11. Baldo
Fucking woman.
I don’t know why I cared where she went last night. And what was I thinking, setting up a celebratory meal? What is there to celebrate? My insanity apparently.
I step into the shower.
I plan my life carefully so I’m always in control. That was the only thing that helped me heal after Brook left me behind.
And now, having her in my life, my control is slipping. I need to resolve that quickly.
It’s like where she’s concerned, my entire mind goes into this protective mode. Like she needs a knight in shining armor. Fuck that. I’ve never been that man. So why am I trying to be that for her?
It’s not like she is a damsel in distress… though she looked pretty lost the first night I arrived. Somewhere along the line, someone killed her resilience.
All that strength I used to admire about her. It’s been tamed. Replaced by these loud cries for attention. What happened to her?
And how does an adult lose their phone? Why is she living with her parents? There are so many questions I want to ask her.
But somehow we don’t seem to find words when we are together. Or rather, the past is clouding our judgment. We need to fuck.
I mean, talk. We need to talk.
Fuuuuck.
And when she suggested consummating our farce marriage…
I fist my cock and pump the irritation away. The water beats down on my tight shoulders. I’ve been too tense ever since I set foot in the US.
She looks at me like I wronged her somehow, and then she suggests we fuck. And I considered it for a moment there. Not that I’d take advantage of an inebriated woman.
Our coexistence is charged without the additional sexual tension, and the last thing we need is the awkwardness of the morning after.
The way she stumbled into my arms.
The way she propositioned me.
And then immediately hesitated, despite the loaded energy coursing between us as we stood in the kitchen for God knows how long.
I wanted to bend her over the counter and punish her for taunting me.
For all her sarcasm and scowling. For clubbing and getting drunk. For not telling me where she went, and with whom. Fuck.
I need to kill the thoughts I have about her, or by the time this fake marriage is over I’ll need carpal tunnel surgery.
I grip myself harder and fuck the thoughts of Brook out of my head with my hand. Or that’s what I keep telling myself, but as I paint the glass shower wall with white ribbons, it’s her name that dies on my lips.
While I get dressed, I listen for any signs of her being awake, but it’s only eight o’clock and she’ll probably sleep in after last night.
I choose my tie and pocket square, opting for a light green color. Like her eyes. What the fuck?
I throw the garments back into the drawer and pull out a dark blue tie. That’s better.
There are so many things I still need to adjust for my new life here.
I need to have my things packed and shipped, or go shopping. I came prepared for a week, not a year.
The only way to survive this will be to avoid each other. That’s what we need to do. I can rent an office in the city. It’s not just Brook that tilts my world on its axis. It’s this house as well.
I’m staying in a guest room because I can’t set foot in my old room. But the ghost of the past is still present everywhere.
Yes, I need to find an office space somewhere near the new club location, and then I can spend my time buried in work.
As I walk down to the kitchen, my phone rings.
“Talk to me, Chloe.”
“Have you found the place yet, and when are you coming back?” My business manager dives right into it.
“I should finalize the venue today. I’m about to meet with Cormac Quinn.” I drop the phone on the counter in the kitchen and hit the speaker icon, so I can make my coffee.
Thank God Mom has a top end espresso machine, because my taste in coffee couldn’t be satisfied on this side of the pond. I make a mental note to have my premier coffee beans shipped from Italy.
“I asked two questions.” Chloe has always been very efficient. One of the things I like about her. Not right now, though.
“As we discussed already, I’ll be working from here for the time being.”
“We didn’t discuss. You announced.”
“I’m your boss.”
“So, for years you resolutely declined all ideas of moving the business across the Atlantic, and now you not only decide to expand there, but you’re moving there? I thought you were going to scout the location and come back.”
I almost want to tell her I got married, just to enjoy her reaction.
“You were the one pestering me about expanding to the US. You bailed out of taking this trip last minute, forcing me to come. You’re the reason I’m here. You should be happy.”
We’ve had this conversation several times since I announced my decision to stay and oversee the project here, and she still hopes to fish something more out of me.
“I’m happy, but it’s just sudden and weird, and I think you’re not telling me something.”
Her heels echo through the line, and I can almost see her pacing her office in her smart business suit and stilettos.
Chloe mostly works from our office in Paris where she designed her space to her liking, including the extravagant marble floors. Completely unsuitable for an office, but Chloe loves to surround herself with luxury.
She started working for me as a waitress and worked her way up fair and square. We may have mixed work and pleasure on an occasion years ago, but we quickly realized our working relationship is too valuable to fuck up with sex.
“Chloe,” I warn.
“It’s just weird. There are people to schmooze and officials to wine and dine, and I can’t get it all done by myself. Find an American manager and come back.”
“If I remember correctly, I’m your boss, not the other way around. I got to go now, unless there is a relevant reason you called.”
