Persuading Her: A Modern Persuasion Retelling (Pemberley Estates Book 2)

by Keena Richins

"You ready for a vacation?" She teased. "Or did you forget to ask your boss?"

  "I asked. Bingley said I could take a week off whenever I wanted."

  "Good! Schedule it for next month, then."

  "And where is this vacation to be held? Did you get that grand home you were hoping for?"

  "Yes," she gushed. "It's so beautiful! I can't believe we snagged such a good deal. But it's, uh..." she hesitated, apparently unsure of something. "It's in Rhode Island."

  He bit back a groan. Out of all the fifty states, she could pick, she had to pick that one. Then again, she had good memories of the state. The friend who constantly had harbored them during their father's tumultuous times had kept her once their father died. They didn't force her into the foster system but had let her grow up in one home while he had been handed around like a yucky present no one wanted.

  "And where, exactly, in Rhode Island is this fancy home of yours?" He hoped it wasn't near her semi-adopted family. He had no desire to deal with them again.

  To his shock, it wasn't anywhere near close and he stopped dead in his tracks as she listed the address. "Where?!"

  Chapter 2

  Rick stood at the head of the circle driveway, hands curled into fists. He had to give his sister credit. Not only did she pick the one state he hated, but she also picked the one house he hated above the rest. Well, to be fair, the house itself he had nothing against. It was a beautiful home, styled in a reinvented colonial style, perched on a hill with views of several groves of trees round about it. It was big and beautiful, completely at odds with the international homes she'd been living in for the past few years, so he could see why she would love it. But the building had once housed a sweet, chocolate-eyed girl--a girl he would have moved heaven and earth to keep. Except she hadn't wanted him. Just like all those foster homes.

  The old anger pumped through him, the rage of being abandoned, time and again, coursing through him like steam in a sealed pot. He shook himself. He didn't need to blow up in front of his sister, especially since none of it was her fault. She had no idea of the memories this house represented. She'd been living an ocean away then, their relationship estranged, contact barely maintained with sporadic, awkward emails.

  He pulled back his shoulders, jutted his chin, and, as if he was about to storm a citadel, marched up the long driveway, trying to not remember the last time he'd done this. At least no fancy cars impeded his path this time; only a small rental car adorned the driveway. And no imposing father with a haughty sneer would answer the door, lacking any desire to hear the pleas of a poor, ex-foster boy. Since the chocolate-eyed girl was under eighteen, he had been forced to grovel for the man's permission to take her away. A waste of effort since the father and her godmother had already poisoned her against him.

  He shook himself again as if that could toss the old pain and humiliation out of his body. He'd been a lonely nineteen-year-old, then. It had been stupid to think he had found "the one" that would never leave his side--a loyal companion he could rely on as they fought against the world together. He was better off alone, anyway.

  Reaching the tall, wooden front door, he shoved the old feelings deep down inside. He was over it. Had been over it for years. And he wouldn't let that old rejection ruin his budding relationship with his sister. He needed all the family he could get.

  Donning a happy smile, he knocked on the solid oak door. Heavy steps sounded behind it and fear shot up Rick's back, the image of that sneering father filling his mind. But while the man who opened the door was about the same age and height as that long-ago father, his weathered-stained face lit up with a jovial grin.

  "Fredrick!" The man swept Rick into a massive bear hug, lifting him up, the forty-seven-year old's arms having more strength than Rick would have guessed. He deposited Rick back on his feet and gripped him by his shoulders, a huge grin on his face. "Welcome! So glad you could come!"

  Rick grinned, unable to hide the joy blossoming inside him, smothering the earlier fear and pain. Alfred Croft, his brother-in-law, had loved him the second they had met four years ago, accepting him like a blood sibling and never demanding anything in return. He had even helped Rick move up the military ranks and constantly raved about how proud he was of his young brother-in-law.

  "Come in, come in!" Alfred continued, nearly dragging him inside. "Sophy's about here somewhere in this big maze of a house. Sophy!" His yell echoed about the grand entrance, reverberating through the formal dining room and echoing up the grand staircase to the exposed loft above. "I've got you a present, love!"

