'Tis the Season

by Jennifer Gracen

  As soon as they got inside, the kids ran to them, loud and happy and hugging them both.

  “You’re back!” Ava cried. She looked up at Lisette. “I want to hear all about the ball. The dresses, tell me about the dresses!”

  Lisette laughed and smoothed Ava’s hair back. “Some of them were stunning. You wouldn’t have believed it.”

  “I wish I could’ve seen them!” Ava pouted.

  “Maybe we can look online later,” Lisette offered.

  “What are you guys up to?” Charles asked the boys.

  Lisette snuck a glance at him. He seemed fine, but now that she knew him as well as she did, she caught the tightness around his eyes. Her heart gave a tiny squeeze.

  “We’re playing video games in the playroom,” Myles said, bouncing happily. “Wanna play with us?”

  “I thought your mother was spending the day with you?” Charles asked.

  “She said she’s coming later,” Thomas said, a slight scowl on his face.

  Charles looked from one child to the other. “What’s up?”

  “Mom’s mad,” Thomas grumbled.

  “At you?” Charles asked with surprise.

  Thomas shook his head and stared at the ground, suddenly finding his sneakers fascinating.

  “Last night, she was here to be with us while you two were at the ball,” Ava said. “Myles told her about your being boyfriend-girlfriend . . . and she got mad.”

  Lisette looked to Charles and watched that telltale muscle twitch under his eye.

  “Did she say something that upset you kids?” he asked calmly.

  “Not really,” Ava said. “But she spent, like, most of the time on her phone, talking to her friends or something . . . about you two.”

  “It wasn’t nice things,” Myles mumbled. For the first time, he looked upset. “She used a lot of the bad words. You know . . . curse words.”

  Charles straightened and drew a long, slow breath. “I see. Well, I’m going to talk to her and set things straight, all right?”

  “What he means is”—Lisette jumped in—“please don’t be upset, and don’t worry that she’s mad. She’s not mad at you; she’s mad at us.”

  “No duh,” Thomas said under his breath.

  “Hey,” Charles said sharply. “Watch yourself, young man.”

  Thomas glared at his father. “She was happy to be with us here, and now she’s all mad. You guys will fight, and it’ll be awful. Christmas will be ruined. You messed up everything!” Thomas whirled away and ran up the stairs. The sound of his bedroom door slamming echoed throughout the mansion.

  Lisette’s heart pounded in her chest, and her hands felt ice-cold. “Should I—?”

  “No. I will.” Charles crouched down to look at Myles and Ava at eye level. “I’m going to go talk to your brother. Then, I’m going to come down to the playroom, and we’re going to play together for the rest of the day. Your mom and I won’t fight when she gets here. Everything’s going to be okay, all right?”

  “Okay, Daddy,” Myles said, clasping his little arms around Charles’s neck for a hug. Ava nodded, looking up at Lisette, then back to her father.

  Charles hugged his daughter too before straightening to his full height. “Why don’t you guys go to the playroom for a while, okay?”

  “Go on,” Lisette said, snapping into Nanny Mode. “Do you guys want a snack? I’ll make something and bring it down to you.”

  “Can we have popcorn?” Ava asked.

  Lisette shrugged and grinned. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  “Cookies too?” Myles asked with what he hoped was a persuasive smile.

  She ruffled his dark hair. “Maybe. Go on down.”

  “Oh my God,” Charles said under his breath, watching his children go. “I’m going to kill her.”

  “Don’t. Orange isn’t your color,” Lisette joked. “She’s not worth going to jail over. So don’t kill her, okay?”

  “No promises,” Charles muttered. He looked toward the stairs. “Dammit.”

  “Charles,” she began, trying to soothe.

  “Not now, please,” he said gruffly. “I need to focus on Thomas right now.” He turned away from her and went to the grand staircase.

