Archer: Ex-Bachelor (Ex-Club Romance) Read online

  “So you’re the one who’s going to take over Bennett Financial someday,” I say to the picture. I have no idea what the boy is like. Is he smart? Clumsy? Silly? Curious? Serious?

  I have four days with him while I’m here in London before we head back to New York on Monday. I suppose that’s time enough to get a feel for my nephew, perhaps do some early molding before Simone can get her claws into him.

  As I put the frame back I notice another one nearby. It’s the first to strike anything resembling emotional loss in me. I reach out to pick it up and stare at it long and hard. The memories rush at me like a backdraft, sucking all the air out of my lungs and causing my heart to actually seize up for a beat or two.

  It was taken when I was twelve and Kevin was ten. I remember everything about that day as though it was yesterday. It’s the two of us in our swimming trunks at Big Bear Lake in California. Our family had a cabin up there when we lived in Los Angeles, before our dad got transferred to New York. I have my arm around his neck and we are laughing at the camera, both soaking wet. Our mother took it just after one of our competitive swims. We were always racing or betting one another, mostly in a good-natured manner. I remember winning that particular race, but just barely that time around. Kevin had gone through a recent growth spurt making him a stronger swimmer than before.

  It strikes me how much he looks like the photo of Stuart I just put down. He has that same squinty smile. I think of the vintage Rolex watch left to me in the will, and another wave of grief rushes over me.

  I quickly put the picture back and spin around to look out the window, blowing a long, slow breath out of my mouth.

  “Focus, Archer.”

  I’m not here to be sentimental. Business comes first. Business always comes first.

  Chapter Five

  “I shudder to think what would have happened if Patrick hadn’t had his birthday party that Saturday. I know Stuart was rather excited about it. Thank goodness we offered to host him all weekend.”

  I’ve come by the Caine residence where Stuart has been staying since the disappearance of Kevin and Bette. It was a mutually agreed upon arrangement between all parties involved until the legal and probationary issues were resolved.

  Diane, Patrick’s mother is a slim blonde in her early thirties. She has a smart, sophisticated air, but seems genuinely affected by Stuart’s circumstances. At least my nephew has been left in capable hands.

  “We’ve tried to be sensitive to your wishes with regard to…well, what to say to him exactly. After all, until the confirmation about the plane, we weren’t sure if…” she looks at me with that look of sympathy I’ve become used to and shakes her head, continuing to lead me up the stairs.

  “He was such a happy boy,” she says, echoing the sentiments of everyone I’ve met so far during this visit. Apparently, the London side of the Bennett family was quite happy. “He’s been so quiet, understandably of course. Hopefully, seeing his uncle will cheer him up a bit.”

  She says this last bit in a chipper tone that seems to be more of a plea than anything. She obviously has no idea how little involvement I’ve had in Stuart’s life. By the time Kevin moved to London to start up this branch of the company, Stuart was not even two years old. The rare visits I made to London were strictly business. I never bothered to interact with Bette and Stuart much, staying in a hotel and only meeting Kevin in the office.

  Diane knocks briefly before opening one of the doors on this floor.

  “Stuart, darling, look who has come to take you back to New York.” She is using that same chipper falsetto tone with him that she used on me.

  The door swings open and I step inside to see the boy from the pictures in my brother’s office, sitting cross-legged on a window seat. He has a pack of crayons and a coloring book in his lap. The bedroom was obviously intended to be a guest room for adults, but the evidence of a five-year-old inhabitant for the past week has changed that. Everywhere I look there are toys, pint-sized clothes and accessories, even a Mickey Mouse nightlight.

  Stuart lifts his face up and it’s all Kevin. The gray eyes, the jutting chin that he will one day grow into. The only evidence of Bette is the slightly rounder Parker nose, curly hair, and full lips. He stares at me with solemn curiosity as though inspecting a strange new object. Now that I think about it, that’s exactly what I am to him: a stranger.

