Orchid Club Page 22

  “Me? I’m sorry, Tante Tempeste, but I don’t really know anything about it.” She looked at Solomon, a question on her face.

  He nodded.

  “If you want,” she said to Tempeste, “email me documents, anything about how the companies were merged. Solomon can look at them, and I will too, but I’m not a business person.”

  Vivienne looked down at her engagement ring. Solomon knew she’d been excited to call and tell her family the news.

  “You must come home,” Tempeste declared. “Tomorrow, once the world knows, I will go to Beauvalot, I will tell all those who were so loyal, who mourned with me as my brother died, that the Beauvalot name is dead. They will walk out in protest, and I will lead the way.”

  Solomon shook his head vehemently, and Vivienne made a face that showed she agreed.

  “Tante Tempeste, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think you should wait a few days. Wait for Solomon and I to look at the papers. Do Edmund and Victor know?”

  “Yes, but they are too close to this, their emotions are making them say terrible things to their father and me.”

  Vivienne picked up a pillow and put it on her head, pulling the edges down around her ears. Her expression was pure aggravation. Solomon hadn’t known the woman as long as Vivienne had, but he could read between the lines. Tempeste and Gerard, who Solomon didn’t like—something about the man always rubbed Solomon the wrong way—had done something stupid. Reading between the lines, their own children were calling them out, but Tempeste and Gerard weren’t the kind of people to ever admit a mistake or culpability.

  Solomon lunged for his own jacket, finding his phone. Vivienne and Edmund had always been close, and whenever they were in Paris, the three of them would go out. He’d text the other man and find out what the hell was really going on.

  “Can you email me anything about the merger, immediately?” Vivienne was asking.

  “Will you call your traitor of an uncle?”

  “Yes, I’ll call Alain. I’m sure this will all be…” Vivienne’s voice trailed away and she looked helplessly at Solomon. He shook his head. She shouldn’t give anyone false hope.

  While he texted Edmund, Vivienne ended the call with her aunt. The moment the line went dead, she leapt out of bed, darting into the bathroom only to emerge a moment later with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. It was her no-nonsense work hair. He’d seen her do her hair that way before she went out to visit a clinic or tour an in-need area as part of her growing NGO, which funneled money directly to in-need communities. She also did consulting regarding how those same communities could access additional resources through programs run by the World Health Organization and similar groups. Vivienne was going to change the world. All he was going to do was make a lot of money. He figured they balanced one another out. Or maybe he was doing his part in saving the world too, by taking care of her.

  In line with her no-nonsense hairdo, she pulled on jeans, a bra, and then a simple white cotton long-sleeved shirt. Once dressed, she paused, looking around as if she wasn’t sure what to do next. He didn’t point out to her that getting dressed was probably pointless. It was the middle of the night, and at best they’d get a flight out of Denver sometime that day. Even if they could find last-minute tickets to Paris, they weren’t about to walk out the door.

  Solomon walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Deep breath, Vivi baby.”

  “If Alain forced a merger…”

  “Mergers happen all the time.”

  “But he’s not a Beauvalot.”

  “You just said he was.”

  “He is, technically, but the fashion house runs on emotion and relationships.” Vivienne leaned back against him. “If Tempeste leads a mutiny, it might destroy the business. Everyone who works for them…all those jobs, peoples’ lives...”

  “I texted Edmund. Let’s wait and see what he says. Whatever’s going on, we’ll do our best to help them transition. I know Alain can be a bit brusque, which probably isn’t helping, but you don’t work for either of them, so you don’t have to take sides.”

  She seemed to relax back into him. “I wonder why my mother didn’t call.”

  “Do you think she knows?”

  “Maybe not; she was never really part of the inner circle. I know that sounds cruel, but that is how it is for those who marry into the Deschamps.” She raised her left hand, showing off her massive engagement ring. “So if you were planning to marry me in order to get at my family money…”

  He lifted her off her feet, then fell back onto the bed, letting out a woof of air as she landed on him.

  Vivienne rolled off and made a face at him. “That was not very well thought out.”

  When he could breathe again, he said, “Agreed.” He took a few more breaths, then turned onto his side to face her. “What I was going to say was, I thought we agreed that you were marrying me for my money.”

  She sniffed regally. “New tech money? How gauche.”

  They teased one another, both well aware this was the calm before an approaching storm. When Solomon’s phone dinged, there was the sense that their moment of peace had come to an end.

  He got up, frowning down at Edmund’s response.

  “What did he say?” Vivienne asked.

  “He says that—well, shit—he says that before Vernon died, Alain was helping with a restructuring of Beauvalot. In the reorg, Alain offered Gerard the position of head of consulting. Tempeste became lead creative consultant.”

  “I’ve never heard of those positions before,” she said.

  “You’ve never heard of the positions because they’re bullshit. The reorg also eliminated the CEO and COO of Beauvalot, shuffling those job duties to the president, and made himself the president of Beauvalot. Since he’s also the president of the winery, he’s now consolidating executive function for the fashion house with the winery.” Solomon looked up. “Tempeste and Gerard both signed off on this.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because they didn’t realize what they were doing. Because they got fancy titles.” Solomon snorted. “I bet they didn’t have a lawyer read anything. Technically, Alain has the right, and the power, to merge the companies. He’s president of both.”

