Page 105 of Hired Help

“Martin and I tried to do a deal together thirty years ago. The man’s a selfish prick.”

Harrison’s smile falters, then tunes back to a higher voltage. “That certainly sounds like him.” He holds his palms up in playful surrender. “But I’m not related to him except through Mum’s marriage, I promise.”

Dad steps forward, sliding an arm around my waist and tugging me close enough to kiss me on the cheek. The touch is perfunctory, robotic. A little girl inside me still bounces on her toes, trying to make herself taller, babbling to grab his attention, but most of me already knows better. His eyes run a rudimentary scan of my face, then he turns back to my companions.

“Alicia told me you were making a dreadful mistake, so I thought I might be overdue a visit.”

My hands curl into fists and I feel about a foot shorter. “Did she tell you anything else?”

“No, but I’m guessing the call you put through to Dafyn is related.”

Dafyn is his accountant. A man who still hasn’t called me back but perhaps he didn’t sense the need since my father has apparently taken it upon himself to investigate. A shock that still hasn’t fully registered.

My father turns the full glare of his attention on Daegan. “You’re the sex worker then, I take it. And you’re how old?”

“About ten years less of an age gap than between you and your current wife,” I interject, moving to stand in front of my dad before he can stride any farther into the house. “Did you just turn up to be rude or is there something else?”

He frowns. His large, fluffy eyebrows instantly turn menacing. “Don’t speak to me that way. I’m allowed to show concern for your welfare.”

“Is that what this is? No wonder it’s so unfamiliar.”

Dad’s lips twist while I bite hard on the inside of my cheek, trying not to unleash any further aggression. I don’t understand what’s happening, just that so many emotions are bubbling up that they’re taking a variety of weird and wonderful forms.

“Sorry,” I say, probably far too late. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Why don’t you take me on a tour? Alicia talked so fast, I barely heard half of what she had to say.”

“Sure.” I clutch my arms tightly around my midriff, jerking my head at the couch as I pass by Harrison, who takes the message, pulling on his dad’s arm when Daegan seems set to follow my whirlwind walk-through.

In each room, my father takes a few mental snapshots, then motions for me to lead him into the next space. “This isn’t a bad place,” he comments in the rear bedroom, which Daegan uses for storage. He knocks on the wide wooden mantel above a deactivated fireplace, then peers out the window into the sprawling but tidy back yard. “Great for kids if it wasn’t for the gang pad right next door.”

It doesn’t take long for our roles to switch. He leads me into each adjoining room while I hang back, trying to understand his motives. The last time I saw him was at his latest wedding. A small affair with three hundred guests. I’d have had better luck speaking with him if I’d attended his last divorce, instead.

When we emerge back in the dining room, Daegan is in the kitchen making a pot of tea while Harrison loiters by the front door, looking uneasy. He straightens as we walk closer and I smile, thinking for a moment he’s about to salute.

“You should have negotiated for a bigger discount,” my dad says, pulling out his phone and frowning at the screen, before tucking it away. “With the longevity of its last listing, you should have been able to knock the estate agent down by at least ten percent of the asking price.”

“I wanted to secure it.”

“Right.” He reaches out, laying his hand on my shoulder for a split second, just long enough for me to miss it when he pulls it away. “If this is how you’re wasting your trust fund, then I can’t get too excited over Alicia putting the other half to her own use.”

The sting of that barb sets deep. The thing he cares about most is money, but since my fund was already earmarked for me, it falls outside his remit. My chest pinches with that old, familiar ache.

“That’s not what I cared about. It was more the faking porn using my image and distributing it without my consent.”

His eyes widen, staring at me for such a long time that the weight of his gaze becomes exponentially heavier.

“She and Dafyn left out that bit. Send the details through and I’ll have my investigator tidy it away.” His phone buzzes again but he doesn’t reach for it this time. “You should never have bought this property. Next time, check with Antoine and he’ll be able to give you an assessment. There’s no money to be made from this place.”

I could argue that a home doesn’t have to be churning out profit, that it’s not the primary concern, but whistling into a gale would have more effect.

“As you so eloquently pointed out, there’s a gang pad next door. A subsidiary of the head-hunters.”

“Right.” My dad’s interest dissolves as quickly as it appeared. His blank stare passes over me as though I don’t exist more than a painting on a wall or an image on a television screen. “You might think that’s a feature but in real estate terms—”

“The gang has experienced fifteen percent growth year on year for the past four years. Their property is already straining at the seams.”

He shakes his head with amusement. “Great. Not only a gang house but a crowded gang house full of tension. Sounds desirable.”

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