  In my periphery, I can see Diane looking back and forth between the two of us uncomfortably, no doubt wondering why there is zero recognition on the face of my nephew.

  “Hello Stuart, I’m your Uncle Archer. Kevin’s brother.”

  He just blinks at me, then his eyes dart to Diane’s as if seeking answers there.

  Well, that went well.

  “I’ve come to take you to be with your Aunt Simone?” I offer, throwing out a name he might recognize.

  Now his eyes are back on me with a sudden interest. A hint of a smile comes to his face. I can sense Diane relax next to me. The smile reveals the same gap in his lower front row of teeth as the one from the photograph on Kevin’s desk. A tiny nub of a tooth is growing in to replace the lost one.

  Jesus, how recently was that photo taken? I feel a sudden bout of sympathy for him, thinking of all the future life events he won’t have his parents there for.

  “Aunt Simone hasn’t come?” he asks hopefully.

  “No, but she’s waiting for you back in New York,” I reassure him. I’m annoyed to find myself slightly disappointed at the way his face immediately falls. Then I remind myself that I’ve very much earned that reaction.

  “Your uncle will be here in London for a few days. That will give you two some time to…ah, reconnect?” Diane says. The slight note of reproach in her expression and tone isn’t lost on me.

  “That’s right. I’m here for the entire weekend. We can catch up with one another, then fly back to see your aunt. How does that sound?”

  The look on his face is uncertain, then he just nods, still looking at me with that solemn curiosity.

  It isn’t going well.

  I’m not sure if it’s the loss of his parents or my inherently imposing demeanor, but it’s now Friday and Stuart has yet to open up to me. Usually, I’m a master at getting people to talk, spilling far more than they intend to.

  I’ve finally met my match.

  When he’s with me, he’s perfectly content watching TV, looking through the books the Caines have given him, or playing games on the iPad we’ve collected from Kevin and Bette’s residence.

  Perhaps Simone is best suited for this role after all.

  I remind myself that my ultimate goal isn’t to be a stand-in father for my nephew. The Knickerbocker School for Boys I plan on sending him to and nannies when he’s home during breaks can handle the business of “raising” him.

  After all, both Kevin and I had no kissing of our scraped knees, reading of bedtime stories, or notes in our lunch boxes—or lunches from home, period—and we both turned out more successful than your average man. Maybe it was the influence of father who prided his work over his sons and a mother who considered giving birth to us to be her final duty as far as maternal obligations were concerned. My father is now dead, having worked himself into an early grave when Kevin and I were both in college. My mother…well, there’s a reason she wasn’t at the reading of the will.

  “So you like fish and chips then,” I note, watching him nibble on a french fry across from me. We’re staying in my usual suite at Claridge’s, a hotel I’ve come to like if only for the art deco touches and old school appeal.

  He nods his head while still maintaining eye contact with his plate.

  Am I really that terrifying? I should be enjoying the Veal Vennoise, which is actually quite good. Instead, I’m favoring the Bordeaux that accompanied it.

  “Simone said there was a food you absolutely hated,” I probe.

  His eyes finally meet mine at her name once again. Once again, it sends a ripple of irritation through me. I’m used to b
eing the most powerful name spoken. The name that perks ears and piques interest. Now I’m being usurped by a damn fashion blogger.

  “Let me guess, is it…candy bars?”

  His face wrinkles in confusion before realizing it’s a joke and sheepishly looking back at his plate again. Still, I note the small smile that has come to his face and he shakes his head no.

  At least there is a minor breakthrough.

  “Is it…ice cream?”

  His eyes are still on his plate as he shakes his head no again. The smile remains, I’m pleased to note.

  “Well, perhaps you should tell me so I can make sure they don’t serve it on our plane home.”

  The smile disappears and he just shrugs as he shuts down again.

  This is hopeless. I honestly don’t know if I can handle two more days of this. I thought it would be easy to get to know him. He is my nephew after all, Kevin’s own son. My brother and I got along perfectly. With Stuart I feel as though every question out of my mouth might as well be a KGB interrogation.

