by Demi Damson
“George, I’ve been flat out all week. I am here trying to spend a weekend with my family and my girlfriend.” He glanced at the doorway. Still no Charlotte. “The world will not end.”
George shook his head grumpily. “That’s the problem with you, you always have an excuse. All right then, just the one.” He leaned back in the arm chair and sighed. “It has been a long day. Lauren is running me ragged with wedding plans and parties.” He was complaining but he had a smile on his face. “She’s a breath of fresh air, that one. Makes me feel alive. And exhausted.”
“I bet. I’ll be right back.” He retreated to the kitchen to get the beer. As usual, Jordan had no idea what to say to his father’s clear infatuation. He didn’t want to think about him being exhausted. He didn’t even remember him treating Jordan’s mother with any sort of affection. Jordan handed over a bottle of beer and a glass to his father and sat down, taking a long drink of his own. That was better. Maybe he could make it through this conversation after all. “I’m glad you found someone.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t jump into anything. Not like you, rash as always. How long have you known this girl?”
A week, thought Jordan. Actually, not even that. “Long enough,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. To his relief, he heard footsteps in the corridor. “And there she comes now so let’s change the subject.”
Charlotte peeked her head around and then, finding them both staring at her, flushed a deep red. “Good evening,” she said. “I wondered if I might find you here.” She looked stunning in a long sleeved black knit dress with rainbow stripes on the cuffs and the skirt. Stopping just at her knee, the dress was a wonderful mix of formal and flirty.
He stood up instinctively and gave her an appreciative look. “You look lovely.”
She smiled and then cleared her throat. He realized he was staring and dragged his eyes away from her curves. “Darling,” he said, with just a glance at his father. “Come sit down. We were just having an aperitif.”
“Thank you.” She sat down and smiled at George. “It’s such a beautiful house. You must love it here.”
George looked out of sorts, cut off from his favorite hobby of telling Jordan everything he was doing wrong. He waved Jordan away. “Get her a drink as well, I guess.”
“Glass of sherry? Or maybe I’ll see if there’s some champagne.”
“Oh no, not for me. Just a beer is fine. No glass.”
Jordan tried not to wince. His father had some strong ideas about what was and was not appropriate for the fairer sex and he was pretty sure bottles of beer was reserved for boys. On the other hand, it was about time someone challenged him. “I’ll get you one now.”
As he left the room he heard his father’s voice. “Young lady. What do you do?”
Jordan froze. There was a moment of silence and then her nervous voice. “I’m self-employed,” she said. “I do contract work.”
“Really? What kind of contract work?” Another pause and then his father’s voice again, pushing her. “Maybe we could farm some work for Lovett Industries to you.”
“No, really not,” she said. She sounded like she was speaking through gritted teeth. Jordan was frozen to the spot. Please God, don’t let her spill everything to him. He could only imagine the fallout.
“The services I offer are bespoke. It’s nothing very interesting.”
Thank Christ. Jordan forced himself to move, sprinting to the kitchen to get the beer and dash back into hearing range. His father was in the process of offering her a job in personnel, which was all he fricking needed.
“Or what about that court case, Jordan. You know the one with the warehouse man, what’s his name?”
“I’m afraid I’m fully booked,” said Charlotte.
“Charlotte’s got enough work on her own,” said Jordan. “She doesn’t need my help.” He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes.
Lauren’s voice came from the doorway; Jordan hadn’t noticed her arrive. “Oh, your little dormouse has a job? How sweet. I presume you’ll give it up after you get married?”
“I wasn’t intending to, no.” She shot Jordan a look through narrowed eyes. “I guess we haven’t talked about it.”
“Well,” said George, taking a long drink. “Let me give you some advice. Being in a relationship, it’s all about compromise. My son, he’s very focused on the business. He wants to prove himself, and that is how it should be. He’s chosen some difficult roads but I’m here to advise him and to help him through.”
Jordan groaned and got up to tend to the fire. He didn’t like the way this was going, not at all.
George leaned forward and patted Charlotte’s thigh like she was a puppy waiting for a treat. “Now, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but what he doesn’t need right now is distractions. What he needs is someone to stand by him and support him. To supply the stability and comfort he needs so he can put everything he has into the business.” He shook his head. “Young women today, they like to think they can have it all, but success is based on razor sharp focus on a single goal. I’m not being sexist. If women had careers that supported the family, then I’m sure they could find a quiet young man who would run the household and make sure they don’t have to worry about things outside of the office.” He tilted his head. “That’s what my son needs. He has more important things to do.”
Charlotte didn’t answer. Jordan couldn’t even look at her. What must she be thinking?
“Yes, sir,” she said after much too long a pause.
He smiled like a piranha. “You are very pliable, aren’t you?” He smiled. “Many modern young women try to insist they should be treated as equals, whether they deserve it or not. I was lucky with my first wife. She was like you, a quiet soul—quick witted but she didn’t have the need to always say everything she was thinking. She kept her thoughts to herself.”
