Pinnacle: The Charbonneau Twins, #2

By Eliza Lloyd

Financier David Charbonneau is at the crossroads of life. His ex has just dropped off his twin daughters, he's just lost millions for his firm and has started a new job that has turned into an albatross. And worse, he's lost his closest friend, his administrative assistance and financial whiz who was more than just a Girl Friday. Too late, he realizes she was a complement to him, but Veronica has her own ambitions and it isn't to work forever in the staid world of finance.

 

Veronica has loved David for a very long time but with her own success in reach and at the cusp of realizing her dream, she must steel herself against David's charms pulling her back into his world.

 

He has come to the painful realization that Veronica has been more than a friend all along. But now, for the first time in his charmed life, he can't interfere. He can't tell her that he loves her for fear he'd be the person to get in her way. And he can never do that to Veronica, not when she's about to reach her pinnacle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eliza Lloyd
• Release date: Sep 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393091677

Book preview

Chapter One

Five hundred million pounds was a lot to lose in one day and still keep his job. Of course, he wasn’t going to keep it. The managing partners of Teller Watt Turner would make a pretense of regret, think about it seriously and then cut David Charbonneau—London’s former financial whiz—loose without a second thought.

David had removed his jacket, loosened his tie and sprawled back in his office chair, sucking on a glass of very fine whisky, maybe his last, before he descended into work poverty.

For the clients, there was nothing else TWT could do except offer their apologies. The money was lost. If they didn’t panic, most would get it back, but there was no clear time frame for such a recovery.

Remorse when losing money was a unique kind of regret. In theory, finance managers were supposed to prevent such losses, and for the most part David had been very adept at protecting his clients’ money. But the markets had no conscience and no sorrow that they killed people’s dreams, ruined careers and caused profound regret. All David could do now was rebuild.

He swallowed back the last of his drink and slammed the glass against his desk. He walked around his office, grabbed a few of his personal items and stowed them in his Aspinall bag. The wall pictures could be sent for later. The information he could use for another job did not belong to him. That would stay locked up in his company computer. He had client contact information in his phone. His work contract prohibited communication with them for twelve months. They were as good a gone too.

Peaks and valleys happened in finance. He hated to think yesterday was the pinnacle of his career, though.

Veronica Manley sat in her office chair but looked up when he walked out his door. Sympathy dripped from her. As his executive assistant, she was used to winning. She was used to large bonuses and generous benefits as his right-hand woman. Her salary was intact, but her future was in as much jeopardy as his, but there was no way a serious-minded partner wouldn’t try to facilitate a lateral transfer for her.

Will you be in tomorrow, Mr. Charbonneau?

Unlikely. You might want to take the day off as well. You don’t need to experience any of the blowback.

It happens. It has happened before. It will happen again. This debacle wasn’t all your fault. I could have been—

Come on, Vee. You cover my ass more than I deserve, but not his time. This time, it’s all on my shoulders.

Do you think they will dismiss me too?

I wouldn’t be surprised if Jonathan Turner isn’t knocking on your door the hour after I’m dismissed.

No, he won’t.

He’s wanted you since you started here.

Mr. Turner doesn’t need me.

Since I’m about to be fired, I can take the risk of running afoul of human resources best practices. When I say Jonathan wants you, I don’t mean he wants your ability to review a prospectus with a client.

She lowered her head, her cheeks pinkening. That’s not true. Mr. Turner is married. And I would never.

I know that, but I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you after I’m gone.

That’s kind of you to say, Mr. Charbonneau. I’ll be fine. No matter what happens.

I keep telling myself that too.

There are a dozen top firms who would be happy to have you work for them. As soon as the news gets out, your phone won’t stop ringing.

As soon as the news gets out, I will be a pariah for several months. Do you want to share a last drink with me?

Sure. Just one. And knowing you, it won’t be your last.

It’s a social gift I have, he said as he poured. He glanced back at Veronica. The one woman he knew who had never flirted with him. In fact, she was the epitome of naivete and innocence. But good God, was she smart.

She was more than an executive assistant. She wined and dined clients, softening them up for David. She kept up on stocks, bonds, ETFs, mutual funds. She could run actuarials and marathons. Dot i’s. Cross t’s. She spoke German and Arabic, too. He had more clients on the Arabian Peninsula than the other partners combined, thanks to Vee.

And occasionally she ordered flowers when he had to cancel dates.

She would lightly scold, Of course I will do it, but this is your reminder that I am not your fixer. That direct way she spoke was a reminder not to do it again, but inevitably, six months later, he would do a variation of the same theme.