  “Merde,” she whispered.

  Solomon looked at her. “I mean, as mergers go, it makes a kind of sense. They’re both luxury brands.”

  “But the creative team at Beauvalot will leave. Was Ariel promoted to creative director?”

  “Yeah, according to Edmund.”

  “Ariel is fiercely loyal to the family. She was practically Bernard’s daughter, and only stayed when Vernon was made creative director over her out of loyalty.”

  “And you think if she leaves it’s going to cause a crisis?”

  Vivienne paused, chewing on her lip. He could see her thinking. Any man who didn’t find their woman’s thinking-face both awe-inspiring and sexy was doing something wrong. “If it were publicly traded, the moment Ariel leaves, stock prices would plummet. She leaves, maybe starts her own line, and takes the best people at Beauvalot with her. If that happens, the brand will devalue, and without the value of the brand, there is no company. Beauvalot is selling an idea, a name, not just a product.”

  Vivienne was more focused on fixing the world than on running a business, but Solomon knew that if she wanted to, Vivienne would be an incredibly formidable businessperson. She was smart, analytical, and decisive.

  Solomon rubbed the back of his neck. “I was kind of hoping we wouldn’t have to cut our vacation short, but I think we should go to Paris.”

  She closed her eyes, chin dropping to her chest.

  “I’ll be right there with you, Vivi, baby. You might be the only one who can both talk some sense into Tempeste and explain to Alain that if the merger causes a walkout, it will effectively kill that company. You’re an outsider to the businesses, but you’re family.”

  “We’re supposed to be in Hong Kong
next week.”

  “I’ll reschedule my stuff. Can you reschedule yours?” he asked.

  She rose to her knees in the middle of the rumpled bed. “I can. And you’ll help me read through all the business paperwork?”

  “I’ll even give you a friends and family discount.”

  She flashed her ring. “That seems only right, since you’re going to be my family.”

  A swell of love for this amazing, beautiful woman surged through him. Solomon swooped in, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to the edge of the mattress so he could kiss her, tangling his hand in the hair at the nape of her neck in the way he knew she loved.

  “You are my family,” he said softly.

  “And you’re mine.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, then laid her head on his shoulder. “We’ll go to Paris, deal with this, and hopefully still make it to Hong Kong with enough time to spare that we can go to that spa I told you about.”

  “If being covered in snail goo will make you happy, I’m right there with you.”

  He felt her smile. “You take such good care of me.”

  “Taking care of you is my pleasure.” He kissed the top of her head, then eased away. “I’ll get us tickets to Paris. How long do you think we need to be there, a week, ten days?”

  She grimaced. “I love Paris, and would love to go home—”

  He winced inwardly, and made a mental note that they needed to make sure their travel included more frequent stops in France, and not just for funerals and crises.

  “—but let’s only plan to stay five days.”

  “Five days. We’ll only be a day or two off our scheduled Hong Kong arrival.” He picked up his phone.

  The next day they arrived in Paris, hand in hand and hardly looking forward to dealing with all the various strong personalities, but with a firm exit plan.

  A week later they were still there, mired in the brewing crisis caused by the merger. Tempeste’s husband Gerard proved to be a major source of conflict, and the more they spoke to him, the more clear it became that he’d thought he was taking control of Beauvalot and resented the fact that not only had Alain made him look like a fool, but there was no chance he was going to end up in any sort of major decision-making role.

  A month later Vivienne was made CEO of the newly formed CRD-Beauvalot, forcing her uncle Alain out of the role. Since arriving in Paris, she’d been peacemaker, arbitrator, and damage-control master—as well as sounding board and emotional support—for not only members of the family, but many of the upper-level executives for both companies. She was the only person both families, and companies, could bear to have in the role. Reversing the merger hadn’t been a good option financially for either company, which meant everyone had to come to terms with it. And they had, grudgingly, at the cost of Vivienne’s life plan.

  Two months after he proposed on a mountaintop, Solomon moved into Maison Delphine with his fiancée, who slept and ate less with each day that passed, and told himself that they’d get through this. They loved each other, they were going to be married. They were also Master and submissive, which meant they communicated more than vanilla couples.

  Life had thrown them a curve ball, but they’d get through this because they loved each other, and love was all that mattered.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter 7

  Luca Cay, the Bahamas—Present Day

  * * *

  Solomon woke up the next morning before the sun had fully risen. Though saying “woke up” implied he had slept. He hadn’t really. He’d tossed and turned, waking himself out of dreams that were half memories of the times when he’d been deeply and happily in love.

  Frustrated with himself and exhausted, Solomon padded out of the house wearing nothing more than a pair of swim trunks and beach shoes. He walked out of his front door and just kept walking, over the beach and then into the water.

  He waded out hip deep before taking a breath and diving under an oncoming wave. The water here, warm by ocean standards, was cool enough to shock him. He was hot from a night’s sweaty tossing and turning. He swam out, paralleling the pier until he reach the hexagonal platform. He bobbed there for a moment, one arm holding onto the decking to keep him from being either pushed to shore or pulled out to open water by the tide.

