Chapter 8 #3
“So…we’re here to have the preliminary meeting regarding the request for an operating hours extension for Casino De Monte Carlo.” Louis tries to move things along.
“We received your application.” He opens the folder and begins to flick through it. “You have requested a daily four-hour extension.”
“That’s right,” Edward replies.
“You are currently open from 2 p.m. until 4 a.m. daily.”
“Yes,” Louis replies. “We are receiving several requests for extended hours from our patrons, they want to be able to have lunch with us.”
He looks up from his folder and smirks as if finding that statement amusing. “I find that very hard to believe.”
Edward bites the side of his cheek as if to stop himself.
“You see, if we grant you an extended license we will be in fact giving you a license to close down every restaurant in Monte Carlo.”
“Restaurants in Monte Carlo have nothing to do with us,” Edward fires back.
He clasps his hands together as he looks across the desk at him. “Edward.”
“Mr. Prescott to you.”
Louis steps on his foot and Merrick and I exchange subtle glances.
This isn’t going to end well.
Pascal’s eyebrows shoot up as if surprised. “Alright, Mr. Prescott.” He leans forward in his chair. “We are opposed to the extension of hours and will not be accepting your request at this time.”
“You said that two years ago.”
“And our decision still stands.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Pascal.”
“That’s Mr. Deschanel to you.”
Animosity bounces between them. “I’ll take you to fair trading court,” he tells him.
“You won’t win.”
Edward smiles and sits back in his chair. “We both know that you don’t have the funds to fight me.” Louis squishes his foot into the ground and he rips it from beneath him. “Stop.”
“Just because you are wealthy, Mr. Prescott, doesn’t mean you are above the law.”
“It’s called restriction of trade and it’s illegal. It is you who is not above the law.”
They glare at each other across the table.
“Now, gentlemen,” Louis stammers. “Let’s workshop this and try and come to some middle ground.”
Edward stands. “I will not be workshopping anything.”
“What does that mean?” Pascal asks.
“It means I will see you in court.” Edward walks from the office and we walk out after him. As we make our way down the corridor I hear Louis stammering and scrambling, trying to defuse the situation.
Edward hits the elevator button. “What a waste of my time,” he mutters under his breath. The door opens and we follow him in and stand at the back. Louis comes running down the corridor and gets in. He nervously glances over to Edward. “That wasn’t great.”
“Why didn’t you just drop to your knees and suck his cock under the table?” He raises an eyebrow in question.
“I’m trying to network.”
“You’re pathetic,” he barks as he adjusts his suit coat. “I presumed lawyers were supposed to have some fucking balls.”
“Do you always have to be so aggressive?” Louis fires back.
“Only when my lawyer is a pathetic wimp.” The doors open and he strides out and Louis scrambles to walk beside him.
“The next meeting will go better,” he promises.
“It will because I’ll have a new lawyer. You’re fired.”
“What?” Louis stammers. “You can’t fire me.”
“I just did.” He strides out of the building and out onto the street. I open the back door of the car for him.
“Well, what am I supposed to do now?” Louis cries from behind him.
“Apply for a job at Grow A Set dot com.”
ALORA
My eyes skim the page but not a word registers. I get all the way to the bottom, I go back to the top of the page and start again. Pascal is brushing his teeth as I pretend to read in bed.
“I don’t see the big deal,” he murmurs around his toothbrush.
“The big deal is that I don’t have anything to donate for this stupid thing, I wish you never suggested it,” I call.
He rolls his eyes at my dramatics.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” I huff. “It’s being announced everywhere as a major prize.”
“That’s a great thing.” He spits the toothpaste into the sink and finishes up. “This is fantastic publicity.” He comes and lies across the bed and leans up on his elbows.
“I have no doubt that this is all true if there was a great prize,” I scoff. “Why did I agree to this? I’ve been racking my brain all week and I’ve come up with nothing. If I don’t think of something substantial this is going to be a publicity nightmare.”
He rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling as he thinks. “What about an armoire?”
“A cupboard?” I screw up my face. “Seriously? A cupboard is the best you can think of.”
“I think an armoire is great.”
I let out a deep sigh and go back to pretending to read.
“What about an internship?”
My eyes rise to meet his. “What kind of internship?”
“Well….” He thinks on the fly as he explains it to me. “Whoever purchased it could give it to a young person or someone who wants to enter the antiques world.”
“Like a gift?”
“Yes, like a gift. It could be an amazing start for someone. You could show them the ropes, teach them from the inside, and share your knowledge.”
“Who’s going to pay for that?”