  Without thinking, Rick glanced at the front room on the left, his eyes resting on the grand piano, half expecting to find a chocolate-eyed girl sitting there, a playful glint in her eyes and hands beckoning him to come closer. Irritated, he swept his gaze to the staircase, but memories of her running down those and into his arms popped to the surface. He focused on the formal dining table instead. It was new, its surface gleaming in the sunlight streaming from the big front windows, and didn't have any memories attached to it.

  "Al!" His sister's voice echoed from the exposed loft. "You sneaky, little devil! You already gave me a house-warming--" She stopped as she came into view, her eyes alighting on Rick. With a squeal, she raced down the stairs, very much like a much younger girl once did, and rushed to squeeze him into a big hug.

  "You came! I'm so glad!"

  Rick laughed. "You both said that. Did neither of you think I was going to come or something?"

  The two exchanged sheepish grins.

  "It was a worry," Sophy confessed. "You were unable to meet the past two years--"

  "I was in the military. You both can attest to how they dictate your time," Rick countered. Alfred had been in the navy long enough to retire from it. "And you kept changing countries. Getting visas on the fly is harder than you think."

  "You weren't in the military last year--"

  "It was a new job and I didn't want to jeopardize it, but, I'm here now, so let's get this party started."

  "I agree!" Al declared, clamping Rick on the back. "Sophy, let's show the boy your dream house."

  Rick flinched. The last thing he wanted was a tour of THIS house. He frantically tried to come up with an excuse and his eyes fell on the grand piano. "Who plays the piano?"

  "Oh, it came with the house," Al said.

  "All the furniture came with it," Sophy added. "We were very lucky about the whole thing."

  "All?" He glanced at the dining room table. He could have sworn that one was new. Then again, the last time he was here was eight years ago. It wasn't a stretch of the imagination for the stuffy father to have bought a new dining table during that time.

  "Yes, very lucky, cause now I don't have to pay a fortune to decorate it!" Al swept a hand over his brow. "Whew!"

  Sophy poked him. "It wouldn't have been that costly."

  "Would be if you had wanted a grand piano," Al retorted.

  "All right, that might be true. But, since we DO have it," she turned to Rick, "Al tells me my dear own brother can play it!"

  Rick forced a care-free smile. "I don't play that well."

  "That's not what your boys claimed," Al boomed, slapping him on the back. "They said you could play any piece put in front of you."

  Rick flushed. "If you don't mind me playing at a snail's pace, sure, but others play much better than me."

  "And," Al continued with a mischievous glint in his eye, "they said there was this one song you'd play over and over--"

  "You can't improve if you don't practice," Rick cut in as the old anger flared up. It had been a very special song for a someone who no longer cared about him.

  "Well, then," Al said, pushing him toward the piano. "Here's your chance."

  He immediately dug in his heels. "I haven't touched a piano in years." Neither did he have any intention to play that song again.

  "Al, stop teasing him. He doesn't want to play." She faced him. "I'm sorry, I was hoping you could teach me."

&n
bsp; He stared at her in shock. "YOU want to learn?"

  "I've always wanted to play. And," she linked her arm in with his, "It would make great sibling time. What do you say?"

  "I'm really not that good. You'd be better off with a proper teacher."

  She formed a pout, widening her eyes for a sad, puppy look.

  He laughed. "Are you begging?"

  "You could teach me that one song you played a lot--"

  He pulled away from her. "It was a duet and I don't remember the other side."

  The second he said duet, both of their eye slit up with a conniving glint. "Duet?"

  He wished he hadn't said that. "Is the piano the only reason you dragged me out here or is there more to this house?" He'd rather suffer through a tour than talk about the history of that song.

  Al and Sophy exchanged looks and Rick tensed, dreading the inevitable questions. But, to his surprise, they directed him away from the piano and dutifully gave him a tour of the home. He nodded and tried his best to seem interested, all the while trying to avoid ideas like where a chocolate-eyed girl may have sat. At least none of the walls had family pictures on them. He didn't know what he'd do if he suddenly had to face her, even if it was just a picture.