  I set my fork down and settle back in my seat, sipping on my second glass of wine while I contemplate my next move. I watch his tiny shoulders tense up, no doubt expecting another torturous round of questions from Evil Uncle Archer.

  Finally, I sigh with resignation and lean in again.

  “You really want to see your Aunt Simone don’t you?”

  The way his eyes shoot up at me, filled with a mixture of hope, relief and excitement answers the question for me.

  “How about we make a tiny deal?”

  He looks at me expectantly, the sparkle in his eye at the mention of Simone’s name now replaced by wariness and a hint of suspicion.

  “You tell me your least favorite food and your very favorite food and we can leave tomorrow afternoon instead of Monday. I have some things to finalize in the morning, but we should be in New York by tomorrow night. How does that sound?”

  He nods and is now actually smiling again, which is a tiny little bruise to the ego if I’m being honest with myself.

  “Okay then, least favorite food. Shoot.”

  He twists his lips as if debating whether or not to answer and once again I’m struck how similar he is to Kevin. My brother used to give that same twist of the lips when he was debating what to play in a game of cards or when he was preparing to give me bad news.

  “Brussels sprouts,” he says, almost in a whisper.

  I chuckle, then immediately stop when I see an admonishing frown come to his face.

  “I used to hate them too,” I confess by way of explanation. “Then I had them prepared the way they should be prepared. When we get to New York I’ll take you to a place that roasts them to perfection with an amazing basalmic glaze. Trust me. You might just change your mind about them.”

  He’s finally staring at me with something other than trepidation and I realize that this is the closest I’ve actually come to having a conversation with him.

  I smile encouragingly and forge ahead. “And your favorite food?”

  “Gummy bears,” he says louder this time but still timidly, as though expecting me to chastise him for it.

  “Hmmm.” I say nodding. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to tell them to get a nice big bag for you on the plane. It’s a long trip back to New York.”

  He blinks at me then slightly narrows his eyes in suspicion as if wondering whether or not I’m telling the truth. I’m guessing there aren’t too many adults in his life offering big bags of gummy bears. Most of them probably know how to be a responsible adult.

  “My favorite candy is Swedish Fish. Do you know what that is?”

  The suspicion is gone and he nods, breaking into another hint of a smile.

  “I’ll have to make sure and get my own big bag. Maybe we can even share. We’re going to have some serious tummy aches when we get back. I hope Aunt Simone is prepared with lots of Pepto-Bismol.”

  Tummy aches? Where the hell did that come from? Now he’s got me talking like a kid, or worse…a parent.

  But then he giggles. It does something to me that I can’t quite figure out, but I’m enjoying it.

  Perhaps this is what it feels like to actually give a damn about someone.

  Chapter Six

  Wrapping up took longer than expected. Thankfully, packing up Kevin and Bette’s residence was easily outsourced. I’ll let Simone handle the details regarding what to keep, what to put into storage, and what to dispose of.

  The office was more complicated. Charles O’Bannion has been helpful and obviously Kevin trusted him. All the same, rather than picking his brain about the REITs I’ve just had all of the files digitally transferred to the New York office, along with everything from Kevin’s computer.

  We’ve still managed to make it to the airport in time to reach New York tonight. I step out of the car and wait for Stuart to join me on the tarmac. He takes half a step out then pauses, looking up at the plane the same way he’s been looking at me since I first met him.

  It hits me that he is probably fully aware by now of how Kevin and Bette died.

  Dammit, I say to myself.

  Still, the plane is a necessary convenience. It’s not as though we can take a train back, and going by ship is a ridiculous proposition.

  I kneel down next to him and his wide, gray eyes turn to me.

  “Are you scared?”

  It takes him a moment to respond, then he nods just a bit.

  “Is it because of Kev—your mom and dad?”

  He twists his lips in that way of his—and his father’s—which answers the question for me.

