When Empires Fall (6 page)

Charlene felt important, affluent, and regal now that she carried the Vasser name. Surely in her youth she had been none of those things, but had instead been nothing more than a mousy girl with boring, forgettable features, stumbling around the East Village longing for a knight or a prince to whisk her away to a better life.

But it had been in that haven of starving artists and drugged out musicians that she had met Win Vasser, one of the heirs to the Vasser Hotel fortune and legacy. Initially she had appreciated his whimsical views of the world, along with his hippie idealisms and penchant for experimentation, but what had really drawn her to him was his name. After all, once she’d discovered that no knight would ever ride to her rescue, she had learned that if she wanted something better, she was going to have to go out and get it. And for Charlene, the best way to get what she wanted, prestige, power, and status, was to marry up and have babies to cement herself in with the family for good.

And that was precisely what she had done. After giving herself a complete and transformative makeover, at least by 1980s standards, she’d reemerged beautiful and as cunning as any smart woman should be. Then she had nabbed her man, and within months was with child.

Only, when she’d grown frustrated and exhausted with Win’s sensitive emotions, impractical dreams and routinely wandering eye, she had understood that she had unfortunately chosen the wrong brother. She should have aimed higher and gone after Marshall. He was the oldest son, ten years Win’s senior, and next in line as family patriarch. He had never married, nor had any kids of his own. But despite divorcing Win and securing herself a comfortable life still ingrained in the family business
just
to keep within eyeshot of Marshall, he had never once given her the time of day.

And oh, how it frustrated her.

But that was neither here nor there, Charlene sighed disdainfully, pursing her lips and removing her glasses as she stared outside the window of her lushly decorated home office, watching the snow fall in silent flurries. She had her meticulously weaved honey blonde hair curled in smooth waves around her face, its short style modern and yet sophisticated, and very up and coming with the high society crowd. Her eyes of ice blue were sharp and at often times cruel in their assessment of others, though she was rarely wrong about a person’s hidden motives or intentions. She figured she had learned her skills of reading people while living in the old neighborhood, where, if she didn’t want to get shot, mugged, or worse, she had to keep a weather eye out for trouble and thoroughly scan those who surrounded her. And while she no longer lived in that hell hole of a place, but instead in the privileged and superior Upper East Side, she still found her innate talents to be of use. After all, the high society crowd wasn’t much different than the people who inhabited the slums; there wasn’t a person out there who wouldn’t lie, cheat, beg or steal to get what they wanted, and only the strong managed to survive the fray in such conditions.

It was a ruthless world, Charlene mused thoughtfully, her lips curving as she glanced at her reflection in the silver framed mirror that rested on her desk. But she had survived, and until the day she perished she would see to it that her four children did as well. They were of Vasser blood, after all, and destined for nothing but greatness.

Well, except for one.

Her youngest daughter bounded suddenly into the room, excited and peppy, her light chestnut waves of hair bouncing cheerfully.

“Are you going to the hotel today?” Kennedy asked, stopping in front of her mother’s desk, wringing her hands together hopefully.

Charlene turned to her teenage daughter, scanning the girl’s eclectic outfit of skintight black leggings, leather cowboy boots the color of raspberries, and an oversized faded and cut up green t-shirt bearing the words
Eat Veggies, Not Friends
in bold blue letters on it.

With a sigh that barely hid her annoyance, Charlene nodded. “Yes, I am meeting Linc for lunch in about an hour.”

“Oh! Can I come? I’m so bored, you have no idea.” Kennedy brought her clasped hands up to her mouth in a pleading gesture that, combined with her childish attire, only made Charlene wish to God there was a way she could talk the girl out of acting so much like her damn father. Win used to make that same pleading look to her, time and time again, begging her not to divorce him after she’d uncovered one of his many frivolous affairs.

“It is largely a business lunch, dear,” Charlene reasoned dismissively, replacing her glasses and lifting the invoice to eye level. “I don’t see how it will be much fun for you.”

“Well, I’m a part of this family too, aren’t I?” Kennedy argued, fisting her hands on her hips now and attempting to make a stand, even though Charlene thought her soft-spoken daughter with her dreamy blue eyes just didn’t have what it took to pull off the look of anger very well. “I can handle listening to you guys talk about the hotel. I’m eighteen, mom, not five. Besides, after I’m done at Princeton in four years, I’ll probably start working at the hotel too.”

“That has yet to be determined,” Charlene countered, frowning at the invoice as she started to dial in the number on her sleek black desk phone. Before it could begin ringing, she glanced up at her daughter once more, impatience clear in her eyes. “You may join us for lunch. We will leave in exactly one hour. If you are not downstairs by that time, then I will leave without you. Ah, yes, hello.”

An employee at the printing company picked up the other line at that moment, so Charlene turned away from her daughter, the phone pressed to her ear and her hand restlessly tapping her pen against the desk as she launched into her complaint about the invitations.

Kennedy danced out of the room, too excited to pay much mind to her mother’s criticisms. As was her way, she simply chose to ignore whatever momentary feelings of hurt she had felt, and instead let herself be pleased that she had gotten what she wanted.

If she had learned anything in her eighteen years as a Vasser, it was that life was much easier when lived inside her mind, where nothing and no one could darken her hopes and dreams.