She was a wine and cheese guru, finding out what high-end clients liked and making sure they got the best. Wines could be obtained anywhere in London, but it was the cheese from Paxton and Whitfield that dazzled everyone. Sometimes he thought Veronica’s connection to the shop was the second most important after the Queen’s.

He handed her the glass of Johnny Walker Blue Label, wondering where they would land. Not together this time.

She took a seat at the end of the leather couch, nearest the door, and crossed her legs. Those legs were the only thing she displayed at work.

Do you want me to help find a position for you? I know most of the decision makers in finance, both here and in Paris.

And I know those same people. Besides, I have a job until I’m told otherwise. Thank you. But you ought to worry about yourself for the near future.

David strolled to the window and looked out over the City. This was his world. He couldn’t imagine working anywhere else, even in the financial capital of the world, New York City.

If I hear anything tomorrow, I will let you know, she offered.

I’ll make sure Cathy Owens watches out for you. She’ll know about any openings before they get posted.

Veronica laughed, a light, pleasant sound that belied the weightiness of the situation. I’m not sure what you think of me after seven years, but I can take care of myself. Good scotch.

The best.

For the price, I could have three or four bottles of JW Black. And there’s not that much difference in smoothness.

David laughed. Oh?

I like a good stiff one now and again, but cost doesn’t necessarily mean a corresponding leap in quality. I prefer a Laphroaig Quarter Cask.

He squinted, looking at her closely to see if she was suggesting something. Vee seemed very interested in another sip of her whisky.

As beautiful women went, Veronica was the cream of the crop. Classy was about the best word he could use to describe her. Well-dressed. Articulate. Educated.

Discriminate. Reserved. Thoughtful.

Gorgeous. Sexy.

The other office staff called her Madonna behind her back. Not as a mockery, per se, but because of her influence and competence, like the character from an American television show called Suits. The character, Donna, ran the office and the men who pretended to be in charge. Her last name completed the sobriquet.

The Lady. Yes, that described his Veronica.

While he was dating, he thought about Vee in his bed about once a week.

When he wasn’t dating, he thought about Vee in his bed several times a day.

Could he sacrifice his most amazing executive assistant for a short-term affair? Hell no. His dick had to suffer the droughts in between women.

He watched her over the rim of his glass, finishing his drink. He was leaving TWT. He would no longer be her boss. Possibilities around every corner...

Laphroaig? David questioned.

Don’t get me wrong. Johnny Walker does great marketing and Blue is just the right gift for a promising client—

But?

But the woman on the street isn’t going to buy it or stock it in her liquor cabinet.

Why haven’t we had this conversation before?

We never drink together.

That’s not true. We drink together at client meals all the time.

Wine. We drink wine.

I’m French. Of course we drink wine. Do you have any plans this evening? If so, I should let you get going. If not... He lightly intimated that they might get something to eat together. Would she pick it up?

It’s Thursday evening.

Oh, that’s right. I don’t want to keep your mother waiting.

It’s the best meal I have all week. When my mum asks about work, do you want me to tell her anything?

He sighed, falling back to reality. If you don’t mind waiting, I’d appreciate it.

I suppose it will be in the paper, she said, placing her cut crystal glass on the walnut side table.

Let’s see what happens through the weekend. She’ll worry unnecessarily and, by then, you will know more about your security here. Cathy will have someone from HR come down to finish cleaning out my office.

You haven’t been fired yet.

Thank you, my dear. It’s very nice to have someone with such confidence still in my corner.

I do. I’ve always believed in you, David.

It was a night full of surprises. She rarely called him by his first name. When she did, it was usually in the most casual of business settings or when they were together working on projects. Never in front of clients or the partners.

Her phone rang. Not her personal cell phone; her desk phone. Excuse me.

Let it go to voicemail. You’re off the clock.

It’s internal. Probably should answer it. Hello, David Charbonneau’s office.

David poured another dollop of JW into his glass when he heard her say, No, Mr. Turner, I’m getting ready leave for the evening.

He walked toward his office door. When she glanced at him, he shook his head no.

I suppose I could. Are you in your office? she said.

She didn’t look up at David.

Yes. I’m on my way, but I can’t stay too long. I have a dinner date. That was clever of her. Turner would never know her dinner date wasn’t a handsome bloke with an Oxford education.

Vee hung up the phone and lifted one shoulder in doubt. She winged her eyebrows then reached for her cell phone and her sweater, which she slipped on quickly.

"Vee, what did I just tell you? My God, what a prick, hitting on you before I’m even out of the building. J’en mettrais ma main au feu!" Actually, he’d bet his entire fortune this call wasn’t about business.

