Hale to Pay (Arrangement Series Book 6)

by Francesca Penn

  Hale To Pay

  Francesca Penn

  Published by Francesca Penn

  Hale to Pay

  Copyright © 2020 by Precious Nunez

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: Kindle Only

  Printed in the United States of America

  Edited by: Josephs Editorial Services

  Cover by: Olivia Pro Designs

  All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission, or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission, please contact Francesca Penn at authorfrancescapenn@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.francescapenn.com

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Son of a bitch!” I curse under my breath and close my reading app. “A damn cliffhanger.”

  I hate cliffhangers. Especially if the next book isn’t out yet. I know for a fact there wasn't a disclaimer or a warning. Hell, she didn’t even add “book one” to the title. I guess it's for the best. I am at my sister's wedding after all. Pushing my glasses up my nose, I scan the crowd looking for my family. After the third pass, I conclude that I’m the last LeClaire in the building. I did it again. I’m prone to zoning out and being caught in my own world, but I thought they’d at least say goodbye. It’s not like Karessa is running off to a honeymoon.

  Do people in arranged marriages want honeymoons?

  At the end of the day, marriage is a contract, people just need to make sure they have the correct terms. I’d participate in an arranged marriage with the right guy and the right terms. Lord knows I haven’t had luck with natural selection anyway. Besides, since they seem to be a trend right now, I can’t help but look at the specs. Jagger Hanlon: over six feet tall, lean and muscular, brown hair, rich brown eyes, and a wicked smile. Oran Hale: also over six feet tall, thick and muscular - he looked damn good in his navy suit, black hair, gray eyes, and a sexy scowl. Both could get it under different circumstances. Yes. I’d arrange the hell out of a marriage for stability and a sexy man.

  The DJ is giving the dancefloor good traffic as she plays all the dance hits despite the guests of honor disappearing. I don’t have to look for Esme to know she’s run off on her next adventure. Sometimes I wish I could be free like that, flirting and running off with a guy who catches my fancy.

  I need a drink.

  Bypassing wedding guests as they laugh, talk, and dance - which is easy since the last LeClaire sister isn’t as known as the other two - I make my way to the open bar. Virgil, Karessa’s go-to bartender for such events, gives me his full attention and smiles at me.

  “Hey Baby LeClaire,” he still greets me like I’m not twenty-six. “You’re looking very pretty tonight. I’m surprised they got you out of the house,” he jokes.

  His brown skin crinkles at the corners as he teases me.

  “First of all, it’s Imala. Second, I may be a homebody - which is completely fine - but I do leave the house.”

  “To sit in the corner and read?” he volleys.

  “Are you watching me, old man?” I tease him back. At forty-five, he’s not old but he’s still nineteen years my senior.

  “Nope. Just observing as bartenders do. What can I get for you?”

  “Four,” I answer.

  “Four what?” he questions, leaning forward on the bar doing his best to give me a reprimanding scowl. It doesn’t work.

  “Four shots of brown liquor.”

  “Having a bad day?” he pries, instead of pouring me my drinks.

  “No more than usual. I’ve decided to join the party. Give me my drinks.”

  I pat the bar condescendingly with a smirk.

  “Don’t sass me woman. Two double shots of whiskey coming up.”

  “Ohhh, and a margarita!”

  “Don’t push it,” he gripes as he points a finger at me. “No need to get drunk.”

  “Uh huh,” I agree, although I’m not listening. I’ve never gotten drunk and it’s the easiest thing to check off my list.

  “Hi. Can I get an Old Fashioned, please,” a deep voice requests to the right of me.

  My entire body shudders. Careful not to bring attention to myself, I turn my head enough to survey Caerwyn Hale without the risk of getting caught. There’s no doubt he's Oran’s cousin. His hair is a rich chocolate brown unlike Oran’s almost black hair and his eyes are more blue-green than gray, but the tall body, solid frame, and mysteriousness is spot on. He digs in his pocket causing his shirt to stretch and highlight the hard body underneath. Immediately, I begin to imagine what he looks like without clothes. My face heats at the realization. Jagger and Oran are gorgeous, but there’s something about Caerwyn that makes me giddy.

  “Baby girl!” Virgil's yell causes Caerwyn’s blue-green eyes to snap in my direction.

  Damn he’s fine.

  Caerwyn has me trapped with a look. My eyes cannot stray from his to appreciate the full view of him in his classic black suit that looks made just for him.

  “Esme?” he asks, aptly killing my vibe.

  Us LeClaire sisters are apparently known for inheriting our beauty from our mother, but we are not carbon copies of her or each other. The similarities are not so strong we should be confused for the other.

  I grab my drinks, willing to ignore him the rest of the night. It’s just as well, Esme would be considered the next in line and she and Karessa are much more outgoing than I am.