  Lisette felt vaguely nauseous. She knew how upset Charles was, on top of their tense morning . . . Well, things had gone to hell fast, hadn’t they? Exhaling a shaky breath, she went to the kitchen, willfully distracting herself with tasks. She microwaved popcorn, grabbed some oatmeal raisin cookies and mini water bottles, and brought them down to the kids. She stayed for a few minutes to chat with them, to make sure they were okay.

  As she made her way back up the stairs from the playroom to the main level, the doorbell chimed. “I have it,” she called out. She went to the door and opened it to see Charles Harrison II standing there, a malicious glint in his eyes.

  Her heart sank to her stomach, and a chill prickled over her skin. “Hello, Mr. Harrison.”

  “Good,” he said. His cold gray gaze raked over her, and a hint of a sneer lifted his thin lips. “You’re the one I’m looking for.”

  The chill turned into a wave of anxiety as he pushed past her into the foyer. “Why do you want to see me?” she asked, closing the door behind him as he stalked further into the house. Her heart felt like a jackhammer in her chest, and waves of unease rolled over her. Charles was still upstairs with Thomas; he probably hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring. She drew a deep breath, straining to remain calm as she followed Charles II into the living room.

  He turned on her and appraised her for a long beat. He was six feet tall, the same height as his eldest son, and also had a lean build. That was where the similarities ended. Charles II’s hair was lighter, and his eyes were not that sparkling blue but a flat, steely gray. His mouth wasn’t full and sensuous like Charles’s was, but a thin slash with a hint of cruelty. It twisted now as he gazed at her and began to speak.

  “I know you’ve been a good nanny to my grandchildren,” he said amiably. His sudden pleasantness alarmed her more than if he’d started out by shouting. “And your services have been appreciated. But I think it’s in all our best interests for you to take your leave now.”

  She blinked in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re leaving this position.”

  “I . . .” She gaped at him, confused. “You’re suggesting I leave?”

  “No, I’m telling you to leave,” he said in a low sneer. “So you will.”

  “No, I won’t,” she said, her breath stuck in her lungs. “I work for Charles; he’s the one who decides if I work here or not.”

  “His judgment is obviously in the crapper right now. Apparently he’s been blinded while he’s been sleeping with you,” Charles II spat. A new chill rolled over her skin as her heart raced. Charles II looked her over as if she were yesterday’s trash. “No wonder he never introduced me to his date last night. When I found out who he’d brought . . . Whatever. So. How much?” He pulled his checkbook from his back pocket and walked to the small desk along the far wall. Grasping a pen, he opened the checkbook and looked at her again. “How much?” he repeated impatiently.

  “How much what?” she asked, clueless as to what he meant and still in shock.

  “How much do I have to pay you to make you disappear? Get up to speed, dear.”

  Her stomach did a nauseating flip. “You’re trying to pay me to leave?” she stammered.

  “Jesus. You’re pretty, but apparently not very smart.” Charles II shook his head at her disdainfully. “Yes. I’m willing to give you a million dollars to leave this job, this house, and vanish into thin air.”

  Choking out a horrified laugh, she managed, “I don’t—”

  “Two million, then.” He huffed out an impatient breath, obviously annoyed. “Take it and go.”

  “No,” she said, with steel this time.

  His eyes narrowed, and he threw down the pen. “You will leave,” he ranted, pointing a finger at her. “I won’
t let you wreck Charles’s life the way that other slut did. He has no judgment when it comes to women, apparently.” Charles II drew a calming breath, then locked his hateful gaze on her. “I’ll make it very much worth your while to accept my offer.”

  “Go to hell,” she whispered.

  Charles II grabbed the pen again and glared at her. “Two million, and an apartment somewhere faraway. You want to go back home? Back to France? I’ll buy you an apartment in Paris; how’s that?”

  Her insides shook, not from fear, but from rage. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. Go. To. Hell.”

  Charles II’s face darkened, and he advanced on her. “You listen to me, you little gold-digging whore—”

  She turned and fled from the living room, heading for the stairs. Thoughts whirled in her head like storms, fierce and out of control. All she wanted was escape. Charles stood at the top of the landing. “Charles,” she said urgently, “you need to deal with your father. And I need to get out of here.”

