Mrs. Sexton’s guy. He’s… Damn, he’s living up to his name.
He’s not what I had imagined. An old billionaire with the face of Donald Trump or something like that? Anything but this tall, dark-haired guy. Young. Raw charisma. His manly jaws, his piercing blue eyes, his stubble, every detail catches me off guard. Including that harsh, closed expression.
A little on edge, I continue to snoop around. Images of the couple follow one another; not a single one shows the husband smiling, even when his wife presses against him, all radiant. He keeps the same intimidating presence and this kind of coldness. Designer suit, Rolex, sometimes hands in his pockets when he stands alone or an arm around the waist of his sublime wife when Miss Australia shares a pose with him. The guy, self-assured, inaccessible, and magnetic in front of the lens, seems to be staring at me.
Breathe, Océane, and say hello to your future boss.
My mouth goes dry. I close the images, suddenly disturbed. Am I going to share these two’s daily life? Well, I mean him too? I was already impressed by Mrs. Sexton alone. Him, it will be a million times worse. Just through the screen of my phone, he gives off something. So, in person…
Stop! Don’t chicken out on pictures. You’ve got a crazy job; you’ve got to do it!
My self-persuasion is half working. Or not really. My mind is confused. I decided to poke around in the rest of the Google results. A logo with an intertwined T and S appears in the results. The Sexton’s initials. The extent of his company and his fleet of ships… A stern-faced uncle; who cares… The Sexton clan… The list of The Sexton’s restaurants, the inaugurations… Their appearances at prestigious events… Articles from specialized magazines and newspapers… Charity evenings…
Damn, a more than full, stunning life! No wonder they have less time for their kids. How many names were in the contract again? Two! But what ages? What an idiot; I didn’t even ask! Their parents must fiercely protect them from the press, there is nothing for the moment. Wikipedia might tell me more. With their faces even, who knows. I type the name of Madame plus the word children.
“Sophia Sexton, wife of Australian businessman and ship owner Tiger Sexton, opened her first restaurant six years ago. At the time, she considered this restaurant her baby and aspired to enlarge the family, or rather the naval and financial empire built by her husband. This goal has been achieved, as this formidable duo’s fortune and number of acquisitions continues to grow. This childless couple is expanding their wealth indefinitely…”
Wait… what?! I stopped browsing the internet and froze, shocked by my discovery.
No?
I nervously reach into my bag, and pull out my copy of the contract to check. Damn, I hadn’t paid attention to the asterisk next to the first names! Who are Byrne and Annie? The little star next to it refers me to… the ambiguous mention:
“May be subject to additional clauses to be determined by The Employers.”
Oh no! I realized that when I arrived, the half of the telephone conversation where Sophia Sexton mentioned her “babies” and my hasty conclusions skewed my reading. I signed in a hurry. There is no specific mention of kids anywhere. Now that I think about it, Ms. Sexton deftly let it slip when I brought it up. She didn’t correct me or confirm their existence.
Because they don’t have children? Who were those two? And if they don’t have kids, you committed to shut up and do what with them?
5
Tiger
Sydney
While swimming under the warm, turquoise water of the pool, the more I run out of air, the more a memory materializes under my eyelids:
The bag is held on my head, and the plastic sticks to my lips, seeking a breath of oxygen. I suffocate, and my fists clench. The hot wax gets closer to my chest as I gasp loudly. Very close, too close. I feel it running, dripping, freezing, piling up on my bare skin. My whole chest is covered in it. Now the flame of a lighter flickers through the transparency of the plastic bag… because the candle is no longer enough… I struggle to breathe, and I fidget, trying to move.
I want air! Air. Air. Air…
I inhale with all my might, pulling my head out of the water. This crap evaporates. Like the other lurking in there, they dissipate to come back better. Tirelessly…
I pull myself together and leave the pool, moving towards a deckchair. My wet hand grabs my phone, and a drop falls on the screen as I read the name of the person who dares to reach me at this hour. It’s Shanna, my “trustworthy man” in business. Technically, Shanna has a pair of ovaries, but she’s got more in her pants than a lot of guys in my circle, which earned her the privilege of holding this number for private use. Since she never abuses it, this late call is surely justified. I pick up.
“Sexton.”
“Good evening, Tiger, sorry to bother you—”
“I guess that the informal tip I gave you is true?”
“You’re right; your flair did not deceive you. My contact confirms Harry Carter is indeed entering the fray. He wants to acquire the company you are targeting.”
Okay.
I may be busy with other fights, but with my legacy, I keep proving that I have taken up the torch perfectly. Prove it to others, prove it to myself. So there’s no way I’ll let that buffoon Carter jeopardize my plans to expand and diversify.
“How are we gonna play this?” Shanna continues.
With my other hand, I grab a towel from the back of the lounger and rub my hair, thinking about the plan of attack I finalized an hour ago. I return the question to her, “What do you suggest?”
“Play it fierce, like when you struck last summer? We pull the rug out from under them and launch a hostile takeover bid before Carter gets an amicable agreement to trigger his own. He’ll be caught off guard.”
This aggressive response had indeed been effective. This made it possible to clear the passage between the horizon and the TS Naval. Incidentally, she spilled ink about me in the financial press.
And not about my private life…
Shanna has seen me crush the world to anticipate this tactic. She manages with an iron fist the battery of experienced traders and the investment fund that grows part of my personal assets and those of TS Naval. A certain professional collaboration has developed between us as we have won. In fact, she is not wrong, and I could slap his head immediately.
But the Carter heir will naturally consider the same thing from me. From the beginning, there is too much of a tendency to compare us. But I have nothing to do with this jerk. Each of us may have been born with a silver spoon in our mouths and find ourselves managing the family fortune, but the similarities end there. We don’t have the same things in our guts, and it’s time to bring it into line to master my whole environment. Not to be caught short, to stay on top, and to live up to the expectations of the great Nick Sexton. Damn it!