A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

Wrapping both arms around her shoulders, Taylor pulled her closer. “I’m going to talk to my brother Tariq about your proposal. He’s the vet, and he’ll be responsible for taking care of any and all of the animals on the property.”

“What about the vegetables?”

“After Joaquin restores the garden he’ll have to confer with a farmer about where to set up the greenhouses. I can’t promise you my brothers will go along with what you propose, but I will do my best to try and convince them.”

“I suggest you also talk to Viola about creating a farm-to-table setup. It works so well when held outdoors under a white tent—of course, weather permitting—with long tables and benches, strings of overhead lights, lanterns with flickering votives and music. Depending on the number of guests in any group, you can offer them an alfresco luncheon or dining under the stars.”

“That’s really casual dining.”

“Casual and very chic,” Sonja confirmed. “I’ve toured Italy and France, where I was able to experience farm-to-table dining. During one of my visits to Brittany, I’d checked into a château where I witnessed a late afternoon formal outdoor wedding reception. The groom wore a black wedding morning coat, with a cobalt blue ascot and vest, dove-gray top hat and matching gloves, while the bride was an ethereal vision in Chantilly lace. It was a fairy-tale fantasy in living color.”

“Did you take any pictures?”

“Of course I did. Whenever I go abroad I usually have at least three memory cards because I take so many photos.”

“What do you do with them?” Taylor questioned.

“I print out the ones I like and then frame them. Someday, when I buy a house, I plan to transform one of the rooms into an art gallery.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Taylor winked at her. “Do you intend to have an exhibition and sell your photos?”

“You got jokes, T.E. Wills?” she asked teasingly.

His grin vanished quickly. “No. And please don’t call me that.”

“Was your modeling career so traumatic that you want to erase it from your past?”

Taylor dropped his arms and eased back, putting some separation between them. “It wasn’t traumatic. In fact, it was very exciting and extremely profitable. I’d rather not talk about that time in my life because it is a reminder of how narcissistic I’d become. For me it wasn’t so much about the money as it was which product would give me the highest visibility. After a couple of years, if I had to describe myself, then it would be jaded. I hated going to photoshoots, fittings and fashion shows where I’d have to change in and out of up to ten outfits within minutes. I knew it was time for me to quit the business when someone touched me inappropriately and I went ballistic. Once I calmed down I apologized, but it was too late because behind the scenes I was labeled difficult to work with.”

Sonja rested her hand atop his fisted one. “Did you ever think maybe you were experiencing burnout?”

“I knew I was, but I’d become so ego driven that I feared stopping. I didn’t want people to forget or brand me as a has-been. Then, there was my mother constantly asking when I intended to go back to college. I kept telling her one more year and after a while she stopped bringing up the topic. My parents couldn’t use the threat of not paying my tuition if I didn’t give in to their demands because I was earning enough in one month to cover a year’s tuition including books and room and board.”

“What did you do with your earnings?”

“I gave them to my father to invest. Dad headed an investment and private equity firm. He had a sixth sense when it came to investing, which made many of his clients extremely wealthy. Dad had instituted a tier system for his clients. The lowest tier was for blue-collar workers who wanted to play the market but didn’t have a lot of money to invest. The middle tier was for middle-income professionals, and the top tier was for wealthier clients. He’d assign his clients to designated teams to concentrate on moving those in the lower tier to the middle and the middle to the top.”

Sonja was intrigued by Taylor’s late father’s business model. “Did it work?”

“Yes, it did. His clients had dubbed him the miracle worker, though he was anything but. Dad always said he did not want to take someone’s savings and squander it. When the news broke about Bernie Madoff’s Ponzi scheme, I saw another side of my father when he talked about hiring a hit man to break every bone in Madoff’s body. This pronouncement shocked everyone because we had never witnessed Conrad losing his temper or raising his voice even when he was angry.”

Sonja had given Taylor a brief overview about her failed marriage, and now she wanted to know about him aside from his modeling career. “How was it growing up with three brothers?”

Taylor unclenched his fist. “It was a lot of fun, considering we spent so much time together. What’s really surprising is we’re not competitive with one another.”

“Who’s the oldest?”

“I am. Patrick is thirty-four, Joaquin thirty-three, Tariq is thirty, and Viola is twenty-eight.”

Sonja gave him an incredulous stare. “Your mother had three children a year apart?”

Throwing back his head, Taylor laughed with abandon. “What can I say? When she and Dad bought the house, Mom said she wanted as many children as they had bedrooms. Once she had Viola she claimed her life was complete because she finally had a daughter. Viola upset the equation because it was no longer two against two whenever we formed teams, and we had to figure out a way to include her. To say she was spoiled is an understatement. Mom spoiled her. Dad overindulged her, and she looked to me to protect her against her other brothers whenever they played tricks on her.”

Sonja smiled. “There must have been a lot of activity in your