Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(7)
We first met at Stanford in business school. He’d been universally hated for screwing the curve in our strategic management class by acing the final, and I’d been the only person who didn’t care, because I’d only been one point behind him and wrecked the curve in the other three classes I was taking that semester. To find someone more disliked than myself was a novel feeling. Both his brain and his absolute disregard for what anyone else thought were the primary reasons I’d brought him on after I acquired my first few companies.
I leaned back in my chair, curious as to where he was going with this. “And what’s the obvious solution?”
“Johnson Haines. Old Southern powerhouse politician. He’s got enough pull to rally his own party, plus persuade the others across the aisle to vote our way.”
It sounded too easy. He was only one man, someone whose name I knew but hadn’t considered. Why hadn’t I considered him? Normally I was all over this shit. I’d made meeting the who’s who of New Orleans society a top priority, and yet I hadn’t met him.
Oh yeah, that’s right—because my arrangement with Vanessa Frost had gone sideways when Con Leahy had gotten involved. Or rather when they had gotten involved. Either way, my introduction into the upper echelons had been halted temporarily. Not because I’d accepted defeat, but because I’d thrown myself back into what was important—my business, preparing to dominate the market, and make a f*ck ton of money.
Dad, you’re about to be proven wrong, I thought before returning to the conversation at hand.
“And you think he’ll be on our side because . . . ?”
Colson shrugged. “Haines is a typical politician. You scratch his back, he’ll scratch yours. He’s supported a lot more unlikely causes than any other senior legislator, but only when there’s something in it for him. You dangle the right incentive, and we can take advantage of his talent for building bipartisan coalitions.”
It was a solid suggestion. Which was a damn good thing, because there was nothing I wouldn’t do to see this project through.
I gave Colson a nod. “Set something up.”
“I’ll get something on the calendar tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll be available by e-mail tonight. Let me know what you figure out.”
“Will do.” Colson turned for the door but paused before reaching it. “You get the name of that woman Friday night? At the gym? She was one hot piece of ass. I’m thinking about tracking her down and giving it another shot.”
Yve Santos. When I realized who he was talking about, something unfamiliar and unwanted surged inside me. The woman was nothing to me, a momentary fascination that had ended with her running from me. She was smart to run.
“She didn’t seem too receptive last night,” I said, my tone bored.
Colson smirked. “I was off my game. Won’t happen again.”
It wasn’t until the door shut behind him that I uncurled my hands from the fists they’d clenched into.
“HOW DID A STRAIGHT GUY learn to fold clothes so perfectly?” I asked my newest—and only—full-time employee. I’d hired him shortly after Elle had left me to work at Chains about six weeks ago.
Levi looked up from straightening a stack of Seven For All Mankind jeans, which were some of our only non-vintage items, and one of my weaknesses. “Does a guy have to be gay to know how to fold properly?”
I cringed at the stereotype. That was pretty shitty of me to say, so I backpedaled. “I’m just not used to guys being as neat and organized as you.”
Levi’s smile told me he wasn’t offended by my jerky comment. “Military school.”
“What? You?” I couldn’t picture the skinny dark-haired kid who fell firmly into the hipster category attending military school.
“Yeah. I was a little shit growing up. Apparently it was the best solution to straighten me out. It was a good experience, but one I’ll leave firmly in the past.”
His comment about leaving things in the past coincided with the chime jangling at the front door, and a piece of my past walking through it.
“You want to start steaming those dresses the UPS guy dropped off? In the back?” I asked Levi.
He glanced at the regal silver-haired woman who’d walked in—not the type you’d normally expect to see in the shop—then looked back to me and nodded. “Sure thing, boss. Yell if you need anything.”
I smiled at him, but it felt as fake as it probably looked.
As soon as he slipped through the door to the stock room and shut it firmly behind him, Geneviève came toward me, and I smiled.
Her bearing screamed proud matriarch, and that was exactly what she was. Tasteful diamonds decorated her ears and throat, accenting her Chanel skirt suit. I was guessing her destination was either a NOLA Garden Club meeting, or perhaps a Junior League luncheon.
I came around the counter and stopped before her.
“Yve, my dear. It’s been much too long.” She leaned forward, squeezed my shoulders, and air kissed both my cheeks.
Warmth spread through me. Her approval was something I still valued, even to this day. She was the only person from that part of my past I hadn’t desperately tried to block out.
“It’s a pleasure. I’ve missed you.”
She reached down and gripped my hand. “And I’ve missed you. You need to come visit an old lady more often,” she said, chiding me gently. “You never know when she’ll breathe her last.”