When Empires Fall (10 page)

With a quiet sigh, he turned in his chair to face the wide windows of his office, his eyes trailing to the city lights of the buildings around him. He could hear the faint noise of traffic from the street below and the distant howl of sirens, both sounds that brought him more comfort than distress. After all, he had been raised in the city, born and bred a New Yorker. Some said that the city life made him tough, but he figured he would be the same regardless of where he lived. The city was not what defined him. His own ambition, strength and fortitude were.

Besides, his luxurious and unfortunately overpriced townhouse on the Upper East Side could hardly be deemed “tough.” It was a good investment and a decent place to live, at least when he found himself there. It seemed better suited to call the hotel his home versus the townhouse, given the percentage of his time spent at work. Hell, even his scruffy gray dog, Miles, seemed to barely recognize him anymore, and he rarely even saw his maid Frieda when she came by to clean up what little mess he had created.

But despite the long hours, despite the near constant infighting with his family and the stress that came with being the oldest son, Grant wouldn’t have traded his life for the world. This was what he was meant to do, and he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

That had to stand for something, right?

Shutting down his computer, he rose to his feet and gathered up his briefcase, downing his coffee in a last ditch effort to wake up. He shrugged into his winter coat and rinsed the mug out in the tiny sink in the wet bar he kept to the right side of the office before heading towards the door.

Prior to shutting off the lights and leaving the room, he found himself staring at the portraits of his family, hanging, like always, on the walls of his office. With a frown, he wondered briefly why, despite having all of them there with him, he still sometimes felt so cut-off and alone.

Perhaps that was what they meant when they said that the crown weighs heavy on the head of the king.

Madison tilted back
the long stemmed martini glass, sipping at the vodka gingerly, reveling in the welcome frost of it as she sat comfortably at the bar in
Cherir
. It wasn’t often that she indulged in the treat of alcohol, but after the day she’d had, it was more than warranted.

Raoul had been in one of his foul moods and had thrown a few pots and pans, alarming some of their customers and causing one of her best sous chefs to quit on the spot. It had taken all of her control and willpower to calm Raoul down and not toss him out for being a pompous jackass. He’d apologized afterwards, as he always did with her, swallowing the pride that filled that big head of his. But the last thing she needed was upset customers running off to tell their friends about the wild and crazy head chef at the Vasser Hotel’s premier restaurant, a fact which she reminded him of as clearly and bluntly as she could. Then she had ordered him to find some way to get the sous chef back so that she didn’t have to go through the trouble of hiring another one, a task he was naturally reluctant to do, but did anyway. It was loyalty, she knew, that kept him coming back to her. And it was the same loyalty that kept her from firing him every time he went into a tantrum.

Then, after all of that, her mother had come in to finally sample the dishes prepared for the fundraiser, and had nothing but petty criticisms about each one. The seared tuna was too peppery, the jasmine rice paired with it too bland. The chilled blueberry soup was too purple, and the orange rind garnish excessive. The lemon garlic sauce on the chicken was too soupy and looked cheap, and the accompanying toast points too dry.

Shaking her head, Madison took a long sip of her drink and rubbed her temple delicately, wishing her mother would just leave her uninformed critiques of food at home. Just because the woman had eaten fine dining for the last thirty years did not make her an expert on how it was made or what was
cheap
looking. Hah! As if the finest grain fed, organic chicken perfectly sautéed in fresh lemons and garlic was below par. The woman was, quite simply, a menace, who had no idea when she was being obnoxiously conceited.

Then after the inevitable argument over the food, her mother had finally thrown up her hands and given in, as usual, and approved the dishes as they were. There was only so much her overly critical nature could get her, and being a snob about excellently prepared food was not one of those things.

With an exhausted sigh, Madison took another sip and glanced over her shoulder towards the entrance of the restaurant, where she could see the hotel’s lobby. She spotted Grant emerging from one of the elevators, briefcase in hand and long frame covered loosely by a charcoal gray winter coat. She watched him drop off something at the front desk, and then proceed towards the lobby doors.

Slipping from her seat, she sauntered swiftly out to catch him, her heels crackling like gunfire against the travertine floor. Perhaps it was the sound of it that had him turning around to face her, his lips already curving ever so slightly into a kind smile, one he reserved for so few people.

“You’re here late,” he commented, noting the soft glow of warmth the drink had given her features, and the faint traces of fatigue under her eyes.

She stopped before him, reaching up to adjust his tie and button his coat, her tawny eyes on his. “It was a long, exhausting day, filled with lots of the usual Raoul drama.”

“I don’t know why you put up with that chef of yours, Mads, he seems to cause more harm than good.” Grant watched her closely, sensing the weight on his sister’s shoulders. They had always been close, more so with each other than with anyone else in the family. It was probably due to the fact that, underneath it all, they were so very much alike.

