6 | Taylor
Taylor
While I was wary of his involvement, Julien has turned out to be a helpful business partner.
He admittedly has useful entrepreneurial qualities that I don’t possess.
Being part owner of a hockey team, he’s extremely connected.
I’m also connected, but not like Julien.
People do things for me because I tell them to, not because they like me.
People do things for Julien because he’s genuinely charismatic and wants to form lasting friendships with everyone he meets.
I don’t understand why. I’m able to fake being genial for an interview or someone important, but it’s exhausting to do over long periods of time.
I need Julien because not only is he very wealthy, but his infectious likability also makes him pretty persuasive when focused.
When she died, a large sum of my mother’s inheritance was split between my brother and me.
I’m pretty sure Tom’s half is just sitting in the bank.
I don’t even think he’s invested it into anything.
I told him it’s going to lose its value over time due to inflation, but trying to explain inflation to Tom was like trying to explain how video conference calls work to my grandmother. Both were extremely unsuccessful.
I was going to put her money into the organization I already run through the Crown, but something about that felt like the lazy option.
I head the Royal Charity for Education because I asked my father if I could.
It’d be nice knowing I could lead a project without the use of nepotism.
Mom always pushed us to do things on our own, and I wanted to give her some type of legacy.
I got the idea for the foundation when she specifically instructed me not to start a memorial charity in her own name.
C’est narcissique, she said a couple of weeks after her terminal diagnosis.
I was never one to follow my mother’s orders, and I’m not going to stop now just because she’s dead.
Mom loved being around kids, so her foundation helps underprivileged children. How original.
“Did that Evans guy ever accept your offer?” Julien squints at his MacBook Pro. His eyes look tired, and so do mine, probably. We’ve been in his home office working all night.
“No, he said he doesn’t want the stress of starting at ground zero.”
We’ve been on the search for a good finance person to head the Charlotte Foundation. Julien thought we could poach from hedge funds, but the word ‘non-profit’ has been scaring everybody off.
“I’m going to start looking for people with a background in charity work,” I say.
“When were you going to tell me we need to start looking for a new web developer too?” Julien doesn’t sound angry, just exhausted. I didn’t tell him because I was on the holdout that she would change her mind.
“Is it that important?” I click my pen a few times. “The main reason we need a website is so no one steals the domain name and uses it for pornography.”
Julien leans over the marble desk. “Rach was talking to her on speakerphone. Highlights include her likening you to Krampus.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“He’s an evil Santa Claus from Austrian folklore who shows up to children’s homes to scare them.” He types something into his laptop and turns it around to display a devil-looking figure torturing a child with a stick.
“She thinks I’m that?”
“I think her exact words were, ‘he’s like Krampus but with great hair’.”
“Great hair, eh?” I say as I run my fingers through it. Yesterday, I noticed my first ever gray strand. I’m only thirty, for Christ’s sake. To prevent any midlife crisis, I swiftly plucked it out.
“How is the second part of that sentence the thing you’re focusing on?” Julien’s heavy sigh suggests I’m about to be annoyed with his next words. “Can’t you just say you’re sorry?”
Yep. Annoyed.
“Every time I speak to that woman, something ends up going wrong. She wants me out of her life, and I’m happy to comply. I don’t care if she thinks I’m the—” I gesture toward the screen because I forgot its name already.
“Krampus,” he finishes.
“Whatever.”
At the time, I thought Melina and I were on the same page over the frivolousness of the conversation. The morning news debacle had put me in an ugly mood, and I got carried away. Though we usually end up at odds, I do enjoy talking to her.
“What were you guys even fighting about?” Julien asks through a yawn. “I couldn’t make it out.”
“Honestly, the whole thing derailed into something stupid.”
I replay how the conversation ended in my head. I really asked a woman to dance one day, and the next, I’m getting thrown out of her apartment. That has to be a new world record in douchebaggery.
“I might be a bit of a moron,” I realize.
“You know she’s here right now.”
If Julien wants me to talk with her, he’s going to be disappointed.
“No. I’ll just make the situation worse. We can find anyone to make a website.”
Though probably not someone as qualified. From what I gleaned through the technical jargon on her LinkedIn, she definitely didn’t agree to work with us for the challenge.
“That isn’t the point,” he says without a smile, a rarity for Jules. “We already have someone to make a website. She’s just down the hall with Rachel.”
“What do you want me to do? Beg?”
He throws up his hands. “Could you at least try? You’ve already broken one business relationship, and we haven’t even started the business yet. If you want this to happen, you’ll have to be able to get in people’s good graces. It’ll be helpful practice.”
Julien has never been afraid to call me out on things, another reason why I wanted to partner with him. Surrounding myself with yes-men isn’t something that interests me. I get enough of that at the palace.
“I’ve never begged before in my life.”
Julien stares me down for a really, really, long time, so intensely that I have to look away for a moment. Then, he nods slightly, gets up from his chair, and leaves like a gentle yet mysterious breeze. A minute later, I hear a commotion echoing down Julien’s spacious hallway.
Melina.
“... are you doing!” she yells.
Julien returns with Melina in tow, his hand gripping her bicep. She tries to escape, but he closes the frosted glass door and blocks it with his body.
“Christ, Jules. Stop making her look so hostagey. It’s hurting my feelings.”
With a huff, Melina rips her arm away from him and quickly puts the hair that’s fallen out of her clip behind her ears. She looks at me as if I’m dog shit on the sidewalk. The air becomes stuffy with her disgust. I’m almost offended. Almost.
“How does he keep popping back into my life?” she says to Julien. “Just yesterday, I opened Twitter to find pictures of him at an orphanage.”
