Page 8 of A Temporary Forever

“Congratulations on Quaintique-Linden. What you and Finn did there is commendable. Stealing thecompany from your father and turning it into a success so quickly took guts.”

Shit. That’s the last thing I want to talk about. How do I explain to anyone outside that I left a company that everyone in the industry and beyond has praised?

“You’ve been following me.” I smirk. “That’s touching. I’m sorry I can’t say the same. What are you doing here? Has Stone senior finally let you out from under his wing?”

His features harden for a brief moment, but then he smirks. “Kind of hardnotto follow you when you made sure your story was plastered all over social and traditional media. Papa van den Linden must be pissed.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s for the best. Hislegacyhas been haunting me with or without him.” I air-quote around the word legacy, letting my friend know a bit without telling him the whole sordid story.

“You did what you had to do. I remember him. Charles was an asshole, if I may say so.”

I nod and raise my glass. “And he probably still is. So, what are you doing here?”

He scratches his stubble with his thumb and indexfinger. “I guess I didn’t have what was expected to take over my family business, so I left.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father sold the business without consulting me or giving me the opportunity, so I left. I joined a new financial group.”

He explains the basic premise of the venture capital company he’s starting with his friends, and something in me stirs. It’s the familiar feeling of a challenge to be conquered.

“We’re actually looking for someone like you—someone who can assess a business and make the necessary changes to improve its profitability and efficiency while maintaining the culture. We have several companies lined up to take over as silent partners or just buy it outright. And endless applications from start-ups. But at this point, it’s just the three of us.”

I take a generous sip before I put the chilled glass on the table in front of me. Leaning on my elbows, I look Xander in the eye and make a spontaneous decision.

“Today was my last day at Quaintique-Linden.”

Chapter 3

Celeste

The cone of warm light hugs my body and isolates me in the dense darkness. My chest heaves with exertion and exhilaration. And a dash of anxiety.

My legs scream as I hold myself sideways on a chair, my heels in the air, the final notes of the sultry music fading.

It’s premiere night, but before I let the worry set in, I enjoy the adrenaline from my performance pulsing through my veins.

Lingering in the pose, I surrender to the silence that cloaks the stage for a beat.

The familiar beat when the hard work of the past months culminates in the reward of performing in front of an audience. The beat just before we, on thestage, find out if all the pain, sweat, hard work, fun, creativity, and endless hours of rehearsals paid off.

I close my eyes, my head hanging backward in the sensual pose. In the still moment, the world feels paused, heavy with anticipation. I let out a shaky breath, inhaling the musk of the theater.

And just as a sliver of fear envelops the frantic rhythm of my heart against my ribcage, the applause erupts, washing over me with the audience’s energy.

I jump to my feet, the pain forgotten, as my colleagues join me, and we bow to the people who graced us with their reception and accolades.

“You fucking killed it, darling.” Jose, the male lead, hugs me as we rush to the edge of the stage and bow again.

The applause is deafening and electrifying. I continue the rehearsed curtain call in a daze, while Jose holds my hand, both of us beaming.

Merde, this feels good.

It’s been a year since I almost packed it in and returned to France because I couldn’t get a job. And then, out of nowhere, The Pulse Stage, a small off-Broadway theater, offered me a position, and shortly after, a lead role.

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