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I arrived at Sasha’s apartment one night after she flew home from a fashion shoot in Paris, letting myself in with my key. Needless to say, after what I walked in on, I left the key on her kitchen bench and never answered her calls and have avoided her like the plague ever since. But to this day, she is still persistent. Often showing up to work unannounced, calling and texting me regularly, and it’s becoming a problem. She doesn’t appear to be taking no for an answer and there will be no other answer. I will never be going back to her. Cheating is the one line I do not cross.
“What reputation is that, Mom?” I toss back and see Eddie watching the exchange with interest from across the table. His eyes ping between the two of us like he is at a tennis match instead of family dinner.
“All you boys are workaholics. Just like your father. Sasha is a model, a socialite. You need to take her out again. Rekindle the flame. She can get you out of the office, lift your personal brand. Keep you on the front pages and ensure you are relevant.” My head tilts, and I bite on my back molars, tempering the words on the tip of my tongue.
“Well, it is a bit difficult to take her out on a date when she is busy fucking every old rich man in the city.” Nothing beats walking into the apartment to surprise your girlfriend, then coming face-to-face with her jumping up and down on another man’s cock. A man old enough to be her grandfather.
“Benjamin! No foul language at the dinner table!” My mother throws her napkin, not unlike Tennyson did moments ago. The two of them are more alike than he would admit.
“Suffice it to say, Sasha is a gold digger and we don’t need any more of those in this family,” Eddie offers, taking a sip of his water, clearly referring to our father’s affairs. My mother’s face blanches for a second before it hardens again. The reminder of her husband's philandering ways is something she will unlikely escape for some time.
“Yes. Well. We have the gala coming up soon. Please make sure you all have dates by then.” The one in honor of my father, with money raised going straight to the Heart Research Center. Not that any of that matters. This is a party for our mother. So she can play the sad widow and garner the sympathy of society. She needs to stay relevant somehow.
I crack my neck and let go of the breath I was holding. I have no idea who I will take to this gala. It is not that I find it hard to get a date, but a woman who can hold a conversation and leave her cell in her handbag rather than in front of her face would be preferable.
“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie mocks with a salute, and she sends a scowl his way.
“Who will you bring, Edward?” she asks, and I tune out now that her focus is not on me. My cell vibrates again, and I pull it out. Speak of the devil, I think to myself as I see Sasha’s name lighting up my screen. I hit ignore and pocket it again. Her not taking the breakup very well, considering her new hobby of being on her knees for every rich man in town, comes as a surprise. But then again, everyone wants to marry a Rothschild. Our name opens doors, comes with status and money. Apparently not enough for Sasha, though.
“Isn’t that right, Benjamin?” my mother says, smiling with glee. My eyes flick to Eddie, who is red, his teeth clenched. It looks like he is about to explode.
All in all, it is just a regular monthly family dinner in the Rothschild household.
CHAPTER FIVE - EMILY
I spent all day yesterday preparing. I may be a special needs elementary teacher now, but I studied law in college and know my way around a contract. And George needs me for this. As the only father figure I have after losing both my parents, he deserves my efforts. So I will give it my all and that includes researching all weekend.
It isn’t every day that a large property developer wants to purchase the school and is doing every underhanded tactic to get it. Our school is small, underfunded, but badly needed. I look after ten kids, all of whom have no other special needs school nearby to go to instead. If the school closes, then their only option is to attend a regular nearby elementary school, which has no funding for special classes or teachers. Their families would have to move.
George and I squeeze into the elevator, both of us taking a deep breath as soon as the doors close. I hate coming into the city, but I dressed for the part. I found an old black corporate-approved dress in my wardrobe that hugs my figure in all the right places without being too revealing. With my black patent leather pumps on my feet, my makeup perfectly done, and my hair silky and flowing down my back, I look like every man's wet dream. Little do they know, I am their worst nightmare.
George, who is well into his seventies, tugs at his tie, his nerves clear to me as I see him fiddle with his cuff links and run his hand through his hair. Usually, he is not so rattled. He is stoic, sure, dependable, so his clear uneasiness is carrying over to me. Maybe this is not going to be as easy as I thought.
As the elevator stops on the 33rd floor, I step out and the extravagance slaps me in the face. Everything is shimmering and looks brand new. Glass and stainless-steel surfaces reflect off each other, black leather armchairs placed strategically around reception, and dark woods polished beneath our feet. These city office buildings all look the same, and I am reasonably confident that the model-esque woman behind the desk will be entirely unhelpful. As if on cue, the receptionist looks at George and me, but boredom crosses her face and she glances down at her nails instead of greeting us.
“We are here to see Mr. Bennett and his client Jonathan Beasley,” I say to her, and she doesn’t reply, but I hear the annoying click of her long lacquered nails as they tap on the phone system.
“Hi, Sandra, Michael’s ten a.m. is here,” she whines through the phone before hanging up without saying another word.
George is pulling at his tie again, and I take another deep breath to prepare myself for the meeting. They requested a face-to-face. Not totally unheard of, but a community meeting is usually how these things run in the suburbs. But as usual, men with money think they can buy themselves out of the inconvenience of going through the correct channels, which already tells us the man wanting to buy the property is not at all interested in looking after the school, the students, or the families that rely on it.
Assholes. All of them.
“It will be fine, George. Don’t worry,” I say with a small smile, which appears to do nothing to alleviate his fears.
An older, more refined woman appears, waving for us to follow. “Miss. Carr, Mr. Wellington, please come this way.” With one more reassuring look at George, I take the first step to walk after her down a small corridor to the conference room, him walking beside me. I subtly smooth my dress and wipe my sweaty palms, trying to feign the confidence I need.
She opens the oversized opaque glass door and walks in, holding it open for us. As I step through, the first thing I notice is three men in the room, standing for our arrival. The second thing I notice is that the man now drilling me with his eyes is regrettably familiar.
While researching this firm yesterday, I discovered my run-in from this weekend was the CEO. His headshot on their website had me doing a double take, and then to read his last name… I was sufficiently caught off guard. He’s a Rothschild. The brother of our new governor. I almost laughed to myself, thinking back on how I spoke to him. But out of all people to see in this meeting, I didn’t expect it to be him. Given he owns this law firm, doesn’t he have more important matters to attend to?
I watch as his handsome features morph from shock to intrigue, until they finally settle into a small smile, the kind that shouldn’t make me melt, but it does a little. My knees feel weaker than they were two minutes ago, from just looking at him. His suit fits his frame just right, and I watch as his hand comes to his jaw, rubbing his cheek as his eyes travel down my body. Nice to see that after all the effort I put into my appearance this morning is worth it.
“Doubtfire?” he says suddenly, the curiosity in his tone evident, and I stop in my tracks.
“Neanderthal, I would say it is a pleasure, but it really isn’t.” I try to act unaffected as I attempt to get my racing heart under control. “Hi, I am Emily Carr. Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand to the other lawyer in the room, Michael Bennett, and ignoring Benjamin Rothschild, who is standing mouth agape, still staring at me. Michael is the leading lawyer for the Rothschild Law Firm in which I am now situated.
“Jonathan Beasley,” the other man says, but doesn’t reach out to shake my hand, and I don’t either. He obviously licks his lips as his eyes peruse my body in an entirely inappropriate manner. One that doesn’t feel at all comparable to how Ben just looked at me. I mentally shake that thought away. I don’t need to be giving him any bonus points for not being a total perv.