  “What if I promised you that nothing bad will happen to us?” Obviously, that’s not something I can guarantee, but hopefully it will alleviate some of his concerns. Statistically speaking, flying is in fact one of the safest ways to travel.

  He stares at me noncommittally.

  “I also made sure they have plenty of gummy bears on board. You can have as many as you want.”

  Now his eyes dart back toward the plane with a considering look. That’s a good start.

  I stand up and reach out my hand. “Come on, let’s go stuff our faces with candy. I’m looking forward to my Swedish fish.”

  The funny thing is, I am actually looking forward to the Swedish fish. I can’t even remember the last time I had some. I can’t remember the last time I had candy, period.

  Stuart tentatively takes my hand. His tiny palm is completely dwarfed by my own and there is an awkward moment where I’m unsure how to hold it properly. He figures it out for the both of us, obviously more used to holding larger hands than I am holding child-sized ones.

  Slowly but surely I’m figuring out this whole “uncle” thing. Not that it matters, of course.

  I remember my ultimate goal. Once I’m done with Simone, Stuart will be mine to raise as I see fit, or rather how the Knickerbocker School sees fit.

  Still, I might as well enjoy myself during this little chore of bringing him home.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett,” Meghan, one of the flight attendants says to me in a politely professional tone. The staff on the plane have long since figured out my personality type: Do Not Disturb.

  Her attention shifts to the other passenger with me and her expression and tone change immediately. “And good afternoon to you, Mr. Bennett,” she says brightly and cheerfully to Stuart.

  He blinks in surprise, but then a smile appears on his face.

  “Good afternoon,” he replies holding out his hand graciously.

  She gives him an amused look and reaches down to shake it properly. “Well, aren’t you a perfect gentleman?”

  Isn’t this a pretty picture, I think to myself, feeling that mild sense of jealousy I’ve been experiencing far too much of during this visit. I’m not even sure which of them I’m jealous of: the member of the staff who has always regarded me with polite formality or my nephew who, frankly, has done the same.

  “Let’s get to our seats shall we?” I urge.r />
  The polite professionalism is back and Meghan leads us both to our seats. The interior is sleek and sophisticated, just like everything about Bennett Financial Services. Strictly black and white with hints of gray in the carpeted floor and comfortable seats. There are four chairs facing each other across two tables, one pair on each side of the plane.

  I take my usual seat, facing forward on the right. Before Meghan can show Stuart to the seat she knows I would have preferred he sit in, he has already crawled into the one facing me.

  This is something I hadn’t counted on. I look at my nephew with the same expression I would if Weird Al Yankovic decided to sit across from me and begin playing his accordion.

  Not wanting to be a jerk of an uncle, telling him to take the seat across the aisle, I simply sigh to myself.

  I give a slight nod to Meghan who has been hovering nearby to figure out the best way to move him. There’s a brief flash of something in her eyes resembling admiration, which is a first.

  By the time we are settled in for take-off I’ve got a copy of the Financial Times open. Stuart, thankfully, is occupied with some children’s book he’s brought with him.

  As we speed down the runway and I feel the plane lift off the ground, I hear a loud gasp. My paper is lowered just enough to see him gripping his armrests so hard his tiny fingers are turning white. His eyes are practically bulging out of their sockets as he watches the ground fall away from us outside the window.

  I set the paper down and lean in. “Remember when I promised nothing bad would happen to us?”

  He swallows then nods.

  “Nothing bad is going to happen, and once we reach cruising altitude, Meghan is going to bring you as many gummy bears as you want. How does that sound?”

  I can see his grip ease up a bit based on the color of his finger tips. But he only nods in answer to me.

  I watch him, my own anxiety level increasing with the altitude of the plane. I have no idea what to say to get him to relax and not think about his parents. I’m sure Simone would be quick with some effective words of comfort or funny jokes or kisses and hugs or something. Perhaps once we’re in the air I’ll encourage Meghan and Alexa, the other attendant, to keep him distracted.