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CHAPTER4
SIMON
Ten minutes ago...
Pierre Venerable is supposedly forward-thinking and cultured, but as conservative and arrogant as he is pompous. If I were to never see him at a company function or be forced to entertain his condescension during a meeting, my life would only be better.
Not that I’m whining over the luxury I’ve been blessed with. Quite the opposite, in fact.
But that doesn’t mean Venerable isn’t exasperating.
“Simon, I understand that you feel qualified to lead us in a new direction. I even agree that something must be done to right this ship, but I am not certain this contest of yours is the course correction we need.”
Only experience at dealing with snobbishness for my entire life keeps my eyes from rolling. Venerable’s family ancestry has a background in the Navy, and he owns some rather large shipping interests, but throwing every nautical term you know into non-water related conversations is overkill.
I sniff, trying to hide my frustration. “MonsieurVenerable, while I will agree the challenges of the past few seasons have been concerning, House Corbin is, and will remain, the foremost respected brand in France. Once more, this competition will provide a fresh injection of vibrancy, allowing us to tap into the quickly changing global markets beyond French aristocracy.”
Venerable’s face says everything he’s thinking. I can practically smell his disdain.
To him, I’m nothing more than Jacqueline Corbin’s pretty nephew and an example of nepotism at its finest. Once, he would’ve been correct. I was nothing more than a pretty face, literally serving as the male face for House Corbin at my aunt’s behest.
With age came the desire to be more and do more. I began by taking a deeper interest in the photography and representation of the brand during my model shoots. My interest quickly grew into learning the business side, and I immersed myself in every department, wanting to know as much as possible.
Despitemy last name, not because of it. I have earned my position as an executive director.
“Do you know what the word on the street is about House Corbin?” I ask him darkly. To his credit, he frowns but doesn’t speak. “Stale. Repetitive. Elitist. That is what I’ve communicated to Jacqueline time and time again. It’s what got heron boardwith this competition.” Using his own verbal habits, I drive the point home that this is happening whether he’s happy about it or not.
“Bourgeois,” he mutters.
“Pardon?” I snap, glaring at him unforgivingly.
He withers beneath my direct challenge, but judging by the way his lips are pressed so tightly together that they’re turning white, it’s with a significant effort on his part. He’s accustomed to his word being law, and in his world, that is the case. But not here. He is an investor in House Corbin, he has Jacqueline’s ear on the board, and he’s a make-or-break voice in the fashion industry.
None of that means he can decide what happens inside the walls of House Corbin. But he is a tool I can use to my advantage.
“Look,” I start, keeping my voice steady and amenable, “the world is changing and we must evolve with it. Shows likeProject Runwayhave launched numerous respected careers, and bringing fresh ideas to House Corbin is key to continuing our relevance in fashion. Already, the Fashion Females Under 25 competition has increased our social media footprint and driven two new magazine editorials to our door.”
“Oh?” His interest is piqued by that, but I don’t gloat. Rather, I continue selling him in the hopes that he’ll speak positively to Jacqueline instead of suggesting that this is an unfortunate misstep.
“Yes. An online magazine calledHaute Coutureand a print piece inVogue Italia.” I know he won’t be as impressed by the online magazine since he’s a dinosaur that grew up on thick tomes ofBazaar, but online representations are necessary with a younger market.
I’m not old, but after spending my life with Jacqueline as a stand-in pseudo-mother and working on fashion shoots before I was able to grow a proper beard, I don’t know that I was ever truly young. And if Jacqueline was ever young and carefree, the evidence has been scrubbed from existence.
Venerable looks skeptical and is about to reply when the doors bursts open and in comes a curvy woman with hair like the inside of a blood orange, who’s dressed in scanty clothing, singing in English,“There’s some hoes in this house, there’s some hoes in this house! Yeah, yeah, yeah you fucking with some wet ass pussy! Give me everything you GOT! With this wet ass—”
As she sings, she bends down, her hands on her knees and her ass bouncing. And what an ass it is... begging to be grabbed. Or spanked.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demand, anger rising from the pits of my stomach. Actually, I don’t know whether to laugh at the outrageousness or to rage in fury at the inappropriate interruption.
But...
Her body is all sensuous curves, ripe and delectable in a way I am very muchnotused to seeing. In this world, where thin is perpetually in, I’ve gotten used to what the fashion media calls ‘sexy’. I’ve had supermodels draped on me, and the common man’s masturbation fantasies are now commonplace to my jaded sensibilities.
But this flame-haired vixen is something I haven’t seen in a long time. Luscious and succulent... although I have no idea why she was shaking her ass and singing about her wet pussy.
She freezes, shocked for a moment as she stares at me with wide eyes, her mouth agape. “I’m sorry! I stepped into the wrong room, I...” the woman says in strangely accented English, clearly not understanding me.
As quick as she appeared, she disappears, closing the door behind her and leaving both Venerable and me in bewildered shock.
