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CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
And here I thought all the Beaumont brothers were straight.”
Pulled out of his daydreams, Deacon turned to Samuel, who was dressed as impeccably as usual in a gray designer suit and lavender tie. “Excuse me?”
Instead of answering, Samuel turned to Babette, who was crouched in front of a model and pinning her corset—the exact corset that Olivia had worn. Which was what had prompted Deacon’s daydreaming. He still couldn’t look at it without all the memories flooding back. Not to mention the pain.
“Make sure the satin binding looks smooth, Babette,” Samuel said. “And don’t lace her up too tightly for the show. We don’t want her passing out onstage.”
Babette sniffed. “You act as if I have never stitched a stitch before, but I’ll have you know that I could’ve designed this in my sleep.”
“Doubtful.” Samuel leaned back with one finger pressed to his lips and studied the corset before he nodded his satisfaction. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He turned his attention to Deacon. “I said that I thought all the Beaumont brothers were straight, but it seems I was wrong.”
Deacon’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t wrong.”
“Then explain why a heterosexual man who is surrounded by half-naked supermodels isn’t smiling.” He nodded over at Nash, who stood in one corner, grinning like a Cheshire cat high on catnip. Grayson stood next to him. He wasn’t smiling as much as sketching furiously. “Your brothers seem to be enjoying themselves.” He glanced at Donny John, who was chatting up a model. “And your father.”
“Because they don’t realize how much is riding on this fashion show.”
Samuel studied him for another second before turning to the roomful of designers and models and clapping his hands. “Okay, everyone, let’s see if we can finish up with the fittings before nine tonight. I want everyone getting a good night’s sleep because tomorrow is going to be a busy day.” He glanced back at Deacon. “Would you please step into my office, Mr. Beaumont? There are some last-minute decisions I’d like your input on.”
Deacon nodded and followed him to the office. When the door was closed, he took a seat in front of the immaculate desk. “I’ve told you before that you can call me Deacon. I’m sure Michael had you call him by his first name.”
Samuel took the chair behind the desk. “Actually, the only one who got away with that was Olivia.”
“It figures. The more I learn about my uncle, the more of a jackass he becomes.”
“Michael Beaumont had his flaws just like the rest of us. One was his arrogance, and the other his love of money.” Samuel hesitated. “Is that true of you too, Mr. Beaumont? Is that the only reason you’re working as hard as you are? You want to make the fashion show a success so you can sell the company for more money?”
Deacon had thought about it. He had spent the last two weeks thinking about it. And last night he had finally come to a decision. “I’m not selling French Kiss.” He got up and walked to the window that looked out on the design studio. “I’m trying to save it for the one person who deserves it.”
“I assume that we’re not talking about Michael’s illegitimate son.”
Presenting the doctor’s records of Michael’s football injury and consequent infertility to Francesca’s lawyers had been the highlight of the past few weeks. Thomas, Bentley, and Thomas had immediately backed out of the will contest, and Deacon had yet to hear from Francesca. He hadn’t heard from her even when the board voted to decline Avery’s offer to buy French Kiss.
“No,” Deacon said. “He wasn’t Michael’s son.”
“And are you?”
He turned. “How did you know about that?”
“I’ve talked with Olivia.” Samuel leaned back in his chair. He was the only man Deacon knew who could lean back and still not look relaxed. “She calls me almost every day. She claims it’s just to chat, but I think it’s to keep track of what’s happening here. So I’m going to assume that she’s the one you’re saving the company for.”
Deacon nodded. “She’s worked hard all her life for French Kiss. She deserves to have it. And I don’t know why my uncle didn’t will it to her.”
“I think he finally realized that he had imprisoned Olivia in the walls of French Kiss, and he wanted to set her free to live her own dream…not someone else’s.”
Deacon shrugged. “It was still a shitty thing to do. Olivia loves French Kiss more than anything.”
Samuel pressed a finger to his lips and studied Deacon just as he had the corset. “I don’t think that’s still true. As for Olivia running the company, it’s a bad idea. She’s too kindhearted to be a good boss. The company needs a controlling hard-ass…like you.”
“Well, they’ll have to do without this hard-ass. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.”
For the first time, Samuel showed emotion. He sat up, his eyes concerned. “Before the fashion show? You can’t do that. People will want to see the new owners—they’ll want to know the faces that go with the names on the collections.”
“My brothers will be here. And people won’t care about us as much as the designer who created the collections. That designer is Olivia. She should be the one who gets the accolades—the one walking down the catwalk at the end of the show to all the applause and camera clicks.” He crossed his arms. “Now what last-minute details did you want to go over?”
Samuel rose from the chair and walked around the desk. “There aren’t any. I lied to get you alone so I could find out the truth.”
