The Bourbon Kings
Page 73
They had been friends since Charlemont Country Day. Business competitors since he’d graduated from Wharton and she’d gotten her MBA from the University of Chicago. Social cohorts since they’d entered the charity-dinner circuit when her mother had passed and his had started to go to her room with greater and greater frequency.
They had never been lovers.
She had wanted to them to be. For as long as she had known him, it seemed. But Edward had stayed away, sticking to the sidelines, even setting her up with other people
Her heart had always been his for the taking, but she’d never had the guts to walk over that line that he’d seemed so very determined to draw between them.
And then … two years ago had happened. Dear Lord, when she’d heard about him heading off for another of those South American business trips of his, she’d had a premonition, a warning, a bad feeling. But she hadn’t called him. Reached out. Tried to get him to take more security or something.
So in some way, she had always felt partially responsible. Maybe if she’d …
But who was she kidding. He wouldn’t have stopped going down there for any reason other than bad weather. Edward had been a true competitor in the liquor industry, the heir apparent to the Bradford Bourbon Company not just by birthright, but by his incredible work ethic and savvy.
After the kidnapping and the ransom demand, his father, William, had tried so hard to get him free, negotiating with the kidnappers, working with the US Embassy. Everything had failed until, eventually, a special team had been sent in and had rescued Edward.
She couldn’t imagine what had been done to him.
And this was the anniversary of when he’d gotten ambushed while traveling.
Such a shame, the whole thing. South America was one of the most beautiful places in the world with delicious food, fantastic landscapes, and an amazing history—she and Edward had always joked that they would retire down there on side-by-side estates. The kidnapping and ransoming of business executives was one of the travel advisories for certain areas, but that was no different than someone being told not to go through Central Park at three in the morning: Bad elements could be found wherever you were, and there was no reason to condemn an entire continent because of a minority of bad actors.
Unfortunately, Edward had become one of the victims.
After all this time, she just wanted to see him with her own eyes. There had been a couple of blurry photos that had been in the press, and they had certainly not set her mind at ease. He had appeared so much thinner, his body hunched over, his face always turned down and away from the cameras.
To her, he would still be beautiful, however.
“Miss Smythe, we’re ready if you are?”
Shaking herself into focus, Sutton saw that the one thousand person crowd was seated, picking at their salads, and ready to hear her speak—
Without warning, a sudden roar of dreadful energy pounded through her, bringing sweat out across her chest, over her forehead, under her arms. As her heart leaped into a snare-drum rhythm, waves of lightheadedness caused her to reach out and steady herself on the wall.
What was wrong with her—
“Miss Smythe?”
“I can’t,” she heard herself say.
“I’m sorry?”
She pressed the index cards she’d so carefully written out into the hands of the assistant. “Someone else needs to—”
“What? Wait, where are you—”
She put her palms up and backed away. “—give the speech.”
“Miss Smythe, you’re the only one who—”
“I’ll call you on Monday, I’m sorry, I can’t do this—”
Sutton had no idea where she was going as her high heels clipped a retreat over the marble floor. In fact, it wasn’t until a wave of heat hit her that she realized she’d left the building via a fire exit and had emerged on the west side of the complex, out in the humid night air.
Far from the parking lot where her chauffeur was waiting.
Collapsing against the museum’s stuccoed wall, she took deep breaths that did nothing to relieve a crushing sense of suffocation.
She couldn’t stay out here all night. More to the point, she wanted to run fast and far away, run until this feeling of ambient terror worked its way out of her system. But that was crazy … right?
God, she was losing her mind. Finally, the pressure of everything was getting to her.
Or maybe it was, once again and always, Edward Baldwine.
Time to get moving. This was ridiculous.
Shucking her stilettos and holding them by the ankle straps, she started out over the grass, staying close to the pools of illumination thrown by the security lights. After what seemed like forever, the parking lot she was in search of appeared when she turned yet another corner—except then she was confounded by the number of cars and limousines parked in the open-air space.
Where was her—
By some stroke of luck, the black Mercedes C63 found her, the large sedan drawing up in front of her, its passenger-side window going down soundlessly.
“Ma’am?” her chauffeur said in alarm. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
“I need the car.” Sutton walked around to him, the headlights flaring brilliant white against her silver gown and her diamonds. “I need the car, I need …”
“Ma’am?” The uniformed man got out from behind the wheel. “I’ll drive you wherever you have to go—”
She took a hundred-dollar bill out of her tiny evening bag. “Here. Please get a cab, or call someone, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I need to … go—”
They had never been lovers.
