A/N: Entry for Fictober 2018, day 16.
Prompt: "This is gonna be so much fun!"
The city's sixth most important financial advisor arrived in her office that Monday afternoon and learned from her secretary that she had a visitor. The secretary couldn't tell her who it was or what they wanted. Sighing and making a mental note to fire that useless person, she entered her room. Her eyes widened as she saw who it was.
Esmé made sure to close her door.
"You. Didn't think I would see you again." She said in a displeased tone.
"Me." Olaf replied, opening his arms in a dramatic gesture. "Did you miss me?"
"No." She bluntly replied.
If Olaf felt offended, he didn't show it. Instead, he turned to Esmé's table, and pointed to the plate with her name.
"You're Esmé Squalor now, huh."
Esmé ruffled.
"It's one of the advantages of marrying a rich man. You get to leave your old name behind, along with all the associations it has. I hoped it included you as well, though."
"Ah, Esmé. You surely don't mean it."
"I don't say things I don't mean." Esmé said, walking to her table. This was already stressing her. She needed a smoke.
"That's a shame. The Esmé I knew was a brilliant actress." Olaf said.
"And the Olaf I knew never praised anyone without hidden intentions." She said, getting her pipe (?) and her lighter from a drawer. "Just tell what you want at once and leave me alone."
He leaned slightly over her table, showing an annoying smirk while having his face way too close to hers.
"I came to invite you to something that will serve both of our interests."
Esmé decided to entertain him.
"What interest would it be?"
"The sweet pleasure of revenge", he said in a suggestive tone. "With the added benefit of getting an enormous fortune."
Esmé laughed.
"I already have an enormous fortune. My inheritance was not confiscated like some people's, and my husband has lots of clean money, something your folks have never seen. I am successful, I am beautiful, and I live in a penthouse with more rooms I could possibly use. I have everything I could possibly want."
"Not everything." Olaf said, eyes shining. Esmé looked away, not wanting to fall into the trap of his eyes again. "There's something very important missing. Something you tried to forget, but failed to. I can see right through you. What other reason could you have to live in that particular headquarters?"
"Former headquarters." She corrected him. "I don't want anything to do with this anymore!" She angrily whispered. Then, after some consideration, she added: "Besides, Beatrice is dead."
"But her children are not." He sang.
"I am not interested in little brats."
"Are you sure?" Olaf asked, retrieving something from his pocket. "They are a lot like their parents. All three of them."
He gave it to her, a picture of the three children.
"Why do you have this?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"This is not relevant right now."
Esmé took a good look at the picture. She knew a thing or two about the children. Only because that's all people spoke about at the time Beatrice had been pregnant, and then when each was born, not because she went after gossip or anything. Olaf was right: they looked like their parents. The boy had his mother's chin and nose. The baby had the same blue eyes as Beatrice's husband. And the oldest girl looked so much like that-who-should-not-be-named that it made her paternity painfully obvious.
"Can you really tell me their misery won't bring you joy?"
Esmé thought about it. The idea was tempting, but was it worth it for her? She felt she had more to lose than to win.
"I just heard orphans became in." Olaf added.
"So that's why you got the balls to come see me." Esmé said with a mean smirk, placing the picture on her table.
Olaf's face became hard at that, and it took him a visible effort to soften it again.
"If you come with me, we can also deal with our unfinished business…"
"We don't have any unfinished business." She replied in a teasing tone. "All our business are long finished."
He took her arm, and pulled her closer to him.
"Can you really say you didn't miss me?"
"I can." Esmé said, trying to pull away. He wouldn't let her.
"I doubt that fool you married can give you what you want."
"He has already given me all I could possibly want."
"But there is something only I can give you." Olaf said, putting his hands on her waist and pulling her even closer, until their bodies were touching. "Admit it. No one knows your desires better than I do, Esmé."
"And what else do I get, besides my desires?" She asked, running a finger through his chest.
"You can do whatever you want to the brats. I only need one alive to get the fortune."
Esmé nodded.
"What about this fortune, huh?"
Olaf frowned.
"You said you already have money."
"Yes, but I don't have Beatrice's money. That has a certain appeal, doesn't it?"
He closed his eyes.
"You get half of it."
"Wow." Esmé said, parting from him and walking back towards her table. "You must be really desperate to be offering me so much."
He didn't reply. Esmé studied his face.
"It's not really about the money, is it?"
"It doesn't hurt to get it all at once, does it?" He said.
She laughed, and took her lighter from the table.
"Since it seems I am going back," she said, playing with the lid, "can you tell me who has my sugar bowl?"
"There has been no news of it. But stay with me, and as soon as the information rises we will get it back."
"Do you promise me?"
"Did I ever break my word to you?"
"Yes." She bluntly replied.
"I want it as much as you do, my pet. Having it, I will be able to destroy all my enemies."
"It is mine." She said, voice harsh and possessive. "You don't get to keep it."
"You will have it. After I get rid of the Baudelaires and the Snickets."
Esmé frowned.
"Are they still around?"
"Not for long."
Esmé grabbed the picture of the children back from her table. Then she lit the lighter, and approached just a corner to the flame. The two villains watched as the fire slowly consumed the picture.
"This is gonna be so much fun!" Esmé exclaimed, and the two laughed.
