Triplets Make Five

That was the pattern… that was the real Manhattan fairy tale, people using each other for fame, pleasure, excitement, thrill… anything and everything but love.

“This profile,” I said, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the glass desktop. “Let me hear what you’ve got so far.”

“You want me to read it to you?” she frowned, confused.

“If you don’t mind, of course.”

“It’s not done yet,” she said. “I’ve just written the introduction…”

“I want to hear it,” I smiled encouragingly. Then I added, jokingly: “It’s not every day I get to hear what people really think of me.”

She shrugged, then she reached into the Canal Street knock-off Goyard tote that was resting on the floor by her feet. She pulled out an iPad and brought the screen to life with a swipe of her thumb, then she reclined back in the armchair and began reading aloud:

“Caleb Preston is no stranger to mixing business and pleasure; billionaire hotel mogul by day, party-loving playboy by night, Preston is equally infamous among Manhattan’s upper crust elite for his cut-throat business acumen and his insatiable appetite for hot blondes.”

Jade paused, her eyes flicking up at me, almost daring me to respond.

“So far, accurate,” I nodded.

She pursed her lips proudly, taking my remark as a compliment, then continued reading:

“Since inheriting the Preston Hotel empire at the tender age of twenty, the hotel heir has spent the last decade maintaining an impressive collection of international 5-star properties, and an equally impressive private collection of international supermodel girlfriends. The Preston Hotel is world-renowned for style and elegance, and it’s only fitting that the man at its helm would have a wardrobe to match.”

She clicked off the iPad’s screen and glanced up at me expectantly.

“Sounds like you’ve got me figured out, Miss Jeffries,” I smiled, as I leaned back into my chair.

Jet-setting billionaire playboy with a designer wardrobe and a flock of hot blondes… it was a role I was used to playing. I’ve played this character, or some variation of it anyway, since I was a teenager.

I was born into the lap of luxury; the heir to a hotel empire that had been meticulously cultivated by five generations of Preston’s before me. Success was never an option; it was a requirement. It was always assumed that I’d be the next in line… that I’d inherit the throne and take over my father’s empire.

What wasn’t assumed was that I’d inherit my father’s billion-dollar empire when I was just twenty years old, after both of my parents died unexpectedly in a freak accident.

I stepped up to the plate. I took the reins. I put on a suit and sat behind my father’s desk, and for ten years I have managed this billion-dollar global company. But that wasn’t a story that sells tabloids… that was just a footnote; a little detail that was tucked away somewhere amidst splashy photospreads depicting my playboy antics and sexcapade exploits.

“Do I have you figured out?” Jade asked coyly. “Or is there more to the man than what meets the eye?”

Don’t pretend you give a shit, I thought cynically. We both know this is just a game.

“What do you want to know?” I asked. “For the profile?”

She was about to answer, but before she could the phone on my desk rattled to life, filling my glass office with the shrill screech of its high-pitched ring.

We were both startled, and I reached for the receiver.

“Hello?” I said into the mouthpiece.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I recognized the voice of Dorothy, my receptionist, on the other end of the phone. “I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t urgent, but…” her voice trailed off.

“What is it, Dorothy?” I asked.

I had already forgotten all about Jade Jeffries, until I glanced up and see her staring at me with wide-eyed excitement plastered on her face.

“There has been a family emergency, Mr. Preston,” Dorothy said through the phone.

My heart sunk, because I know that could only mean one thing. The Preston family is virtually non-existent. I never had cousins, aunts, uncles… not even grandparents. Growing up, there were only three other Prestons. And when my parents died, that number was reduced to one; one other Preston in all of New York City, in all of the world...

“It’s your sister, sir,” Dorothy confirmed what I already knew. “It’s Calista.”