  “What?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

  Charles II burst from the living room, into the hallway, yelling after her, “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you, you little tramp!”

  “How dare you.” Without missing a beat, Charles descended the stairs, his blues blazing daggers of ice and fire at his father. “How dare you come to my house and speak to her this way. Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I’m Charles Roger Harrison II, goddammit!” his father roared, his control snapping like a twig. “And I won’t have another sneaky slut take you and your assets—the family’s assets—to the cleaners.”

  Charles looked to Lisette. “You should go now. I’ll handle this.”

  Without hesitation, she went down the hallway, intending to stay with Ava and Myles in the playroom.

  * * *

  Charles and his father sized each other up as Charles growled, “What the fuck is going on?”

  “I told you the first time,” Charles II said, “that Vanessa was fine to fuck, but you’d regret it if you married her. You wouldn’t listen! You married her just to stick it to me. And guess what? I was right. She was your worst mistake.” He pointed to where Lisette had gone. “And I find out now this little ragamuffin is your new lay? The nanny? How stupid are you? Deplorable. You think I’m just going to stand by and let it happen again?”

  “I think you better shut your mouth,” Charles said as he returned his father’s enraged glare. “Who I date is not your business. Get out of my house. Right now.”

  “I gave you everything!” Charles II roared. “I’ve put you first your entire life! Made sure you had every privilege, every benefit. Don’t you tell me to get out of your house, you ungrateful little prick.”

  “I wasn’t your son; I was your prize,” Charles shot back, adrenaline racing through his veins. “You treated me like a piece of property. A fucking trophy. You have since the day I was born. I’m so tired of it. I don’t owe you a word of explanation about who I date, you hear me? I don’t owe you anything.”

  “You owe me everything!” Charles II yelled.

  “I owe you nothing!” Charles yelled back, finally losing control. “I run the company now; I have for years. Harrison Enterprises is more successful than ever because of what I’ve done, because of my accomplishments, my constant work—to the point where I was ignoring my kids and had no life.” He got right up in his father’s face, and ground out, “I run the whole show, and I’m damn good at it. If anything, you’re the one who now owes me.”

  “I can’t believe you’d turn on me like this,” Charles II said, face flushed. “And for what? A piece of ass? A woman you barely know?”

  “I know her. And I love her,” Charles added, just to see the flare of shock in his father’s eyes. “And it’s about a lot more than just her.” His fists clenched, and he shoved them into his pockets. “Tell you what, Dad. I have no judgment? I owe you everything? Fine. You can take it all back and go fuck yourself with it. I quit. I’m done.”

  “That’s pure crap,” Charles II said.

  “No, it’s not,” Charles retorted calmly. “I’m leaving Harrison Enterprises. You can run it your damn self. Find another puppet. I want nothing to do with you or any of it anymore. It’s way past time I had my own life. I quit. You’ll have my letter of resignation on your desk first thing tomorrow.”

  Charles II went still, and the color drained from his weathered face. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I sure as hell do,” Charles replied. He crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “I’m done being your pawn. You’ve told me what to do my whole life, and made me think I should be grateful for the privilege. When I was younger, I didn’t know any better. But I’m done. I don’t want to end up like you.” His blood zipped through his veins, the years of pent-up anger flowing furiously and making words fly from his mouth. His hands itched to throw something, and he raked them through his hair. “I won’t do this anymore. It’s a fucking nightmare, and I’m out.”

  “You can’t . . .” Charles II rubbed his chest and coughed. “You can’t just quit the family.”

  “I’m not quitting the family,” Charles said. “But in case you haven’t noticed, they’ve all quit you.”

  Charles II rubbed his chest again, then gripped his upper left arm.

  “The poison, the resentment, the nastiness,” Charles said. “It stops here. It ends now. At least, for me. I’m quitting the company, and I’m going to spend time with my children and have a better life. Fuck Harrison Enterprises, and fuck you too.”

  Charles II fell to his knees, eyes bulging, seizing his chest and gasping for air. “It hurts . . .”

  “Dad?” Panic slammed Charles, and he rushed to his father, grabbing his father’s shoulders and looking into his widened eyes. “Jesus Christ, Dad, if this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

  Charles II fell to the floor, clutching his chest and wincing. His face was white now, but he was sweating. “Tripp . . .”

  “Holy shit.” With shaking hands, Charles wrenched his cell phone out of his pocket and called 911, holding his father’s head in his lap. “Hold on, Dad. Just hold on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Charles rode with his unconscious father in the ambulance, terror and guilt choking him. He’d caused his father to have a heart attack. The self-loathing was all consuming.

  The past half hour was a blur. He’d yelled for help, and Eileen had come running from the kitchen. Only now did he realize Lisette had likely kept the kids downstairs, away from the chaos, away from the chilling sight of their powerful grandfather lying on the floor, from the jolt of seeing an ambulance roaring up the drive and strange men wheeling in a stretcher . . .

  Watching as the EMTs worked on his father, he called his brothers and sister with the news. The ambulance got to Northwell Hospital quickly, and his father was rushed into the ER. By the time Charles had sat down in a private waiting room, Tess burst through the doors. She flew at him, almost tackling him with her hug. Then she grasped his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. “Listen to me, Charles. This is not your fault.”

  Charles felt sick to his stomach. “Yes, it is, Tess. I told you. We fought; I quit the company—”

  “He had that coming,” Tess said. “But the heart attack is not your fault.”

  “You say that now,” Charles said gruffly. “What if he dies?”

  “He’s not going to die,” Tess said. “He’s the toughest, most ornery man on the planet. Like Pierce always says, the mean ones live the longest.”

  “Well, he looked very frail on the floor of my foyer,” Charles murmured. He pulled away, but took her hand and brought her to sit with him on one of the couches. “Pierce is on his way. Dane’s coming from the city, so who knows when he’ll get here, but he’s coming.”

  “Okay, good.” She dropped her head on Charles’s shoulder. “Wow, Pierce is coming. I’m shocked.”

  “I think he’s doing it t
o support us, not for Dad,” Charles said. “I don’t care. Just glad he’ll be here.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, holding hands and trying not to worry.

  “Hey . . .” Tess lifted her head and shifted so she could look at him better. “What were you and Dad fighting about? What started it?”

  Charles blew out a huff of air and shook his head. “Not now. Please.”

  “Yes, now. Tell me.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble there. He hadn’t shaved that morning . . . His morning at the Waldorf with Lisette seemed like weeks ago now.

  “Tell me,” Tess insisted.

  “He came to the house to confront Lisette.” Charles snorted out a laugh at the horrified expression on his sister’s face. “He found out she was my date last night, and I think he tried to make her leave.”

  Tess’s mouth dropped open. “Please be kidding.”

  “Nope. He wanted her away from me before she could steal my fortune and mess with my life.” He scratched his head absently. “Needless to say, I lost my shit. Big time. He did too. We went at it, and it got ugly.”

  “I don’t know what’s happened to him these past few years,” Tess lamented. “He’s just gotten so . . .”

  “Sociopathic?” Charles offered. “Bitter? Twisted? Controlling?”

  “Well, he was always controlling,” Tess said.

  Charles chuckled. “Well played.” He rose from the couch and crossed the room to the water cooler. “Want some?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Tess waited until he came back with the cups of water and sat down before she ventured, “How’d Lisette handle him?”

  “She looked mad as hell, and also freaked out. She’s with the kids now. I didn’t even get to talk to her about it.” Charles sighed. It’d been one hit after another . . .

  The doors swung open, and Pierce entered the waiting room. He kissed Tess on the top of her head, then sat on the couch opposite them and crossed his long legs. His eyes swept over his brother in a quick surveillance. “You okay?”