The Accidental Mistress (8 page)

"
Ma petite,
he's resting. Calm
down,
chérie.
I
told you on the phone that he's well. The doctors said tis' only
partial paralysis to his left side. "

"I have to see him." Zuri pushed past her
mother into the room. An old woman in all white with a matching
white wrap on her head (his nurse possibly) was at the side of the
bed, checking vials of medicine.

"
Père
!"

Zuri's father's right eye opened. His left
remained half closed, slack, as did the corner of his mouth. To see
Claude Baptiste in such a state was jarring. He was never sick,
never.

Zuri shook her head in
disbelief. "
Père
,
are you okay?"

"Zuri," he managed.
"
Allô, ma belle
."

She was at his side, his
hands in hers. Zuri felt a surge of strength to see him try to
smile. "I'm so sorry,
père
. So sorry I wasn't
here."

"Zuri,
chérie
, this is not your fault," her
mother said. The words grated her nerves. She wanted to scream at
her mother, accuse her of punishing her by delaying the news. But
she didn't. Guilt, like a stone, lodged to the center of her
throat. How could she not blame herself? Her father wanted her to
return home, to work the business with her sister. But she wanted
law school. So the new resort was opened and managed between him
and Joi. She knew the last year had been tough. Hurricane Manuel
had all but demolished the island with mudslides and floods. Joi
told her
père
was
stressing. Still she had been selfish, determined to remain in
Chicago.
"
Je suis
désolée
.
I'm so
very, very sorry."

"Zuri, no, no, see, fine," Claude slurred;
he touched his chest with the right hand he could control. She held
his left to her breast. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. It
felt clammy under her lips. "Okay, that's right. You're going to be
fine," she said.

"Zuri, he has to rest. You
can't upset him,
chérie
." Her mother coaxed her away, but she fought the advice. She
wanted to stay, remain in his arms and let him tell her how she was
his special girl. She longed to see him entertaining friends and
become full of wine then bellow:
La vie
est trop courte pour boire du mauvais vin!
Life is too good to drink bad wine. Zuri felt a smile forming
as she was gently led from his bedside.

"Come, let's talk. I'll tell you what's
going on."

"
Père
, I'll be back. Okay? You get
some rest. Promise me. Okay?"

He waved his hand feebly and closed his
eyes. It broke her heart. She followed her mother out.

***

"Drink this."

Zuri looked up at the small
porcelain cup of tea with a slice of cinnamon dusted mango on the
saucer. The way she liked it as a kid. "
Merci
."

"I knew you had that test, the big one. What
is it called?"

"The Bar."

"
Oui
, the bar. I wanted to wait until
we knew for sure. "

"How did it happen,
mère
?"

Nanette Baptiste pulled out a chair. She sat
down like a lady, folding her skirt beneath her. She waved her hand
and the cooks under her employ all left the kitchen. Her mother’s
eyes, like hers, once mirrors of her inner strength, were heavy
lidded, and puffy with dark rings shadowed beneath. Even her
expertly applied make-up could not conceal it. She looked as if she
hadn't slept. "I found him in the parlor on the floor. The doctors
said he had an Ischemic stroke. A clot formed and blocked the flow
of blood to his brain. They got to him in time. They don't know if
the paralysis will be permanent."

Zuri sighed. "How bad are things? I talked
to Joi last night."

When her mother didn't
answer, Zuri glanced up. "
Mère
? What is it?"

“
He got news three weeks
ago. A company called 'Montague' has moved in to acquire the debt
for the resort in Fort de France. The owner is coming here to meet
with Joi. Claude has mortgaged the plantation, but we may still be
unable to stop the banks for collecting on his debt. We will lose
this place, and the others.”

"I won't let that happen."

"Zuri,
chérie
, this is not your burden. Have
you seen the island? Many are struggling to rebuild. The republic
is assisting but it is a slow recovery. But it will happen." Her
mother reached and covered her hand with hers to soothe away Zuri's
doubts.

"I should have come home to help manage
things."

"Look at me."

Zuri’s eyes lifted. Tears dropped into her
tea.

"Your father is a good business man, but
even he can't defeat the hand of God. That hurricane ravaged
Martinique. We are all suffering loses. But there is good news,
Zuri. Claude will get better. We are still a family. And his
investments will at the very least protect our home."

"He won't get better if he
loses everything,
mère
! We have to save what is ours, not give up."

"It is out of our hands."

"No! I spoke to Joi. The sale isn't for
another few weeks. Our lawyers are involved. I can help."

"Zuri, you are to go back. You must take
your bar test. The law firm that hired you depends on you. I'm so
proud of you."

"No!" Zuri snapped. She never raised her
voice to her mother, but she wasn't about to let this go. "I'm home
now. I'll fix this. Joi and I will find a way. Okay?"

Nanette, looked too tired
to battle her daughters wishes. Zuri rose and went around the table
to her mother. "I love you,
mère
. We will fix this. I swear
it."

***

"Whoa!! Look at you!" Christophe said,
placing the phone back on the receiver. Elliot popped his collar as
he approached Christophe's desk. He wore a white blazer and dark
jeans. His shirt was unbuttoned to the center of his chest. He
looked like he was ready for a day of yachting, not the board
meeting in twenty minutes. "I take it you're skipping the
meeting?"

"Meeting? We need to be ready for the
trip."

"What trip?" Christophe frowned.

"Martinique. I told you
about this. Your mother knows
—
"

"Mum doesn't run this company. I do. And I
haven't signed off on this acquisition. It's her wish that we take
over the hospitality business in the West Indies, not mine.

"We know you want to be some big top
American conglomerate, but Montague is our French Empire, sonny
boy. And Martinique is just like home."

