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She doesn’t actually want my opinion, so I don’t offer it.
“Venerable came with a warning this morning. He seems to think I’m straying, getting out of line from your lead.” It’s a statement, but a question all the same. I respect my aunt and what she's built here. More importantly, I appreciate the life she gave me when I was left in her hands unexpectedly. I don’t wish to challenge her place either way, personally or professionally.
“Yes,” she sighs. Grabbing a metal case from the desktop, she opens it and removes a slim cigarette. It’s a filthy addiction, but all too common here. Jaqueline leans back in her chair, not lighting the white stick, thankfully, but holding it between her long, thin fingers out of habit. “He came to see me after your meeting with him. Unlike him, I am willing to admit there is a changing landscape in fashion. It is not easily quantifiable the way he’d prefer, however.”
“He’s getting bold, making demands and speaking with disrespect and condescension. I won’t put up with it,” I tell her sternly.
Jacqueline and I walk a tightrope with one another. There is love between us, one of family blood, and respect for our individual gifts. But there is an edge where she needs me but hates that she needs anyone, even her nephew whom she’s raised to be her eventual replacement many, many years from now. Though she often takes the opportunity to remind me that I will not be in charge until she is dead, cold, and in the ground following an elegant service. And even then, she will haunt me if I do anything to displease her or dishonor her memory or the child she created, House Corbin.
Not me.
Jacqueline is my mother’s sister, and though she raised me from a small toddler to be the man I am today, I am not her creation. Or at least she doesn’t feel it to be so.
“You think Pierre Venerable is disrespectful to you?” She laughs heartily. “Dear boy, you have no idea what ill-mannered buffoons I suffered to get House Corbin off the ground. If I could handle them thinking me only good for smiling at a camera or spreading my legs, then I think you can handle Pierre’s impertinence.”
“I’m happy to do so. I simply meant that you may not approve of the way I choose tohandlehim. I’m already coming up with some rather violent ideas.” I grin savagely, though violence is not my preference and I wouldn’t actually hurt the old man. Physically.
Mentally? Emotionally? Financially? All on the table and under consideration, though.
“He holds a significant share of House Corbin stock and has the ear of the board. Even I answer to someone, Nephew.” She frowns, and I wonder if she’s reconsidering her choice to make the company public years ago. It was before my time in the office, but I’ve studied the history of every bit of House Corbin, from the first collection to present, and every business decision Jacqueline has made. It’s my history too, and my future, and I want to know all I can.
“The competition will be a good thing,” I assure her. “You’ll see, and so will the board, including Venerable.”
“Agreed. If it works, then it will be a great thing for House Corbin,” she says, communicating without saying who will get the credit in that instance. “But if it doesn't...”
Her words hang in the air, and I can read them clearly. This is a kill or be killed industry, and there’s a saying...
Blood isnotthicker than fashion.
For a tense moment, Jacqueline fixes me with her gaze, driving the point home before she smiles again and picks up her lighter. “Run along now. I have work to do, and I’m sure you do as well.”
I stand, grateful to get out before she lights up.
When I arrive back at my office, I find Tobias sitting outside. He stands as I approach and smiles broadly. “Thought you’d like the verdict from the finalists.”
He is a brilliant man, and I appreciate his anticipating my desire to know everything. “Come in, let’s sit.”
My office is white and crystal with golden accents, much like the rest of House Corbin. It’s cold and modern intentionally, a way of making the clothes become the main focus. I gesture to a chair, and both Tobias and I sit.
“Spill.”
“They are all very excited to be here, some more nervous and others more assured of their talents. There was much discussion of you, I must say.” He wiggles his eyebrows, lifting and lowering them salaciously.
“Such as?” I prompt, surprisingly curious as to what they had to say about me. Or at least curious what Autumn had to say.
“They think you are a ‘thirst trap’, as Molly called you. Yori was initially concerned you might be ill, even asked if you needed a bottle of water. But once they worked out the slang, it was understood that you are sexy.” He chuckles, shooting me a friendly jab. “If only they knew what an ass you are.”
“Hopefully, you didn’t tell them,” I joke back, knowing he would never. Tobias has been with Jacqueline for a few years now and became a surprisingly good friend despite his proximity to my aunt.
“Didn’t have to. Beatrice did that for me. She’s French, so she knows the gossip and your reputation.”
“Merde,” I growl. “What did she say?”
“That the Eiffel Tower would dwarf your ego, you earned your position by name only, and you are a man whore who can take home any woman you’d like, but then you kick them out with nary a call for a taxi immediately after bedding them.” He delivers all this with a straight face and zero emotion.
My brows knit together, and I feel my face redden with fury, though it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. But the other finalists haven’t. Autumn hasn’t, or at least she hadn’t before Beatrice opened her mouth and spewed forth rumors as though they’re the truth of my character. “How dare she?”
I’m clenching the arms of my chair, but Tobias shrugs casually. “She’s not wrong, though I will add that your reputation as a lover isn’t quite so crass. I usually hear after breakfast, at least.”
His smirk is one that only he could get away with. If anyone else were to suggest I’m that rude, I would filet them with words at the least. I’m not stupid. I know physical altercations aren’t in my best interests when my looks are my trademark.
“Fuck off, man. I don’t want them to think of me like that... or House Corbin,” I argue, adding on that last bit after a too-long pause.
“Mmm-hmm. Believable. Totally.” He waits for me to banter back, but when I’m sullenly quiet, he offers, “Sounds like the hens are escaping the hen house tonight as well. Going to a club to celebrate the start of their adventure.”
Instantly, all I can think of is Autumn at a club or bar, her body swaying to music as a smile curls her lips. The lights would dance on her pale skin, her hair a fiery beacon to the other patrons. She’d be instantly surrounded by Parisian men trying to charm her. My blood heats at the imaginary possibility. “Where?”
He studies me for a moment curiously before lazily replying, “Les Chautons Fous.”