She sighs and gives me an update on a few things she’s achieved, a few problems at some of our clubs and the top line business projections.
“You see, you’re doing great without me.”
“At least you’re still an asshole.”
I chuckle. “Have a lovely day, Chloe.”
I disconnect the call, glad she didn’t push further. Because I’m not going to explain myself to her.
I don’t understand how I got in this situation myself, so how do I tell someone who knows me well that I got married? On a whim?
Fucking idea of opening the club in New York. My entertainment enterprise has been thriving without me setting foot in America.
My mood is worse than it was when I woke up after tossing and turning for most of the night. The asshole in me whined that I turned Brook down. The noble me just didn’t want to argue the point anymore.
Before I leave the house, I call my concierge to start a search for an office in SoHo.
* * *
“So, what do you say?” Cormac Quinn leans against a dark counter in the cavernous space he’s trying to sell me on.
“I don’t know, Corm, you were talking about a premium waterfront property when we spoke last year. What happened to that?”
I walk around, looking for any signs of problems with the structure, already calculating how fast we can have this place up and running.
It helps that it used to be a nightclub. At least the remodeling won’t be that substantial.
This place is perfect for what we need, but I’m not going to show him my enthusiasm. The man is cocky enough.
“I sold it.”
“A premium waterfront property? You sold it fast.” There is something fishy about that. I don’t like not understanding the business moves of my associates.
I don’t mind some grayness in my dealings, but when things are inexplicable, it raises red flags.
He grinds his molars while wearing his typical smirk, but my question has caused tension.
I’ve known Corm Quinn for a few years now. He invested in some of my clubs as a silent partner.
When we finally decided New York needed one of my clubs, I asked Corm to find us a venue. He has properties all over the world, but this is his home turf.
“It wouldn’t suit your needs. I sold it to your brother-in-law, Finn van den Linden.”
I don’t really know Finn, but Corm spits his name with so much venom, I make a mental note to look into Paris’s husband.
I look around the space, my mind already seeing the VIP section and the bar on this level. “Why are you not using it for yourself? You have a club in the city. Why would you invite competition?”
“I have another endeavor that is taking up all my time and effort. I don’t have time for another club.”
“What endeavor?”
“I can’t talk about it yet, but soon you’ll find out.”
“Entertainment industry?”
“No, financial sector.”
I raise my eyebrow, but I guess while I know Corm through my clubs, he has other interests.
“Okay. This place should work well, but it will require a lot of renos. The rent is too steep. This is our entry to the US and the club needs to be the best, the most luxurious we can offer, but I want to be careful with my investment.”
“What if the price went down by twenty percent?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
Now that would be just plain unbelievable, and raises more red flags. “What’s the catch, Corm? And don’t waste my time here.”
“I thought you were staying around. What’s the rush?”
What does he know about me extending my visit? Or the reasons behind it. The fucker rubs me the wrong way today. Or maybe I’m just impatient after not sleeping last night.
“What’s the catch?” I rein in my irritation.
“I’d go in with twenty percent.”
Now I understand why he offered his help. He’s smart. Since he can’t develop this space himself, he wants to ensure friendly competition.
“A silent partnership, like in Milan and Prague?” I don’t mind sharing the risk. Twenty percent is a good cash infusion for me and little to no influence for him, with a guaranteed income from his investment.
“Maybe I’d like to have some say—”
“No. I don’t need your investment. I’m not going to say no to getting your cash, but I’m running the show and making all the decisions.”
“You’re a control freak, Cassinetti.”
“And it’s made me billions, Quinn. If you’re in with twenty percent, I’m taking this place. Otherwise, I’ll go look elsewhere. I’m not in a hurry.” I shrug.
“So you’re staying longer.” He smirks.
Fucker.
I glare.
He shakes his head, chuckling. “There is someone I’d like to be an official spokesperson for this club. Make it happen and you got yourself a deal.”
Business-wise, I’d be in a hurry to lock down a building like this one, but then I’m stuck here for a year, so I don’t need to rush.
But what the fuck is his angle here? “A spokesperson? Is this your way of getting into someone’s pants? A bit desperate, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay, indulge me.”
“Saar van den Linden. She’s practically related to you.”
“The model?” I frown.
It only occurs to me now the woman shares the last name with my brother-in-law. In Europe she goes by Saar only, and her face is plastered on billboards everywhere.
Corm nods. But his face is unreadable, and I’m not sure if he wants to punish the woman or reward her with this collaboration.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Okay, get her on board.”
“I was hoping since you have family connections to the van den Lindens—”
“I’m not in a match-making business,” I growl, but I want this location locked, so I offer him my hand. “I can see if she is available and interested, but that’s as much as I’m willing to do.”
“Well, then, you got yourself a deal.”
This deal is connecting me to New York in many ways, and with my newly married status, I’m just not sure that’s a good thing.