Page 91 of Hired Help

“If I’m continually going to be compared to Mr let’s-be-open-and-honest-with-each-other over here, I figure it’s time I put some effort in.”

She laughs, squeezing my biceps tighter. “And they say competition is bad for relationships.”

“Healthy relationships,” Dad corrects her with a smile. “We’re all disqualified.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR

BROOKE

I standin Alicia’s driveway watching as the driver reverses into a small cul-de-sac on the left-hand side to wait. Through the passenger window, I see the shapes of Harrison and Daegan in the back seat. Judging by the animation of their hands, their discussion’s already grown heated. Another thirty minutes, maybe an hour, and I might return to find them dead at each other’s hands.

And the moment I think that, Daegan throws his arm around Harrison in an awkward hug.

I return my gaze to the door in front of me, steeling my spine. Now I can’t put off thinking about the confrontation any longer, my breaths start short-changing me. I raise my arm to knock and my hand trembles. It takes me flexing my fingers twice before I can complete the action.

“Brooke?” Alicia smiles broadly as she answers the door, pulling me into a one-armed hug, the other hand holding onto a glass of something green and probably far too healthy for my tastebuds to handle. “What’re you doing here, love? Is there a school holiday I’ve forgotten about?”

“No, nothing like that. Just wanted to pay a visit.”

She swings the door wider, inviting me inside. The enormous house is designed to impress rather than offer comfort. A point reinforced by the wide expanse of marble that my heels tippy-tap across as I hurry to keep pace with my stepmother.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she announces, flinging open the swinging door to let me enter first. “These days, I can’t be bothered to use the dining room. With just me and Warren here, it’s ridiculous.”

“Warren eats with you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Your privilege is showing. Of course, I eat with him. The maids only work until two and the gardener barely ever ventures into the house. It’s either that or eat alone.”

I take a seat and watch her take large slurps from her smoothie in between regaling me with gossip. It never occurred to me she’d be lonely living here.

The house had been awarded to her during the divorce. She’d wanted the penthouse apartment Dad used in central Auckland, but he reverse-psychology-ed his way into gifting her this white elephant instead.

It’s remote, the surrounding land too steep and filled with too much loose shale to be built upon. Great when you’re an elderly retiree who values their peace. Terrible if you’re a woman in your thirties, wanting to celebrate her newly single status with a string of nights out on the town.

She can’t even sell the place to buy something more appropriate. Although she has full usage rights, the title is held by Dad’s trust.

If she leaves, she gets nothing.

“Is that a hickey?” she asks with another of her bright smiles while I slap my hand to my neck far too slowly. “Don’t worry. I remember being eighteen.” She drifts into a daydream, smiling at images only she can see, then gives a shake. “Sorry. It’s good you’re not dwelling over Harrison. At your age, you should play the field. You’re a gorgeous girl.”

She appears genuinely pleased to see me. Enough that I feel evil for harbouring the thoughts I do. But there’s no escaping the plain facts. She gave Harrison the link to the sham video. While I wept and wailed and struggled to think of answers for why he’d left, she hugged me, comforted me, but never volunteered what she’d done.

But there’s only two reasons I can think of for her to give Harrison that link, and the simplest answer is usually the right one. And with anything connected to my family, the simplest answer is money. It all comes back to our obscene amounts of money.

“Actually, I’m back with Harrison,” I say, watching her from beneath my lashes as I fake interest in my phone. “Whatever got him flustered at term break has blown over, thank goodness.”

Her lips press together so hard, they thin to straight lines.

“Not just him,” I add, an unexpected flutter of enjoyment hitting me. “I’ve asked his dad to marry me. We’re forming a”—I wave my hand in the air—“a what-do-you-call-it? A throuple.”

She shifts in her seat, leaning forward, then pitching back again. “That’s not really legal, is it?”

“It’s not illegal to be involved with more than one man at a time.”

“I meant the wedding thing. You can’t actually marry two men, can you?”

“Not yet. I’ll start with Daegan and hopefully the legislation catches up soon so I can marry Harrison as well.”

“Right.” Her face flushes and she runs a hand through her hair, blowing away some loose strands. “I don’t mean to be judgemental, but—”

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