The words “not like Lauren” were on the tip of Jordan’s lips but he restrained himself and drained his beer instead. “Come on now, let’s go to dinner. I heard Maria setting the table and it’d be a shame for it to get cold.”
He took the room in two strides and grabbed Charlotte by the arm. He wanted to apologize for George’s words but he was worried he’d be overheard. “I’ll show you where you can wash up,” he said helplessly.
“Thank you.” Her voice was strained. “I’m looking forward to dinner.”
“Me, too.” He gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze. “It’ll be fine.” She didn’t look convinced. And after that lecture, who could blame her?
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner Tonight
Charlotte was still gritting her teeth as Jordan motioned her into the right seat at the dinner table. Next to the head of the table, which was almost certainly where his father would sit. Great. Jordan went around the table, straightening the silverware before sitting down next to her. She gave him a look but he didn’t notice, just sat down on the other side of her as Maria scurried in to pour water and wine for everyone. Was he fixing her table setting? She didn’t say anything. On a scale of one to Lauren, it didn’t even rank mentioning.
She couldn’t believe George Lovett told her it was unreasonable for a woman to have a career. But this was the way rich people thought. And Jordan didn’t say a word. He didn’t even bat an eye, clearly not the least bit phased by his father’s presumptions. They were all alike.
Well, she was being paid to be here. She just had to keep repeating that to herself. She picked up her red wine glass, large enough to hold half a bottle, although obviously, it wasn’t full. She’d love a wine glass this size to herself at home but this one was also unwieldy and the glass so thin, she was worried she might break it just by handling it. She carefully took a sip, paranoid she’d spill it all over herself, and held her tongue.
In the sitting room, she’d been looking forward to breaking up for dinner, where she wouldn’t be standing there as the center of attention. The meatballs in tomato and basil sauce (app
arently called albondigas, they informed her as if she should know) smelled amazing.
She thought dinner would be blissfully quiet. She was wrong. Jordan’s father had clearly never heard of avoiding religion and politics as a dinner discussion and she regularly ended up shoving a forkful of meatballs in her mouth to suppress the instinct to argue. Even when the conversation shifted to Lovett Industries, it was no better. The man was as horrible as she thought he would be and his son was no better. Jordan probably knew all about the land lease—after all, his father was sitting there crowing about how much money he made in the company: annual profits this, return on investment that. She didn’t even understand half of it but she didn’t need to, to know it was all about how much money they’d made, as if nothing else mattered. She just knew George Lovett must have bragged at the dinner table about his million-dollar land deal and how he got the better of his partner. Jordan must know all about it, probably thought it was wonderful. Proof of their manly virility.
She felt sorry for Lauren. The way she hung on Jordan’s every word, as if she’d been starved for intelligent conversation. But then, she must have known what she was getting into. Jordan seemed to be saying Lauren was only marrying George for financial stability. Now she seemed shell-shocked, upon discovering how much she was expected to give up in order to have it.
Charlotte tuned back into the conversation to hear George rambling on about some sort of partnership Jordan had put into place and how little value the partners had.
She twisted her wrist to look at her tattoo and then took a long drink of wine. Why not speak up? “You don’t think there’s any value to working with a partner? Cooperation?”
She was sure she already knew his answer to this one but she wanted to hear it from him. Re-enforcement that she was doing the right thing, perhaps.
George was happy to oblige. “The word partner is meaningless; there’s simply no such thing,” he said. “Everyone is looking out for themselves. Everyone wants to get their own way all the time. And it’s not wrong: you can’t live in a constant state of compromise. It’s no different than a marriage.”
Charlotte sighed. Here they were again. But there was no stopping the man.
“Take my son, for example. What he needs is someone to look after the day-to-day. A bonus would be someone who could help to fulfill his goals through social connections—the Old Wives’ Club, we always called it. By hosting dinner parties and events, you create opportunities for him to entertain clients, and he can feel confident they will be treated well. They just want to feel important and it’s the wife who can make this work.” He gave her a stern look.
She frowned in response. Was she really not allowed to have conversation about anything but being the good little wife?
George reached over and patted her hand. “Don’t look so dismayed. It’s not very difficult. You seem eager to please and willing to learn.”
She took another gulp of her wine, just about cross-eyed in her desire not to say anything. She was never going to be that wife. George Lovett might believe that a woman should be ornamental and pleasant and... what did he say? Pliable? With every drink, she was more and more tempted to give him a piece of her mind. Inform him that in this day and age, women were quite capable of holding jobs and making their own way, both in the business world and personally. It just confirmed what she’d always believed: men were jerks. And she was never going to give up everything for some man. Charlotte couldn’t see any appeal in getting married and having a passel of brats to look after while her husband drank whiskey with the boys and went on business trips and expected the world to revolve around him.
“More wine, darling?” Jordan leaned towards her. She couldn’t help but feel his smile was patronizing. They were probably all used to keeping their women topped up with drink in order to keep them pliable.
Charlotte shook her head. She was already feeling dangerously aggressive.
But George just wouldn’t let up. “You look unhappy. You disagree? It’s ok, you can speak your mind here.”
