Beware the Wicked Heir

by Mara McQueen

  Olivia straightened to look at him. Another thunder rattled the windows. “Thank you, but I can look for them myself.”

  Kieran half-laughed. “While I appreciate your offer to snoop around—” Olivia nudged his chest playfully again. “—I intend to be an exemplary host. And I think I’ve already proven I’m more than capable of taking care of my guests’ desires.”

  He raised his eyebrows as if daring Olivia to contradict him. As if her constant moans hadn’t proven his point already.

  “Cause that’s why I came to the middle of nowhere—to snoop,” she said, popping the last word.

  The wooden floor outside his door squeaked and creaked. Shit.

  A visitor. A very inopportune visitor.

  Olivia jumped to her feet off a confused Kieran. She scrambled for her discarded clothing and hunched behind the desk as elegantly as she could.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want Darryl or Bertha to see our naked asses,” she whispered fiercely and struggled to get her underwear on without tearing them.

  “It would certainly make both of their days. Scandalous, just as they like it.”

  “Get dressed.” She gritted her teeth and jumped on one foot, trying to get her pants onto the other. She was distantly aware of the fact that her breasts were still exposed, and once she had finally finished with the lower half of her body, proceeded to try and straighten her blouse. No such luck. The thing was mangled beyond repair.

  To make matters worse, Kieran was taking his sweet fucking time getting dressed, as if there wasn’t somebody nearby—and judging by the volume of the footsteps, very, very close.

  “Hurry up.” Olivia picked up his T-shirt and threw it against the back of his neck while dashing for his discarded leather jacket and yanking it over her reddened shoulders. It swallowed her, the sleeves coming down to her thighs.

  It was fine. She’d been cold, Kieran was a gentleman. He had simply offered to ease her discomfort—in a completely innocent manner. Plausible lie.

  “You’re quite bossy when mad,” Kieran said, finally looking decent. His clothes were crumpled, but that could’ve happened any other way than shagging Olivia until she trembled. She hoped that whoever was about to barge through the door had very, very poor eyesight. “I like it.”

  “Yeah, I’m the one with control issues.”

  She zipped herself up just as the door swung open to reveal a petulant Addie, with huge dark circles under eyes.

  She leaned against the doorway, hand on her hip. “Kieran—”

  “Bane of my existence,” he greeted cheerfully and inclined his head. A lone strand of hair disentangled itself from the mess sitting on top of his head. He blew it out of his eyes nonchalantly. Olivia blanched—if he looked so disheveled, her hair was probably pointing towards the sky in a tousled heap. Trying to subdue it would only draw more attention. Though her fingers twitched, she kept them glued to her side.

  Addie grimaced, speaking in a dreary voice. “Ha, ha, ha. Forgot you’re a comedian.”

  “You flatter me, as always.”

  “I’ve no time for this. Bertha’s freaking out ‘cause some things are missing from the kitchen.”

  “Yes, wherever will we get more pans?”

  “No, like food and stuff. She thinks it’s one of the guests.” Addie rolled her eyes, before landing them pointedly on Olivia. "Or former ones."

  Olivia scoffed. “That’s what estate agents dream of doing. Smuggling bread and dairy when no one’s looking.” Especially Milo, one of the more successful in the bunch, and her, who barely remembered were the kitchen was.

  “I don’t know. Check it out yourself, I’m not your servant,” Addie snapped.

  Kieran smoothed his hands over his shirt. “Of course not. That would mean you actually had to work.”

  “Whatever, mate.”

  Kieran’s expression darkened as he advanced on Addie. He gingerly grasped her shoulders and turned her sideways, as one would do with a difficult child. “I’m not your mate. You’d do well to remember that.”

  Olivia glanced around the room, tapping her foot. She tried to find a reason to stay behind but came up empty. The last thing she wanted was to make polite chitchat with Addie, but the woman stood in the doorway, watching her expectantly.

  Fuck it. Fake it.

