Page 1 of Corporate Escapades

Chapter one

Without a cloud in the sky, the sun beat down, unforgivingly, on Flores, Nevada, scorching the already cracked desert floor. Thirty minutes away, in Las Vegas, the heavens opened up, dumping an unceremonious amount of water on the streets, carrying away a year’s worth of grime, and anything else that got in its way. On any other day, Paris DeMarcé would have gladly taken the heat over the rain, but today wasn’t any other day. It was the first anniversary of the worst day of Paris’s life.

Paris brushed a bead of sweat from her forehead and pushed back her long wavy black hair. Glancing around the Sense of Adventure boardroom, she reached for her purse under the table and pulled a bottle of Percocet from its cluttered depths. Keeping her gaze on the client, her hands shook as she fumbled with the safety cap. Her eyes swept the room once more before popping a pill into her mouth.

Brothers Vic and Jack Alarie sat next to Paris at the table. Their clients sat across from them as they discussed the ins and outs of their upcoming nuptials. Jack’s brown eyes widened as he tried to keep up with the conversation. The entire scenario was too much for the tall, gangly teenager, who’d rather be playing video games than spending a day shadowing his older brother.

“That’s the bulk of it, right, Paris?” asked Vic, his piercing blue eyes locking onto hers. “Did I miss anything?”

Paris’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. Taking a deep breath, she slowly let it out. She hadn’t heard a word of their conversation. “Yeah. I think you covered everything,” she lied.

Like a robot, Paris nodded her head to Vic’s closing statements. Her heart pounded in her chest. Reaching up, she wiped her brow and began fanning herself with a file folder. Looking around, she again went for the bottle. Her clammy hands slid on the plastic as she wrestled with the cap and nearly dropped it. Waiting for the clients to turn their attention away, she popped another pill into her mouth. Jack watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay, then. We’ll see you next week,” said Vic, as the couple exited the room.

Paris pushed herself up from her seat and wobbled toward the exit. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and work as possible. She shoved her way past Vic and Jack and fast-walked toward her condo. Entering the elevator, she wiped her eyes and brow. Her chest tightened as her heart thumped out an irregular beat. She jammed her hand into her purse and grabbed the bottle again. This time, the cap flipped into the air and bounced across the floor. Several pills fell into her hand and she tossed them back into her mouth. The bottle was empty. She didn’t bother to retrieve the cap. She couldn’t breathe, and if shehadn’t known better, she would have thought she was drowning in one of the Las Vegas culverts.

When the elevator stopped on her floor, the rampant flood waters floated her out the door and toward her condo. Reaching for her door handle, it seemed to be just beyond her grasp. She didn’t care. Letting herself fall backward into a cloud, she felt safe and warm. Best of all, there were no tears, no anger, and no pain. A smile spread across her lips.

“Paris!” she heard an urgent voice in the distance. “Paris!” and then everything turned white.

Jack was there. She could hear him. Thump, thump, thump. Paris could feel something on her chest, but what, she wasn’t sure? “Call an ambulance!” she heard him yell. “She’s not breathing! You better not die on me!” his voice was shrill. Paris didn’t know what all the fuss was for. She felt perfectly fine. She again heard Jack yelling. “Vic, I think I need you to—” he began, and then everything went quiet for a second as a chill crept over her.

“Damn it, Jack!” she heard Vic shout, followed by more thump, thump, thumping. She didn’t care. The warm fuzzy feeling had come back and she could see someone waving at her in the distance.

Paris, though unconscious, could still hear voices. They were worried she might not wake. Someone mentionedbefore the accident, and Paris’s thoughts drifted back in time.

It was the Alarie DeMarcé Group's firstTouch a Heart Fest, and Paris was sitting in the dunk tank as her sister, Alli DeMarcé, wound up to throw. She watched the release. The ball whizzed toward her, hitting the front of the tank. “Is that all you’ve got?” she yelled to her sister. “I’ve seen toddlers throwbetter!” Paris laughed. It was all in good fun. The money went to a charity to help children in need of life-saving surgeries.

“I’ve got two more throws!” Alli yelled back. “I’m gonna get you on one of them.” Pausing, Alli pulled her shoulder-length black hair into a ponytail and fastened it in place. “Time to get serious.” She smiled radiantly as she wound up for her second throw. This one barely missed the bullseye.

“Nice, but that’s not gonna do it!” yelled Paris. “Maybe you should let one of the boys throw for you!”

“No, no,” said Alli. “I’ve got this!” Wrinkling her nose, she wound up for her third throw. On the release, she exhaled and her perfectly straight bangs puffed into the air.

Paris took a deep breath as she prepared for the bench to give way. She plunged into the water and instantly had the air knocked out of her. It was colder than expected. Her entire body prickled with goosebumps. Resurfacing, she choked and sputtered as she pushed her black hair out of her eyes.

“Ha! I gotcha!” yelled Alli as she danced around.

“Laugh it up!” coughed Paris. “You’re in here next!”

In the distance, Paris heard a siren, and the cold was again setting in. Someone was squeezing her hand. She heard Vic’s muffled voice say, “Don’t you dare leave. You get back here and fight, damn it! Do you hear me? You don’t get to take the easy way out.” His voice went quiet and Paris’s brain took her back to another moment in time.

“Next up, we have the lovely Paris DeMarcé. She’s the daughter of Mikel and Nicola DeMarcé. Sister to Alli DeMarcé. And, yes, men, she’s single. Who wants to start the bidding? Can I get one hundred dollars?”

“One hundred!” yelled a man in a black pin-striped suit.

“Two hundred!” countered Paris’s sister.

“Now, can I get three hundred?” asked the auctioneer.

Paris was thrilled to be a part of the date auction, but she’d recently gone through a terrible breakup. She had no desire to date anyone, but the money was for a noble cause, so she swallowed her sadness and did it for the kids.

“Seventeen thousand dollars,” said the auctioneer, “to the man in the green fedora.”

“Seventy-five thousand,” called a voice she recognized all too well.

“Can I get eighty?” called the auctioneer. “Seventy-five thousand, going once. Seventy-five thousand, going twice. Sold! To Mr. Vic Alarie!”

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