Page 7 of Ms. Fortune

As he nears, I catch the scent of his cologne that smells so exquisite it probably costs more than my car. My knees start to wobble as I take his hand into my own, and the feel of his skin against mine brings back the goosebumps from earlier. I pull away quickly, not wanting my reaction to him to cloud my thoughts of the day. Plus, I’m confusing myself with the differences in my intellectual and physical responses to him. Part of me wants to jump his bones, but most of me wants nothing to do with him.

“It was nice of you to come today. Thank you.” I turn to Chelsie and Bianca. “Right, shall we, ladies?” I hold out an arm, indicating we should get moving and away from this awkwardness as soon as possible. Chelsie, who has been sniffling throughout the ordeal, flashes a weak smile at Brandon as we pass, and I inwardly cringe. I’m most likely being too harsh on him. He can’t help he’s disturbingly rich, but he should know at least some funeral etiquette.

It’s pretty simple: You don’t ask people on dates, and you don’t ask for special treatment.

Chapter 5

BABYLON

BRANDON

So, Normandy Blake’s first impression of me is I’m an insensitive asshole who, not only is some kind of weird creeper, but also so full of himself he thinks he should get preferential treatment at her father’s funeral. Not how I wanted any of this to go. I had wanted to apologize for asking her out on the phone but couldn’t think of a way to do that without offending her further. Plus, she never gave me a chance; she was in a hurry to get away from me.

Looking at everything from her point of view, I get it. It looks bad. I admit that much. However, she isn’t giving me much chance to fix any of it. She makes up her mind about people a little too hastily. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, at least at first. If they prove me wrong later, then I deal with it. Not everyone puts their best foot forward in the first meeting. Surely, she understands that much. At least, I thought she would. I was obviously wrong. Normandy Blake is turning out to be a bit of an ice queen.

After the funeral, a small gathering develops at the Mischief Motors depot. My security team has done a great job keeping the small legion of press at bay, and I hope that keeps up throughout the day. I don’t want anyone here swept up in my current media storm surrounding Eve’s insider trading fiasco. I’m told she will be arrested in the next few days, and I still don’t know what that fallout will look like.

I know several people from business or charity functions here, so I’m at least not standing in the corner like a wallflower. At a lull in one conversation, I excuse myself and wander the garage, checking out some of the cars Victor has amassed over the years. It’s quite an impressive fleet with a nice mix of classic and newer luxury cars. He always did have fine taste in automobiles.

“See anything you like? I might be able to get you a deal.” I turn and find Chelsie Blake eyeing me with curiosity. Her expression is almost hopeful, and I’m unsure what to make of it. Are they looking to sell off Victor’s cars?

“Are these for sale? I was under the impression you and Normandy were keeping the business going. Is that not the case?” It would be sad if the business Victor built for so long was dismantled so quickly after his death.

“They might be, depending on the car and the offer.” She’s looking a little nervous now, like she doesn’t want to part with any of them, making me confused.

“Well, tell me which ones are, and I’ll take a look. How’s that?”

She glances around, assessing the cars, her eyes wide with clear panic, and she’s now anxiously wringing her hands.

“Let me think….” She bites her bottom lip, turning one way, then another, her eyes shining with unshed tears. I can’t take it anymore. I place a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Chelsie. It’s okay. You don’t need to show me any cars.”

“No, no. I need to sell some of these; I just don’t know which ones to pick.”

My hand instinctively drops from her shoulder in shock. She needs to sell?

“What do you mean, exactly?”

She glances around again, and I think she’s checking if anyone is nearby before speaking.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. Norm would have my head if she knew, so you can’t say anything. Okay?” I nod as I lean in to hear her better. “Apparently, our dad wasn’t the best businessman, and the company isn’t doing so well. Norm suggested maybe liquidating some of the inventory to get us back on track, and I’m in charge of that since I know all the cars.”

“I see….” I rub my chin as I consider this. I had no idea Victor was a shoddy businessman. He always seemed to have it together whenever I saw him. Of course, people only show you what they want you to see. This puts Normandy’s cold shoulder in a different light. She’s been dealing with all of this on top of the funeral and whatever was going on in her previous life in Sacramento. It’s a lot all at once, I’m sure. I examine the surrounding cars and note this can’t be all of them. “Where’s the rest of the inventory?” There are a few particular classics that aren’t here I might be interested in if they still have them.

“There are three other garages housing the more unique cars.” She hesitates, eyeing me cautiously. “Are you sure you want to see them?”

“Absolutely.” I nod. “There were a few cars I’ve used before I’m particularly fond of. If they’re available, of course.”

Chelsie starts walking toward a back exit, and I follow her. “Oh? Which ones were they? I’ll be able to tell which garage they’re in.”

As we step outside, we’re hit with the cool desert air. When you think about Vegas in the desert, you think of hot weather, but it can be chilly in the winter. And even the summer nights can be cold compared to the triple-digit temperatures of the daytime. I’m originally from Chicago, where it’s only cold when it’s below freezing. These mid-fifties are downright balmy.

“There was an Impala? Not sure of the year, but it was gold.”

“Oh, Betty! I know which one you’re talking about. Follow me.” She takes off toward another garage nearby, and I jog to catch up with her. How she’s walking so fast in those heels is impressive.

I can spy my security detail surreptitiously repositioning themselves out of the corner of my eye. I’ve gotten used to it, though, and it doesn’t usually bother me anymore. For some reason, today is different. Their presence is almost as stifling as my damned tie.

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