Chapter Nine
Antoine
Kristen seemed a bit bummed about breakfast. I wonder if I should I have made her bacon, too…
I ponder the question as I drop her off in the alley, the back door to the same cafeteria I picked her up from yesterday. She waves at me, her smile bright. The dress is classy, but the poppy flowers on the cleavage keep drawing my eyes, like a red cape rippling before a bull.
With an effort, I focus on her face. She looks prettier than yesterday, her blue eyes deep and mesmerizing. When she tilts her head forward as she checks her texts, a sudden urge to press my nose behind her ear and taste the delicate skin there surges inside me.
Get a grip.
Just like there seems to be a Woman Code saying you can’t date your best friend’s ex, the Man Code says you can’t screw around with your best friend’s baby sister. You don’t violate those rules unless you want to ruin everything. And I’m not going to ruin what I’ve built over the last eight years.
Once she’s safely behind the door, I go straight to my office since today, at least, I don’t have any appointments with people who harbor a fake interest in working for King Consolidated. Maman finally stopped calling and texting around midnight. Guess she eventually got the hint.
Two sedans follow me. Probably some bottom-feeding shitholes who want to sell more pictures of Kristen. Since I don’t give a damn if they know where I work, I ignore the persistent pests.
Sarah is already at her desk outside my office. Her hair’s up in a chignon, and her dress is breezy, the cut a little low to show off her cleavage.
My gaze has no interest in lingering below her chin.
“Antoine, you have a guest,” she says.
“Who?” I don’t remember any appointment. This better not be another fake job candidate.
“Your family.” She smiles apologetically, then clears her throat.
I run my fingers roughly through my hair. “Seriously?” Maman’s gone too far. “Should’ve called security when she showed up.”
“It’s actually a man.” She flushes. “He was, uh, very persuasive. Said it was urgent.”
I frown. Is Papa joining the nonsense too? I’ve always considered him the more rational of my parents, and thought he tempered Maman’s drama a bit…
On the other hand…he did marry her. And loves to humor her.
I walk inside, my scowl deepening when I spot Nicolas perusing my bookshelves.
He straightens and looks at me. “You really read all this crap?” He gestures at the leather-bound classics.
“Of course not. They just look good on my wall,” I say, walking to my seat behind the desk and gesturing at one of the empty guest chairs. “Sit down.”
He does, then crosses his legs.
Nicolas looks just like his mother—the thick brown hair, the wide-set brown eyes with exceptionally long lashes. His hands are soft, having never done anything more strenuous than typing. He maintains his trim physique with diet and bodyweight exercises. He always puts on a vaguely intellectual and thoughtful demeanor, as befits his official job as a novelist, although his clothes are on the trendy side. He writes literary fiction as himself, but I know for a fact he also publishes porn under a pen name to make enough money to afford the lifestyle he desires. It’s a secret; his mother would die on the spot from an aneurysm if she knew.
Tante Nicole’s proud of the fact that her son is an artiste. And she never lets anybody forget what an amazing, talented, sensitive soul he is.
It’s tempting to send her Nicolas’s latest smut. But I’d never do that—not because I particularly care about my dearest tante, but because I really don’t want to spend weeks listening to Maman crow over the phone.
“What do you want?” I ask. We aren’t particularly close. There’s no reason for Nicolas to visit just because he’s in town. “I presume you aren’t here to ask me to hook you up with a real job.”
“I have a real job. I write modern literary masterpieces.”
After dealing with Maman’s bullshit yesterday and the frustration of spending the night and morning with Kristen, I don’t have the patience to humor Nicolas, too. “Nikky Ardent.”
If he were drinking, he’d spew liquor all over himself. His complexion turns redder than canned beets, and he stares at me, eyes bugged out. “How do you know ab—” He scowls. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Banging My Dirty Best Friend. Lusting After Professor Nolan. Ruining the Virgin Next Door.”
Nicolas’s expression is now a study in horror and outrage.
I roll my wrist. “Should I go on?”
“How… How did you…”
“It’s my job. Now, what do you want?”
“Are you going to tell Maman?”
“I could, I guess… Overnight some print copies to her…”
“You bastard.”