“I can handle Raoul, even if the kitchen staff is intimidated by him.” She smirked, tilting her head back in a soft laugh. “I had another one try and quit today, in fact.”

“If I didn’t think you could take care of this on your own, I would offer to talk with Raoul. But I know you well enough to know you’ve got it handled.”

“I do. But thank you.” She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, fussing again with his coat. “So how are things with your new secretary? Do you need me to fill her in on how things are done around here?”

“No, so far she’s doing alright.”

“Is she attractive?”

“No, not at all,” he murmured, distracted then as he thought of his former secretary, Tara, and the strange guilt he suddenly realized he had been dealing with the last few days without even knowing it. It had been there, nagging just behind his focus on work, just out of reach until his sister’s words had brought it to the forefront.

Madison picked up on the feeling immediately, knowing him as well as she did, and reached up to touch his face, forcing him to look at her. “You’re sorry to see the other girl go?”

“No…well, yes, I suppose I am. But in a way I’m relieved.” Grant let out a huff of breath, the memories he’d fought so hard to battle back resurfacing to slice little cuts in his resolve, aching points of pain that were pathetic shadows of what had once been in his heart.

“Because she reminded you of Erin.” Madison said softly, seeing the truth in his eyes. “It was a long time ago, darling.”

“I know,” Grant assured her, nodding once as he squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She watched him leave, staring after him as he strode out of the lobby and onto the street, where his town car was waiting for him. The driver hopped out to open the back door, and Grant slid inside and out of sight, taking his haunted memories with him.

M
a, don’t be stupid.” Quinn grinned, the phone tucked against her ear as she sat comfortably in her bathtub, surrounded by frothy bubbles with a full glass of red wine in her free hand. “It’s going to take longer than a month for me to get a job as a chef.”

“
I don’t see why you’re selling yourself short, working as a secretary. Hmmph, imagine, all those years at school wasted on a job I could do, and I’m not even half as smart or as talented as you.
”

“That’s how it works in a bad economy, Ma, sorry.” Quinn sipped some wine and laughed when she heard her sister Callie shout something about sleeping with the boss to get ahead.

Her mother chided her in a sharp, thick Italian tone, one that only got that way when she was stressed out, excited, or upset, and the sound of it was like music to Quinn’s ears. It’d only been a month or so since she’d left home, but she was already so homesick. That was the reason she found herself, nearly every night, chatting away for hours on the phone with her family. They were everything to her and she couldn’t imagine a world without all of them in it, as loud and obnoxiously Sicilian as they were.

“Tell Callie that I’m not going to sell my body and my morals just to get a job.” Quinn chuckled, wishing to God she could see her mother’s look of horror at the very idea. In fact, she was probably crossing herself at that very moment. “Besides, maybe she should take her own advice and sleep with old Mr. Taggart so he’ll make her manager at the drug store.”

Her mother couldn’t help but laugh at that one, and relayed the message to Callie and to Quinn’s other siblings, four brothers and two sisters, all of whom made audible groans of disgust and horror.

“
Sophie wants to know if this Mr. Vasser is handsome.
”

Quinn thought about it for a moment, pursing her lips and trying to picture his face in her mind again. The wine made her memory a little fuzzy, and definitely made her tongue a little looser than it normally would have been. “I don’t think he’d be a very good lay with that stick he has up his ass.”

“
Quinn!
” But her siblings had heard her comment and were busting up laughing in the background. She imagined her youngest brothers were probably storing that little tidbit to use at school the next day, but she was in too good a mood to worry too much about them.

“I’m sorry, Ma, that was crude. But still funny.” She laughed again and sipped some more wine, enjoying herself. “But to answer her question, he’s alright. Not really good looking or bad looking, just…alright. His brother is pretty cute though. He asked me out on a date.”

“
A Vasser, of the disgustingly rich Vasser family, asked you out on a date and you waited until now to tell us?
” Her mother cried, equally as insulted as she was excited.

“I didn’t tell you because I turned him down. He’s a nice enough guy, a bit slick. But good friend material, which is where I intend to keep him.”

“
I don’t care if he’s slick, he’s rich!
”

“And not my type.” Quinn pressed, though she knew her mother respected her judgment enough to be content with that. Her sisters, on the other hand, might just beat her over the head with a frying pan the next time she came into town. “Besides, I don’t want to ruin this. This job is all I have here in New York, and I need to keep my goal in sight if I’m going to accomplish it. No funny business with the co-workers.”

“
Saints be with us, Quinn, you’re more moral than I am sometimes.
” Her mother sighed, though there was clear pride in her voice. “
Here, your father wants to speak to you. Love you.
”