Nicole Richie - Priceless

Charlotte followed the sound of his voice, finding him, as expected, standing by the fire in his study.

“And in his arms you’ll always stay. “

They finished the line together, laughing, and Jacob Williams held out his arms. She stepped into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder, the cashmere of his jacket feeling just as wonderful as it always did. No cigar smoke anymore—she’d made him quit.

He kissed the top of her smooth head and stepped to the sideboard. “Drink?” He topped up his scotch glass, the ice cubes tumbling together.

Charlotte nodded. “A little.”

“Scotch?”

“Brandy.”

He nodded, reaching for the bottle.

She curled up on the sofa, the glass warming in her hands, and smiled broadly at him. At home, she could just be herself.

“So, Daddy, what’s new on the Street?”

He laughed. “Like you have any interest at all.”

She pretended to be offended, kicking her shoes off onto the floor. “Of course I’m interested. Just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s not interesting. I don’t really get Greek philosophy, but I like to listen to people talk about it.”

“You do?” His look was quizzical. “Bullshit.”

She laughed.

“But since you asked, there was a nice pop in the market today, and quite a few people got very rich.

” “What made that happen?”

He looked into his glass. “I was in a good mood, I sold, I bought, and lo and behold, the market rose.”

“Goodness, what power you wield. Can you do something about world peace? Or, better still, the price of couture?”

He shook his head. “Those things are beyond me. But you don’t need to worry about the price of couture. You got wealthier today by about three million dollars.”

Charlotte paused, about to sip her brandy. “Really? I didn’t even feel as if I was working.”

“You weren’t. I didn’t even have anything to do with it. Your mother set up a fund for you before she died that I can’t even touch. But today it did well, all on its ownsome.”

“Huh, who knew?”

“Colloquialisms, Charlotte? I didn’t send you to Paris to forget to speak English. I sent you there to learn French.”

She ignored him. “What else? Are you seeing anyone?”

He frowned, hard and quick. “No, of course not.”

She frowned back at him, mockingly. “Why not? You’re not too old.”

“I should damn well think not.”

“And you’re still very good-looking.”

“You’re biased.”

“Maybe.” But it was true. Jacob was still handsome. Tall, healthy and fit, superbly dressed, and one of the most powerful men on Wall Street. He’d been featured on the covers of Time and BusinessWeek and in the party pages of Vanity Fair. He attended functions with a variety of actresses and models, some as young as his daughter, but that wasn’t what Charlotte meant. He knew what she meant.

Sighing, he looked her in the eye. “Charlotte, when you are older, you will understand. I believe there are only one or two people in the world with whom one can have a true connection. When you’ve been fortunate enough to find and marry one of those people, you are reluctant to settle for less. One can have lovers, those are easily found, but true love rarely strikes twice.”

Charlotte snorted. “God, Dad, you sound like a Hallmark ad. Why don’t you try going out with women who are closer in age to you than they are to me? Someone you’ll have stuff in common with?”

Jacob stood. “Lord, child, you used ‘stuff’ in a sentence and then ended it with a preposition. I can’t continue this conversation.” But he was smiling.

Charlotte put down her glass and reached for his hand. Jacob pulled her up, held her in the curve of his arm, and started to dance.

She grinned up at him as they moved slowly into the hall, dancing gravely.

“The lovely girl … the lovely day … ”

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs, Jacob dipping Charlotte low as they finished the song together. Then he pushed her toward the stairs.

“Go to bed, little one. Get your beauty sleep, not that you need to be any prettier, Lord knows.”

He watched until she was out of sight, then closed his eyes, trying to hold the image. Decisively, he turned and headed back to the study. It was morning in Tokyo, and there really is no rest for the wicked.

Jacob was long gone when Charlotte came down to breakfast the next day. Sipping her latte, she wandered around the apartment.

“Looking for me, Charlotte?” Greta surprised her. She’d caught Charlotte watching the young man she’d seen the day before, who was deliciously bent over, repairing something in the kitchen. “Admiring my new appliances?”

“Is that what you call him?” Charlotte kept her voice low, but Greta raised hers.

“Watch out, Andy, the mistress of the house is after you.”

He straightened, turning around to regard his audience. Broad grin. White teeth. Dark skin.

“You know my heart belongs to you, Greta.”

“I know, but she’s new in town.”

Charlotte protested. “I’m not really new, I’m just back again.”

He shrugged. “Maybe you missed the memo. Young and pretty is out, older and wiser is in.” He grinned at Greta and turned back to work.

Greta walked out, crooking her finger at Charlotte as she did so. They went into the conservatory, with its curving glass walls overlooking Central Park. It was winter still, and the warmth of the room and the tangle of exotic plants felt surreal against the background of ashen trees below.

“Now, listen here, Charlotte.” Greta had been with the Williams family since before Charlotte was born, and she had become another mother to Charlotte after her own had died. “You keep your hands off Andy. He’s a man, like any other, and likely to get his head turned by you, but he’s happily married, with two small children, and you have no interest in any of that. Leave him alone.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “I have no idea what you mean, Greta.”

The older woman snorted. “Please. I’ve seen the kind of trouble you can cause. Burning down a building was comparatively civilized for you.”

Charlotte was offended. “Greta, you’re exaggerating.”

“I am not. We went through three pool boys at the summer house one year. And you were only seventeen, so Lord alone knows what you could do now that you have more experience.”

Charlotte giggled. “Yes, that was a great summer.”

Greta looked firm. “For you, it was fun; for them, it was a disaster. Some people need to work, you know.”

Charlotte was unbowed. “Look, Greta, I didn’t make them do anything they didn’t want to do. They weren’t much older than I was. We were just having fun.”

“Hmm. Well, my point is that you’re not seventeen anymore, and people like Andy have responsibilities beyond protecting rich young women from sunburn and over-chlorinated swimming pools.”

Charlotte put up her hand. “OK, Greta, I get it. I hear you. No messing with Andy. You have my word.”

“That and a MetroCard will get me anywhere. Promise?” “I promise.”

Greta looked at her for a moment. “Are you looking forward to going back to Yale in the fall?”

Charlotte thought about it. “No, not really.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t find the studies very interesting, and because people are going to remember the whole stupid building thing. I wish I’d gone to Juilliard instead.”

“To study singing?”

The younger woman nodded. “I don’t think I would make the same decision now.”

Several years earlier, at the ludicrously expensive private school Charlotte had attended, the college counselors had been discouraging about Charlotte’s chances of a musical career. “The kids who go to Juilliard are going to be professional musicians,” they’d said. “You don’t have a classically trained voice. You’ve been gaining a traditional education. If you wanted to be a musician, you should have gone to a music school. No, Miss Williams, you should consider your voice a wonderful gift from God, something lovely to share with your future husband and children. Have you considered medicine? Or the law? A law degree could offer you freedom to follow multiple careers. Yale is an excellent school. Think about Yale.”