  The restless but steady rhythm of the water centered him, and by the time the sun was fully up, he was calm again. After one last dunk, he hauled himself up onto the pier, dropping into one of the lounge chairs that waited invitingly on the platform.

  He lay back, letting the sun dry the water from his skin. He’d have to rinse off in the outdoor shower or he’d start to itch, but for now he was happy to simply lie there.

  The sound of footsteps didn’t surprise him. There were plenty of people who lived and worked on Luca Cay who got up with dawn. One of them had probably seen him and was coming to say hi.

  A shadow fell across his face, and he opened one eye. Silhouetted against the robin’s-egg-blue dawn sky was a woman holding a tray. Solomon’s breath caught, and he pushed up onto his elbows because this wasn’t one of the housekeepers or kitchen staff. He knew this woman’s silhouette, knew the way sunlight shone through her hair, and would until the day he died.

  Vivienne stepped out of the light, setting the tray she held down on the lounge chair beside him. She took a seat on the chair beyond that.

  She wore a muted teal gauzy wrap dress with a white silk pashmina draped over her arms and buff-colored sandals. The ensemble was perfect for the setting and time of day. It shouldn’t surprise him that she not only looked amazing, but perfectly at ease and appropriately attired for an alfresco cup of coffee. Yet her almost intimidatingly stylish effect took him back a little bit. Not that she hadn’t been well-dressed when they dated, but there was a world of difference between that twenty-year-old girl who lived in pants and easy cotton shirts—even if those shirts cost $500 apiece—and this version of Vivienne.

  They stared at each other for a moment, neither saying anything. Vivienne looked away first, turning to glance at the water. Because he had this platform built many meters from shore, if you sat with your back to the land, you could pretend that you were on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean. In front of them water stretched to the horizon, which still had the faintest hint of deep blue.

  Solomon sat up, swinging his legs so he was sitting sideways, facing the tray. “Coffee?”

  “Actually, it’s tea.”

  He grunted. “I didn’t even know the kitchen had tea.”

  “I didn’t think my stomach could handle coffee this morning.”

  He glanced up sharply. “You’re sick?”

  She shot him a quick, weary smile. “No, not sick. I didn’t sleep well, and my stomach isn’t pleased.”

  Solomon poured a cup of tea, then passed her the delicate china cup on its matching saucer. It wasn’t coffee, but it was strong black tea, the kind he’d learned to drink and enjoy that year they spent in England.

  Vivienne finished her first cup, poured herself another, then settled on the lounge chair, her legs stretched out, upper body reclined against the angled backrest. She set aside the saucer and rested the teacup on her belly.

  How many times had he fantasized about having her here on Luca Cay? How many mornings had he pictured her in this very spot with him? Depending on his mood, she was either wearing his shirt and some comfy lounge pants or nothing at all, save maybe some leather straps he’d buckled around her skin. In his fantasies she wasn’t fashionable chic. In his fantasies she was still the young woman he’d proposed to in Denver all those years ago.

  He forced himself to stare at her, to imprint this version of Vivienne in his memory, to override the fantasy version of her. The problem was that, despite everything, he wanted her. Not as she had been, though he would always grieve for the loss of that version of them, for the life they’d so carefully planned and cultivated. Real-life Vivienne was as—if not more—alluring than fantasy Vivienne had ever
been. And when he’d been topping her in Paris…

  “Closure,” he said, the words coming out husky. “You came here for closure.”

  Vivienne didn’t open her eyes. “Yes. I cannot afford to grieve for you again.”

  Solomon ran a hand through his hair, his gut tight. “Vivi, it’s not fair of you to put that on me.”

  Now she sat up, sandal-shod feet tapping down onto the boards. “I’m not putting anything on you.”

  “Uh, yeah, you are. You’ll grieve for me? Well, you’re the one who ended it.”

  “Excuse me?” Vivienne’s eyes flashed fire. “You ended it. You walked away. You always walk away.”

  “Because you chose them. No, not just that—” He slashed his hand through the air. “You let them manipulate you. Let them force you to do something you never wanted to do.”

  “I did what I had to do, to protect my family.”

  “You did that, and then you indulged their tantrums, just like you did last week in Paris.”

  “Is that why you left? Because I was…weak?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “Then tell me why. You cannot expect me to know how you’re feeling. I’m not a mind reader. You said it yourself last night. You should have told me how you were feeling.”

  “You want to pick a fight? That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it?” The anger that made his gut churn was leaking into his voice.

  “I’m here because we agreed to try again. Not a relationship.” She set her cup down in the saucer with a hard clack. “We agreed to try being D/s partners, but the moment I wasn’t the perfect submissive, you walked away.”

  Solomon shoved to his feet, clenching his hands in his hair. “That is not what fucking happened.”

  Vivienne jumped to her feet. “It is. You wouldn’t give me one hour to deal with the emergency—”

  “It was not a fucking emergency. It was Gerard being a dick, telling you how high to jump. And guess what? You jumped.”