At this point, I felt the most humane thing to do, for myself and everyone else in the room, was to press my face into the small puddle of champagne gathering beside me and drown so I didn’t have to face the many people who were watching me humiliate myself right now. And what a bougie way to go out—drowning in Cristal. We were in The Plaza after all. Had to go out in style.
“Are you okay?” a heavily French accent asked. I raised my head, and there he was: Pierre fucking Dubois or, as I knew him, Maître Auguste, offering me his hand. I slipped my hand into his, allowing him to guide me to my feet. Let’s be honest, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen me on my knees. In fact, he’d seen me on my knees, my back, and my stomach; fastened in stocks; tied up in ropes; and chained to the wall…the list was endless!
“Are you okay?” he repeated, the music in the background partially disguising his voice. I glanced down at his hand. It was the right size for Maître. His height and build were so fucking right for Maître.
I couldn’t breathe!
“I need air,” I said and rushed from the room. I moved toward the main door, inhaling the bit of humid breeze the Manhattan summer offered. Security gave me side eyes, but damn them. Did they not know I had just seen my sexual master talking to my current lover?
“Mademoiselle, is everything okay?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up hearing the thick French accent again. I turned slowly, finally seeing him without the cloak and mask, bared to me in his all his Parisian glory. His brown eyes stared back at me. Not silver but deep brown. Perfectly coiffed hair, a strong jaw, and a clear view of those full lips that peeked just a fraction from the porcelain mask he always wore.
“I’m fine,” I said, finding my voice, which had decided to go off on vacation just when I needed it most. “I’m used to being on my knees.” I waggled my eyebrows, leaning forward, hoping he understood. It was time to cut the shit. I needed him to confess who he was. It occurred to me that he might not know who I was either. So I stepped closer. “One might say I’m on my knees as much as a sexual submissive.” Okay, it wasn’t subtle, but the guy had to understand now.
“Are you sure you are okay?” he said, his accent exactly the same as Maître’s. Was he fucking kidding me with this?
“Mon petit chaton!” I said, voice raised. Pierre didn’t show a hint of recognition; he just looked freaked out.
“Mademoiselle, I think you may have hurt your head when you fell.” I rolled my eyes. But just as I was about to bring up the use of clothespins as sexual toys, Harry came rushing from the ballroom.
“Faith!” He took hold of my face, studying my eyes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Just my pride is bruised,” I showed him the ass of my dress. “And I’m wet. Very wet.” I looked at Pierre then and bored my eyes into his. He exhaled a long breath, taking a large step back.
“I shall leave her with you, Henry.” Pierre pronounced Henry like “En-ri.” It was him. I knew it was. I stilled as I realized I now knew who the infamous Maître of NOX was. A man who was trapped in a mundane everyday life. He was a banker, how much more boring could a job get than that? He was familial money. Had pressures. Fuck me. Pierre Dubois of the Dubois Bank was Maître Auguste.
“Faith, you are worrying me,” Harry said. “You don’t look too well. You’ve kind of turned gray.”
“Yeah, I’m not feeling too hot,” I said and blew out a long and loud raspberry. I didn’t care that I was in The Plaza. This night had turned into one epic-sized clusterfuck, and I just wanted to go home. Maître had ignored my hints. Harry knew him, which only made it worse, then his father…
“Harry?” King Sinclair appeared at the door. Speak of the devil. He took one look at me, and I knew something was stirring in his brain. “The speeches are about to begin. You need to give HCS Media’s.” King addressed me. “Miss Parisi, I am sorry you had an accident.”
“Me too,” I said.
“I’m coming, Dad,” Harry said, as sternly as I’d ever heard him speak.
I studied King and understood what Harry had said about his father losing his happiness after his mother died. He was like a shell of man, simply existing, like a shade. Robotically moving through life as a man of his social standing and business success was expected to.