Page 6 of Corporate Escapades

“She’s going to call you later. Please talk to her. You’re the only sister she’s got. You need to work through this and forgive her for her dramatic reaction,” said Mya.

“I tell you what. If Paris calls, I promise to apologize and forgive her. I know in the end she means well. By the way, Mya, what do you think about our news?”

“Oh, Alli, congratulations. I’m happy for you both,” said Mya. “You’ll be a wonderful—”

“Hold on, Mya. We blew a tire and are waiting for roadside assistance. I think they might be here. Give me a sec?” she requested, pulling away from the receiver. “Brody, is that them?” she pointed toward a set of bright headlights heading toward the shoulder.

Brody, turning, saw the lights and realized they were coming way too fast. “Oh, my God!” he yelled as he laid on the Miata’s horn.

Alli could hear Mya screaming through the receiver, but she was frozen in place. Brody fumbled for his keys as he continued to slam on the horn. Awakening, the driver jammed on his brakes, causing the metal beast to emit an angry groan. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. Alli knew it was too late. Everything was moving in slow motion. As the truck collided with the Miata, Alli’s phone was ejected from her hand, and the sensation of being airborne took over.

On the line, Mya could hear a horn and then high-pitched screaming that sounded like her friend, followed by crunching metal and the loud screeching of brakes. The screaming stopped, and there was a brief crackling sound. Panicking, Mya yelled Alli’s name, but there was no answer. Dizziness flooded her head as she fought to slow her breathing. Hanging up, she dialed 9-1-1.

Chapter three

Present Day

It was the event of the year. Everyone who was anyone within the food and wine community was accounted for. Sommeliers, chefs, bakers, club owners, brewers, caterers, writers, critics, and celebrities, flocked to Flores each year to take part in the Festival of Food and Wine.

The creators of the three-day festival were none other than Paris’s parents, Mikel and Nicola DeMarcé. The DeMarcés were known for throwing lavish parties, but this party gave its guests cake and let them eat it too, and the best part was that a large portion of the proceeds went to Feeding America.

Paris could only assume from the turnout that attendees would pay virtually any cost to be there. The most expensive tickets were set aside for celebrities who wanted privacy along with all the amenities. The festival, despite being named for food and wine, encompassed so much more. It was cultural and artistic—a glamour for all the senses. Attendees could take in multiple shows, competitions, and live musical performanceson three different stages. There were artistic displays, tropical flowers, and a plethora of exotic and tasty foods and beverages from around the world.

Lucky souls who worked for ADG take part in everything free of charge as a thank you from Mikel and Nicola for their hard work throughout the year.

To some, being an employee at ADG was the ‘cat’s meow,’ but for Paris, it had simply become a cage to contain her. Everything had gone south one year and two months earlier. She couldn’t seem to pull herself out of the Hell she was currently living in, but to those outside of ADG, she had it all.

“Hey, Paris!” called her angry father as he let himself in and stomped through her luxury condo. He was dressed in a specially tailored Armani tuxedo. Sighing heavily, he said, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Realizing she was on her balcony, he asked, “Are you decent?”

Paris didn’t answer. “I’m coming out there, so you’d better be decent,” he stated. Stepping out onto the balcony, he assessed his daughter and her surroundings. Thankfully, she was covered by numerous bubbles. Unthankfully, they were overflowing to the patio below. With any luck, the downstairs tenants were at the festival and wouldn’t notice his daughter’s carelessness.

A large rain cloud had rolled in, threatening to downpour on the festival below. In reality, the possibility of rain was low, and the sun would soon be back in play. Tiny fairy lights wrapped around the railings and, hanging from the pergola, lit up the cloudy sky with a relaxing glow. He glared at his daughter, who was zoning out as she stared into the distance.

“Hello? Are you going to say something?” Mikel demanded.

“You’ve found me, haven’t you?” Paris grabbed her black bubble-soaked mane and gently rang it out.

It was day two of the festival, and she had no desire to go. All she wanted was to be left alone to drink wine and soak hercares away in her tub. As if exiting a dream, she squawked, “Dad, seriously, you can’t just barge in here. I’m in the tub!”

“If you did as was expected of you, I wouldn’t have to barge in here like a madman. You can soak later tonight, but right now, I need you downstairs,” he replied curtly. “You have an obligation to your family and the Alaries, to be present.”

In the past, her father would have never shown up in her condo unannounced, but all of that had changed two months earlier when Paris had overdosed. After that, he acquired a key to her residence and revoked her privacy privileges.

Paris tipped her head back and squinted up at him. “Isn’t Vic there? I should think his presence is enough. Perhaps I’m away on business elsewhere?” She knew this wouldn’t fly with him. He was old school. Family had to be present, and all accounted for. Too bad one of them was missing. She wished it was her. She wished so badly that she had ended her miserable life the night Alli and Brody died, or the night she took too many Percocet.

Despite her family’s beliefs, she wasn’t addicted. She rarely took the pills, but now and then, she threw her cares aside and toyed dangerously with the idea of death. Each day had turned into one brain-splitting headache after another and she had minimal desire to live. Her love for her family was the only thing that kept her present on most days.

Reaching down, her father grabbed her towel in one hand and then, averting his eyes, held his other hand out to his daughter. “Let’s go. You know you have to do this. You and Vic are hosting several events. We laid out a plan, and you agreed to follow through. This will be good for you,” he said.

Paris very much doubted it. The festival had been thrown upon her without a choice. After Alli’s death, she had given up organizing charity events. It was one thing to plan and follow through with her own job, but this was above and beyond, and it forced her to interact with hundreds of people she had nodesire to be around. Since the accident, she hid away as much as possible. She knew everyone was talking. Let them talk. She didn’t care.

She reached up and took her father’s hand, letting him gently pull her out of the spa. Looking past her father, she noticed Mya was standing behind him. Stepping forward, Mya grabbed the towel from Mikel and wrapped it around Paris.

Mikel looked back at his daughter as he stopped to adjust his purple paisley tie. “Mya will help you get ready. I have to head back downstairs. Several events are starting shortly. Be sure you kick it into high gear. I don’t want to send your mother up. She doesn’t need any more stress today.” Turning, he walked out of the condo, leaving Mya to deal with Paris.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” asked Mya. Moving into the living room, she picked up a nearly empty bottle of tequila and shook it gently to make a point. “You can’t drown the pain in alcohol and drugs,” she said softly. “It’s been over a year since Alli and Brody died. When will you start living your life again?”

Paris stared at her old friend and watched as a tear ran down Mya’s face. She couldn’t speak. There were no words. There had been no words since the accident. She simply shook her head.

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