Archer: Ex-Bachelor (Ex-Club Romance) Page 2

We’ve both spoken at once, causing Babcock to flinch in his chair. Simone turns to me with a cool look. I turn to her with the poker face that I use in every negotiation.

  “Go ahead,” I say, ceding the floor to her.

  “No, by all means, you first,” she says with a sweet smile.

  I wait a moment, then talk. I have no desire to play games. “I have to fly out to London to handle transitioning the London office of Bennett Financial. Since you’re so concerned about my lack of interaction with my nephew, how about I take on the responsibility of bringing him back to New York? It will give us a few days to get to know one another. Perhaps I’ll even find out what his favorite color is.”

  The last part was said in an almost sarcastic tone and I’m pissed at myself. That kind of low blow shows far too much weakness. All the same, I dare her to find fault with what I’ve just proposed. If she really cares about him, then she should have no argument with this idea.

  There’s the tiniest hint of suspicion in the way she looks at me, as though trying to find the catch. Perhaps she’s smarter than I remember.

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she concedes without argument, much to my surprise. “I think you’ll find out that he’s a wonderful little boy and worth getting to know better.”

  I’m a bit thrown by how easily she’s given in. Working on Wall Street has inured me to the idea that every proposal should naturally lead to a few rounds back and forth until a compromise is achieved. I stare hard at her face and find it completely void of anything resembling guile or cunning.

  She actually meant what she said. Go figure.

  “It’s blue by the way.”

  “Pardon?”

  “His favorite color.” She brings her sunglasses back down and turns to face Babcock.

  I can feel one side of my face itching to quirk up in a hint of a smile. I quickly stamp it out. While my claws have been drawn back in, the wheels in my head are already spinning. I can’t—won’t—let emotion come into play here. There’s far too much at stake.

  If all goes according to plan, by this time next month, both Stuart and I will be rid of Simone Parker for good.

  Chapter Three

  I’ve finally managed to make it back to the offices of Bennett Financial Services. As I exit on the top floor, I’m appalled to find that the monstrous bouquet of flowers and giant balloon my secretary, Agnes Yarborough, received yesterday is still sitting on her desk.

  Agnes is the latest in a long line of secretaries I’ve gone through since Kevin and I started this firm. She’s in her late-thirties with a face hidden by over-sized glasses and permed auburn hair. She has a tendency to dress a bit more colorfully than I’d prefer. None of this matters since she’s the most competent person I’ve found to fill this position to date. More importantly, she puts up with me.

  I was kind enough to tolerate the bouquet sitting on her desk for a full day. I’m not a complete tyrant. However, one day is long enough. Never mind that it looks like a giant, pink and yellow eyesore. It’s a glaring contrast to the very carefully cultivated decor of our office spaces.

  Bennett Financial Services is a firm that handles the personal investment portfolios of the elite. Ninety percent of our clients are part of the infamous One Percent, as the media has seen fit to label them. Billions of dollars are entrusted to us, with the firm assurance that we will produce even more billions. They expect the best from us and we do everything in our power to provide it. This includes looking the part. Image is everything.

  And right now our image is tainted by a hot pink HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!, instead of competence and sophistication.

  “Agnes, I understand your birthday was yesterday.”

  Her eyes light up behind those large frames, obviously completely misinterpreting the intent behind my statement. “Why yes, Mr. Bennett it was! I didn’t think you had remembered.”

  How could I have forgotten it with this glaring reminder before me?

  “You received flowers I see.” I make sure to look directly and quite purposefully at the bouquet on her desk. “Complete with an extremely…colorful balloon.”

  “Yes, isn’t it lovely?” she says, beaming up at it.

  “It is, and I’m sure you enjoyed them when you got them…yesterday.”

  “Oh, I did Mr. Bennett.”

  I sigh internally. “Yes, well today is a new day. Back to business as usual. This is a business office after all.”

  I can see her face fall as the realization sets in.

  “I just thought, since the flowers are so pretty and still so fresh, and even the balloon hasn’t lost any of its—”

  “All the more reason to enjoy them at home.” I’ve made sure to stress the word home just to reinforce the idea that these sorts of frivolities have no place in the business world.

  I know for a fact that she gets paid fifty percent more than any other personal secretary in this field. I’ve learned that money talks and I’m certain this is the only reason she has remained here as long as she has. Her silly little bouquet of pinks and yellows can be just as, if not more, appreciated on her kitchen table or wherever it is women place these ridiculous things.

  “Yes, Mr. Bennett.” She at least has the tact not to sulk over it.

  Once inside my office, I get down to business. The first item on the agenda is a call to my attorney, Mike Plumbar. I dial his number and put him on speaker phone.

  “So what was the determination?” he asks.

  “She gets my nephew, and he gets everything. But I’m in charge of the estate, thankfully.” I certainly don’t count the jewelry and clothes that Bette left to Simone.

  The only other exception was a vintage Rolex watch that Kevin left to me, which I avoid thinking about for now. I need to focus and that’s a distraction I don’t want clouding my head.