It was being given permission that tipped her over the edge. How very dare he!
But she kept her cool. She didn’t speak her mind. She tried instead to channel what she thought her dad would say: always calm and collected and relaxed about discussions like this. “I just believe there’s value in cooperation and working with people. Friendship. Support. Loyalty.”
He glanced at Jordan and shook his head sadly. “You think by being nice to people, you can change the world? It’s naive.”
His words stung. She wanted to say she used to believe that, until people like him had proven it was just a way to get walked all over. But no. He clearly wanted to get a rise out of her and she was not going to let him. “I think it’s a challenging path,” she said. “It can be easier not to care.”
He snorted and shoveled a whole meatball into his mouth, speaking as he chewed. “It’s not about being easy or difficult. It’s about success. What are you caring about? Profits? Shareholders? The bottom line? Because that’s what matters. If you are worrying about whether Susie in accounting is fulfilled in her job, well, that’s just a waste of time and resources. Because even if Susie were ecstatic to come in every day and punch numbers, that’s not going to make your business a success. And this stupid money being spent on office childcare and free lunches...” He snorted. “It’s inefficient and pointless ego-smoothing. As a boss, you don’t want your staff to like you. You want them to get the job done. And if that means they are thrilled when it’s time to knock off at the end of the day, then that’s fine. Work isn’t supposed to be fun. And I don’t need friends. I need profits.”
Ain’t that the truth, thought Charlotte, but she kept her eyes firmly on her plate, afraid her thoughts might show on her face. He no longer seemed to expect a response, having made his point. Finally, he placed his silverware on the plate with a clang and Maria scurried in. She must have been waiting just around the corner. George stood: the meal was over. “Shall we retreat to the library?”
“I’m tired,” she said, giving Jordan a pleading look. “I think I’ll just head straight to bed if that’s alright with you?” George smiled at her words and she hated having to ask permission. If Jordan said no, she would kick him under the table.
He nodded. “Me too, actually. It’s been a long day.” He smiled at his father and his stepmother-to-be. “Good night.”
And with that, she was free. Wow, but she would be glad to get the hell out of here and back to her normal life. That was the only good thing about this weekend: she used to think her life was maybe a little bit lonely and a little bit dreary. But compared to life in this mansion, her world was positively paradise.
Chapter Fourteen
Sleepless Nights Never Change A Thing
Jordan tossed and turned in the creaky sofa bed. He could hear Charlotte’s soft breathing from only a few feet away. At least she didn’t seem to have any trouble sleeping. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she dealt with his father: not arguing but not giving any quarter either, when it would have been much easier just to let him believe she agreed. The way she looked at him for comfort. The way her hair fell into her face when she was flustered. He wanted to hold it back at the nape of her neck and kiss her.
He shook his head to get rid of the wayward thoughts. What was wrong with him? He’d almost kissed her on the bed, yesterday. The bed right next to him that she was currently sleeping in. So close.
This was insane. The whole point was not to get entangled. He didn’t need emotional mess. He needed to focus on the business. He certainly did not need to be worrying about someone else and having to make compromises and... one day, sure, maybe, if he met the right person. But some escort who Buddy had seen naked—he didn’t think he would ever get over that—was not the right person, however amazing she appeared to be. Besides, she was completely money motivated. She was fun but he wasn’t a fool. Sure, she jumped on the bed with him and yes, it was fun.
But she wasn’t doing this because he was special. What mattered to her was that he was a billionaire who could pay her way through the rest of her life.
He should have learned his lesson with Lauren: he’d already proven just how bad he was at judging women. And the one thing his father was right about—he needed to focus on the business. One day, maybe. When you are your father’s age, whispered a treacherous voice in his mind, and women like Lauren expect money and presents in return for even being with you.
His mind drifted back to Charlotte. Charlotte who hadn’t asked for anything. He rolled over again, punching his pillow. He was literally paying her to be here with him. She hadn’t asked for anything else, which was nice, but she was being paid in cold hard cash for spending the weekend with him. No matter how he dressed that up, it still came down to the same old thing. Pay to play. He wasn’t going to fall for a woman like that. Not again.
As the dawn light lit the edges around the curtain, he gave up on the idea of sleeping. The vision of her stretching and waking gently as the morning light filtered into the room filled his mind. His body throbbed just at being near her. He would go for a run and be back before Charlotte got up. Anything had to be better than lying here trying not to think about her. He groaned and crept round the room to gather his things. He needed to get out of here before he did something he regretted.
What he really regretted was popping into the kitchen before heading out on the street. Lauren was waiting there, wearing skin-tight white jeans and lacy white top which covered her neck and her arms to her wrists but left a large circle for her cleavage to peek through. She held a glass of something in her hand which he sure hoped was water.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” she said. She smiled at him. Her smiles always served as a reminder of how completely mercenary a woman could be if she was desperate. Lauren had gotten what she wanted: marriage to a rich man and with all the trappings and luxury that came with it. But she still wasn’t happy. A small part of Jordan was pleased, even though he knew it was petty.
