“Sly? Manipulative? Egotistical?” I rattle off every fault I can think of about the man whose only true love is himself.
“Yes! That’s exactly it. It felt like he was saying something without saying it, you know?”
I nod. I understand him completely. On the surface, Edward seems the pinnacle of wealth and propriety. It’s underneath that you realize he’s a charlatan, merely selling the appearance of a respectable man.
“What do you think, Al?”
I pause for a moment, trying to think before a possibility hits me. History remembers Edward Harrison as an incredibly successful business executive. A superpower within his field, never a misstep or wrong decision, and one of the last great tycoons. But what if the root of that success is manipulation and deceit? There’s no way someone becomes that much of a success without some skeletons in their closet. It seems unlikely that his reputation is so spotless, especially after having met him personally and seen for myself how arrogant he is.
“I have a thought, but I’ll need you to test the theory.”
Ben leans forward with intrigue. “I’m listening.”
“When you’re with him tonight, tell him one of your hotels is underperforming compared to the others. Occupancy is down and the building needs more repairs and upgrades than it is worth. It’s losing you money. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. Where are you going with this?”
“Ben, I need you to sell it, though. Don’t act like you care about the employees. You have to care about money only, and pathways to making the most possible. Make it obvious that it's your only goal and that the ends justify the means. You’re going to need to lay the douchebaggery on pretty thick, but he won’t be able to resist the bait.”
“Douchebaggery.” Ben giggles. “Is that even a word?”
“It is now.”
“I shall put in my best performance, I assure you.” His voice is over the top and theatrical. It’s clear he is going to enjoy this undercover project. “What’s your play here?”
“He’s gotta be doing something shady. I think you were right to be put off by what he said. I know he technically didn’t say anything incriminating, but I think if you hand him the rope, he’ll hang himself with it. If I’m right, and I think I am, I think he’s committing some kind of fraud. There’s no way a jackass like him took the squeaky clean path to success. There’s just no way.”
“Alright, let’s do it.” Ben laughs to himself. “You know, this might just be the first cigars and brandy session I’m looking forward to.”
I’m thankful Ben presented me with this side project to focus on. I’m hoping it will occupy enough time and space in my mind that I can distract myself from the mess I’ve made with Charlie.
After breakfast, Ben escorts me up to the boat deck to meet Violet before heading off with John.
Her eyes brighten as she notices me approach her. We link arms like two schoolgirls and stroll the deck. We talk about books as though there is no gap between our respective periods.
“I’m surprised Austen is your favorite, Violet.”
Admittedly, Jane Austen is my favorite author as well. The fact that we share the same favorite author makes me feel even more connected to her. I suppose I just never pegged her to be a fan of such romantic novels.
“Name me a character more spirited and headstrong than Elizabeth Bennet, or more gracious and selfless than Elinor Dashwood, or more clever and thoughtful than Anne Eliot. Maybe they are romances, but at their very core, they are stories about strong women.”
Her passion is contagious, and I find myself continuously in awe of this woman. I think she could sell me a used car that doesn’t even work with how easily she speaks from her heart.
I want to know everything about her, her life, her interests, all of it. I know I should focus on Alice Carney, but I just want to know more aboutViolet.
“Do you like music?” I feel embarrassed subjecting her to a game of twenty questions, but I just want to soak in every moment with her, because soon enough I will be without her again.
“I love music. I actually play piano.”
“Me too.” I suddenly realize that the piano that sits in the formal living room is Violet’s as well. Our hands have grazed the same keys, possibly playing the melodies of the same songs.
“Admittedly, much of what I play now is amusement for the girls,” she laughs, referring to lullabies and children’s nursery rhymes. “What is your favorite song, Alice?”
Shit. Do I even know a song from this time? I’m sure I know many, but I’m not entirely certain of the exact dates they originally came out. I don’t want to name one and find out it came out five years later. I have to take a complete stab in the dark here and hope for the best. I remember a song from when I was a kid watchingAnne of Green Gables.Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe danced to it at their wedding. They were the quintessential enemies to friends to lovers trope, and I grew up adoring their slow-burn romance. “Uh, ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart.’”
“Oh, yes. That’s a lovely song.” She smiles at me before tilting her head, as if she’s trying to decide hers. “I think mine is ‘It’s Hard to Kiss Your Sweetheart When the Last Kiss Means Goodbye.’”
“I’m not familiar with that song.”