  “Well, we expected as much,” he says in that jovial way he handles everything. I suspect that if I was sitting in a cell during my final hours on death row, he’d have the same happy-go-lucky tone in his voice.

  “Yes, we did,” I agree. “We also determined that we would get to work immediately to find a way to shift complete guardianship to me.”

  “I’ve already got the private investigator working on it.”

  “Good. I want him digging into everything. Her friends, hobbies, parties, lovers…everything. Thankfully, she’s careless enough to document almost everything on that blog of hers. No doubt it’s the same with Twitter, or Facebook, or whatever else people are using these days.”

  “Archer, my people know what they are doing. They specialize in divorce cases, which means they know how to dig up dirt. Don’t fret. You do your thing and I’ll do mine.”

  I settle back into my chair, somewhat more at ease. “I’m flying to England in a couple of days to do a quick visit with the London office now that we’ve obtained the death certificates. I agreed to pick up my nephew and bring him back to New York. After that, I’ll be flying back out again to finalize things over there. I’m giving you exactly two weeks to handle this. When I come back the second time, my first order of business will be filing a petition to challenge Simone for guardianship. I expect plenty of ammunition to use against her.”

  “So you want to be a father now? I never pegged you as the type.” I hear an amused chuckle on the other end.

  I twist my lips with distaste. “Of course not, but I didn’t get this far in life and business by not having total control. Right now I’m sharing it with that sister-in-law of my brother. She’ll probably have my nephew growing up to lead the next Occupy Wall Street or giving his share of the company to a home for abandoned puppies or some other bullshit. These are things I plan on avoiding at all costs. Starting with planting him firmly in a boarding school away from all problematic influences. I only wish I didn’t have these two weeks to give her. Who knows what crazy ideas she’ll start planting in his head.”

  “You should probably keep all of this to yourself. In fact, it would help if you
came off like the doting uncle if you want to help your case.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say with an irritated grimace. “I almost screwed up today with Simone. God, that woman can mess with a man’s head.”

  “I’ll bet. I’ve seen her blog, not too shabby. Maybe you should think about joining forces. She looks like she could be fun,” Mike laughs.

  “Let’s not forget she’s the enemy here, Mike,” I say in a harsher tone than I intend.

  “Yeah, yeah. Go off to London and leave everything on this side of the pond to yours truly. We’ll have you playing Uncle Dearest in no time.”

  “You make me sound so sinister. Don’t worry, there will be no wire hangers involved,” I say with a wry smile.

  “No judging here, my friend. You’d be surprised at the twisted shit I’ve seen in my profession.”

  “At any rate, I’ve got to go, Mike. There are a million things to take care of here and that five-year-old and his aunt have caused enough disruption for one day.”

  “Alright, again don’t worry, we’ll handle it.”

  “Just keep me posted.”

  I press the button to end the call and immediately call up Larry Michaels, one of my more capable vice presidents in the large New York office. Five minutes later he’s sitting across from me.

  “It’s off somehow, Archer, but I can’t put my finger on it. The returns are just too good to be true.”

  I look over the spreadsheets he’s brought up. A few weeks ago he called my attention to some suspicions he’s had about our investing in certain international Real Estate Investment Trusts, or REITs.

  “It’s a bit high, but nothing that sets off any red flags for me,” I point out.

  “Take a closer look. The losses are too few, and when they happen they create barely a blip. You’d expect to see some occasional one-offs even in the safest bets. Here, there’s barely anything.”

  “The economy has bounced back and real estate with it.”

  He doesn’t seem convinced.

  “Who put us into these investments?” I ask.

  “It started in the London office. I’m working on finding the source over there. In the meantime, I think it would be wise for us to limit our exposure, at least until my team has dug into it a little bit further.”

  Larry has been with the firm almost since its inception. I trust him almost as much as I trusted my own brother. He’s smart and capable, if a bit too safe sometimes. Still, if he’s this concerned about an investment I’m willing to trust him on the matter.

  “Okay, as you know, I’m headed to London in a couple of days. I’ll try to do a little poking around while I’m there.”

  He nods in agreement. “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Just keep on top of it and make sure I’m up to speed with what you find.”

  “Of course, Archer.”

  He stands up, then pauses. I can see the struggle on his face. He knows how unemotional I am, but perhaps feels it would be rude not to mention Kevin’s death.

  “I just want to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you Larry,” I say, letting him get it out.

  “He was a good guy. Really smart and always willing to lend an ear. He’ll definitely be missed.”

  “Thank you,” I say again, hoping he leaves it at that.

  It’s not news to me that Kevin was well liked, certainly much more than I ever have been. That’s what made us so successful. He was the schmoozer and I was the brains. While he was busy rubbing elbows with tech billionaires and charming wealthy widows, I was busy buying low and selling high. His loss leaves a gaping void in that area which will be difficult to fill.

  The other more personal loss that hits me during moments when I let my guard down is something I have yet to face. Right now I have far too many things to juggle to add missing my younger brother to the mix.

  Chapter Four

  “Mr. Bennett, we’re all so very sorry for your loss.”

