jesus Christ.” Andre drags his hand down his face. “How do you keep that prick alive?”
“It’s not easy.” I shake my head.
Those challenges I was talking about are greatly enhanced for us, you see, we’re the security team for Edward Prescott.
Undoubtedly one of the most hated men on earth.
The ladies love him, the men hate him, and he…well, he doesn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone.
Bang.
He hits another player off their horse and they go flying to the ground with a hard thump.
“Argh,” the player cries.
Prescott laughs as he looks down at him, mallet over his shoulder. “Learn how to ride a horse, you fucking gimp.”
“I think my arm is broken.” The man groans.
Prescott canters off without a care and we all chuckle from the sidelines.
This motherfucker has a death wish.
The elevator rises and we all stand facing the doors. Edward has a business meeting at the Monaco Council, his lawyer is with us, which can only mean one thing.
This isn’t going to end well.
“Remember to let me do the talking,” Louis says.
Edward clenches his jaw as he adjusts his cufflinks. “Remember who you fucking work for.”
Merrick and I make eye contact. Here we go.
“I just know that you….” Louis cuts his sentence short.
“You know what?” Edward snaps.
“You have a way of infuriating people.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “There’s no denying that you do.” He widens his eyes. “I’m just saying that this is….”
“Stop fucking stopping mid-sentence,” Edward barks. “Do you know how annoying it is?”
“This is an important meeting and I need you not to piss anyone off today,” he blurts out in a rush.
Edward rolls his eyes. “Just you concentrate on your job and let me handle mine.”
“I am.”
“Then secure the extra hours for the casino,” he barks. “Why else would I be here with you wasting my fucking time?”
“I need to remind you that your only job here today is to mend fences, put the past in the past. Be charming and friendly,” he continues.
Edward gives him the side eye. “Do you know how fucking annoying you are?”
“At times, but….” He exhales. “Just try it for once.”
Edward straightens his tie and cracks his neck. “Just going to this imbecile’s office winds me up.”
“We can’t get this deal through without him.” He plasters a big fake smile on his face. “Like this.”
Edward looks over at him deadpan.
“Try it.”
“Fuck. Off.”
I drop my head to hide my smile. I’m with Edward on this one, his lawyer really is very annoying.
The elevator doors open and Edward strides out as Louis scurries to walk beside him.
“Bonjour.” Louis smiles to the receptionist. “We have a meeting with Pascal Deschanel. I’m Louis Richards and this is Edward Prescott.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiles. “Nice to meet you both, this way to the conference room.” She leads us up a long corridor and into an office with a large round table.
Merrick and I fall in to stand beside the door. “Please, take a seat.” She pours two glasses of iced water from a carafe that sits on the table. “Mr. Deschanel is just finishing up his last meeting; he won’t be long.”
“He has five minutes.” Edward looks at his watch.
“Will you relax,” Louis replies softly.
“This is me relaxing,” he snaps. He glances at his watch again. “Four minutes.”
“My apologies, Mr. Prescott,” she stammers as she closes the door behind her and scurries up the corridor.
“My god.” Louis pinches the bridge of his nose. “Remind me why you’re here again.”
“Because Deschanel wouldn’t have this meeting without me being present.” Edward rolls his lips. “He wants me to suck up to him.”
“Which you are going to oblige.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” He glances at his watch. “Three minutes.”
Deschanel and Edward have a long history filled with heated arguments. He’s a do-gooder who hates everything about the casino in Monte Carlo. Edward’s a businessman who is sick and tired of him standing in his way.
“Two minutes.”
“Listen,” Louis whispers. “You will sit there and you will play nice. The entire board of directors are counting on you to behave today.”
Edward clenches his jaw. “This fuckwit has me over a barrel.”
“Exactly. It’s fifteen minutes, suck it up.”
Merrick and I stand quietly as we disappear into the walls.
The door opens and the familiar face comes into view. “Gentlemen.” He smiles as he looks between them. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No bother at all.” Louis smiles as he shakes his hand. “Thank you for seeing us.”
He turns to Edward and outstretches his hand. “Hello, Edward.”
“Hello, Pascal.” They shake hands and sit down.
“Beautiful day,” Pascal continues.
“Yes.” Edward forces a smile and then drops it immediately. “Get to the point.”
I roll my lips as I stare at the ground, he’s such an ass at times that it’s hard not to react.
“Your office has been renovated since I was here last time,” Louis says as he looks around.
“Yes it has,” Pascal replies. “It’s lovely isn’t it, they did such a good job.”
“It is,” Louis agrees.
“Such a joy to come to work.”
Edward drags his hand down his face and Louis widens his eyes in silent warning.