  Drawing all the confidence within her, Olivia snatched a copy of the contract and walked over to the exit, head high and a small smile on her lips. She winked at Kieran, a promise that she'd definitely be back, and closed the door.

  Just as Olivia thanked long lost gods that she got away without too much awkwardness, Addie’s voice resounded behind her.

  “Borrowing clothes from him too?”

  Damn it. And Olivia had been so close to getting away.

  “Needed extra protection, coming from a warmer climate and all.” She patted the jacket, drawing out a rustling sound; how many papers had he stuffed in there?

  Addie’s sunken eyes landed on the pocket and a huge fake smile unnaturally graced her face. “I’ll let you in on a lil’ secret. The only thing you’ll get outta him is this jacket, if that. He’s as cheap as a priest in a brothel and twice as much of a liar. Don’t trust a word he says.”

  Olivia mirrored Addie’s smile—hers was more rehearsed. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “It’s a warning. He’s using you, y’know?”

  “For what, exactly?”

  “Think he’s gonna sell the house legally? You’re here so he can shut up his grandmother. Darryl says so. Kieran leaves in the middle of the night and sometimes doesn’t come back for days. And he spends most of his time locked up in that study of his. Don’t let the grieving grandson act fool you. I heard him last night, fumbling near my door, probably up to some shit, as always,” Addie whispered, looking around for any eavesdroppers.

  Olivia sighed. She couldn’t properly defend Kieran without exposing them both. He had been with her. Not the whole night, but enough of it. Though...she had heard a noise the other night. “It was probably Martin.”

  Addie scoffed. “Please. He sounds like a hypo in tap dancing shoes. Kieran’s the one who can sneak up on you. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself, not even his family. He treats me and Darryl like dirt.”

  Addie had overplayed her already rickety hand.

  Olivia had seen how Kieran cared for his grandmother. Sure, he could’ve been faking it, but there wasn’t any reason to. Money had been the deadliest incentive in all of history, but he had said the Bolton family had many other properties.

  Kieran could’ve also been lying.

  Then again, Addie was in the middle of doing the same thing, and very badly at that. After all, she had been stealing trinkets all over the house, hadn’t she? Olivia had seen Darryl carrying bags on the first day she’d arrived at Bolton Manor. Maybe Addie was eyeing more than the furniture. In that case, she’d try to get Olivia on her side.

  Olivia shook her head. This insane family, honestly. Couldn’t anything, not even backstabbing, be easy with them?

  It didn't matter. If Kieran’s hobbies included being a lying scumbag, there was only one way to figure it out and she planned on doing it as soon as the opportunity presented itself. And if he indeed wanted to sell the house illegally—whatever that meant—then Olivia couldn’t stop him. The only thing she could and would do was not think about it.

  Easiest thing when dealing with the inevitable.

  With that reasoning grounding her, Olivia placed a hand on Addie’s shoulder, uttered a “Thanks,” and turned around clutching the leather jacket tightly around her. His cologne still clung to the fabric. Olivia snuggled it closer.

  It was bitter, she thought as she endured another cold shower, to not properly bask in the afterglow. In Kieran's arms.

  But that was dangerous. She’d only find uncomfortable feelings down that route. Olivia had many faults—so, so many, according to her parents—but at least she learned from her mistakes.<
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  She couldn't risk falling for Kieran. She had to go back to her career and loans and he had to stay at Bolton Manor, at least for a while longer. Then he'd move to London and enjoy the cushy life of an heir.

  Still, she missed his embrace already. Damn Addie and interrupting them.

  She tried to ignore Addie's venom, but it still gave her pause.

  While she had doubted people most in her life—and, boy, had they jumped at the chance to confirm these doubts—Olivia hated distrusting her own decisions. And Olivia had decided to trust Kieran.

  She rolled her shoulders back with a satisfied groan and buttoned up her best shirt. She took her time applying her lipstick for the perfect pouty—or in her case, paper-thin—lips, and made sure every strand of hair on her head looked as nice as thrashing on top of a desk allowed.

