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Edward always finds it fascinating when people of his social class end up on their clients list. They’re always lower on the list than they think they are. They like to put on airs around Susie’s people, like a defense mechanism to hide how they’re really pissing themselves on the inside. But when it’s just him in their natural habitat, a little soirée at a stately house, or a match at the country club; once the one-upmanship falls by the wayside and they’re all school chums again, there’s an excitement. They all act like they’re in an action movie, and anyone of them could be Bond.
“So, you’re their in to high society are you, Eddie?” asks Archie, their host for the evening, and the main prospect.
Archie, a nightclub owner whose decrepit marquess papa just refuses to pass on, is looking to expand his menu. They have a lounge he says, and he’s looking for more mellow offerings.
“On occasion, when I have relevant contacts.” Eddie agrees, though vaguely.
Edward finds it amusing when they misunderstand his role in the operation. He understands that they have a very narrow understanding of the world, as sheltered as most of them are. Particularly those of their class who just eke by, only having the minimum two vehicles and are all but abandoning their country manors for their more manageable townhouses, it usually means the more ruthless imperialist progeny of the family have died out.
“Well, what else do you do? Surely, you’re not making millions just from making calls. Don’t go gatekeeping that golden goose.” says Harry, the bawdier participant of their little gathering.
Archie had invited multiple prospects to hear their pitch, all with different venues requiring a consistent supplier. He insisted a party at his father’s manor would be the perfect opportunity for a meeting, his brother’s engagement party, because everyone would already be there. The party chatter should drown out the illegal subject matter. Wouldn’t be a bother at all.
“I’m not. You now know the premise of our operation, if that’s what you’re interested in.” Eddie gently opens the door to a more involved arrangement.
“Yeah, but that’s just leasing land for a different sort of farming. Clearly that’s not what you do.” Harry pushes further.
“I don’t lease my land anymore, no.” Eddie confirms.
“So, you’ve moved up in the ranks then?” asks Milly, a blonde socialite who he recognizes from some embarrassingly aggressive flirting a little over a decade ago. That thankfully ceased when she found out that he was just the spare.
He shrugs and smiles in amusement as she bites her lip. She’s more subtle and mature now, but obviously her interest has been reawakened.
“Stop keeping us in suspense, Eddie. We’re all friends here.” Milly insists, sweetly.
“You management? Were you just being modest and you’re actually the brains of the operation?” Archie asks with a self-satisfaction.
Flattering him to flatter themselves, as in their minds, they were the same. Business savvy. Self-made. Worldly. Dangerous. Never mind, their granddaddy's shotgun gathering dust over the fireplace.
“No. Actually…” and then he hears it.
Eddie turns his head slightly to the click-clacking of her expensive heels. He snaps his fingers, requesting a chair from a server by pointing at the space beside him. Her hand perches over his shoulder, her perfect, red almond nails sliding over the wool of his dinner jacket.
All the faces around the table before him look up at her in awe. As beautiful as she is, her makeup was always intimidating; the lines of her ensembles sharp like armour.
“Who’s your friend, Eddie?” asks Archie, still a bit slack-jawed.
“She’s management. I’m the muscle.” Eddie says proudly with a smile.
“Now captain, that’s selling yourself rather short.” Says Susie.
Her chair arrives and she swings her hips gracefully around to take her seat.
“We have muscle for the day to day. Your muscle’s just for when someone requires special attention.” Her hand leaves his shoulder and lands out of sight below the table, but very obviously on his thigh.
She addresses the whole table, though not without a brief pointed look at Milly. “He’s my enforcer, and when needs must, my executioner.”
“This is Miss Susan Glass. Operations manager, human resources, acquisition and…the future Duchess Halstead.”
After the meeting, Susie and Eddie share a drink on the balcony to review their successes and the fish that escaped the net.
“Are you at all concerned with what associating with me more openly, in your society, will do to your family’s reputation?” Susie asks with a sip of her champagne.
Eddie shrugs, humming into his whiskey.
“Not in the least. Even I’m not what these people expect when dealing with the Duke of Halstead. They expect a soft-bellied, soft-handed princeling called Fred; not a rough around the edges, army vet with the wrong name." He takes her hand with the massive, though tasteful cluster of sparkling rocks on the ring finger, and gives it a peck. "Besides, you’re in good company. My ancestors did the same things, or rather the medieval equivalent to what your family’s doing.”
He reaches around her waist and pulls her close before continuing. “And a few generations from now, our great grandbabies will be dealing with the same problem we’re dealing with now.”
“Which is?” she asks, her breath dancing over his lips.
Eddie smirks and says “Managing an empire.”