Isabelle Morissette looked down at her phone while her knee bounced. She was waiting for a way out, to get out of watching these boring races with her parents, who kept shouting and groaning each time a horse they betted on lost. Isabelle didn't like horses that much, mostly because they were stinky things that poops during a show, like a circus. But she was encouraged to bet on some of the horses, and none of them were interesting-who names a horse Blizzard?-and also have some food while watching the race.

In reality, Isabelle wanted to leave because she hated the man her mother married-an arrogant, self-pompous bastard who talks trash about anyone that isn't part of his circle. Just yesterday while driving up to Kingston Downs, Taylor Drake talked bad about Sir Elijah like he was a dog, making her so uncomfortable that she put her headphones in and turned up Doja Cat while wishing that she could be in LA with her LA friends.

Reaching down in her bag, her fingers brushed over the small drive her friend Decker Kennedy wanted her to bring, the information on there perfect to take her stepfather down. She didn't even feel guilty for sneaking on his home computer and finding the information needed-the plans to stage a coup and take down Sir Elijah Darlington-Whit, take over his offices and become the number one attorney in Atlanta, and make Elijah's life a living hell, driving him possibly to his death. Hell, she even found secret plans to kill Elijah, and she put it on the drive, which shocked her.

Looking down at her phone, she saw that it was time, 3:28, and cleared her throat. "I'm going to the ladies room, papa," she says, getting up and brushing down her dress. "I'll be right back."

Taylor waved her away-his horse, a Paint named Colorado, was up in the next race, next to the Belvedere's horse Sweet Blossom, and he had a grin on his face. Isabelle took one good look at the back of his head-brunette hair that stopped short on his neck and wearing a grey suit with a Rolex watch, trying to be Big Money when in reality her mother brought that watch for her-he was a broke-ass lawyer that uses cheap tricks to win his cases, and everyone knows it. Shaking her head, she left him and went to the meeting spot, where Decker was waiting for her.

Isabelle looked left and right to make sure no one was looking when she reached it, which was in between the Winner's Circle and the private box owned by the Belvedere's owner, Olivier Barthel, who was nothing but nice to her this morning. She didn't need to look long, and was relieved to see him when he came into view. "Decker, salut," she whispered, taking a deep breath of relief. Quickly, she looked around before she pulled out the drive and placed it in his waiting hand.

"Everything you need is there," she told him. "Including the plans to take down Sir Elijah."

Decker nods, looking down at the small black USB drive. Finally, he had the proof to take down that son of a bitch and give Rosalie everything she deserved. "Merci beaucoup," Decker told her, and the two nodded and went back to their respective spots-Isabelle back with the Drakes and Decker with Astrid and Prescott, slipping the drive deep in his pocket so he won't lose it.

Astrid looked up from her chocolate cake to see Decker slipping next to her husband, leaning forward a bit to see him. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

He nodded, picking up his mint julep and taking a sip. "I'm perfect." Decker answered. "Just can't wait to see my sister."

Night had fallen and the race was over, and everyone was back at the Millionaire Row and Sky terrace for dinner, and once again, everyone turns to look at Lady Rosalie and Olivier as they walked passed their tables. Heads leaned forward and voices lowered as the couple walked passed them, mouths and tongues wagging in whispers.

"So the rumors are true: Chysélie Natel and Olivier Barthel are over, and Lady Rosalie isn't dating Gerard Farrington."

"Damn. I wanted a piece of Olivier. Rumor is, he's supposed to be good in bed."

"Is he?"

"That's what my girlfriend said when she slept with him."

"I think Lady Rosalie and Gerard is over-he cheated on her openly at the Aria."

"Who needs Gerard when she now has Atlanta's sexiest man alive?"

Lily Hamilton's fingers curled on her wine glass as she listened to the whispers and the rumors. She knew Rosalie Kennedy was a bit of a slut, but to go as far as to actually come with the man she hated grind her gears. Taking a long sip of her wine, she slid her chair back and walked over to the couple, reaching over to twirl Rosalie around.

"I thought you were a lying bitch," she growled lowly. "I was half-hoping that you won't show up with him, but you're just surprising everyone left and right. I bet Sir Elijah is rolling in his grave right now if he saw the two of you together."

A tense smile appeared on Rosalie's face, controlling the urge to flinch when she mentioned her husband, gripping Olivier's hand a bit. "I was telling the truth," she tells her. "Unlike you, who seems to be telling lies on practically everyone. I bet I'm gonna be on the front cover of some ratty magazine or on the Wendy Williams Show being bitched on left and right."

Lily took a deep breath, reining in her anger. 'Are you calling me a liar?" she asked sweetly, coating the sentence with venom.

"I ain't calling you a truther, Lily Hamilton."