  Charles O’Bannion shakes my hand with a grim look on his face. As senior vice president of the London office he’s been in charge since Kevin’s plane disappeared. He’s in an expensive, gray three-piece suit. His salt and pepper hair is well-styled adding a slightly elegant touch. At least he understands the importance of image, and if Kevin set him up as second-in-command then he obviously has a good head on his shoulders as well.

  “Thank you,” I say for probably the hundredth time since Kevin died. “I’m just dropping in to make sure everything is running smoothly in the London office.”

  And to remind everyone that even though the captain of their helm is gone, it’s still business as usual.

  “Of course,” he says as he leads me toward Kevin’s office. “The news of the plane crash was extremely upsetting. We’re all still reeling.”

  “Yes,” I say, nodding grimly.

  “Ah,” he says as we approach a woman sitting outside Kevin’s office. “This is Laura Peak. She is—was Kevin’s secretary.”

  At those words Laura’s hand goes up to her nose in that gesture I’m getting used to, the one that harkens an onset of tears. Sure enough a sniffle erupts and her eyes close, blinking back the tears.

  Charles and I stand there awkwardly watching her shake her head in an attempt to head it off before it comes out full force. I note the array of picture frames and knick-knacks on her desk. Kevin was more tolerant about this sort of thing than I am. No wonder everyone loved him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, blowing her nose. “We all just loved the family so, especially the little one.”

  “They visited often?” I ask idly, buying time enough for her to recover.

  She stops sniffling long enough to answer. “Oh yes, the missus was always bringing little Stuart around, brightening up the office with his laughter. Such a happy little boy. He enjoyed playing with the other children in the daycare center.”

  This brings on a fresh bout of tears.

  “A daycare center?” This is news to me. Kevin obviously had different ideas about running an office than I do. I’m not surprised he kept that little tidbit hidden from me. He probably knows exactly what my views on such a thing would be.

  On the other hand, I’m not surprised that Bette and Stuart visited so often. Kevin was ridiculously in love with her and was always going on about Stuart whenever I called.

  “Er, Laura,” Charles says, coughing uncomfortably. “Mr. Bennett is here to see to Kevin’s personal belongings.”

  Actually my visit is a more of a check-in to make sure things are still running smoothly. I’d also like to get started finding clues as to the concerns Larry had about the international REITs, but I have kept that to myself.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Bennett,” she apologizes, standing up. “You probably miss them both more than anyone.”

  “Yes,” I say solemnly, mostly to avoid any further discussion. I wonder how many tears would be shed if my plane ended up going down somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. I doubt Agnes would still be sniffling into a handkerchief well over a week after the fact. A sobering thought.

  Laura unlocks his office and I step in. She gives me one last sympathetic look, then she leaves me to it.

  I close the door behind me for some blessed privacy. The office is spacious, with a very nice view of the Thames River. It’s befitting the head of the Bennett Financial Services office.

  Kevin’s desk and various bookcases make Laura’s desk full of mementos look austere by comparison. I walk around to inspect the picture frames. Most of them are of Kevin, Bette and Stuart, either together or individually.

  I settle down in his chair and pick up a random silver frame from his desk. It’s a picture of the happy family. Bette is behind Stuart with her arms around him, her chin resting on his head. He’s laughing at the camera while she smiles beatifically above him. Kevin, the proud husband and father, is behind Bette with his arms atop hers as they encircle Stuart. His face rests next to hers so closely that one can almost im
agine the quick peck on the cheek he gave her right before the camera went off.

  I wasn’t thrilled when Kevin first told me he planned on marrying Bette, the woman he had been dating at Harvard. He had just finished his MBA and she was just about to graduate with a useless undergrad degree in History. We didn’t have nearly the amount of money we do now, but it was substantial enough for him to exercise caution with regard to whom he hitched his wagon to.

  As much as I tried, I couldn’t find fault with Bette. It was her family that I took issue with. Her parents were a bit too liberal and Bohemian for my tastes. Harold Parker was a Legal Aid attorney and Martha was a professor in women’s studies. Enough said.

  Then there was Simone. I learned all I needed to know about her at the wedding rehearsal where we first met. She was all of nineteen then and nothing but a flighty, air-headed, silly mess of a girl. I should have known she’d cause trouble later on.

  The only reason I can see that she was left in charge of Stuart is that Bette and Simone’s parents passed a few years ago in an accident while sailing around the world during their retirement. I should be a bit bristled by the fact that I wasn’t the chosen one, but Simone does have a point, I don’t really know much about my nephew.

  I look down at the picture in my hands again.

  “So this was your life, then,” I mutter. I imagine my day being interrupted by the squeal of a five-year-old’s laughter and a visit from a loving wife. What would it be like to head home after a long day at work to something other than a sleek bachelor pad and silence? Nothing about either scenario sounds appealing.

  I put the frame back, letting those thoughts go with it. I pick up another one of just Stuart. He’s squatting on the grass and squinting up at the camera with a smile that reveals a missing front tooth. He has a head of dark hair that’s the same color, but much curlier than what Kevin and I sport. His skin is a light tan color that falls right smack in the middle of the spectrum between Bette and Kevin. The eyes, on the other hand, are the same shade of gray as his father’s…and mine.