  After all, she needed to look her best when she talked to Milo and informed him she got the listing. The twat wouldn’t know which end was up by the time she finished.

  Clutching the signed contract copy tightly, she descended the stairs, keeping clear of the new banister. Her heels clicked noisily on the floor, and she took a few seconds to close her eyes and imagine his reaction.

  In her mind, his jaw hung open at an unnatural angle. She hoped the git wouldn’t believe her at first—that would only make her victory that much sweeter. He'd skulked and schmoozed, but Olivia won the listing.

  His door stood slightly ajar. Olivia knocked and entered.

  The twat in question wasn’t there. Olivia headed straight for his bathroom door and knocked. Nobody answered.

  Great. She’d have to hunt him down in the entire manor and then find some pretext to get him alone. She might’ve wanted to see his gloating face defeated, but embarrassing him with an audience didn’t cross her mind.

  Too heartless. Their conflict was theirs alone and nobody else should witness it.

  Olivia whirled around, shaking her head. Of all the times to tidy up his room and go gallivanting. Her eyes landed on the made-up bed and the piece of folded paper resting on top of the deflated pillows.

  It had her name on it. What in the—

  Olivia quickly made her way to the bed, sitting down on the cleanest edge.

  Milo had left her a letter.

  Sudden Departure

  ‘OliVia,’ the letter began. She raised her brows. Too friendly much?

  ‘I’ve left a little something on that useless and extremely ANNOYING piece of shite you lug around everywhere with you. Well, almost everywhere.

  Might want to check it out. Bit dodgy, bit exciting. Very important!

  Love, hugs, and a buttload of sprinkles,

  Milo’

  Deciphering his chicken scrawl proved easier than actually understanding the note. The house had made Milo go off his fucking rocker. Maybe some form of exuberant cabin fever had taken hold and made him leave random gibberish all over the place.

  Clutching the yellowish paper tightly in her hands, she made her way back to her own room, rereading it.

  She almost bumped into Bertha along the way. Olivia had too much on her mind to worry about whatever colorful insult the woman deigned appropriate for the day.

  After a brief staring contest—which Olivia made herself believe she’d won—Bertha gazed reproachfully at the note with her one good eye and limped away, muttering under her breath.

  Olivia paced the length of her bedroom, mind flitting from impossible scenarios to catastrophes.

  This was probably Milo's way of trying to throw her off the listing. Again. Or it might've been his way of piecing together an elaborate joke. He did have a twisted sense of humor. And reality.

  If only she could understand what the idiot wanted to say.

  ‘Useless and extremely annoying’. That could be anything she owned, according to Milo. Outdated, too. But he hated one of her belongings more than the others. Something which had proven completely useless on the Bolton premises.

  Olivia snatched her phone from the nightstand before she changed her mind. She hadn’t checked her phone last night, or after she came back from Kieran’s office.

  Had the idiot actually went through her stuff? If this was his idea of a good prank, Olivia would be sure to remind him how wrong it was—repeatedly and without flinching.

  She swiped in her generic security sequence, only distantly aware she was holding her breath.

  Nothing. There was nothing on her phone, except for one colorful picture of a koala, a copy of the standard contract, some documents, and her client list. No texts, no memos, no pictures—

  Olivia glanced at the note again, rereading her name, the only thing that wasn’t properly written.

  “I swear to God, if he put nudes on here...” she whispered and clicked her video file.

  She found a short blurry video, taken by accident when she was figuring out how the damn phone worked. But right below it was a much longer, unfamiliar, and probably unwelcome one. Curiosity and annoyance fought inside her mind.

  She could ignore it and go yell at Milo.

  She could go inspecting the manor some more.

  She could talk to Mrs. Bolton. Or see Kieran again.

  Instead, she locked the door and pressed play.

  “Gordon Bennett, this thing’s ancient,” Milo’s disembodied voice resounded through the tiny speaker, the image jumping around as he inspected the phone. “Is your salary that much smaller than mine? I mean...how? How?”