“It’s not about how much someone would pay for it, it’s what it is worth. The honor of learning from the best, a proven successful antique dealer. These opportunities just don’t come up.”
I twist my lips as I think it over.
“That is a great prize, and lots of people know someone who would want it. We live in France, everybody loves antiques.”
“I mean….” I shrug. “It’s better than a cupboard, I guess.”
“Armoire,” he corrects me.
“Well, how would it work?” I ask, my interest piqued.
He shrugs, still thinking out loud. “You offer an internship of say…fifteen hours a week. They shadow you and work alongside your team for a period of time, like two months or something, and you all share your knowledge and mentor this person. This isn’t a monetary prize; this is time with you. A prize that money cannot buy.”
My eyes hold his as the idea rolls around in my brain. “I could take them to the Paris market and introduce them to our wholesalers,” I think out loud.
“Yes. If they are old enough to travel, you could.” He smiles, knowing that he may have just solved our problem.
The more I think about this idea the more I like the sound of it, a broad smile slowly covers my face. “What would I do without you, Monsieur Deschanel?”
“Probably not have to think of prizes for auctions.” He lies down on his back and points to his cheek. “You can start here.”
Huge bouquets of flowers line the red carpet. Security with earpieces, reporters covering the event, and acrobats walking on stilts with fire, the entrance is every bit as exotic as promised.
“Wow.” I smile to Pascal as we climb out of our car, my nerves simmer as the auction approaches. Tonight’s the night and if everything goes to plan, my prize will slip between the glamour and the glitz and be just enough to hold a place.
Pascal takes my hand in his and we walk up the large staircase to the flashes of cameras.
I feel like a princess and am wearing a red vintage evening gown with my hair and makeup professionally done.
I’ve never gone to so much trouble before, but I figure if I’m going to do it…
I may as well try and look the part while I do.
“Mr. Deschanel,” a reporter calls. “Are you excited for tonight’s event? ”
“Yes I am.” He smiles with a nod and a wave, and leads me in through the front doors and when I see the grand ballroom, my stomach dips and suddenly I feel like throwing up.
“How…. What…where….” My eyes dart around at our surroundings, a catwalk stage is right through the middle of the room, the table and chairs are set around it.
“What’s that for?” I stammer.
“I think there’s a fashion parade or something later,” Pascal replies.
“Oh.” I put my hand over my heart to try and stop it beating so fast.
“Will you relax?”
“How can I relax?” I whisper. “This is literally my worst fucking nightmare.”
He looks down at me and chuckles as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
“What?” I ask.
“Looking like that and cursing like a sailor.”
“Well, this sailor is about to walk the plank and jump overboard.”
A waiter walks past us with a silver tray filled with champagne flutes and offers us one.
“Cheers.” Pascal smiles as he holds his glass to mine.
“Cheers.” I take a sip and the cool bubbles of deliciousness dance on my tongue. “This is good.”
“Only have one until the auction is over.” He winks.
“Good idea,” I agree. “Don’t want to be auctioning off the wrong thing.”
Pascal’s eyes land on something across the room and he clenches his jaw.
“What’s wrong?” I frown.
“What is he doing here?” he mutters under his breath.
“Who?” I glance around.
“That entitled bastard who owns the casino.”
“Oh.” I sip my champagne as I zone out, this topic is becoming very old.
“Of course he’s here with the prince.”
“The prince is here?” My interest reignites, the Prince of Monaco is one hot specimen. “Where are they?”
Pascal tilts his chin in their direction and I subtly glance over to the corner.
Prince Theodore Chapelle is wearing a black dinner suit and bow tie; his sandy brown hair has a curl to it and damn…
. The man is fine. His bodyguards are by the wall as they watch his every move.
It still seems surreal to me that Monaco has a reigning royal family.
Prince Theodore says something to his date and she laughs up at him and cups his face.
Agnes Maras…she’s blond and beautiful, a Danish billionaire heiress who often graces the local news on her prince’s arm.
She’s laughing and talking to another woman wearing a white silk gown.
I take a sip of my champagne as I pretend not to be interested, but unable to help it my eyes go back to linger on the beautiful people.
The woman in white has long golden hair and a figure to die for. Her date is tall with dark hair, he has his back to me but has his arm firmly around her.
Jeez.
I sip my champagne and drag my eyes away. “Where are we sitting?”
“The seating arrangement is on the wall.” He takes my hand and leads me over to it; I glance back at the beautiful people just as the man with the dark hair looks over.
Our eyes lock and the air leaves my lungs.
It’s Mr. Doe.