Hayes
seven
“What is that?” Paige asks when I hit the key fob to unlock my car in the garage.
I was a little disappointed she didn’t join me in the shower, though I hadn’t expected her to. It’s these warring feelings and expectations that are going to get me into trouble with her. Being honorable when I’m used to being deplorable is like mixing oil and water. Doesn’t stick for long.
“Maybach Exelero.”
I love this fucking car. I noticed it in the Jay-Z “Lost One” music video and knew I had to have it.
It cost me a fortune, in fact, it was several million more than most people hope to make in their entire lives, but it suits me better than any other vehicle I’ve driven.
There was only one made. The exclusivity made it more tantalizing than anything else available.
Except maybe the woman who slides into the black and red interior of the sleek black car.
She could be hands down the most enthralling person I’ve ever met and she’s barely an adult.
I don’t know if it’s the innocence she exudes, that she’s the key to her daddy’s kingdom, or the feeling she stirs in me to care about someone other than myself, but it’s intriguing.
“Never heard of it. Guess it’s pretty cool, though,” she says, taking the seat belt I hand her before I close the door.
I round the back of the long car and climb into the driver’s side after I tuck my Louis Vuitton weekender in the space behind the seat.
“Pretty cool?” I mimic.
I start the engine with a roar that threatens to bring the roof crashing down on us with the reverberations from the exhaust.
“That V12, twin turbo engine sound cool to you?”
“Okay, it’s scary cool.” She looks over at me and rolls her eyes. “I’ve never seen this around town. I’m surprised you managed to stay under the radar driving this death-mobile around.”
“Death-mobile?”
“You’re like Batman, but with a sleeker, more villainous ride that promises death. Definitely a death-mobile.”
I nod in acceptance. “I’ve heard worse.”
She turns in her seat to face me. “Like what?”
I carefully exit the garage and turn toward the airport. “Oh, you know, dream killer, life ruiner, business ender. Lots of stuff that relates to death, so I guess I need a death-mobile to complete the package.”
“Why would anyone say that about you?”
Oh, sweet summer child, I think. She has no clue.
“Let’s just say I’m the one who has to deliver the swift death blow to all those failing businesses Olympus gobbles up. I’m not loved as much as my brothers, who get to play with the functional portions we keep and make prosper.”
“You’re still a part of the most successful holding company in the South. Heck, the East Coast. You have to do what’s best for the business overall, even if it means shuttering parts that are no longer producing or congruent with the vision the company takes on.”
“Try one of the top five corporations in the world, sweet girl.”
She grabs my arm that is resting on the center console. “How? I read Forbes. I stay up to date with the business world. How is this news to me?”
“We have many names and faces. You’ve likely heard of the more public portions of the corporation, but Olympus is privately held and we’re quiet about our dealings. There is plenty we can do under any other part of the business that may never link back to Olympus as a whole.”
“Privately held and that secretive. Are you in the mafia?”
Surprised laughter bursts out of me, shaking my whole body as I try to compose myself. It takes a moment,
“Hell no. The mafia is chump change. We’re about legitimate business, but willing to get as underhanded as we have to be when necessary to get what we want. Legally, of course.”
“That sounds like the mob. I won’t, like, go to the police or anything if you are. Your secret is safe with me.” She squeezes my arm where her hand still rests. I like it there.
“We’re not the mob, but I appreciate your vow of secrecy. That’s touching, actually. You’d keep my secrets literally the day after meeting me. Have I even earned that loyalty?” I muse aloud. I certainly haven’t earned her trust, yet she’s placed a lot in me, just by being in this car now.
“You’re aiding and abetting a Fairchild fugitive from the parental law, so yeah, you’ve earned it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, though. Mama’s wrath is legendary, like, freeze the earth bad when upset, so this could blow up in your face as well as mine.”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” High risk, high reward.
I pull onto the tarmac in the private section of the airport, the gate sliding open without me having to stop, and head to my hangar where the jet is waiting.
I park the Maybach in the hangar and nod at the armed guard dressed as a mechanic who lives on-site to babysit my toys.
You don’t just leave a multimillion-dollar car unsupervised.
“Of course, a plane,” she says under her breath as she gets out of the car. “I thought we were driving to Atlanta and was planning to spend four hours in the car. I guess it’s smarter to fly when you have private jet money,” she says, louder.
“Work smarter, not harder. I actually want to get some sleep tonight before work tomorrow, so a four-hour drive isn’t ideal.”
I follow her up the stairs to the jet and get her settled in a leather chair before I hand over my bag to a flight attendant and take the seat across from her.
“You’ll need some things. How long do you want to run away?” I ask. I’m already mentally creating a list of items she may need that I will text to my assistant as soon as I know her sizes.
“As long as necessary to drive home the message that I am not marrying Garrison Daniels, no matter how badly they want the business perks that union would bring. So at least a week, I would assume. Maybe longer if Mama puts her foot down and cuts off my trust. Oh, God.“ She stops abruptly and cringes. “Um, also, I’m probably going to be poor soon, so I may need a temporary loan for some necessities until I can smooth things over with Mama. I’ll pay you back, with interest.”
“You will have anything you could possibly want, just say the word and it’s yours, no payback or interest needed,” I promise without hesitation. I know what I’m getting myself into. I’m absconding with a Southern hotel heiress, protective parents be damned, and money is no issue.
She shifts in her seat as the plane begins to taxi on the runway. “Why are you doing this for me?” she asks, a hint of mistrust tinging her words.
I have the opportunity to be brutally honest and lay out exactly what I want from her, or I can temper my response so it doesn’t have her jumping out of this plane before it can get off the ground. Given the mistrust, it’s probably better to go with the latter.
“I know what it’s like to have overbearing parents who plan your life out for you, removing your freedom of choice, and the frustration that leads to when you have differing plans,” I begin. It may not be my exact story, but I can relate.
Thatcher and Rula Mae Olsen raised three head-strong, independent, and ruthless men, but they weren’t what I’d call the model of doting parents.
Calculating and demanding is more their speed.
They raised us boys to be the men who would take over the family business and lead it without hesitance.
There wasn’t much of a choice in the matter for me.
I knew what my role would be from the time I understood what the business was.
“I think you need some space from the situation to make up your own mind about how you want to proceed. It doesn’t cost me much to make sure you get what you need, and it’s my pleasure to give you what you want.”
She blushes crimson, so I know she’s picked up on the subtle innuendo. It’s going to be fun playing with her innocent nature. She clears her throat and tucks hair behind her ear.
“But what do you get out of it?” Her clear green eyes drill into me, demanding a forthright answer, even if she doesn’t know what she’s asking for.
I lean forward, my elbows pressing into my thighs as I stare into her eyes. “You.”