She had wanted to them to be. For as long as she had known him, it seemed. But Edward had stayed away, sticking to the sidelines, even setting her up with other people
Her heart had always been his for the taking, but she’d never had the guts to walk over that line that he’d seemed so very determined to draw between them.
And then … two years ago had happened. Dear Lord, when she’d heard about him heading off for another of those South American business trips of his, she’d had a premonition, a warning, a bad feeling. But she hadn’t called him. Reached out. Tried to get him to take more security or something.
So in some way, she had always felt partially responsible. Maybe if she’d …
But who was she kidding. He wouldn’t have stopped going down there for any reason other than bad weather. Edward had been a true competitor in the liquor industry, the heir apparent to the Bradford Bourbon Company not just by birthright, but by his incredible work ethic and savvy.
After the kidnapping and the ransom demand, his father, William, had tried so hard to get him free, negotiating with the kidnappers, working with the US Embassy. Everything had failed until, eventually, a special team had been sent in and had rescued Edward.
She couldn’t imagine what had been done to him.
And this was the anniversary of when he’d gotten ambushed while traveling.
Such a shame, the whole thing. South America was one of the most beautiful places in the world with delicious food, fantastic landscapes, and an amazing history—she and Edward had always joked that they would retire down there on side-by-side estates. The kidnapping and ransoming of business executives was one of the travel advisories for certain areas, but that was no different than someone being told not to go through Central Park at three in the morning: Bad elements could be found wherever you were, and there was no reason to condemn an entire continent because of a minority of bad actors.
Unfortunately, Edward had become one of the victims.
After all this time, she just wanted to see him with her own eyes. There had been a couple of blurry photos that had been in the press, and they had certainly not set her mind at ease. He had appeared so much thinner, his body hunched over, his face always turned down and away from the cameras.
To her, he would still be beautiful, however.
“Miss Smythe, we’re ready if you are?”
Shaking herself into focus, Sutton saw that the one thousand person crowd was seated, picking at their salads, and ready to hear her speak—
Without warning, a sudden roar of dreadful energy pounded through her, bringing sweat out across her chest, over her forehead, under her arms. As her heart leaped into a snare-drum rhythm, waves of lightheadedness caused her to reach out and steady herself on the wall.
What was wrong with her—
“Miss Smythe?”
“I can’t,” she heard herself say.
“I’m sorry?”
She pressed the index cards she’d so carefully written out into the hands of the assistant. “Someone else needs to—”
“What? Wait, where are you—”
She put her palms up and backed away. “—give the speech.”
“Miss Smythe, you’re the only one who—”
“I’ll call you on Monday, I’m sorry, I can’t do this—”
Sutton had no idea where she was going as her high heels clipped a retreat over the marble floor. In fact, it wasn’t until a wave of heat hit her that she realized she’d left the building via a fire exit and had emerged on the west side of the complex, out in the humid night air.
Far from the parking lot where her chauffeur was waiting.
Collapsing against the museum’s stuccoed wall, she took deep breaths that did nothing to relieve a crushing sense of suffocation.
She couldn’t stay out here all night. More to the point, she wanted to run fast and far away, run until this feeling of ambient terror worked its way out of her system. But that was crazy … right?
God, she was losing her mind. Finally, the pressure of everything was getting to her.
Or maybe it was, once again and always, Edward Baldwine.
Time to get moving. This was ridiculous.
Shucking her stilettos and holding them by the ankle straps, she started out over the grass, staying close to the pools of illumination thrown by the security lights. After what seemed like forever, the parking lot she was in search of appeared when she turned yet another corner—except then she was confounded by the number of cars and limousines parked in the open-air space.
Where was her—
By some stroke of luck, the black Mercedes C63 found her, the large sedan drawing up in front of her, its passenger-side window going down soundlessly.
“Ma’am?” her chauffeur said in alarm. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
“I need the car.” Sutton walked around to him, the headlights flaring brilliant white against her silver gown and her diamonds. “I need the car, I need …”
“Ma’am?” The uniformed man got out from behind the wheel. “I’ll drive you wherever you have to go—”
She took a hundred-dollar bill out of her tiny evening bag. “Here. Please get a cab, or call someone, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I need to … go—”