  Olivia scowled at the phone. When she saw Milo, she’d make sure to kick his shin repeatedly.

  “Anyway,” he said and finally straightened the camera so his smiling face didn’t jump around on the screen anymore. He’d probably recorded the message last night, judging from the darkness. “You really should be more careful where you leave your things, Abbate.”

  Yes, of course. How stupid to leave her phone in her room, with the door closed, in a house with ten people. What Milo had done verged—no, blasted through and set up camp—on invading her privacy. And given their situation, she could easily call their boss Maria and tell her that. Maybe draw up a report and wave it in his stupid face when they got back to Leeds.

  “But I’m guessing your mind was so, so, so engaged,” he said and his smile grew impossibly wide, “what with sneaking around with that Kieran and all.”

  Olivia gaped at the screen, gripping the phone so tightly, its thin edges dug painfully into her hand. She struggled not to throw it out the window. The nerve of that pompous slime of a man.

  “You’re one sophisticated dame, Abbate. Never change. But maybe next time, it wouldn’t kill you to put on a little blush before you go off gallivanting into the night, hmm? Just a touch. Or maybe do something to that hair of yours,” he said and leaned closer to the camera; Olivia could see a few nose hairs. “Your roots are starting to show.”

  Olivia was already at the door, swear words ready for when she came face to face with him, when the fucker’s grating voice stopped her. “I kid, of course. We’re chummy enough to do that. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving. By the time you listen to this, I’ll no longer be staying in that putrid excuse of a house.”

  Olivia’s mouth fell open. Now she’d have to wait days to rub her victory in his stupidity. But, then again, he had quit the fight before she knew she’d won.

  She had managed to intimidate the dolt. She felt proud. And most of all, she felt smug.

  “Don’t go doing that awkward happy dance of yours yet. I’ll be coming back in a day or two to get that contract that we both know I’ll handle better. You’re good, but you still have a few years to go before you’re as good as me. It’s simple math.”

  If only he knew exactly how much better than him she really was.

  His voice dropped an octave, on the edge of a whisper. “But in the meantime, keep your eyes open. This house is strange. Really strange. And the people...I think I saw something that’s a bit....worrying—”

  A sudden noise in the background sta
rtled Olivia. Her eyes darted around the room until she realized the sound came from Milo’s recording. He appeared just as freaked out as she felt, the muscles in his neck straining as he looked around.

  “Yeah,” he said after a few seconds of silence, turning back to the camera. “Probably some raccoon. Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. Anyway, I need to check some things out. I’ll probably be back by tomorrow. Or, well, your next tomorrow. Maybe the day after that. Whate—”

  The video stopped.

  “Piece of shit.” Olivia groaned and shook the phone, clicking the video again.

  The phone beeped. And shut off.

  The battery was completely dead. On top of everything else. Great. Fantastic. Lovely.

  Olivia rubbed her cheek and forehead, exhaling noisily.

  Milo must’ve taken a few too many sips from Bertha’s moonshine stash. But she wanted to be sure he'd left. Hadn't Addie said something about former guests?

  Even though everyone in the manor seemed to live happily in their own little world, Olivia had a hunch nothing happened around here without all of them knowing about it five seconds later. And if Milo had planned on leaving, he would’ve told someone, even to get a sympathy pat on the back.

  She dashed downstairs. Almost everyone was gathered in the drawing-room. Not even Sarah and Martin braved the storm outside.

  "Has anyone seen Milo?" she asked.

  “Why? You wanna go after him? Probably halfway to Iceland by now, but you could still make a run for it,” Bertha said, running her tongue over her teeth. “Almost gave me a heart attack, the git. Coming to me door in the middle of the night to tell me he's leaving to get his car. It ain’t right for an old soul like me to be scared.”

  “Why don’t you tell her the truth?” Addie said in a sing-song voice, drawing nonsensical patterns on Darryl’s bald head as she sat in his lap. “That he probably had to drag your drunken old soul back to your room and that experience left him so mortified he had to escape this place?”