you down in the most effective way possible. It’s too
bad she never had a mind for business—she could have been a formidable
negotiator.
“I’m going to try and find Jamison,” I tell Cordelia,
ignoring her barb, “Have you seen him around?”
“He’s probably holed up in Daddy’s study, emptying out the
liquor cabinet,” Delia says disdainfully, while snatching a glass of wine from
a passing tray. “What else is new?”
I thank her for the lead and hurry away, relieved to put
some distance between us. Cordelia’s waif-like good looks and airy, girlish
voice can be deceiving. She may play the delicate flower, luring those around
her into a false sense of security, but she can be one ruthless lady when wants
to be. Maybe I should be thanking my lucky stars that she’s been content to
leave the family business to those who are actually interested in working for a
living.
Crap. There I go with the judgement again.
The chatter of voices dies out as I make my way deeper in
the King mansion. I’ve come to know this house quite well in my life, as
sprawling as it is. I can’t help but wonder, as I search for Jamison, what will
become of this place now that Loudon and Priscilla are gone. And by extension,
I suppose, what will happen to my dad. At fifty-six years old, he’s still
working hard as the groundskeeper here. But if the estate falls into new hands,
what will become of him then? I shake the thought out of my mind as best I can.
No use worrying just yet. At least, not about that.
I pad up the richly carpeted grand staircase up to the second
floor. Glancing down the long hallway, I spot a sliver of golden light splayed
across the ground from the crack in a door. The door to Loudon’s study. What
do you know? I think to myself, walking slowly toward the light, Cordelia
got it right.
Feeling a bit like a spying little kid, I peer through the
crack in the study door. My chest clenches painfully as I spot Jamison, backlit
by the huge windows looking out toward the bay. His broad, strong shoulders
look knotted with tension as he stands there, scotch glass in hand. Taking a
deep, steadying breath, I push open the door take a step toward him.
“Mind pouring me one?” I ask softly.
Jay glances sharply over his shoulder, his jaw clenched
tightly. But his expression softens when he spots me stepping into the room.
Looks like my intrusion isn’t totally unwelcome.
“Yeah. Sure,” he replies, his voice horse.
I study my old rival as he goes to the midcentury bar cart
and pours me a generous glass of scotch. He looks as though he’s been awake for
days, and on quite the bender if I’m being honest. But even in his disheveled,
exhausted state, he’s still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen up close. I
step up beside him as he hands me my glass, noting his pronounced stubble, his
tousled blonde hair, his jet black suit… just like the one he was wearing in my
sexy dream the other night.
Christ Leah, I berate myself, Don’t you dare start
fantasizing about this man at his parents’ memorial service. I mean it.
“Thanks,” I say, clinking my glass to his, “To Loudon and
Priscilla.”
“Here, here,” he says gruffly, draining and promptly
refilling his glass.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming to look for you,” I go on,
wondering how many scotches he’s put away today.
“Someone was bound to,” he laughs roughly, walking back toward
the window as I trail behind, “I guess I’m not great at playing the good son,
even now.”
“Don’t say that,” I tell him, “Of course you’re a good son.”
“I was about to make a last ditch effort to be just that,”
he says wryly, glancing down at me with those searing blues, “I really thought
I could make it work, joining the family business and all. Getting a ‘real
job’, as Dad would say.”
“I know he was hard on you,” I say softly, laying a hand on
Jay’s arm, “But it’s only because he wanted so badly to understand
bad she never had a mind for business—she could have been a formidable
negotiator.
“I’m going to try and find Jamison,” I tell Cordelia,
ignoring her barb, “Have you seen him around?”
“He’s probably holed up in Daddy’s study, emptying out the
liquor cabinet,” Delia says disdainfully, while snatching a glass of wine from
a passing tray. “What else is new?”
I thank her for the lead and hurry away, relieved to put
some distance between us. Cordelia’s waif-like good looks and airy, girlish
voice can be deceiving. She may play the delicate flower, luring those around
her into a false sense of security, but she can be one ruthless lady when wants
to be. Maybe I should be thanking my lucky stars that she’s been content to
leave the family business to those who are actually interested in working for a
living.
Crap. There I go with the judgement again.
The chatter of voices dies out as I make my way deeper in
the King mansion. I’ve come to know this house quite well in my life, as
sprawling as it is. I can’t help but wonder, as I search for Jamison, what will
become of this place now that Loudon and Priscilla are gone. And by extension,
I suppose, what will happen to my dad. At fifty-six years old, he’s still
working hard as the groundskeeper here. But if the estate falls into new hands,
what will become of him then? I shake the thought out of my mind as best I can.
No use worrying just yet. At least, not about that.
I pad up the richly carpeted grand staircase up to the second
floor. Glancing down the long hallway, I spot a sliver of golden light splayed
across the ground from the crack in a door. The door to Loudon’s study. What
do you know? I think to myself, walking slowly toward the light, Cordelia
got it right.
Feeling a bit like a spying little kid, I peer through the
crack in the study door. My chest clenches painfully as I spot Jamison, backlit
by the huge windows looking out toward the bay. His broad, strong shoulders
look knotted with tension as he stands there, scotch glass in hand. Taking a
deep, steadying breath, I push open the door take a step toward him.
“Mind pouring me one?” I ask softly.
Jay glances sharply over his shoulder, his jaw clenched
tightly. But his expression softens when he spots me stepping into the room.
Looks like my intrusion isn’t totally unwelcome.
“Yeah. Sure,” he replies, his voice horse.
I study my old rival as he goes to the midcentury bar cart
and pours me a generous glass of scotch. He looks as though he’s been awake for
days, and on quite the bender if I’m being honest. But even in his disheveled,
exhausted state, he’s still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen up close. I
step up beside him as he hands me my glass, noting his pronounced stubble, his
tousled blonde hair, his jet black suit… just like the one he was wearing in my
sexy dream the other night.
Christ Leah, I berate myself, Don’t you dare start
fantasizing about this man at his parents’ memorial service. I mean it.
“Thanks,” I say, clinking my glass to his, “To Loudon and
Priscilla.”
“Here, here,” he says gruffly, draining and promptly
refilling his glass.
“I hope you don’t mind my coming to look for you,” I go on,
wondering how many scotches he’s put away today.
“Someone was bound to,” he laughs roughly, walking back toward
the window as I trail behind, “I guess I’m not great at playing the good son,
even now.”
“Don’t say that,” I tell him, “Of course you’re a good son.”
“I was about to make a last ditch effort to be just that,”
he says wryly, glancing down at me with those searing blues, “I really thought
I could make it work, joining the family business and all. Getting a ‘real
job’, as Dad would say.”
“I know he was hard on you,” I say softly, laying a hand on
Jay’s arm, “But it’s only because he wanted so badly to understand
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