Page 7 of Corporate Escapades

“Fine,” Mya replied sadly. Wiping the tear, she moved on to the master bedroom and into the closet. Rifling through dress after dress, she located an emerald green silk A-line piece. It was perfect for the occasion.

Glancing down, Mya moved on to shoes. She grabbed a pair of black lace-up stilettos and walked over to Paris’s jewelry armoire. Opening the second drawer from the top, she retrieved a pair of dangling black diamond earrings and a matching black diamond necklace. She knew Paris hated it when people dressed her, but they were short on time. Her ex-friend would look stunning in black and green with her beautiful silky hair.

Stepping out of the closet, she noticed her charge had moved on to showering. She crept over to the door and opened it a crack. “I set your outfit on the bed. Do you want me to help you with your hair, or can I trust you’ll continue getting ready if I wait in the living room?” Mya knew she was treating Paris like a child, but it seemed necessary at this point in Paris’s life. She had been Mikel’s assistant, but in the months following Alli’s death, she was constantly sent to deal with Paris. After a while, Mikel made Mya Paris’s assistant. He thought it would help ease the tension, but in reality, it had only made it worse.

It was quiet for a moment, then Paris said, “Have a seat. Help yourself to some wine or bubbly, if you like.”

Mya sat on the white leather settee sipping a glass of water, when Paris finally emerged from her bedroom. She’d helped Paris pick the settee three years earlier. It was a Christopher Guy Lafite and Paris’s favorite piece of furniture.

“This thing is still quite comfortable,” commented Mya. “As always, you have great taste.”

“I know, but honestly, you’re the one who found it for me, so you should compliment yourself,” she replied, waving her off.

Mya wondered if Paris knew how cold she acted. It had been that way ever since Alli’s death. She didn’t have the heart to leave Paris, even though she knew she didn’t deserve to be treated so harshly. Paris had been her best friend. They were like sisters once. She hoped and prayed daily that Paris would snap out of it and be her friend again, but now that an entire year had gone by, Mya was losing hope.

“Do you need anything from your place before we head down?” Paris asked.

“No, let’s get this over with.” There was a time when Mya would have been ecstatic to attend the festival, but when she was expected to watch over Paris all night, fun was no longer in the equation. She drained her water glass and hopped off the settee.Depositing the cup in the dishwasher, she paused for a moment. “Hold on. I need to use your lavatory before we go.” Mya acted like a proper lady and rarely said words such as toilet or john. Words which Paris wouldn’t think twice about using, as of late.

Ducking into the bathroom, Mya looked into the mirror to be sure her makeup was acceptable. Grabbing Paris’s brush, she swiped it through her straight, shiny red hair, which hung at her jawline. Looking over her attire, Mya made certain that her black slip dress was wrinkle-free. She had to be flawless because the media would be snapping photos of her and Paris all night long. She hated it, but photos were part of the life she had chosen. Paris had once loved the limelight, but these days, Mya was lucky if the girl got dressed and left the condo.

Emerging from the bathroom, she headed for the door. “Let’s go.” Paris followed as she exited the condo. The look on her old friend’s face was pure disgust.This day will be pleasant indeed, thought Mya, but at least she had gotten Paris dressed and out the door, which was half the battle.

Hour by hour, the day faded away. Paris emceed the ice sculpture contest and took part as a judge in the exotic baked goods competition. She and Vic hosted a wine and tapas pairing event, which was packed to capacity. Mya followed everywhere Paris went, making sure she stayed on schedule. Paris hated it but loved not having to worry about what time it was because she knew Mya would remind her.

At seven that evening, Paris was on her own. Mya found herself preoccupied with Cristo Alarie, Vic’s uncle, and one of her parents’ business partners. He was going through some sort of midlife crisis where he seemed to feel the need to express how young he felt by dating women half his age. So far, Mya hadn’ttaken the bait, which pleased Paris, despite how irritating she found her to be.

Wandering through the crowds, she headed for the ballroom, grabbing a glass of Prosecco as it bounced by on one of the festival penguin’s trays. She had to hand it to her mother. The place looked amazing. A canopy of fairy lights, navy blue tulle, and magnolias hung down from the ballroom ceiling. The scent alone could make you fall in love with the first person you saw. Paris, luckily, wasn’t the type to worry about finding romance. She had her eye on one particular man and only one, but so far that evening, he hadn’t appeared.

Stopping to lean against a large pillar, she took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a Percocet and popped it into her mouth. It was the first one she’d taken since her overdose. Everywhere she looked, she half expected to see her sister.

Continuing to lean against the pillar, she sipped her Prosecco and glanced around the tent. The tables along the perimeter were covered in navy blue cloths with lit-up bowls, each containing a single floating magnolia. On the far end of the large tent sat the orchestra belting out classical ballroom music.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” sang a familiar voice. “Paris DeMarcé, what a wonderful surprise!”

Paris jumped at the sound of the voice. She hadn’t noticed anyone approaching. “Breanna! I didn’t realize you were coming home for the festival. How’ve you been?” Paris forced a smile at Brody’s twin. “How’s Juilliard?” Breanna was one of the newest teachers at the school of dance. “They let you sneak away for this crazy event?”

“Well, if by sneak you mean take a break for a few days, then yes,” she replied. “How about you? What’s new? This color is fabulous, by the way,” she said, motioning to Paris’s dress.

“Thanks. You look pretty great yourself. Red has always been a pleasant color with your tanned skin,” she replied. Breanna wore a curve-hugging red slip dress with a large slit down the right side. It was no surprise it looked good. She could pull off a dirty paper bag if she had to. Her friend the chameleon. She frequently grew her hair long and then chopped it all off. No matter the length, she always looked superstar-beautiful. “I see you’ve grown your hair out since I last saw you. How long has it been, thirteen months?” Her blonde hair had been short and spikey the last time she visited. Breanna furrowed her brow, staring back at Paris, waiting. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine,” said Paris.

“To your first comment, yes, it’s been thirteen months.” Rolling her eyes, she said, “You know my hair grows fast. To your second comment, that’s not what the grapevine is saying, but that smile looks wonderful on you.”

“Tell that grapevine to shove it.” Paris shrugged. Breanna had only just arrived, and she was already prying. Paris loved her, but she didn’t need any lectures from someone who had escaped the pain of everyday life after Brody and Alli by moving away and choosing a career path outside the family business.

“Vic tells me you go to work and party in your flat, and that’s it. You rarely join the family for anything. You barely speak to Mya. You know, when Brody died, I went to grief counseling. It really helped,” she said gently.

“I’m fine. Vic should mind his own business.” Paris knew Breanna cared, but she also felt abandoned by her, which, like many other things in her painful life, brought out further anger.

“He’s worried about you, Paris. The whole family, including my family, are all worried. They’re discussing committing you.” She gave Paris an evil grin.

“Oh, girl, now you’re reaching,” she said. “The whole family seems to get off on telling me what I can and can’t do. Vichates me. You know that.” The last time she and Vic had spoken outside of work was at the hospital the night of the accident. Mya had told him about the fight she and Alli had. It was none of Mya’s business to tell Vic about the baby or the argument. He’d accused her of being insensitive, which, honestly, she was in complete agreement with. She also believed he blamed her for their deaths.

“Okay, you got me,” replied Breanna. “Jack is the only person I’ve spoken to, and his concern has me feeling concerned. I haven’t discussed you with the rest of the family, but Jack tells me they’re worried about you.”

“Stop worrying. I told you, I’m fine.” She wished Breanna would drop it and let her be.

“Paris, you and I both know you’re walking a fine line, and it’s only a matter of time before you fall again.”

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