Her fork sliced
delicately through the sliver of terrine, clicking softly against the white porcelain plate before she brought it up to her lips to sample. She chewed carefully, using all of her senses to evaluate the dish. As expected, the smell, texture, and flavor of the duck paired with marcona almonds was pure perfection.

“Well, Raoul, darling, you have impressed me yet again.” Madison Vasser eyed the head chef with a devilish smirk as she leaned her hip against the stainless steel counter, tapping her fork lightly against the palm of her hand.

Raoul scowled, as was his way, and brushed off her compliment with little more than a hard eyed glare. “You try the confit, so we can be done with this and I can get back to work.”

“You are working,” Madison reminded him, her lips curving again as she looked back to the elongated plate, which carried three more courses for her to sample. “And while I know it’s very difficult for you to come to terms with, I am in fact your employer, and therefore you will do as I say or I will be heartbroken and have to fire you.”

Raoul huffed and crossed his burly arms over his chest, though his mouth quirked in a knowing grin when she glanced up and met his eyes. “You don’t have the
cojones
to fire me,
cariño
. You love me too much.”

“Love is much too strong a word,” she chided smoothly, sampling the next course, her clever, heavy lidded tawny eyes honed in on his jade ones as she chewed, her expression conveying only a mild disinterest. But inside, she was celebrating his culinary skills, quite simply jumping for joy at how delicious the apple confit was. Raoul was a master chef and she mentally applauded herself for being the one to discover his talent and personally bring him to the Big Apple.

“Well?” Raoul began, thrusting his hand out in a gesture of impatience. “What is your decision?”

Madison swallowed, then tilted her head up slightly as she pursed her lips, as if giving it serious consideration. After a few more frustrating moments for the chef, she decided to offer him a gem of praise. After all, he did deserve it. “It’s lovely, Raoul. Simply divine.”

He let out a groan and ran his hands through his striking chin length black hair, his Spanish temper getting the best of him. “I know. Everything I cook for you is divine, is it not? Now try the rest and get out of my hair.”

“Don’t forget that if it weren’t for me you would still be a sous chef charged with cooking nothing more challenging than chilled lobster bisque in Las Vegas, knowing you were destined for better,” Madison quipped, her eyebrows raised in a rare show of good humor at the remark. “You see, darling, we both need one another equally.”

With a deflated grunt, Raoul nodded at her, silently acknowledging her point. He was a prideful man nearing forty, with an ego the size of a substantial mountain, but he was the best chef she had ever come across and she knew his insurmountable skills were worth his manic bouts of violent temper characteristic of his Spanish homeland. Besides, as much as he may complain and gripe, she knew he respected her just as much as she respected him, and he would remain loyal to her. That, Madison knew, was worth absolutely everything.

As Director of Food and Beverage, she ran the Vasser Hotel’s exclusive gourmet French restaurant,
Cherir
, making decisions on new menu choices and handling the details of big events that needed to be catered at the hotel. With a degree from Oxford in hospitality under her belt, and a year’s training at the best culinary school in Paris, she had been more than prepared to take on the position at her family’s hotel the moment it was offered to her.

Not that there had been any other option. She had primed herself for the job specifically and was not going to accept no for an answer. In her mind, this was her duty, and the best way she could give back to the legacy she and her siblings had inherited.

Madison had none of her parents’ looks, but instead looked very much like a female version of her grandfather Cyrus. It was a similarity she held with great pride, as the man was the single most important human being in her life, and would continue to be even long after his death. Cyrus had personally groomed her into the woman she had become. For that, she would be forever grateful to him.

Like Cyrus and her brother Grant, her hair was the color of rich coffee and fell in soft, sable waves just past her shoulders, curling slightly at the tips. Her face was honed at the edges and sculpted, without losing its feminine softness, made compelling by a narrow Anglo-Saxon nose and a full, wide mouth that could both snarl and curve seductively at the drop of a hat. It was a skill she used effortlessly, one that had often proved both heartbreaking and disarming.

She had been called ruthless, manipulative, and a cold-hearted bitch more than once in her life. But she’d taken it in stride, because as far as she was concerned, maintaining a reputation as such only served to preserve that which she held most dear: herself, and her family.

Besides, she cared little about what those outside of her close circle thought of her. The only people that mattered in her life were her family, and those few outsiders she deemed loyal, trustworthy, and worth keeping. Anyone else could simply rot in Hell for all she cared.

She was about to sample the next dish, only to pause mid-motion, her ears honed in on a sound she would have recognized anywhere. Her mother’s pristine, bell-like voice, laced with a haughtiness only a woman so hell bent on maintaining false propriety could manage.

Madison shut her eyes for a brief moment, giving herself just that much time to battle back the flash of irritation she felt. Her mother was not the only one in the family who knew the importance of appearances.

“Is she in here? Oh, yes, there you are, Madison.” Charlene beamed deceptively, her smile seeped in pretense and bravado as she swept into the restaurant’s kitchen, dressed in a designer frost pink dress suit, the stainless steel doors swooping shut behind her.

Almost instantly, the smell of Liz Taylor’s White Diamonds filled the room, and Madison opened her eyes to greet the woman who had given her life, then very little after that.

“Mother. How nice to see you.” Madison leaned in to air kiss her mother’s cheeks, left and then right, pulling away with a carefully guarded expression. “What brings you to the hotel today?”