  "And here is your room," Sophy said as they toured the upstairs, stopping at the first doorway. "And the bathroom is down the hall. We're in the master room," she pointed to the end of the hallway, "which is exquisite."

  "Except for the mirrors!" Al quipped.

  "Mirrors?" Rick asked.

  "They were everywhere!" Al widened his eyes and clutched his chest as if he was talking about a field of murdered bodies. "I couldn't go anywhere without spotting myself in some corner. Near caused me a heart attack a few times."

  "Me, too," Sophy added with a laugh. "One time, at night, I thought I saw a bugler in the bathroom, but it turned out to be my own reflection!"

  "We moved them all to the garage," Al said. "That way, the intruder can know how well he looks before sneaking inside."

  "You should also put up cameras," Rick added. "Then the intruder can take selfies!"

  Al clapped his hands. "Rick, you're brilliant!"

  "No, no," Sophy cut in, laughing. "We are NOT going to do that. YOU are going to help Rick bring in his stuff."

  "Sophy! He's an army boy. He should be fine on his own, right?"

  Rick mocked a salute. "Yes, sir."

  "Then YOU will help me with grocery shopping."

  Al mocked a salute as well. "Yes, ma'am!"

  "Make yourself at home," Sophy called as they exited the room, arms linked around each other's waist.

  He followed after them, amused how they seemed lost in their conversation, unaware he was behind them. Memories stirred of a time when he'd once been like that, so absorbed in someone else he'd forgotten about everything around him. It would be nice to find a relationship like that again.

  Not wanting to interrupt, he waited at the top of the stairs until he saw their car pull out of the driveway, then hurried down the stairs and out to his own car parked on the street. Popping the trunk open, he grabbed his one suitcase and headed back inside for his room. Once there, he propped the suitcase on a chair, opened it and eyed the contents. Three weeks of clothing plus other necessities were arranged in a special order, allowing him to never unpack. Moving from foster home to foster home had installed a distaste for unpacking and military life had only aggravated it. Life rarely embraced him so he stayed on the move, beating rejection by rejecting it first. Eventually, he dreamed of one day finding a place to call home. But staying in one place had yet to appeal to him.

  That also included vacations, especially when he had empty schedules like right now. With nothing to do, his memories would rise from the dark pit he buried them. He paced the floor, agitated. He could always turn to work, except he was supposed to be on vacation. Besides, his work would require him to leave and that would hurt Sophy.

  But he couldn't sit and do nothing, especially in this house where every corner seemed to lurk with a dreaded memory. He paced for a minute before remembering the piano. The piano had more memories than he can count, but he had managed to battle most of them to death over the years. And the piano wasn't a person that could reject him. It was solely an instrument. And if Sophy wanted piano lessons, he'd best refresh himself.

  With that decided, he headed down the stairs, pleased to be doing something again.

  Chapter 3

  Twenty-four hours later and Rick was trying not to wear a hole in the plush carpet. Vacations, he decided, weren't his thing. Too much empty time. Sure, he had his sister and brother-in-law, but they were like newlyweds in their first house, often forgetting he was even around. Then again, they had been like that every time he had visited them. At first, it had bothered him. Insecure and fearing rejection, he had viewed their lack of constant attention as a sign of disinterest. And disinterest, in his experience, usually meant he would soon be sent packing.

  However, they had always been genuine, eager to get to know him and hear of his life, and never once condemning him. It took some time, but he realized their obsession with each other was a good thing. They had managed to find someone who would never leave them, who would always find them interesting no matter the years that passed. Their personality and traits complemented each other perfectly, uplifting and sustaining both. And now, instead of bitterness, he viewed them as the ideal relationship.

  Unfortunately, they had rented a house where he had once had that ideal relationship, where he'd found a bond, a connection, so close that it was like he'd found his other soul. Only to have it ripped away from him because he wasn't good enough.