Both women looked at each other, ready to have a fight, but then, remembering where they were, they decided not to. "Wanna talk this over drinks later?" Lily asked. "Maybe next Thursday? I know the perfect place that has the hottest drinks in Atlanta." She wasn't going to rip into Rosalie here, in front of everyone. She wanted to do it where almost everyone can see her win for once and be triumphant in front of the Lady Rosalie Darlington-Whit, Atlanta's trashiest person.

"Drinks are perfect," Rosalie told her, her tight smile getting tighter. "Thursday at seven? Or happy hour would be perfect for you?" she asked, flickering her hair as she tugged Olivier to go to their table, while Lily goes back to her table, a satisfied smile on her face.

When they reached their table, Rosalie had to squint a bit when she saw a familiar brunette haired man sipping on some sweet tea while stuffing his face with fried chicken. He was wearing a seersucker sportscoat with matching pants, a gingham dress shirt and some oxfords, and his laugh was familiar, warm...and when those brown eyes turned to her, she let out a gasp and ran towards him, giving him a hug so hard he had to gasp.

"Decker..." she whispered as tears started to fall down her face.

Decker smiled as he heard his sister soft crying, placing his cup down so he can turned around and hugged her back. He wiped her tears away as she croaked out, "How did you get here...?"

"Dad said that I'm ready to be out in the world," he explained with a soft smile. "And I came down here, got a ticket so I can surprise you. I was about to do the same thing to Lor, but she's with the kids today."

Rosalie nodded, glad that her brother was here to finally enjoy himself, before she was tapped on the shoulder. She looked up to see Olivier with a plate in his hand. "Sorry to bother you while you're reconciling, but a client of mine wanted me to-"

"I understand," she said with a nod, and he gave her a short nod and went to be with the client while she sat there with her brother and friends, finally relaxing and enjoying herself when a hand was placed on her shoulder. Decker looked up and saw who it was, growling, which made Rosalie look up-and wished she didn't, as Taylor Drake stood next to her, smirking.

"Lady Rosalie Darlington-Whit," he said. "I haven't seen you around in a long time."

Rosalie gave him a tight smile, though what she wanted to do was wrap her hands around his neck and throttle him. "I've been in mourning for three years," she answered. "Sometimes I wake up thinking about my husband. You remember him, right, the man you threw on his ass when you took over his office?"

She watched his whole face twitch a bit before clearing his throat. "You look beautiful tonight," Taylor said, dragging a finger down her face, making her really uncomfortable as she flinched and moved away. "If only Sir Elijah was here today. He would've cried as soon as he saw me." he guffawed, making her highly uncomfortable. "Well, I'm here to give him my condolences, and all of that. Even talk to him about-" he stopped, as if something was keeping him quiet. Rosalie and Decker waited for him to finish, and he didn't, just patted her shoulder and shook his head.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" Rosalie snapped, trying not to make this man get under her skin. "He's dead. Someone killed him, and I don't know who did it."

"Ah, there it is. That fire." Taylor grinned as he looked at her, almost in a leering way. "Something Elijah loved about you-" he lowered his mouth close to her ear, his breath rankled and bad after drinking whiskey all day, "-since you like fucking men like that. Fucking Barthel too? I heard you spread your legs to anyone that comes your way."

The words he was saying made her curl her fingers, wanting to turn around and scratch this man's eyes out. "Excusez-moi?" she hissed softly, not believing the words coming out of this man's mouth. "Did your mother teach you to speak to women like that?"

"Nope. She taught me how to speak to women-not money hungry gold digging whores like you." Taylor snarled in her ear, making her glare at him as he raised himself back up. "Mind if I talk to you one of these days, my lady? I need to talk to you about something."

Did he really think that she would even grace her presence in his office? "Maybe in the next week or so?" she asked. "I need to see how my schedule is."

He nodded, patting her shoulder once again. "My assistant calls yours?" Taylor asked with a grin and left with a "Good evening, Lady Rosalie,", making Rosalie shudder as she turned around and faced her friends and brother.

Decker glared at Taylor's backside, wishing he can put a dagger in his back. "Tell me you're not actually going to see that bastard?" he asked, digging into his braised lamb shank with couscous. "He drove Eli out of his office, and now he wants to talk to you...I don't think you should see him, Ro. Promise me that you'll have someone there when you talk to him? Like me?"

She sighed as she nodded, cutting into her herb-crusted lamb. "I will, don't you worry." Rosalie assured him with a small smile as she took a bite.

~

Night had fallen, and everyone left the track to go to the after parties or to go home. It was a good day, in Rosalie's mind, as she went to her little cottage near Kingston Downs, the home Elijah gave to her as a wedding gift. It was a tudor-style cottage, with three bedrooms-one of the rooms was supposed to be for their little one once they had one, but since he died, it was turned into a little office for her, a kitchen, living room, a tennis court, and a pool. It was more of a vacation home for her if she had her friends over, but Astrid was staying at Prescott's parent's house, and Genevieve and Reagan was staying at the St. Regis hotel, so it was just her. She tried to invite Decker, but he wanted to head back to the city early so he can be well rested and explore his new neighborhood.

