The Laws of Seduction: A French Kiss Novel (19 page)

Charlotte sipped the wine. “What are you talking about? This is good. But then again, I’m not a wine snob like you.”

He took exception. “When France starts making cheese steaks and root beer then you can become as big a snob about them as I am about our wine.”

“Not setting the bar too high, are you? Anyway, so what you’re saying is that perhaps Viviane got to the congresswoman and bribed her to string you along and kill the bill.”

“I was gone for two months, remember. Anything could’ve happened in that amount of time. Which was when either Viviane or Hitchell probably got to her.”

“So he was always the fly in the ointment, wasn’t he?”

“The
what
?”

“It’s an old American expression.”

“Oh. Like,
on n’apprend pas aux vieux singes à faire des grimaces.
”

“What’s that?”

“You cannot teach old monkeys to make faces.”

“That’s a rip-off on you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Variations on a theme.” He leaned into the table. “But we digress.” He took one more sip, this time frowning. “
Mon Dieu
, that wine is
dégueulasse
.” He shoved the glass away, tippling it.

“Rex!” Charlotte cried, catching it before it fell over. “For Christ sake, it’s not from Provence, but it’s hardly Boone’s Farm.” She downed a good portion from her own glass. “I think it’s very good, but then again, I wasn’t born with your silver spoon.”

He looked up sharply. “You have no idea what I was born with.”

“No I don’t,” she said, irritated he was acting this way. “You’ve kept most information about yourself very well hidden. As a matter of fact, the only things I really know about you are you hate this wine, you ride Percherons, and you like to fuck me.” She took another swallow. “Well,
I
like this wine, and as far as I’m concerned you probably think you’re slumming.”

“Is that so,” he said, rising, turning toward the bar. He poured himself a finger of scotch then came around to Charlotte. “Would you like to know a little about my upbringing?”

“I think it would help to understand you a bit more.”

He sat back at the table, his legs spread, his drink between them. “Do you think that’s important?”

There was a strange kind of hunger in his eyes. “Yes, I do,” she said.

“Why?”

Why was he pressing her? Was he trying to make her say she loved him? Because she couldn’t, not now. Maybe never. “Maybe I’m just a little bit curious about what it’s like to get everything you want right from the start.”

“Is that what you think my life’s been like?” He tossed back the shot. “Then let me enlighten you. My epicurean and oenological tastes come from a long line of sausage makers and grape pickers.
Les bouseux
, they’re called back home—the cow pies. Then along about the later part of the twentieth century some members of the family decided to get ambitious and trade their clogs for boat shoes. So my father left the farm and went to the big city, to work for a shipping company called—”

“Mercier,” Charlotte finished.

“Exactly,” Rex said. “He was to start off as an ordinary seaman, the lowest of the low on a ship. But it was a good job, and it paid steady. And after a while, he’d have enough money for a nice big apartment in Marseille. So one morning before I left for school, I remember seeing him at the door with his suitcase, my mother in his arms. She was crying so hard he had to hold her up, and they spent a very long time kissing. After a while he came and told me to be a good boy and take care of my
maman
, then he kissed me and left. I was nine years old, and I never saw him again.”

“What happened?” she said, transfixed.

He looked down into his glass. “About three months later he was helping to repair a winch when he got caught in it and it snapped his head off.”

“Jesus . . .” Charlotte whispered.

“They sent his body home in a leak-proof box and the company gave my mother a pension for life. Everyone thought it was fair, especially since we wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. But that didn’t stop my mother from hanging herself in the basement on the day the first check arrived.”

She brushed her hand down his arm. “Is that when you went to live with your aunt?”

He set the glass to the table, sitting back. “She was responsible for me, but I never lived with her. She went back to Mercier and demanded they do more for me, since I was now an orphan. They thought they had done enough, but she was relentless, demanding they take care of my education. So the next thing I knew I was shipped off to boarding school, and a trust fund was set up in my name. I did so well I eventually went on to Cambridge, then Harvard for my MBA, finding out I had an unusual penchant for business. You see,
I
was the original wunderkind, way before they started calling Marcel that. By twenty-eight, I had risen up through the corporate ranks to become a vice-president in charge of finance for Andele Chemical. By thirty, I was chief operating officer for Sinclair Aero. Then a year later I was lured away to Richette. And that,” he said, pulling her into his lap, “is the story of this simple boy’s rise to riches.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s much more to it than that,” Charlotte said. “You’re way too complicated for simplicity.”

“You should know,” he said, tilting her back in his arms.

I
T WAS CLOSE
to six-thirty by the time they made it back to the Margate beach up the street from Charlotte’s house. The sun had nearly risen over the rim of the ocean, the horizon streaked with reds and golds.