Christophe waved it off.

"Cousin, your disdain for all things French
is just to piss the old girl off. I get it. But this here is a
legitimate business deal. The resorts on the island have suffered
considerable damage; those locals have little means to recover
after a rebuild. No clue where to begin. And the republic is moving
at a snail's pace. They need us."

"Or you need them." Christophe’s eyes peeped
over the rim of his glasses.

"Come again?"

"I know about mother's ultimatum. She's
thinking of cutting off your funds. Now you want me to set you up
in Martinique for days of fun in the sun while I struggle to keep
the investment from costing us. Been here before with you, haven't
I?"

"No, not true. Well not entirely true. This
owner is being forced to sell by the bank. I just got off the phone
with my contact down there and they have had even more misfortune.
The man had a stroke. They are near bankrupt. Besides, I think I
can run this one on my own. Prove myself to you and the old girl
that I'm truly a Montague. I want to stop being the trust fund
nephew, and be my own man. Just need you to okay it."

Christophe chuckled, "You just want to fuck
some island girls."

Elliot nodded. "And that's a bad thing?"

"It is when it comes to my business,"
Christophe snapped.

Elliot dropped in the chair. "Fuck, man!
Things were supposed to be different under you, four years and
you're like your mother's clone."

"Leave, Elliot."

"We talked about this in
college. When you took over and she stepped down, you would run the
place differently. We would make Montague different. My mum is
dead. No pressure there. But you got it even better.
Tante's
handed you the
company. What is there left to prove? Christophe. Christophe? When
was the last time you got laid? Been on a date? Sniffed pussy? Did
Gabriella fuck you up that bad that you forgot you liked women? You
act more and more like your father."

Christophe glared at his cousin, and he felt
his chest tighten at the reference.

"He drove himself mad trying to please your
mum until it broke him. Hell, you look like him now."

"Are you done?" Christophe asked, his jaw
clenched. The urge to smack Elliot burned in his palm. He had
fought hard for his mother's respect. He'd given up his own dreams
to attain it. And in the past four years, he'd quadrupled the
profits of Montague in a fledging economy. Contrary to popular
belief, when America got a cold the rest of the world caught the
flu. He'd been aggressive, ruthless, and smart. To do so required
commitment, and sacrifice, which took the ladies off the menu. But
his cousin would never understand the trade-off. He certainly
wouldn't consider Elliot’s erection as an investment lead.

"Okay, I give. Fact is the island is filled
with hot ass women. Beautiful Carnivale brown beauties and tits and
ass for days."

"Are we done?" Christophe sighed, signing
off on the new business concept documents before him.

"It's also filled with promise. Your mother
agrees. She wouldn't have given me a thumbs up on the
proposal."

"She doesn't run this company. I do. And I
give it the finger."

Elliot chuckled. "You and I
know she runs the board. Christophe, listen to me. The
Oasis
—
"

"Oasis?"

"The hotel in Martinique.
It can be rebuilt into something lucrative. The banks are
foreclosing on this one; they will take next to nothing for it. We
can set the deal however we choose. All I need
—
"

"Need?" Christophe sat back. "Did you commit
Montague in this deal?"

Elliot shifted in his chair. "I did, but
wait! Here me out!"

"Damn it, Elliot! I've told
you
—
"

"Thirty days. We have a thirty-day loophole
with the bank to back out of the sell. The family has two weeks to
counter our offer and cover their debts. We can go down there and
make sure they don't, see the investment for our selves. And no
matter what you think, you do need this vacation."

Christophe rocked back in his chair. His
vision blurred with fatigue. He had little than ten hours worth of
sleep all week.

"After the board meeting, we take the jet
and head to Fort de France. They don't expect us until the end of
the week. We can get there early and catch them off guard. They're
desperate for us to come. The place will close either way."

The door to Christophe's office opened
behind Elliot. Stephanie Montague stepped into the room. The stern
countenance of his mother's scowl deepened when her critical gaze
shifted to Elliot. Elliot's attire was totally inappropriate on a
board-meeting day. Stephanie believed in corporate attire always.
The women in the office had to wear pantyhose no matter the season
and always with blouses buttoned up. If she was in the building,
even the security guards wore ties.

“
Boys.” His mother said in
his usual nasal pious tone.

Elliot cut his eyes to the
ceiling then forced a smile to his face. He turned in his chair.
"
Tante,
Stephanie.
Didn't know you were here."

“
Evidently. I take it you
have an appropriate blazer and tie for today's board
meeting?”

“
Oui, madame.
I was about to change into it now.
Pardon moi
,” Elliot said.
He rose and hurried out the door, stopped before the threshold and
addressed Christophe. “Jet leaves tomorrow evening. I assume you
will be on it.”

Stephanie's thinly arched brow winged up
curiously. "What is that about? You taking a trip?"

"You gave Elliot the green light to invest
in the Caribbean?"

Stephanie shrugged it off. "You should have
focused more attention in the West Indies. We already own resorts
in Guadeloupe and Dominica. Why not Martinique?"

“
I'll take it under
advisement. How are things mum? Your flight in?”

“
Exhausting. I hate the
states. You know this. I wish you would relocate the office to
Paris.”

Christophe tried to swallow his amusement.
"Montague has an office in Paris. You could easily conference
in."

Stephanie ignored her son, taking a seat. "I
hear the profit reports are really impressive, thanks to you. Your
work so far is admirable."

Christophe felt nothing. His mother's praise
was as hollow as the tone she delivered it in. It was the criticism
that stung like a bitch. He braced for what was to come next.

“
Of course, there are
area's of improvement. I'm told that you authorized company bonuses
this year. That is surprising.”