  Caerwyn stops me from turning, the simple touch of his hand on my bicep makes me tingle in ways I didn’t know existed outside of books, since I don’t have any personal experience to compare.

  “I’m sorry, Imala.” My name sounds dead sexy off his lips. “I’m bad with names and faces from long ago. I’d left here when I was sixteen and have only been back a few months. I know there are three LeClaire sisters.” He points at me. “Imala, Esme, and Karessa. Since Karessa just married my cousin, I had a fifty-fifty chance to guess which one you were. My apologies, if I’ve offended you.”

  Relaxing, I give him a small smile. “It’s fine. Thank you for the explanation. Enjoy the wedding.”

  I leave before he can stop me again. He’s so unnerving, I take my first shot the moment I return to my table. It burns, but I take it like a champ then move to another one. The dance floor beckons me after the fourth shot. My margarita and I are thoroughly encouraged by Pitbull’s I Know You Want Me to have our own
dance party just the two of us. I feel watched but alcohol has removed my ability to give a shit. If someone’s watching, let them. I’m having fun.

  I’ve had enough after an hour and am walking to my car with my heels in my hand while singing the last song I heard when I feel the familiar tingle as I near my car.

  “It’s illegal to drink and drive, Caterpillar.”

  I swing around to face the big, sexy man. “What did you call me?”

  “Caterpillar,” he repeats like it’s normal to give me names.

  “That’s not even a cute nickname; have you seen a caterpillar before?”

  “I have,” he confirms. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, but I feel he’s closer to me. When I find myself leaning on the side of my SUV with him hovering over me, caging me in with his hand splayed on my car, I know it wasn’t a drunken illusion. “I also know what they become. Right now, you’re hiding and not sharing yourself with the world.”

  His observation makes me feel some type of way. “How in the hell do you know? You think you can show up out of the blue, be sexy, and sprout bullshit and I’m supposed to be all ‘well Caerwyn said…’”

  He chuckles and his scent makes me want to climb him even when I’m not known for wanton behavior.

  “We can talk about that later. Let me take you home.”

  “Now, I know you’re crazy. If you think you can just…”

  I stop talking when he slides the back of his fingers over my mouth. “Shh. I’m not trying to seduce you. Trust me, you’d know the difference. I just don’t want to see you in court.”

  “Court?”

  “Yes, I’m a lawyer. DUI’s never really go away.”

  He plucks my keys out of my hand, hits unlock on my FOB, and ushers me into the passenger seat.

  What the hell?

  He folds his big body behind the wheel, adjusting the seat until he’s comfortable.

  “So that’s it? You’re Judge Dread? Are you the judge, jury, and executioner?”

  “When I need to be. I can be ruthless when necessary.” His light eyes roam over my body making my dress feel tighter. “Put on your seatbelt.”

  I don’t realize I’ve followed an order until it snaps into place. It’s weird having his big body in my vehicle and personal space while he’s making demands.

  “I should be cursing you out.”

  “For catering to your safety?” he volleys as my SUV roars to life.

  “No. For taking over without permission,” I correct.

  “I’m that kind of man. It’s in my blood. You’ll get used to it.”

  “Be happy you’re cute." I want to argue but my stomach feels upset. Rambling off my address, I close my eyes and pray I don’t throw up. “And another thing. I’ll pay you for the ride and even express gratitude but coming into my house or expecting sex is a no go.”

  “Noted. Now note this: I'm just helping you out. If sex was my goal, you’d already be naked.”

  I would have clutched my pearls if my stomach weren't upset.

  Chapter One

  Caerwyn

  “Eight years,” I repeat it to myself but it’s not helping. My mind is trying to care but my body doesn’t. My dick insists we’re all grown. Yet, I often wonder if our age difference will give us issues.

  It doesn’t matter. I remind myself. I haven’t seen Imala since I took her home, ushered her to her door, then ordered a car to take me home. Still, her golden skin - paler than her sisters - and almost black eyes trapped behind clear eyeglasses still haunt me. I want to see her again, and I will, I just need to hone my approach. Her innocence glows off her body until it forms an invisible halo. I understand why Oran calls her his angel. That’s going to change because I will make her my personal sex fiend. Imala will be so gone for me she’ll beg me to do all the dirty things I want. In explicit details. I fight the urge to shift in my seat. I’m so stubborn, I allow the wave of arousal to waft out of me like the puff of cigar smoke I’ve released.

  Assessing steel eyes rake over my face. “What are you calculating, asshole? Your nice guy mask has slipped.”

  My signature smile falls back into place. I really am a nice guy. Mostly. And Oran knows it. His knowledge doesn’t stop him from ribbing me from time to time. Even with my physical absence from the island, we’ve stayed in touch. He’s more of a brother to me than the other spoiled English bastard my dad created.