“That’s the best you can do? And here I thought you were a great novelist.”
“Because ‘bastard’ is the best word for you, other than asshole.” Nicolas inhales deeply, visibly calming himself. “Anyway, the reason I’m here. You probably haven’t heard, but Papy’s decided what he’s going to do with his money—”
“Whichever of us marries first and produces a baby gets the entire estate.” For once, I’m almost grateful for Maman’s harassment.
Nicolas blinks, but recovers quickly. “Don’t you think that’s unfair? We’re both his grandsons.”
I shrug.
“It’s over a billion dollars, Antoine. How the hell can you be so nonchalant?”
“What do you want me to do? Gnash my teeth, rush out and propose to the first unmarried woman I run into?”
“Why not? I know your spiel about not having gotten over Tessa is bullshit, just something you use to bang chicks without making a commitment.”
I forcibly relax every muscle in my body. I’m not discussing Tessa with Nicolas. “I couldn’t care less about the money. I make my own, and I’m very comfortable.”
“You’re happy working?”
“Sure. I like Dominic. He likes me. I enjoy my job. What’s to be unhappy about?”
“You’re such a dick. You have no plans to cooperate, you greedy bastard, because you want all the money.”
“Cooperate on what?”
“On winning this together! I was going to propose that we split the estate fifty-fifty no matter who wins.”
I rub my temples. It’s too early for this level of bullshit. I can’t drink for another eight hours at least. Actually longer, because there’s no way I’m drinking under the same roof as Kristen. I need all cylinders firing. “Nicolas, I would never agree to that—not with you anyway.”
“What?”
“You remember how you asked me to ‘spot you’ five grand a couple of years ago, promising to pay me back the next week, but never did?”
“Don’t get petty over pocket change. That was just the one time—”
“Five years ago, you promised to meet me for dinner to discuss some business venture you wanted to propose, but then stood me up, claiming you were up all night writing. After rescheduling, you stood me up again because you were supposedly up all night again working on a book that you said was going to win you a Pulitzer.”
“Well, yes, but I really was tired—”
“Seven years ago, you ‘borrowed’ my car—which, by the way, was only a month old—to impress a date, without my permission. Then you promptly crashed it on your way home and fled the scene.”
“But Maman took care of that!”
“You’ve demonstrated repeatedly over the years that you’re an unreliable flake who only cares about himself. So no. I won’t enter into any ‘agreement,’ and you’re more than welcome to get married and have a baby ASAP. I won’t stand in the way. I meant what I said about not caring about Papy’s money.”
“Liar! You just want to fix things with Tessa, and you need the whole billion to do it!”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He gives me a probing look. “It isn’t like you to feign ignorance. You know she’s in L.A.”
Maman already told me this, too. I stare back blandly, while he watches me like a bug under a microscope.
“Eddie’s here too. I know you want to patch things up with him. He’ll forgive you if you make things right with his sweet little baby sister.” He sneers.
I shake my head. I didn’t have this discussion with Maman yesterday, and I’m not having it with Nicolas today.
“You know what? I don’t care,” he says.
“You came all the way here to tell me that?”
“I can get myself a rich woman. L.A. has plenty to spare, including one in particular I’ve got my eye on.”
“Who?”
“Kristen King.”
“Don’t. She’s Dominic’s baby sister, and she’s not rich.” I say that almost out of habit, but the fact is that Dominic set up a five million-dollar trust for her, so she’ll never want for anything. That fact used to be a secret…until a couple of months ago when some asshole “entertainment reporter” found out about it somehow. “Not as rich as you want, anyway.”
“So? If I get married, I’ll get the one point two billion.”
I shoot Nicolas a look cold enough to freeze him. He stares back at me. It hits me that my cousin honestly doesn’t get it. He’s just driven by his own self-interest. “You can marry anybody you want, except her.”
His eyes narrow. “Really.”
Shit. That was a stupid ass error, but rectifiable. I crack my knuckles. “Unless you’d enjoy getting a nose job from Dr. Fist…”
“Fucking Neanderthal.” He jumps to his feet and stalks away, slamming the door.
I need a drink.