So Rosalie was alone, unlocking the door and flickering the lights open. She walked in the living room and put her bag down and went to the bar and fixed her a drink. She took off her shoes as she fixed a glass of French martini, thanking god for her special bottle of Chambord that was gifted to her last year. She took a long sip of her martini, feeling a bit better and tipsy since the races-the champagne went straight to her head, and she realized that once again, not a bitter feeling went through her when she spent the whole day with Olivier, talking about horses and betting on them.

For one moment, one fuzzy, drunk moment, she wanted to kiss him again. She wanted him to kiss her breathless, and then make love to her to make her forget the hateful words Taylor Drake said to her, calling her a 'gold digging whore' and making fun of her husband when the man in dead.

"Fuck him," she snapped, taking another sip of her martini. "Fuck you, Taylor Drake!"

The doorbell rang, making her stop yelling at the world for a moment. With a sigh, she went over to the door and opened it, seeing the man she was fantasizing about kissing standing there, briefcase in his hand.

"I hope this isn't a bad time, mäi Schatz," Olivier said, seeing the glazed, fuzzy look in her eyes. "But I was wondering if it was alright if I stay here for the evening?"

"What's wrong with your place?" she asked, taking another sip of her martini. Rosalie leaned on the door, being a little bit unladylike as she slouched, martini in one hand, a silly, fuzzy look on her face, her dress threatening to come off her shoulder. "Too boring without me?"

He chuckled as he shook his head. "Nee," he answered. "My maid didn't clean up my house and it looks like a mess, so can I stay for a night? I'll be out of your hair tomorrow morning." That was part of the truth-the real truth was he fantasized about touching her, messing up her lipstick and her hair, kissing her and wondering what she tasted like.

With a little pout, she nodded as she moved to the side, opening the door wider. "Want a drink?" she asked, polishing off her drink. "All I have is Chambord and champagne, so I can make something out of those."

"No thank you, Rosalie," Olivier said, grabbing his Louis Vuitton duffel bag from the trunk of his Escalade and closed the trunk. "I have business to attend to, and then I shall take one of the rooms to sleep."

Rosalie snorted, though the thought of Olivier in her house, her and Elijah's house, downright scared the shit out of her, but then, she was too tipsy to care as she lead him to her office, which was just a simple pink room, with framed magazine covers that Rosalie had appeared on-Tatler, Atlanta Magazine, Simply Buckhead, and of course, The Atlantan Magazine. The covers featured her, her homes in Buckhead or her home here in Kingston Downs, and about three times her home was featured in Atlanta Homes and Lifestyles.

"Welcome to my office," she says as Olivier placed his briefcase down on her desk. "If you need anything, I'll be in my room, taking a shower and going to bed. Maybe having another Chambord martini as a nightcap."

He chuckled before reaching out and brushing his fingers on her wrist, making her stop and look up at him. "Good night, Rosalie." he said softly.

Rosalie looked at him, the touch electrifying to her skin. She took a step closer and wrapped one hand around his neck, and, because her head was fuzzy, she pulled him down and lightly kissed him. Olivier stood there, shocked for a moment that she made the first move, but he took the glass out of her hand and deepened the kiss, swallowing the soft moan that rose in her throat, feeling her mouth open up to him.

He sucked gently on her bottom lip and tongue as he explored her mouth for a moment, then gently pulled back. "Ros-"

"Good night, Olivier." she said, plucking her glass and leaving the room, the only remnants of her was her lips on his, and her Jo Malone Velvet Rose and Oud perfume lingering on him.

Olivier sighed as he turned back to his briefcase and pulled out plans for The Rose, his laptop, and his phone. It was going to be a long ass night...

It was nearly three in the morning when he was finally done with everything. Taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes, Olivier shut down his computer and went to his room, completely forgetting about the plans for The Rose, the original plans Sir Elijah drew up himself, as he changed out of his clothes and slipped into his L.L. Bean flannel pajamas and went to bed.

The next morning, after he was rested up, he went back to her office and found her there, looking over the plans slowly. She was only wearing a silk Victoria Secret Fashion Week robe, her hair a bit messed up but the curls was still there in her brunette hair, and her fingers just trailed over the plans, though they traced the huge Rose in the middle.

"Good morning," he said slowly, walking over to her.

Her head snapped up, and she turned to face him, anger in her eyes. "What the hell, you bastard," Rosalie snapped, tears forming in her eyes. "What the fuck are you doing with Elijah's handwriting for a club opening at your casino?"