Champagne Brunch: The Stiletto Sisters Series Read online

  Champagne Brunch

  Stiletto Sisters book 1

  A Novel

  by:

  Ainsley St Claire

  Copyright 2021 Ainsley St Claire

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a production of the author’s imagination. Locations and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions or locations is completely coincidental.

  Stiletto Sisters: Champagne Brunch/Ainsley St Claire—1st edition

  Books By Ainsley St Claire

  The Venture Capitalist Series

  Forbidden Love (Emerson and Dillon)

  Promise (Sara and Trey)

  Desire (Hadlee and Cameron)

  Temptation (Greer and Andy)

  Obsession (Cynthia and Todd)

  Flawless (Constance and Parker)

  Longing (Bella and Christopher)

  Enchanted (Quinn and William)

  Fascination (CeCe and Mason)

  Clear Security Holiday Heartbreakers

  Gifted (Kate and Jim)

  Unwrapped (Fiona and Bash)

  Merry & Bright (Grace and Vincent) November 2021

  Tech Billionaires

  Tech Billionaire (Cecelia and Nate) via Bookfunnel only

  House of Cards (Maggie and Jonnie)

  Royally Flushed (Corrine and Jackson)

  Sleight of Hand (Tinsley and Landon)

  Running Hot (Marcella and Walker)

  Showdown (Nate and Lilly)

  The Stiletto Sisters

  Champagne Brunch (Mia and Axel) April 2021

  Martini Lunch June 2021

  Happy Hour August 2021

  After Dinner Drinks February 2022

  Dedication & thank you

  Where would I be without my readers? I’m sure I’d be buried in a book somewhere. Thank you for the fan mail, the notes on Facebook, and your amazing reviews. You humble me every time. The characters in my books are my friends and I’m grateful you allow me to share them with you.

  Mr. St Claire you are my biggest fan, and the best support I could ever hope for. As the inspiration for every one of my heroes and I don’t do you nearly enough justice. I love you!

  Jessica Royer Ocken your make my stories sing and I’ve learned (the hard way) to never doubt your advice. I’m so grateful for all you do.

  Nancy, Linda, and Courtnay. You three are amazing and kind to spend the time hunting through my manuscripts to find what my tired eyes refuse to see. Thank you!!!

  Get the Newsletter

  If you’d like to download Nate and Cecelia’s story, you can get a free copy of a prequel to the Tech Billionaire series, simply titled Tech Billionaire. It is only available through the newsletter so sign up for Ainsley’s Naughty Readers to receive the latest news on my upcoming novels, sign up for my free author newsletter at https://dl.bookfunnel.com/jluob93y32

  Chapter 1

  Mia

  “Thank you, Ms. Couture. We’ll be in touch,” Agent Shelly Davis says as she stands.

  I sit with my lawyer and watch her leave my conference room. I want her long gone and out of earshot before I say a word.

  “You did great. Don’t let the FBI get to you,” says Marci Peterson, my attorney. “They don’t have any evidence linking you to Viviana’s crimes, but they need to make sure they have everything lined up for her trial or whatever the State Department might do.”

  I nod. “Thank you. I really appreciate that you’re here.”

  Marci pats my arm. “Any time. You have my cell number. If they call or you just want to talk, please feel free to reach out.”

  I try to smile as she leaves, but I’m not even sure the corners of my mouth turn up. My best friend, Viviana Prentis, is not who I thought she was. She fooled all of us and was recently arrested for being a foreign intelligence agent, participating in cybercrimes, and committing murder—an FBI trifecta.

  How could I have been so blind?

  Viviana went out of her way to work with all the various millionaires and billionaires in Silicon Valley tech, and unbeknownst to any of us, she was collecting technology. She also managed to access several government secrets that she gave to her Russian handlers while extorting and stealing money from others—what a gem.

  She worked with a US Senator who was on the foreign intelligence committee and extorted him after their affair. She and her Russian hacker trolls broke into companies, including possibly mine, Diamond Analytics, to harvest sensitive data that had been developed for our clients.

  And in the process, she killed an incredible friend of ours and then tried to kill her husband and children.

  How did I miss the signs?

  The FBI and the security company I employ have been crawling through my company servers and interviewing employees to determine whether Viviana stole data from us for the Russian government.

  My board has called a meeting for tomorrow, and I’m not looking forward to it. One board member has already warned that they’re going to ask me to take a leave of absence until this calms down. I can’t blame them for feeling that way, even though I know I was not involved. I still missed all the signs.

  I look out the windows of the conference room at the view of the North Bay, Alcatraz, and the Sausalito home of the family Viviana destroyed. I feel a migraine coming on. I just want to go home and sit in a dark room for a decade.

  My cell phone pings.

  Claire: Are you coming? I’m here with Elena, Toni, and Ryder, and Caroline and Emerson are on their way.

  Me: I have a headache. I think I’m going to go home.