“I’m glad I wore this coat,” Charlotte said, walking faster. “It’s pretty chilly out here.”

Rex pulled her closer, his arm around her. “Thank God for body heat. Shall we throw a log in your fireplace?”

“There’s a lot of seasoned wood out back. My grandmother was big on fires at holidays. Why, every Christmas we would—” She grabbed Rex’s arm, stopping him. “Rex—look. Someone’s sitting in my backyard.”

He peered through the twilight. “What the hell?”

“Do you think it’s someone from Philly?” she said as they picked up their pace. “Or maybe even the cops?”

“I don’t know. But if it is the cops, we’ll just say we spent the night in Atlantic City. There’s no law against that, and they’ll have me playing on camera.”

“As well as that big wad of cash you still have in your pocket. Good idea.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Wait a minute. That’s no cop.”

“How do you know?” she said, squinting to see.

He looked at her wryly. “Not in those shoes.”

Charlotte looked at him. “It’s a woman?”

Rex took her hand as they approached the steps from the beach. “Come on.”

By the time they turned the corner into the yard they could see a woman in a black coat and very high heels, her head covered in a scarf. She was just crushing out a cigarette when suddenly she saw them, her eyes a striking shade of blue, even in the thin light.

“Rex!” Charlotte whispered, grabbing his arm. “You were right, weren’t you?”

“Good morning,” the woman said in French, reaching into her pocket. When she pulled her hand out, a phone was in it. “Looking for this?”

Rex laughed, looking to an astonished Charlotte as he said in English, “Charlotte, this is my aunt, Viviane Mercier.”

Chapter Nineteen

Femmes Fatale

C
HARLOTTE LOOKED FROM
Rex to his aunt to the phone in her hand, at a loss for what was most incredible. “Viviane Mercier is your
aunt
?”

“Only by blood, Charlotte, and most definitely not by affection.
Bonjour,
Viviane
. Comment allez-vous?
” Then he was on her, holding his hand out as he continued
en français.
“Now give me my fucking phone.”

“Oh do cut to the chase,” Viviane said in their own language, throwing it at him. “I wouldn’t want you to mince words, you ungrateful ass.”

“And I wouldn’t want to wring your neck,” he said, catching it. “At least not for all the neighbors to see.” He went straight to the voice recorder, tapping it. “It’s there,” he said, letting out a visible sigh of relief. “How the hell did you get my phone?”

“It wasn’t that difficult. Policemen still take bribes, you know.” She rubbed her arms, shivering a bit. “I’ve been sitting out here for over an hour. You could at least offer me a coffee.”

“Did I hear right?” Charlotte felt like screaming. “We’ve just been running all over the East Coast because of her, and she wants you to make her
coffee
?”

“Your woman there,” Viviane said,
en français
, eyeing her blandly, “she’s rather excitable, isn’t she?”

“Actually,” Rex said in their own language, “she’s my attorney.”

“Oh really?” His aunt gave her a quick once-over. “Well, with that hair she looks more like a tart. Are you sleeping with her?”

“What the hell!” Charlotte cried. She glared at the older woman. “And you look like something out of a Mickey Spillane novel,” she said in French. “Why don’t you go stand under a streetlight.”

The woman turned red with rage. “Why didn’t you tell me she speaks the language!” she said in English.

“Because it’s more interesting this way, don’t you think?” Rex said. “But let’s keep to English so we’re all on the same page.” He grabbed her arm. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to tell me what part you’re playing in this drama, or I swear to God I’m calling the police and having you—”

“
Arrêtez—arrêtez!
” she cried, shrugging him loose. “Believe it or not, if you give me a chance to explain you’ll find out I’m very much on your side.”

His brow arched. “Excuse me if I find that extremely difficult to fathom.”

The elder woman straightened, righting the scarf over her midnight-black hair. “I’m not asking you to believe me. All I’m asking is for you to listen.” She shivered again. “And maybe take an old and very tired woman out of the cold.”

“Old—
you
?” Rex scoffed. “Why Viviane, you’re ageless.” Then he took her arm, a bit more gently, yet no less firmly. “You have ten minutes. Let’s go.”

T
HERE WAS NO
milk and very little sugar, so Charlotte bypassed what Rex and his aunt would call
café américain
for a French espresso her grandmother had been fond of. Which either impressed or irritated the older woman immensely. Charlotte found it hard to tell the difference and couldn’t care less about either.

How she was feeling toward Rex right now was quite another story.

“You could have told me,” she whispered as they stood by the stove, his aunt settling herself at the kitchen table. She turned up the fire under the kettle. “You’re Marcel’s first cousin, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’ve hardly seen her more than ten days my whole life. The fact she’s my
tante
is purely an accident of birth. Marcel doesn’t even know about me.”

She stared at him in disbelief? “What?”

“It’s rather awkward sitting in someone’s house you don’t even know the name of,” Viviane said, slipping her scarf around her shoulders. “Don’t you think it’s time you introduce us, Rex?”

He turned from the stove. “As if you don’t already know, but I’ll say it anyway.” He flung his hand from one woman to the other. “Charlotte Andreko—Viviane Mercier.”

“
Enchantée
,” Viviane said, nodding her head to Charlotte. “I’ve noticed your accent is too good for an American,” she added with a regal lift of her nose. “Are you French?”

“Her
grand-mère
was a
Parisienne
,” Rex said, appearing to enjoy how that stiffened her shoulders. “Her mother was born there and lives there now. Charlotte is half French.”

“Ah.” Viviane lifted her chin. “That explains the attitude.”

Charlotte ignored that, bringing down the coffee press. “That was you in the Rolls-Royce the other night, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Viviane said.

“But how did you find us?” Charlotte said. “No one knew we were here except the police  . . .”

“Seems my aunt gets her money’s worth out of a bribe,” Rex said. “You must have dumped quite a load of cash for the privilege of screwing with my life.”

“You really shouldn’t talk like that, nephew,” she said. “Because in just a few minutes you’ll be thanking me.”

“Can we save the cryptic dialogue for later, please?” Charlotte said. “I’d like to know why you were here Tuesday night, then in Washington yesterday, and why you grabbed Rex’s phone.” She stifled a yawn. “I’m working on very little sleep, and I’d really like to get this over with so I can go to bed.”

“No doubt you do.” Viviane said, fuming. She glanced to her nephew. “You
are
sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

“Do you think I’d share that information with you or anyone else? Now,” Rex said, “get to the point already. I’ve been accused of a felony, and—”

Her voice stopped him with the barest sound of derision. “As if you would have to force yourself on anyone. How ridiculous—”

“Viviane!” He charged at her, looming over her at the table. “Why have the directors been talking about going public again? The last time that happened you came to me at Richette, ready to sell out the family. It’s the same now, isn’t it?”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” she said, mirroring his glare perfectly. “I didn’t come looking for them. This time Richette came looking for me.”

“Now why would they do that,” Rex said, standing back, “if they didn’t figure you’d be open to it?”

Her mouth crooked with a such a potent mix of cunning and seduction, it was a wonder the world wasn’t laid at her feet. “Because I led them to believe I was.”

Apparently, Rex wasn’t buying it. “How?” Then he smiled as well. “Not that I’m questioning your skills.” Or, Charlotte figured, perhaps he was simply immune.

“I was in Paris over the summer where I went to a cocktail party. At Jean-Paul Levere’s.”

“Who?” Charlotte said.

“Richette’s CEO,” Rex said, his eyes never leaving his aunt’s.

“He said he invited me specially to introduce me to an American businessman,” she went on. “By the name of Brendan Hitchell.”

“Representative Hitchell,” Charlotte clarified, glancing to Rex, scooping coffee into the press. “Did he tell you that?”

“Not right then,” she said, crossing a pair of very shapely legs. “Jean-Paul only said Monsieur Hitchell was looking into expanding his oil and gas business to Europe, and perhaps there was something our companies could do for him.”

“How interesting he approached you instead of Marcel,” Rex said, joining her at the table. “I’m assuming this was when both your son and I were in America?”

Her gaze shot to his. “I was perfectly aware of what he was doing.”

“Then why did you play along?”

“You’ve heard the rumblings in the board about taking the company public,” she said. “How their shares weren’t paying as well as they could. The things they were saying about Marcel and André taking the company down.”

“Fueled by your cogent criticism of each, no doubt,” said Rex.

Those stunning eyes turned downward. “I’ll admit my reputation as a mother isn’t the best.” Then she looked up, burying her gaze into Rex’s. “But wait until you become a parent and you bear the betrayal of your oldest to a family that’s taken someone so dear to me, and your youngest, hating you for trying to get justice. Then tell me how you’d feel.”

“How horrible it’s been for you.” Rex’s hands clenched. “You sit there with that Hermès scarf around your shoulders, your Rolls-Royce on the street—covered in diamonds and euros falling out of your pockets—and yet you’re trying to tell me the Merciers have ruined your life?” He clasped his chest. “Have they ruined
my
life, too?”

“You’re the worst! You’re like a knife right through my heart,” she said, grasping the edge of the table, her eyes narrowing. “You ruined
everything
.”

Rex shot to his feet, enraged. “Because I had the
audacity
to be grateful?”

“Wait a minute—wait a minute,” Charlotte said, coming between them. She needed to defuse this situation before they killed each other. “I’m thinking it’s time you clue me in on a few things. If Mercier’s a family business and both of you are part of the family, then why aren’t you playing on the same team?”

“Because of her grand plan to destroy Mercier,” Rex said sardonically. “And she tried to use me to do it.”

“The Merciers killed your parents—killed
my
only sister, and you’d do well to remember that,” she snapped, her jaw twitching. “And they would’ve left you to rot back in that stinking little village if I hadn’t fought for you.”

Viviane turned away from her nephew, looking to Charlotte instead. “This is my life,
avocate
. They say I’m selfish, but all I’ve ever done was fight for people who don’t give a damn about me and even less for themselves. I grew up in Le Havre, around ships, too. All day I used to watch them coming and going, wishing I could get on one and get the hell out of there. My sister did, though not in the way I wanted to. She met a farmer at
carnaval
with more filth under his nails than a dockworker, and married him two weeks later. I was so brokenhearted when she said she was moving away I thought I would die.” She lifted a delicate finger, flicking the corner of her eye. “We were inseparable up until that point. She was my twin sister, and we were barely eighteen.” She glanced away, the years clouding her eyes. “I never saw her until years later when I brought her home in a box.”

Her face filled with anger. “But after she left all I wanted to do was get even with her, though my escape wasn’t much better. Not long after my sister left home I met an American sailor. He promised me the moon, and I believed him. I left with him for America, but what did I get? A broken-down farm, a drunk for a husband, and a baby son at nineteen. And what’s even worse, when I went home to visit a couple years later, all I heard was how happy my sister was, especially now that she had a baby boy.”

She made a distinct sound of derision. “She’s picking grapes and living in a hovel, and she’s happy? I never heard of such a thing. I knew I was meant for better than that. On one of my visits home from America to Le Havre I met a man in a nightclub named Victor Mercier. When he offered to buy me a drink, I knew my life would change.”

“Which was how her grand little foot got in the Mercier business,” Rex said.

“Wait a minute,” Charlotte said, pouring coffee from the kettle into the French press. “You got a share of the company just by marrying into it?”

“Previously, only blood relatives would be given shares,” she said, “but Victor’s fifteen years older than me and was an only child and without an heir when I married him. So when Marcel was born, he was so happy he not only gave me a family share, but my son André as well.”

“How generous,” Charlotte opined.

“Victor was considered a very good catch. A sound investment, you could call it,” Viviane said, looking quite satisfied with herself. “This may sound odd, but two of the best financial decisions I’ve ever made in my life was to make sure this man here”—she nodded to Rex—“got a good education, and the other, giving birth to my son, André. Both of them are excellent managers.” All at once her expression soured. “But both of them went ahead and destroyed everything that I wanted to accomplish.”

“Which brings us back to Richette,” Charlotte said. “You used your family shares as leverage?”

“Although the Merciers own most of the shares, it’s possible to turn over ownership of the company if the board of directors decide to sell their shares along with just one family member,” Rex said. He looked to his aunt. “Which is what Viviane tried to do seven years ago.”

Charlotte brought two cups of espresso to the table. “Enlighten me,” she said.

“Seven years ago when the financial markets nearly collapsed in the U.S.,” Rex said, “everything convulsed in Europe as well, including shipping. The board went into a panic as our net worth was tanking. Victor tried to tell them it was just temporary, that everything would even out if they just remained patient. But the board wouldn’t listen.” He glanced to his aunt. “And neither would Viviane.”

“And why should I have?” Viviane said, on the defensive. “Victor was starting to care more about keeping his mistresses in penthouses than taking care of business. And Marcel was no different.” She huffed in disgust. “He was running around with his pants around his ankles just like his
papa
.”

“You hardly gave a damn about that,” Rex said. “You figured your time had come as Mercier was just ripe for a takeover.”

“But why?” Charlotte said, not following. “Weren’t you thinking of Marcel?’

She shrugged, lifting her espresso. “Why should I? He certainly wasn’t thinking about running a company. And André wanted nothing to do with the corporate culture, even though he knew more about the practical end of the business than anyone. He was happy just sailing around as an engineer. So I turned to my nephew.”

“You were at Richette then,” Charlotte said.

“As their
directeur général délégué
,” Rex said. “She said the board was behind her, and her share of the company would tip the scales to allow it.” His expression darkened as he looked to his aunt. “When Victor found out he had a massive stroke.”