  My parents are the product of an arranged marriage and while they learned to love each other, the beginning was rocky. My dad called himself having one last fling before he got married. The dumbass got an English tourist pregnant. As the technical first heir, Berke was a smug brat everyone hated to see coming. He’d split half his time between both families often antagonizing me about being the second born and less important. Then, as if the lord answered my prayers, Uncle Elmer found out about Oran. I laughed because his ass wasn’t taking over shit. His visits became less frequent after he and his mother realized he no longer had power to gain. That alone makes me love Oran despite his prickly nature. At least the asshole is honest.

  “Pussy,” Jagger answers around his cigar. “He’s trying to scheme his way into some pussy. Fuck, I know the look. I’m thinking about how to get some right now.”

  Oran shakes his head; a piece of black hair falls on his forehead. His eyes connect with Jagger’s.

  “You don't strategize pussy. You’re married.”

  “So the fuck what?” Jagger’s whiskey eyes study the ashes of his cigar. “I must keep her on her fucking toes. That requires strategy.”

  "I just thought of something. How did you two feel about your wives being years younger than you? Was it weird knowing you were a full-grown man when she was a pre-teen?"

  "Nope." Oran's emphasis makes the "p" pop. "I had no idea who she was at that age. She was a grown woman primed to take this dick when we officially met."

  "I would say the same, but I knew the little bastard as a baby," Jagger strokes his beard as he thinks. “Leaving made it easier to separate the child from the woman. She was a child when I left and a childish ass woman when I returned. I knew dicking her down would shut her up. Fuck. It didn’t matter those fucking assholes made us get married anyway.”

  “Why? Are you trying to poach some young unsuspecting woman?”

  “Nope,” I lie. “Just making conversation since you two talk about your wives all damn day.”

  By the time each of us finished our cigars and had a couple glasses of whiskey, the assholes were itching to hunt down their wives. We filed out of the cigar bar with plans to see each other later. My thoughts return to Imala. If she wants to lay low, I’ll force her out. I smile at a few ladies throwing me assessing looks. They’re pretty but don't hold my attention. The birthday sash thrown across one woman’s body renews Elmer’s idea. I guess it is time for a big party.

  Being back on the island lets me enjoy its slower pace. A population of a little over two million people is nothing to sneeze at, but it’s still not crowded and congested. Getting to work never stresses me out. The ocean view from my office cannot be duplicated and it offers a serene backdrop to the bullshit I’m eliminating from Elmer’s reign. He’s one shady asshat. He may try to fight me once I’m done cutting out his bedfellows but it’s necessary for the Hale legacy.

  I circle something else that’s inconsistent with moral legal practices. My satisfied hum rolls through the office as I raise my pen and stare at it like a love interest. The solid eighteen-karat gold pen picks up the sunlight and winks at me. We Hales have a lot of money, as do all the founding families, but I don’t have this handcrafted masterpiece for a frivolous display of wealth. I’m a fan of quality items and this pen is art. The way it glides over the paper like a warm knife slicing through butter cannot be achieved from an office supply set.

  Damn I love a good pen.

  A knock on the door pulls my attention back to work.

  “Come in!” I yell. I have yet to find an assistant to do things
the way I like them, so I’m my own damn assistant until then.

  Dallas Parker, one of our cyber security guys, walks into the office. He’s about six-feet-two-inches tall, medium built, brown hair, hazel eyes, and he’s always frowning. You’d think he’d be a little more upbeat with what Oran pays these guys to stay on the up and up. He was placed here by Elmer and is one of the very few people who survived Oran’s clean sweep.

  “What’s up?” I ask him, back to business.

  He folds his body into the visitor’s chair and spreads open the manilla folder he has in front of him. We didn’t tell the employees that we’re rechecking Elmer’s dealings and weeding out the criminals, they just think it’s a company audit.

  “Okay, I’ve found several thousand dollars that have come from different accounts to funnel into one dummy corporation. That corporation then disperses to different accounts at the same bank. That is where the trail goes cold, if you are doing it legally, Oran would have to ask his father-in-law for access.”

  I sit back in my chair and study Dallas for a beat. There’s something off about his attitude. He’d mentioned Oran like it pains him to say his name. If I had to be dramatic, I’d say he hates him. He doesn’t appear to like me much either. A fraction of my brain wants to know why most of me is busy not giving a fuck. I don’t dwell on how someone feels about me as long as he or she does their job.

  Pulling the folder to me, I close it and prepare to dismiss him. “Good work. I’ll pass the message to Oran.”

  He stares at me for a beat as if he’s trying to figure something out. His jaw ticking tells me he has something he wants to say. He shakes his head as if thinking better of it, then moves along.