The Tempting: Seducing the Nephilim. D. M. Pratt

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СКАЧАТЬ wear, Beau always looked good in a suit. It wasn’t just that his tall frame and broad, square shoulders filled the Armani Black Label suit; it hugged his body in all the right places. He knew how to choose the perfect ink blue color, the one that looked like a night sky over the bayou, to punch the blue of his eyes. It was the way he carried himself: the calm certainty, the tilt of his head, the regal but never snobby presence he could exude. There was something rare about him. He sat in his pale blue shirt and mustard gold tie that seemed to pick up the flecks of amber in his eyes. Those amazing blue eyes could capture the warmth of a summer sky and brighten a room when he smiled or flash a chill as cold as an ice storm. Right now, he was angry … very angry. His eyeballs ached. He’d been reading over legal documents all day. He’d started at ten in the morning, sitting with seven pinched-faced, cold hearted, viciously calculating lawyers; two of whom belonged to the oldest legal firm in New Orleans, the prestigious firm of Robb, Gallagher and Grant and were trustees of the Gregoire Estate; two belonging to his grandfather, Millard Le Masters, who had declared Beau dead so he could sue the Estate and overturn the will. It all started when Millard learned not only was he not sole executor after Beau’s death, but that he’d not inherited any portion of the Estate itself or even a small part of the vast family fortune. Instead, the entire Estate had been bequeathed to the Avery Charitable Trust. The two Avery Charitable Trust representatives were very, very unhappy at the possibility of losing such a grand gift. Their sadness doubled when Beau returned and they were told everything was to revert back to the original heir. The seventh attorney, the only non-pinched-faced member of the legal clan, was Beau’s attorney and childhood friend, Augustus Valentine Lafayette the fourth, aka A.V. to his friends, of which Beau was and always would be listed as his best. A.V. was movie-star handsome with sandy blonde hair, wicked green eyes and beautiful full lips that anyone would love to kiss. He was smart and tall with a quick wit that could give fifty lashes with a single quip. If he had a fault it was that he liked to drink very expensive cognac and make love to anything that caught his fancy.

      Beau watched the proceedings with burning eyes, exhausted from the hours of arguing over the Gregoire Estate and its sizable fortune. The Estate encompassed an enormous amount of rich Louisiana land, multiple homes, multiple farms, cotton and pepper plantations and the, as yet, untapped oil and gas fields. That treasure trove Millard had planned to crack open like a case of vintage Lafitte Rothschild, circa 1947. The Trustees blocked him based on the wishes of Beau’s parents, which were that after their death nothing was to be done with the property until Beau came of age and could, with the Trustees’ guidance, decide how he wanted to run the Estate. Millard has waited patiently for his grandson to get through high school and then college and even suggested that he take a year off to travel and see the world. Beau’s last credit card bill and passport visa came six months later from Tibet. After that, there was nothing for eight years. At exactly seven years, without any word from Beau, Millard hired a series of investigators to find proof of Beau’s life - or death. By the end of the eighth year Millard filed to declare him dead.

      Once Millard had Beauregard Gregoire Le Masters declared legally dead, Millard assumed, as his only living relative, he would inherit, uncontested, the Estate. He demanded the codicil of the will that related to Beau’s death be read and implemented. Upon learning that his daughter-in-law, with the consent of his only son, had left him out of their will, he went to war to overturn the will. The fact Philip Gregoire senior and his wife Geraldine had left the entire Estate to the Avery Charitable Trust made the situation even more complicated. Then, to top the entire fiasco off, Beau showed up, very much alive, and the real legal nightmare began.

      The small hand of the fine antique, grandfather clock that dominated the main conference room of Robb, Gallagher and Grant chimed seven P.M.

      “Enough, gentlemen,” A.V. said.

      A.V. raised his eyebrows signaling Beau to get up as he gathered his stacks of papers, phone, iPad and computer and stuffed them into his monogrammed, don’t-fuck-with-me, oxblood leather Versace briefcase. He closed the sterling silver latches of the case with a final gong that signaled to all the meeting was over. He and Beau stood.

      “There’s not a goddam thing anyone can say that hasn’t been said since this shit hit the fan. Ergo, I and my client are leaving and we will see you in court.”

      “Ergo?” Beau whispered an aside.

      “Beau, son, let’s work together on this. I don’t see why you can’t grasp how deeply invested the Avery Trust and I are in these new gas and oil fields, not to mention all the restructuring I had done on all the land and property rights,” Millard repeated probably for the thousandth time.

      “You didn’t own it and, since I’m alive, neither does the trust. If you all hadn’t been such greedy assholes, perhaps we could have come to some kind of an agreement of joint tenancy,” Beau said.

      “You need me,” Millard said.

      “I don’t need anything from you, I never did and neither did Mother and Dad, so get over it, grandfather,” Beau said.

      Millard rose to his feet.

      “You ran away from the Gregoire legacy and that’s bigger than anything that’s laid out on this table, Beau. You have no choice because no one else understands the truth about your family. You know that as well as I do and you will accept who you are, Beau. The question is will you accept my help?” Millard asked with an icy tone that Beau alone understood.

      “You chose to sell your soul. I didn’t have that luxury,” Beau said with a cold last look.

      Beau and A.V. left the room. They walked in silence down the two-hundred-year-old corridors and out into the main entry to the glass elevators that anchored the center of the atrium. Beau looked around at this architectural marvel that perfectly blended the old and the new. It had been tastefully modernized when they knocked out walls and floors and added a grand Plexiglas and wrought iron stairwell and elevator that screamed French Quarter 21^st century. Yet, somehow, the designer managed to maintain the staid feel of we’re the oldest, richest and finest law firm in New Orleans and don’t you forget it. Beau was fuming. He felt suffocated standing inside those thick, hallowed walls. He could smell the tucked leather furniture and feel the glare of the gleaming brass as it reflected the fine Persian rug that graced the floors. Every wall in every hall and room they passed was accented by an array of stunning classic oil landscapes capturing the stodginess of the fine old south.

      The elevator door opened and Beau and A.V. stepped in, rode in silence, then stepped out. They walked together for a long time. They were friends and words between friends were often not needed. But the biggest secret between them was that Beau was A.V.’s heart. He had been since they were small. As teens they’d played football and tennis and been inseparable, but the night of Beau’s parent’s death, A.V. had been the only one who could console his grief. Beau, lost in fear, loneliness and anguish had wept on his friend’s shoulder and in the sadness they had crossed a line and explored love for the first time. Millard found them naked and spent, tangled in each other’s arms. A.V., to this day, had never found a way to fill the void Beau left in him. That night remained unspoken. In Beau’s mind it was a memory of a one night, boyhood experience, never to be repeated. After Beau’s parent’s funeral Millard shipped Beau off to boarding school in Europe. A few letters and emails went back and forth between them in the beginning and then … nothing from either. Years went by, life went on and then, word of Beau’s death came. The news of Beau’s death hit A.V. harder than he thought it would. He even went to their old club house deep in the bayou, a tiny shack they’d built together a thousand summers ago as boys. It sat inside the arms of an old banyan tree. He wept and drank several toasts to Beau and hoped his ghost was in a better place. Beau never shared the dark secret of his family legacy and his fears that he would succumb to the curse he didn’t understand.

      A.V. cried for his lost friend, СКАЧАТЬ