“My sincere apologies,” I say insincerely. “I’ll try not to donate to so many orphans next time. Do you want me to take away their candy too? Anything to make our Melina happy.”
It wasn’t actually an orphanage. It was a group home for teenagers who have substance issues.
Like my mother, I don’t mind meeting kids.
They say whatever is on their mind and don’t seem to worry about offending me, which is refreshing compared to the overly polite and plastic people I usually meet.
And the smaller ones ask really easy questions like ‘How many rooms are in your house?’ or ‘Do you know Elsa?’ The answers to which are ‘seventy-nine’ and ‘of course not, she’s a cartoon,’ respectively.
Melina does a tiny sarcastic curtsy. “How might I be of service, Your Majestyness?”
“Will you—”
“No. I will not.”
I look to Julien. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Why?” he asks.
“She’s drunk.”
Melina hits my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Oh fuck off, I’ve one glass of wine.”
It’s not every day someone I barely know casually drops an f-bomb around me or punches my arm.
“Are you sick?” Melina’s bratty facade drops, and she looks at me with a concern that seems surprisingly genuine.
I shake my head. “Just tired.” I push back the strands of hair falling in front of my forehead as if that will make my eyes look less sunken.
It’s been about a week since I’ve seen her last. Today’s all-black outfit really allows me to focus on her figure.
I mean not focus on her figure. I shouldn’t be focusing on that.
I gesture to the chair next to mine. “Will you sit, please,” I say quickly so she can’t cut me off.
She looks to Julien, still blocking the door.
“Just hear him out for a couple minutes,” he says. “I know he feels bad. Isn’t that right, Taylor?”
Melina cocks her head in my direction. “He feels?”
“When I’m not drowning kittens.”
The look they both give me quickly lets me know this isn’t the time for a joke that dark. Julien always tells me I should be more obvious when I’m kidding about something, but that seemed pretty oblique to me.
“We need to talk, Melina, that’s the point.”
She’s here now. Might as well give whatever this begging thing is a try.
“I don’t like you,” she says. But she sits down anyway, not in the chair next to mine, but in Julien’s from behind the desk. Maybe she thought it was a power move to sit taller, but it looks like she’s drowning in a sea of leather.
“What do you like?” I close the laptop in front of her. “How about a nice big check with a couple of zeros in it? Maybe double your rate? Triple?”
Melina pulls back a silver ball from the Newton’s Cradle on Julien’s desk. “I like watching distasteful true crime documentaries with Rachel,” she says and lets go. Click, click, click.
Watching distasteful true crime documentaries with Rachel must’ve been what she was doing before her kidnapping.
“Apologies are nice too, I guess,” she says as she picks at her burgundy fingernail polish.
I think I can work with that.
“All right, I’ve been an ass.”
She kisses her teeth. “I’ll take ‘things that are obvious’ for two hundred, Alex.”
I try not to be charmed by her dorky finger guns.
“I don’t want you to quit on us just because of some ill-conceived stuff I said when I took things too far. I would like you to come back because Julien likes you. And I like you.”
“And you’re sorry,” Julien whispers behind me like a stage mom feeding me my lines. I forgot he was still here.
“You don’t like me,” Melina says.
“I do.”
“Why?”
“You’re honest.”
She rolls her eyes as if honesty is an easy trait to come by.
Yes, it’s a low bar to set in terms of basic human decency, but I’m no stranger to bribery.
Even after she kicked me out, Melina kept honest about her disinterest in talking to the press.
Most of the nonsense died down after no one could find #purpledresswoman.
“And you’re sorry,” Julien whispers for a second time.
“And I’m sorry,” I finally parrot.
“Taylor,” she starts. “I think that you’re rude, condescending, and two-faced.”
I scan the room for answers because I’m not sure what that has to do with anything. Click, click, click. “And?”
She snorts at what I’m assuming is my self-awareness. “ And maybe I don’t want to work for that type of person. The guy I recommended is perfectly qualified and would be happy to do it.”
I shoot Julien a glare because he didn’t tell me she referred him to someone else. He’s still blocking the door. My friend is being unusually persistent today, especially over something that, in the end, doesn’t matter. Click, click, cli—
I stop the Newton’s Cradle because it’s driving me fucking insane. “What can I do to get you back?”
“I don’t believe it’s my burden to think of something. So, you and your big fuck-you watch will just have to surprise me.”
I look at my wrist. I could tell her my big fuck-you watch was a gift from my dead mom, but I won’t stoop that low.
“Be honest. Is getting you to make the website still possible?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I can be very stubborn. I’ve died on enough hills to fill the Alps.”
“That’s still not a no.”
She shrugs. “I guess it wasn’t.”
“There’s not a wish I can grant you right now? I was thinking of something instantaneous. I don’t carry cash, but I could work out a wire transfer.” Maybe if I keep trying to give her money, she’ll eventually take it. That’s what begging is right?
“Please stop offering to pay me so casually,” she says. “Makes me feel like a hooker.”
I give up. She’s impossible to talk to. I grab the accordion of Post-it notes and a pen off the desk.
“Well, when you think of something I can do for you,” I scribble down my personal number and peel it off, “let me know.”
After a few seconds of reaching it out to her, she doesn’t take it, so I stick the yellow paper to the back of her hand.
She doesn’t seem to care, so I stand and nudge an irate-looking Julien out of the way to leave.
This was a waste of time. Well, not a complete waste of time.
Julien is right. I’m too privileged to be running around burning bridges and not giving a shit.
Furthermore, Melina’s hatred of me stings in a way that’s painfully nostalgic.
Like when your mom says she’s not mad, just disappointed.
And my fated attraction to her only twists the knife.
I can get her to come around, I think. It might just take some planning.