I remember the first time I saw Connor Templeton, over two years ago.It was at some sort of fundraiser I was attending, merely for appearances. I had no use for clean water in African villages, or schooling for underprivileged children in Latin America. In fact, many times these things ran counter to my business interests.But I had learned long before from my grandparents that social niceties are a cloak best used to hide your real intentions. At least, the smartest use them for that. The less intelligent use them to get from others what they can’t summon for themselves, whether that be approval, self-worth, or a balm for their conscience.Fundraisers: self-absorbed liberals’ prescription for feeling better about themselves.At any rate, it was some pompous gala where people pledged $1000 to charity and ate and drank $900 worth of champagne and caviar. I was trying to raise my profile amongst the do-gooder set, so I had donated $50,000 on behalf of my firm. I expected to make back a
Miranda glided across the ballroom like Maleficent in the christening scene in Sleeping Beauty – albeit more like Angelina Jolie’s version than the greenish-hued harpy in the animated film.She was dressed to kill, in a white designer dress that managed to be both elegant and reserved while showing enough of her curves to make men drool and women (including me) despise her.She was on the arm of her new husband. Or maybe a more accurate way to put it was he was hanging onto her arm, because she definitely eclipsed him in beauty, class, and sociopathic poise.The last time I had seen Vincent Templeton, he looked like a slightly shorter, less attractive version of Connor. Light brown hair instead of black; puffy features; a few extra pounds. Now he was even more bloated, like he’d been hitting the scotch in excess. It didn’t affect the arrogant sneer on his face, though. That was the one area where he excelled over Miranda: the sheer snottiness of his expression.At the same moment I sa
A whole multitude of emotions ran through me all at once.First there was shock. Like, I can’t believe I just heard that.There was anger, too. Like How DARE you?! You humiliated me! You almost made me lose the one man I’ve ever loved! And you think ‘I’m sorry’ is enough?But more than anything, there was a rush of sadness and joy at the same time. I think it was forgiveness. Or at least the beginning of it.Because I knew how hard it was for this cold, stubborn man to come here and say it. He had probably never said ‘I’m sorry’ before in his entire life. Certainly never to his son. But he had said it to me.I remembered how he had stood in front of a dark window while Connor lay wounded in a hospital bed, and poured out his heart to me.Has he ever talked to you about his and my relationship? It’s been strained for years. Many years. It’s both our fault, yes… but in a moment like tonight, I can’t help but feeling… I should have been the bigger man. I should have stopped this stupid
We went into dinner immediately. I’d planned it that way; I figured the less time we had to make small talk, and the sooner we got around to putting food in our mouths, the less time there was for potential disaster.“It’s nice to have you here,” I told Mr. Templeton as we sat down.“Thank you for the invitation.”“I hope it didn’t cause any… friction.”I wondered if he would know what I meant, since I didn’t want to spell it out.He knew exactly what I meant. “As it so happens, Vincent, Miranda, and my wife are out of town.”Connor raised his glass and toasted mischievously, “To things working out for the best.”I glared at him. Behave.He just gave me a punk-ass, mischievous little smile in return.I sighed and turned my attention back to Connor’s father. We chatted a little about inconsequential things as Marta, our maid, brought in the first course.Mr. Templeton didn’t even acknowledge her, though.“Thank you, Marta,” I said, annoyed by his rudeness.“Yes, thanks, Marta,” Connor
Connor and I were still talking about the evening as we settled into bed. We’d recently gotten a pair of silk pajamas and split them between us. I was wearing the top, and Connor was looking hot in just the bottoms.Even billionaires like to economize.Their fiancées like it even more, when economizing shows off the man’s gorgeous chest and rock-hard abs.“See? He’s changed,” I insisted as I crawled into bed.“No he hasn’t.”I looked at Connor in disbelief. “Are you serious?”“Okay…” Connor relented. “Maybe he’s softened. Some.”“Weren’t you shocked when he said that stuff about Miranda?”Connor looked troubled. “Actually… yes. That was the part that surprised me the most.”“Aren’t you glad that he finally sees her for what she is?”“I would… if I didn’t know from experience how dangerous that can be.”“Well, now you have an ally. And one you thought was an enemy.”“I guess.”Under the sheets, he put his hand on the inside of my thigh and lightly brushed his fingertips upwards.“Hey!”
Johnny, Sebastian, and I sat in the back of the limo, all of us hastily dressed, all of us watching Connor with fear and concern. My fiancé sat next to me, staring out the window, his face blank and pale as a waxwork figure.Outside the window, the lights of New York City flashed by in the early morning darkness.“He had a heart attack on the way home,” Sebastian explained quietly. “His limo driver took him directly to the hospital, but… it was too late.”Connor just stared out the window. He didn’t say anything.“We don’t have to do this now,” Sebastian said. “His limo driver identified him to the authorities, so there’s no reason to – ”“I want to see him,” Connor said, his voice monotone.“We could wait until later this morning – ”“I want to see my father.”Sebastian acquiesced. “Okay.”“Has anyone notified my mother and brother?”“Yes, the hospital did, but they’re out of town.”“He said that,” Connor remarked, like it was a mildly interesting fact he’d just now remembered. “He
My father’s body lay there on the slab. They’d put him in a black body bag that was unzipped halfway down his chest.It was strange to see him like that. I hadn’t seen him in a bathing suit since I was a kid, so seeing him now, half-naked and exposed, was very strange.Almost as strange as seeing him dead.His skin was pale and white with a light blue tint to it. His eyes were closed, like he was sleeping.Curiously, I didn’t feel anything. That body on the slab wasn’t my father. My father was alive; my father was an oil baron, a titan of industry, a king among billionaires. This thing that lay in front of me… it was just a husk. Just an empty shell. It was the mask without the soul behind it.My father was gone.The doctor was saying something. “…likely heart attack… blood screening… report in a few days…”“Okay,” I said, hoping it would shut him up. I didn’t want to hear anymore.The doctor peered at me closely, like he was looking for some sort of sign. Like he was worried. “Do yo
Almost exactly a week later came the reading of the will. My father wasn’t even in the ground yet, and the vultures descended to pick over the carrion.To be fair, with a business empire that large, there were certain questions that had to be settled quickly. My father had been a day-to-day participant as CEO, not just a ‘once a month’ Chairman of the Board. Someone needed to head up the various companies that comprised the Templeton Group. Not to mention, the politics of the situation would be significantly altered depending on how his controlling share of stock was divided.Two weeks before, I wouldn’t have cared. I would have just assumed everything would pass on to Mother, with Vincent in the CEO role as a sort of puppet, and Miranda pulling all the strings.Dad had said essentially the same thing: We both know the truth. Your mother, strong as she is, isn’t a businesswoman. And Vincent is a weakling. Miranda will overpower them both and ransack everything for her own gains… which