  Claire: Don’t make me come get you. You know I will.

  I blow out a breath. I’m not up for telling her what a shitty day I’ve had or about the crap blowing down on me because I exchanged over five thousand text messages with Viviana in the year before she was arrested—and that was ten months ago. Claire would pull me out anyway, because when she was ghosted by her fiancé, that’s what I did for her.

  I straighten my back and resign myself to pretending today was a good day.

  Me: Fine. I’ll be there shortly.

  My friends and I share our shock and grief over cocktails often. We were all tight with Viviana, and the only comfort I feel is that I’m not the only one blown away by the news.

  We are fierce women. We’ve mastered our careers, and most of us are self-made billionaires in a city where men outnumber women—and unfortunately, shrinking the pool even more, men tend to be intimidated by women who are smarter and more successful than they are. We’re all shell-shocked and need each other for group support to manage this Viviana aftermath. But today just happens to be a lousy day.

  I gather my things and ride over to the Tiger Den, a small bar downtown that we’ve taken to meeting at regularly, in the back of my G-Class Mercedes with my security guard. I look at the text that my now-former boyfriend, Justin Price, sent me this morning. I’ve read it over a dozen times, and I still can’t believe it. Stunning.

  Justin: This thing with your friend has gotten out of hand. I think it’s time we be realistic. You’re not moving to Austin, and I’m not interested in moving to San Francisco. Let’s stop wasting each other’s time. G
ood luck.

  Good luck? What the fuck? Who says that in a break-up text? Who breaks up with a text? Justin had been avoiding my calls for a few days, so it shouldn’t be a surprise, but it’s still a kick in the gut. I mean, grow a pair and break up with me over FaceTime at least. That used to be your favorite way of communicating with me and my bare breasts.

  Whatever.

  I can’t wait for this day, week, month, and year to be over. I’m done with it.

  My driver stops in front of the Tiger Den. I get out and start to run across the sidewalk, and somehow I bump into a man walking by.

  “Oh, excuse me.”

  He smiles. “A beautiful woman runs into me while walking into a bar. Maybe I should buy her a drink?”

  I blush. He’s stunning as he towers over me with his six-foot frame and three-piece suit. “Not necessary. I should just watch where I’m going.” I flash him my most brilliant smile, and he smiles back. It takes my breath away. Almost reluctantly, I walk into the bar to join my friends and leave him grinning on the sidewalk.

  I don’t look over my shoulder, though I wonder what he would have done if I’d taken him up on his offer. How would I explain it to my friends?

  I look over the crowd of happy-hour revelers.

  “There she is,” Claire announces from the corner. “You finally made it!”

  I look at my watch, and it’s hardly after six. As far as I’m concerned, this is still the workday. I don’t often leave my office before dark. That’s the problem with running a Fortune 50 company that I created and built.

  Claire hands me a glass of champagne. “We’re here to celebrate.”

  I survey my friends, and we appear unassuming, but if you look around the bar, each of us has at least one bodyguard with us. Caroline Arnault is an heiress by birth but also runs one of the country’s largest independent cosmetic companies. She’s been traveling with a female bodyguard, but the rest of them are like a Navy Seal convention, and they do attract the attention of the single women in the bar.

  Claire raises her glass. “To wonderful friends.”

  “Wonderful friends,” I repeat and raise my glass.

  Caroline smiles from her spot next to me. “How are you doing?”

  I paste a plastic smile on my face. “I’m doing great.”

  She looks at me thoughtfully. “You don’t have to put a brave face on with this crowd.”

  I shrug. “Everyone knows my best friend was arrested. It’s not like wallowing in self-pity is a wise use of my time.”

  “No, but what about getting drunk and getting your man to meet you at your place to ravish you until he has to fly home tomorrow?”

  “I agree. Meet halfway between Austin and here—maybe your place in Colorado. Get down and dirty and come back with a smile,” Toni Lo says. Toni made her fortune as an early employee of Chirp and has been so supportive as we’ve navigated the mess with Viviana. She most likely won’t be deposed or called as a witness, but she’s been a great friend through everything.

  “As fun as that might be, Justin has decided that all the drama with Viviana, it’s time for him to move on.”

  “What? What does Viviana have to do with him?” Toni asks.

  I roll my eyes. “Justin and I both had visits from the FBI today. I probably wouldn’t be here if Marci Peterson hadn’t been able to join me for the interview.”

  Caroline hugs my shoulders. “She’s amazing. But I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too. Jim Adelson at Clear Security has his technology guru working with FBI Cybercrimes, going through my company. They want to be sure Viviana didn’t figure out a way to burrow into our systems since we have some big military spending contracts.”

  “Shiiiiit,” Claire breathes. “That would really suck. What does that mean for you?”

  I’m sure whatever my board has for me tomorrow at our emergency meeting will make the trade papers. I’m not going to talk about it here. Who knows who might be in this bar, and besides, I don’t want to think about it right now.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I did something fun and fanciful.”