We don’t know that. If you are going to speak French, make sure I know the words. And speak slowly.

I’m not leaving until you return to your desk. I don’t trust him. Not with you anyway.

Don’t think the worst. Maybe it will be some good news.

Turn him down if he offers you a drink. Say no to anything he offers otherwise.

If he offers me a job with another junior partner, I think it will answer two questions, don’t you?

"Merde! Go in with your eyes open and listen to your gut instincts."

Good night, Mr. Charbonneau. Please don’t wait. Everything will be fine. I’ve known Mr. Turner since I started here. She turned on her red-soled Louboutins and headed to the owner’s floor, two stories up.

Should he stay? Should he go?

Was he going to guard her all day tomorrow? All next week?

Even the most optimistic of souls, or those souls who knew, would assume that the Wunderkind of London Finance was done at Teller Watt Turner. If Ladbrokes took such a bet, it would be a safe one.

And who better than Turner himself to break the news to David’s assistant. Oh, he wouldn’t come out and say David was out on his ass, but he would hint that better opportunities awaited Miss Manley.

Turner might have been thirty-three percent partner, but he was one-hundred percent asshole. Men knew who the male predators were, whether or not they said anything. David’s practice was to warn the woman or women off. If she wanted the sexual attention and was properly rewarded for it, who was he to judge? But damn, not his Veronica.

So, he waited. He opened his laptop to check on the US stock market. All his clients with tech stocks were doing well thanks to serious talk about 6G technology.

Fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity, but Vee finally returned looking pale, her lips drawn and unsmiling.

What did he say?

Do you really want to know?

Of course.

Vee opened her desk drawer and pulled out her purse and umbrella.

Let me call a car for you. Or come with me and I’ll drop you off at your mother’s flat. She still said nothing. What the hell did he say?

He said in all likelihood the partners will terminate you sometime in the next few days and that he would be happy to have me as his executive assistant. Seems Beatrice doesn’t know she’s up for a retirement package. All just like you said, except with a raise and no harassment.

A raise? I already have you at the top of the company scale and with the highest commission rate. Hell, you make more than half of the junior partners.

But not all.

He shot her a frown. It won’t be long before he asks for more from you. A raise? What an underhanded bribe.

Should I say no?

The sarcasm in your voice—

It’s a tone you are long used to. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough TWT drama for one day.

Let me grab the JW. You can gift it to your mother.

An open bottle? Classy.

There’s a full one too. Give me a minute.

David tucked the bottle in his bag, then left the office with her. She was uncharacteristically quiet. He wasn’t feeling so loquacious himself.

He stood at the back of the elevator, watching her as she commandeered the buttons.

Why not ask her now? The night was still young. He was feeling demoralized for decisions made and chastised for his abundant pride. A shag with a desirable woman could lift the lowest of spirits.

The elevator reached the first floor and he hadn’t said a word.

He wasn’t a Frenchman at all. He was an Anglicized version of himself. Stiff. Without his natural instincts. Boring as hell. Lonely.

As they left the building lobby his phone rang.

Mr. Charbonneau? His new cook and part-time housekeeper had his number, of course, but it was very unusual for her to call him unless it was to buy something special at Sainsbury’s that would run over the food budget. He had no real budget, but it seemed she was used to counting her coins and worked best within certain parameters. David was fine with a conscientious employee.

Mrs. Lanjwani, is there something wrong?

I don’t know. A woman is at the front door to see you. She says it is urgent. You did not mention a guest this evening.

No. I’m not expecting anyone. Did she give a name?

A Miss Kristen.

And Miss Kristen hadn’t been at his home for several months since they’d broken up. Mrs. Lanjwani hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting one of his former girlfriends yet. Especially this one.

All right. I’ll be home in thirty minutes or so. Have her wait in the front room and don’t offer her any dinner. He tucked his phone in his jacket. I’ve got to get going, Vee. Are you sure I can’t drop you off?

No worries. The Circle Line goes right by my mum’s home. Should be there in a blink. But thank you.

I’ll give you a call in a couple days and let you know what’s happening.

She laughed. Office gossip at TWT will beat you to it.

David gripped her elbow, preventing her from turning away. I will let you know what happens. I’m not just going to disappear. We’ve been friends far too long for that.

Friends? I’ve never thought of us that way.

He was taken aback. A gut punch would have been less hurtful. He had loved Vee for a very long time—it was impossible not to have deep feelings for such a brilliant, caring person. Where he dared not travel was down the in love with path.

She had come along in his life just as his relationship with his twin brother had imploded. In some ways, she had taken Paul’s place as a confidant and best friend. He hadn’t searched out other mates except those few casual acquaintances at work involving the pub and a good lager on Friday nights.

But he still dated because he wanted a reliable sexual relationship. Veronica was keenly sensitive to avoiding the appearance of an office romance with him or any other man.

They’d kept a very professional relationship while building mutual respect. It had to be enough, but God, he would miss her.

Well, good night, Mr. Charbonneau, she said, turning away and popping open her umbrella.

Good night, Veronica. Goodbye? A frisson of regret went through him, a foreboding, and a warning. Here he was at a chasm. He could jump over or step back very carefully before the cliff crumbled. Vee? he called.

Why couldn’t they try a relationship now that they would no longer be working together? Was this the time to act on the thrumming attraction he’d had for her all these years? With her, it couldn’t just be about sex. It would have to be a real relationship. Was he ready for such a thing? Could he romance her the way she deserved?

She turned. Yes? She stared up at him, her mouth slightly open. Her skin was faintly misted and appeared luminescent in the city light. Did he imagine the longing in her gaze? Did he imagine she was thinking the same thing?

Tell your mum hello, he said weakly. Stupidly.

He stood near the company car since he was still an honored member of the TWT team. Veronica Manley stepped into the night and disappeared into the street crowd and depressing drizzle of a typical London evening.

Hell, he had to get home and find out what Kristen wanted. He knew, of course, but she hadn’t given him what he wanted yet.

It was a small thing. And he knew he was playing hardball, but it felt like the only bit of control he had with Kristen and her unreasonable demands.

Late, the car pulled over in front of his Kensington home.

Thank you, Teddy. Have a good evening. His driver mumbled a goodnight.

He rang the security buzzer, dreading the confrontation to come. What did Kristen want? And why tonight, of all nights?

Mrs. Lanjwani bustled out of his apartment door. She is your problem. She is a mess and all that noise. Your dinner is in the warmer.

He heard the noise straight away. Crying babies!

Kristen stood in his front room, carrying one of the children and patting her bottom as she paced. The other one was fussing in a carrier seat, her little legs jerking spasmodically.

What are you doing here? he demanded.

Hello to you too. Even with two children demanding all, her time, she still looked fabulous, her long, light brown hair swinging over her shoulders.

You’re not here for a social call. I assume it’s another attempt to blackmail me?

Blackmail? You son of bitch. I want support for my daughters, as you well know. He had been providing cash support, just not what she wanted. They were his children, but before he committed to any longer-term anything, he wanted verification. He and Kristen had been apart over five months before she had told him she was pregnant. He knew what she was doing with that time: strategizing with a lawyer.

And you know what I want: a DNA test and joint custody. Until then, they aren’t mine. He kept his gaze averted. He was not ready to look at them. A strange and petty defensive tactic.

Just look at them! It is impossible they belong to anyone else.

David had refused to see them because he didn’t want to give her any ammunition. Also part of the reason he was paying cash—just in case they weren’t his, he wanted nothing on the record to say otherwise. Then why won’t you take the test?

How dare you think I was sleeping with someone else while I was with you?

"How dare you forget to take your birth control when you told me you were."

That’s the past, David. We have children together now. And you need to step up and fulfill your responsibility as their father.

Fine. Let’s get the DNA test done.

You are such a prick. I’m not a liar.

Neither are DNA tests. Once he’d made the demand for the tests, he couldn’t back down. Now it was a major battle between them, and he wasn’t going to lose.

Okay. Have it your way. Get the bloody tests. Kristen placed the girl she was holding in the carrier. At least she wasn’t crying—the baby, not Kristen. David, this is your daughter Emma, and this is Olivia. There are extra nappies and a few necessities in that bag.

What are you doing?

Leaving them with you. After those DNA tests, you’ll want to get to know your daughters. And I’m bloody sick of doing this on my own.

Kristen grabbed her purse and stormed out the door.

Kristen! Kristen, get back here. Be reasonable.

The door shut hard behind her. The sound caused one of the children, Olivia, to squeal in terror. She clenched her fists, her body arched and then the frightful wail. Every home in the terraced row would be able to hear her.

He stared for a moment. A wash of emotion overcame him. And then the dawning of reality. He had daughters! All his bachelor ideals about marriage and babies and fatherhood and a lifetime of duty and drudgery vanished as he brushed his forefinger across Olivia’s cheek. His breath escaped in a rush and a lightheaded buzz made him shake his head.

His