  The old anger boiled inside and he wanted to punch something. Instead, he paced the long hallway, flipping through his emails, trying to focus his mind on anything other than the rejections of the past. He stopped at Bingley's email of leads. Hadn't there been one in Rhode Island?

  He pulled up the file, then cross-referenced the address with the map on his phone, and grinned. Luck was on his side. The lead was only an hour away, deep in the countryside, one of the few areas he hadn't been forced to visit during his unwilling foster tour of the state.

  He dialed the number and waited impatiently for someone to pick up. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. He gave a routine speech, explaining who he was and the purpose of the call, then hung up. If he truly was as lucky as Brandon believed, the phone would ring within the next minute. He strode down the hallway and back twice, but the phone didn't ring. He sighed. So much for his luck. They were probably out on a vacation or something. He checked the file, looking up the date of the application. Almost a year ago. The poor fool probably had given up on it--maybe even had sold the invention to someone else and was no longer on the market.

  With a sigh of defeat, he headed down the stairs to endure another dinner with his overly happy sister and husband and hoped the envy wouldn't shine in his eyes.

  "Rick!" Sophy cried as he strode into the kitchen. She stood by the counter, cutting carrots while Al stood at attention at the stove, a white chef hat sitting crookedly on his head and a big, white apron spread over his front. The aroma of tomato sauce and spices lingered in the air. "Did you finish that email?"

  "Yeah." He had needed an excuse to get away from the lovebirds and that had been it. Of course, the email had only taken three minutes, but he had dawdled upstairs for a full twenty.

  "Is everything okay with work?" Al asked, his eyes on the bubbling contents of his pot.

  "Yep, just doing some routine follow-ups." He paused, remembering Brandon's request. "Hey, have you two ever heard of something called Elisheba?"

  They both stopped to stare at him.

  "That's a funny name," Al declared.

  "What is it?" Sophy asked. "Sounds exotic."

  "It might be. I don't know myself." Not wanting to explain the history behind the name, he added, "It's a mystery I'm supposed to solve."

  "So, what, you a
sk random people about the name until you find someone who knows of it?" Al asked.

  "Something like that."

  "That sounds like a terrible job," Sophy said.

  "It's not so bad. I'll get some good reactions on the way, I'm sure."

  "And tell some good stories," Al said, his eyes back on his bubbling pot.

  "And here I thought your job was so orderly and pristine," Sophy said. "What other type of drama goes on?"

  "She means gossip," Al quipped.

  "No, no," Sophy protested but when Al raised an eyebrow, she gave a sheepish grin. "Okay, maybe it is."

  Rick grinned. "I'm sure there's lots of drama, but I tend to avoid it."

  "Oh," Sophy's shoulders sank and she gloomily cut the carrots.

  Rick tried not to laugh. He'd known his sister had a penchant for gossip, but he hadn't realized how much she loved it. "However, I know of some big drama going on at the moment."

  It was like he'd announced he was getting married. She immediately leaned forward, eyes alight with eager curiosity, "Oh?"

  "It pertains with my boss's boss, who happens to be his best friend, too."

  "Don't tell me they've become enemies?"

  "No, Bingley couldn't make an enemy if he tried." Rick pulled up a stool and sat at the counter. Sophy automatically handed him a knife and he started cutting carrots. "Now, most of this is coming from second-hand knowledge, mind you, but I hear Bingley's boss, a Mr. Darcy, is personally invested in one of our lawsuits. But one of our company's lawyers messed something up which made Darcy livid and, from what I've heard, he's a beast to be around when he's mad, so that old lawyer was sent packing. We now have a new lawyer who seems to be on top of everything."

  Sophy stared at him. "Sounds like the big drama is over?"

  "She means," Al cut in, "she's not impressed with your gossip."

  "Al!"

  Rick laughed. "Sorry, Sophy. It's the best I got."

  "Well, what about these lawsuits? Do you get them a lot?"

  "More often than you'd guess, usually by patent trolls."