  “Like have a one-night stand?” Claire’s eyes grow big, and a few men at the bar glance over.

  I chuckle. “I meant for work. But as far as that’s concerned, as soon as the guy asks what I do and I tell him—even the light version—he either has to mansplain how he’s so much more successful than I am or he makes a polite excuse to run away. Usually, it’s the latter.”

  “Men are idiots,” Claire says.

  “I think Caroline snagged the last good one,” I quip.

  Caroline was just married a year ago to her long-time love, Mason Sullivan. They’re the power couple these days in San Francisco. Mason and his company, SHN, were the initial investors in my company, and I owe all my success to them. They gave me a great runway and provided me with help doing all the things that typically distract a startup, so my development team and I could concentrate on what we do best.

  Ryder Brady sits down next to me. She’s a vivacious blonde with all the right curves, and it actually makes me feel better knowing it isn’t just me. She’s beautiful, funny, and doesn’t need a man to take care of her. “I’m not ready to give up yet,” she says. Ryder is the founder of Solar Pavilion, which develops self-sustaining, solar power stations for rural and off-the-grid communities, particularly in third-world countries and remote worksites.

  “No way,” Elena adds. Elena Tuskin is a tall, beautiful brunette with big brown eyes that are golden in the sunlight. “We’re too awesome to just give up.”

  “You know,” Emerson says. “When I was single, Caroline and some of our friends used to have fake jobs that made us less intimidating when we were out.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire asks.

  “We had what we called chick jobs.” She smiles. “I would tell guys I worked in human resources and operations.”

  “I would tell them I was a makeup artist,” Caroline offers. “My childhood best friend, who’s a pediatrician, would tell guys she was a nurse.”

  I put my glass down and grin. “I get it. Rather than say I’m CEO of a multinational, trillion-dollar company, I could tell them I’m working on a new app.”

  “Yessss!” Caroline says.

  “Rather than saying I’m developing the software that banks use to move money around behind the scenes, I could say I’m a bank teller,” Elena says.

  Emerson is nodding.

  But Ryder shakes her head. “Lying to start a relationship seems a little disingenuous.”

  “I suppose it is, but if you’re just looking for fun, what’s the harm?” Caroline says. “All of those jobs are amazing. They just aren’t as threatening to a man’s delicate ego.”

  Ryder grins. “Fine. I’ll be a science teacher focused on climate change.”

  “Good that you’re true to course,” Caroline says.

  We spend the rest of the night plotting our quest to become guy magnets, and I wonder how that ploy would have gone with the guy I ran into on my way into the bar tonight. When I sigh, someone hands me a shot. We drink more than we probably should, but we have fun. I’m just grateful we didn’t spend the night dissecting what my brain has been wrestling with since Viviana’s arrest.

  At the end of the evening, as I walk out with Claire, she puts her arm around me. “Are you okay?”

  “I am.” I give her a side hug. “I’m really grateful that we’re friends.”

  “I am, too.” She looks at the line of vehicles and bodyguards ready to whisk us home. “Viv did a number on all of us. But together we’ll get through.”

  “I agree.”

  Peter stands beside my vehicle, and I salute him as I climb into the backseat for the drive to my home in the Marina.

  When I arrive, I bypass additional alcohol and go right for graham crackers with a swipe of Nutella and marshmallow fluff. This snack takes me back to my days of being a Girl Scout and my favorite s’mores. Chocolate should
definitely be its own food group. I look out at the marina, where people are still celebrating and enjoying their night.

  I need a bath to relax.

  I run through my tried-and-true preparations and have it ready in no time. As the bubbles cover me in a warm blanket, I think once again about the man who offered to buy me a drink earlier tonight. We had less than a minute of flirting, but nothing more, and no way to follow up.

  What might an app do for people interested in flirting?

  No fake jobs required.

  No histories or education exchanged.

  Just flirting over drinks and sharing a mutual attraction.

  I don’t think there’s anything like that out there. Too bad. It would be perfect.

  Something woke me at twelve forty-four this morning, and I can’t go back to sleep. My mind won’t stop circling the drain of my life. It’s like a pinball machine that ricochets between a Viviana Prentis bumper, a Diamond Analytics bumper, and the sharp pain of Justin and why he broke up with me.

  I stare at the ceiling. The shadow from the water’s reflection is like a shiny line that zig-zags above the blackout curtains.

  I don’t want to read. Nothing interests me right now.

  I’m cold. I reach for the quilt my grandmother crocheted and curl up in a fetal position.

  Now I’m hot.

  Wait. What was that noise?

  I push the quilt aside, and the cold air hits me. It’s too early.

  I pull out an oversized, thick, washed-wool sweater and put it on. It’s in terrible shape, with snags and holes in the elbows, but it’s warm, and it doesn’t matter since no one will see me in it. I head to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee.