by H. M. Ward
“Colin has some serious dance moves.” She takes another sip of coffee, waving her hand. “Oh, yeah, he told me about the show you two gave at the Gala. Man, I miss all the exciting stuff! Wish I could have seen Mother’s face during your big finish.” She snorts, “I bet you didn’t think half of Manhattan's elite would ever see your ankles over your ears, huh, Beth?”
I elbow her as she snort-laughs while trying to sip her coffee. “Drink your coffee, buttface.”
“Sticks and stones. So, what’s up with Jane and Cameron? Did they hook up?”
“Yeah, in the coat closet.” Mary’s eyes go wide. “Do you believe everything you hear? Cameron just asked Jane to do the mural.”
“And Mother made sure Jane looked her best.” Mary rolls her eyes.
“Yep. There’s no way Dad can afford Mother’s spending. The dresses, even rented, cost a few thousand, plus shoes, and jewelry.”
Mary nods from behind her cup, only coming up to add, “I have no clue where the family heirlooms went. Those disappeared a while ago.”
“I noticed. Usually, Mother makes Jane wear them, but I haven’t seen any of them, either. Even her old wedding rings are gone. She had on some huge rock I’ve never seen before. Mary, this has to stop. Dad won’t slow down because Mom won't. I need to see how bad things are, but I can’t do it alone.”
She shrugs. “Sure, what do you need from me?”
“Help hack into Dad’s computer?” I make a face, expecting her to say no. It’s a horrible invasion of privacy, but I won’t have him working to pay my bills anymore, not after this. And if I have to live in a box, I will. It’s better to have him sick than not have him at all—and anyone can see he’s not getting better, no matter how much he smiles.
Mary clasps her fingers together and stretches, popping her knuckles. “Like I’d say no. I’m on it, Beth!”
* * *
I wander into Dad’s home office—also known as the closet—and flick on his desk light. I know he duplicates his files somewhere, and it’d be much harder to hack his work computer. I just hope Dad backs up his financial records on this machine, too.
After I turn on Dad’s computer, Mary walks into the room free of her zebra stripes and munching on a bagel. As she sits, her bath towel slides from her head, allowing dark wet hair to spill over her shoulders.
“Seriously? The purple was a washout color?”
“Of course.”
“Mother’s going to freak when she sees you look normal.”
“That’s the point.” She grins, placing fingers over the keyboard. “Let’s see how long it takes me to hack into Dad’s accounts.”
She shakes her head, tsking softly to herself. “Why do old people use birthdates as passwords? Jeeze, this needs better protection!”
“Later, Mary. Pull up that file.” I point to a spreadsheet marked ‘P&L’ in his tax folder.
Her fingers fly over the keyboard and within a few minutes, Excel files pop up onto the screen revealing the profit and loss statements for the last three quarters. Her brow furrows.
“This is worse than you thought. Have a look at this.” She angles the computer’s screen toward me.
My jaw drops. No wonder why Dad feels like crap. There’s so much red I feel sick just looking at it.
A door slams and Mother’s voice drifts down the hall. “Jane, don’t be ridiculous. I just dropped you off a couple of hours ago, and you already want to come home?”
“Crap! Go!” I gesture for Mary to sneak out as I shut off the computer. I follow her into the hallway and nearly crash into her back. Mother is in the kitchen for the moment. Mary and I sneak into the living room just as Mother walks out, her hands filled with at least a dozen shopping bags and her cheek pinning her phone to her shoulder.
She drops her purse on a nearby gold-gilded antique marble table. “Get control of yourself, Jane. This job is the opportunity of your lifetime. Bingley Tech is currently in negotiations to merge with the largest software company in the world. Can you imagine how much money Cameron Bingley is worth?”
Mary makes a gagging sound as she plops onto the couch. Mother throws her a glare. When she eyes Mary’s hair, her nostrils flare. “I’ll deal with you later, young lady.”
Mary rolls her eyes, tossing the last piece of bagel into her mouth.
“I won’t hear any more of your whining, Jane. You will take the job, and you will stay there until it’s complete. Now, be a good girl and take a Valium.” With that, she clicks off the phone and tosses it to the side.
“Beth, I’m shocked by your behavior last night.” Mother slips off her designer heels and leans back into the couch looking exhausted. Yeah, hours of spending Dad’s hard-earned money will do that to you.
“I heard she and Colin rocked the ballroom last night,” Mary says, grinning.
“The word 'rock' does not begin to describe their indecent behavior. No wonder Colin has no affection for you other than friendship.” She stands and heads back to the kitchen as she continues speaking. “How could he take someone so unsophisticated seriously?”
“Um, maybe ’cause he’s gay,” Mary mumbles.
I shake my head at Mary. Mother doesn't know Colin is gay, and Colin swore my sisters and me to secrecy. It's never been an easy topic, but now that his father is running for Senate, it's a campaign-ending scandal waiting to happen. The thought makes me sick. Colin’s a great guy and a loyal friend. He doesn’t deserve the crapstorm that’s going to fall on him.
In the other room, the sound of cabinet doors and shopping bags goes quiet. “What did you say?” Mother isn’t in a good mood.
“I said, maybe we should pray,” Mary calls out, winking at me.
“Young lady! This is no laughing matter.” Mother strolls back into the room with a martini in hand. “Your sister not only managed to embarrass herself and Colin, but she also riled Mr. Darcy.”
Yes, Mr. Darcy and his delicious kisses. He was very riled up.
Mother continues ranting. I’m not paying attention until Mary elbows me. She tips her head toward Mother. “She’s going to kill you first, and I had purple hair and boots on last night.”
“I know. I’ve always been lucky like that.”
Mother glares at us. “Honestly, I’m surprised Mr. Bingley even called Jane. He must be a gentleman to overlook your behavior. Beth, must you turn every conversation into an argument?”
“Yes,” I smile at her. “Mom, I didn’t mean to, besides, Darcy has a stick up his butt—he hates everyone.” My phone vibrates, and I glance down. It’s Jane. I pretend to listen to Mother as she continues her lecture about appropriate social behaviors. In between texting, I hear words like “charm school,” “millionaire matchmaker,” and “tattoo removal” coming from her high-pitched, nasally voice.
JANE: Help me!
ME: What’s wrong?
JANE: I can’t do this.
ME: Sure you can. You’re a great artist. Wow them, babe.
JANE: It’s too big. I can’t take it all in.
I suppress my urge to giggle, but Mary notices.
“What is it?” Mary snatches my phone. A broad grin spreads across her face. “You go, girl!”
“To whom are you speaking, Elizabeth?” My mother's voice hovers between annoyance and interest.
“Colin. He wants to marry me.” I take back the phone before Mother sees the texts. She huffs at my silly diversion and focuses her attention back on Mary.
JANE: The room. It’s huge.
I chuckle and type a reply.
ME: The mural you did at the children’s hospital was big.
JANE: This room is 2x that size—and it’s not just a room, it’s a whole movie theater.
ME: Wow, really? A theater? I thought it was a cottage?
JANE: They keep insisting it is a cottage—one that houses a full-sized movie theater within it. The guest bathroom is bigger than our bedroom.
ME: That’s great!
JANE: IDK. I think this i
s a bad idea. He said I could stay here since it’ll take longer than I’d planned, but I can’t. Beth…
ME: Want me to come over and help?
JANE: Really? *Happy dance*
ME: Sure. I’ll borrow Mary’s motorcycle and be there in a couple of hours.
JANE: OMG. I owe you one!
ME: TTYL
CHAPTER 7
I turn off the motorcycle, still feeling the rush as I sit for a moment in the circular driveway staring in disbelief. No wonder Jane is freaking out. Who calls a two-story mansion a cottage? Crazy-ass rich people. This place is huge.
I lock my helmet to the bike and attempt to smooth down my windblown hair while hitching up my backpack. I trudge up to the front door and ring the bell. The house is beautiful, made of limestone gleaming white in the summer sun. The roof is copper, and the patina is a pale green. It looks like a French chateau wedged in the middle of Long Island.
The front door is cast iron with decorative scrolling. A large copper lion’s head holds a circle in his mouth, beckoning me to touch it. As I reach for the lion, the door swings open.
A young woman wearing a light gray uniform opens the door. Her hair is tied back into a tight bun, keeping her dark hair off her long face. Her high cheekbones and olive skin give her an exotic look.
“May I help you?” Black eyes narrow as they look me over. Although her words seem curious, her meaning is clear: Who the fuck are you?
“I’m Beth Bennet, Jane’s sister.”
The housekeeper’s face suddenly breaks into a smile. “Ah, Miss Jane’s sister. Please do come in. We’re expecting you. I’m Bea, Mr. Cameron’s housekeeper. If you need anything during your stay, please ask me. Mr. Cameron and his guests are at the pool. Please follow me.”
Jane hasn’t been here for more than a few hours and already Bingley’s staff adores her. If Jane could only see how awesome she is, maybe she wouldn’t have so many panic attacks.
Our footsteps echo in the foyer. I try not to gawk as we walk through Cameron’s home. I keep my head pointed forward while my eyes take in the opulence surrounding us. I suck in a breath as we walk down a plastered Venetian hallway with coffered ceilings. My fingers itch to touch the panels, but I stick them into the pockets of my jeans. I can't afford to replace anything I break.
We come to a grand staircase that winds down to a lower level. Hung directly in the center of the room is an enormous chandelier. At the top of the landing, I can see outside into the gardens. Everything is green and lush, with large trees set further back to allow sunlight to flood the grounds just outside the doors below.
As we descend the stairs and near a pair of arched French doors, I can hear laughter and splashing.
The back of Cameron’s house is even more magnificent than the front. When I step outside, I’m awestruck by the sweeping lawn. There are acres of perfectly cut grass and gardens filled with a rainbow of flowers. Impossibly, it's prettier than I expected.
The terrace is incredible, featuring a cascading Italian fountain flanked by four small fire pits. And the pool! Eight ornate fountains line its length, sending a steady stream into an expanse of sapphire blue.
Gwen’s slender body glides through the water doing the backstroke. Her white bikini highlights her tanned skin. “Hey, Beth!” She waves.
“Beth, you made it.” Cameron walks up to me with a big grin on his handsome face. “You remember Gwen and William Darcy, of course, and have you met Anne Degatto?”
My eyes slide right past Anne to Darcy, who looks annoyingly gorgeous wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks. His dark lashes fan against his high cheekbones as he stares, yet again, into the screen of his smart phone. His thick hair is wet and slicked back. Droplets of water fall from the curls at the nape of his neck onto his tanned, muscular body. I think I’m going crazy. I can’t stop staring as the droplets slide across an incredibly broad shoulder and roll slowly between well-defined pecs. When my eyes reach his abs, I have the insane urge to lick the droplets from them.
Yep, I'm losing it. I press my hand against the helmet mark on my forehead. Maybe the helmet prevented my brain from getting oxygen or something. I need to avoid him, but here he is. Damn it.
Darcy glances up for half a second, and my reaction is instant. My stomach dips into my shoes, and I swear he lassoed me because something is pulling me toward him—to those perfect lips on that wicked body.
STOP IT!
I look away, huffing breaths like I’ve been running. He’s a bad man, Beth! No hanky-panky with bad guys. You don’t even like him. Stop it.
When did I become a hornball? This isn’t like me, not at all.
As if hearing my thoughts, his sapphire eyes flick to mine. They widen a moment as they drift from my borrowed shit-kickers to the black jacket covered in dirt and a few bugs that committed suicide on the leather. His eyes snap back to mine, his handsome face a mask. He nods slightly then returns his attention to his phone.
Anne clears her throat, catching my attention.
“Yes. I know Anne. Hi,” I say, trying to keep my eyes off Darcy.
Anne narrows her dark eyes and gives me a cool nod. She’s wearing a dark bikini top that makes her skin look pasty—it's not flattering. She still has that constipated expression she wore last night.
She places a perfectly manicured hand possessively on the arm of Darcy’s chair before returning to her book. My eyes bounce from her to William and realize she thinks I want him. Yeah, that isn't going to happen. On the contrary, I think she’s perfect for him. The two of them were made for each other.
“Jane’s in the theater. Maybe you can convince her to take a break and join us,” Cameron says. “Come with me, I’ll—”
“Mr. Cameron,” the housekeeper approaches him with a phone in her hand. “It’s Phil Cates returning your call about the merger.”
“I’ll show her where the theater is,” Gwen says, climbing out of the pool. “I’ll even give you a tour of the house.”
“Yes. Please do. Thanks, Gwen.” He looks at me apologetically before going back into the house. “Sorry, Beth. I have to take this.”
After wrapping a towel around her perfect body, she pokes Darcy and says, “When I get back, that phone better not be in your hand, big brother, or I’ll throw it in the pool. You’re supposed to be on vacation!”
She pads over to me, whispering in my ear. “He needs a distraction big time. Anne’s not helping at all. The moment she stepped outside wearing that awful bikini, William grabbed his phone. His eyes have been glued to it ever since.”
I choke back a laugh.
“Some people work for a living,” William says. “Unlike some who leech off others’ hard-earned assets.” His eyes briefly flick to me.
What the hell! He’s referring to me. He had to be. I can feel the veins on the side of my neck throbbing. I can’t believe the gall of that man. He doesn’t know me.
Before I can give him a piece of my mind, Gwen huffs, “I work.”
“I'd hardly consider your dabbling in literary porn work.”
“Neither would I call it literary,” Anne says, lowering her book.
Gwen puts her hands on her hips. “Have you even read my work, Anne? You look like you could use some porn.”
“Well, I never!”
“And you won’t if you don’t loosen up,” she snaps back.
I’m starting to like Gwen, despite her brother.
“Gwen.” William gives her a stern look.
She ignores him. “Seriously, Anne. Just look for my books under my pen name, Debbie Dallas.”
“You’re Debbie Dallas? The Debbie Dallas of the Hot Texas Nights series?” Texas Nights is a wildly popular series currently selling like hotcakes. All my friends from college were talking about it. The lead male character, Jackson Travis, is totally my book boyfriend. “I love that series!”
“Ooh, a fan,” Gwen says. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”
“Why does that not
surprise me?” William gives me a stern look.
“Knock it off, William. If you’re such a gentleman, why don’t you take Beth’s luggage into the guest room where she and Jane are staying?”
He lets out a breath, his face looking annoyed, but he stands anyway. “Where is your luggage?”
“Here.” I slip the backpack from my shoulders, throwing it to him. It smacks against his chest and falls to his feet. His lip twitches before I turn to Gwen and walk with her back into the house. “So tell me, Gwen, is the stripper carrying Jackson’s baby or is she lying about him being the father?”
CHAPTER 8
On the way to the theater, Gwen plays tour guide through Cameron's richly decorated six-bedroom, seven-bathroom vacation home. Behind a hidden door located between the dining room and the front entryway, she reveals what she refers to as her favorite room in the entire house: the wine cellar. As she speaks knowledgeably about some of her favorite wines, I can't help but think of what John Rivas insinuated about her alcohol problem.
When we reach the library lined with imported Honduran mahogany bookshelves, I drool.
“This is amazing,” I say, unable to stop my hands from stroking the silky smooth shelves.
“Aren’t they?” Gwen replies. “Anne is not my favorite person, and I hate the way she throws herself at my brother, but she does have good taste. Cameron bought most of this home's artwork and furnishings from her.”
“Cameron’s a sweet guy.”
“Too sweet. When Catherine Degatto heard about Cameron buying this place, she insisted he hire Anne to decorate it—on commission, of course.”
“She did an excellent job.”
“I guess.” She shrugs as she directs me out of the room. “Cameron’s way more of a mortal than this house implies. He’d be just as happy with a gaming chair and a milk crate to stow his controllers. He only wanted this place to escape the stress of living in the city, claiming the country air releases his creative juices. Here we are.” She stops in front a pair of oversized antique red doors, resting both hands on burnished brass Art Deco handles.
