Page 33 of Obsessed Heir

Barron

The unmistakabledun-dunsound effect from the opening credits ofLaw & Orderplays on the suite’s television as I stride through the door.

“Oh, that one,” Mother says enthusiastically from where she’s sitting on the couch. James is standing beside her, the remote in hand.

“Good evening, Barron,” she greets me with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s a nice change from coming home to an empty apartment every night.

“Hello, Mother.” I close the door behind me and glance across the room, taking stock of what’s happening. James and Mother are focused on the television while two attendants are putting the final touches on our dinner service.

Abigail, the ever-present thorn in my side, is nowhere in sight. She must be off somewhere, licking her wounds. Then again, knowing the scheming she’s capable of, she’s likely plotting another way to ingratiate herself to my mother.

Eyeing the table, I try to identify the tantalizingly rich aromas wafting through the air—garlic, thyme, butter, something heady and gamey underneath. “What’s on the dinner menu, James?” I ask, heading straight to the bar.

“Chef prepared a seared duck breast, served with roasted vegetables and a side of dressed greens,” he responds without missing a beat. “Dessert will be brought up with the coffee service.”

“An excellent choice,” I tell him with an approving nod. Then I shrug out of my suit jacket and drape it over the back of a nearby chair.

“I’ll let him know you’re pleased.” He lowers the volume. “This is your favorite series, Mrs. McClelland?” James asks, deftly dividing his attention between the conversation and the television screen.

While her friends were into the Mexican telenovelas, she’s been a devoutLaw & Orderfan ever since I can remember. It’s the reason I made sure it was available on board.

“I watch the older episodes.” The volume lowers. “It hasn’t been the same without Lenny.”

“It’s been a long time since he was on the show, Mother.” I drop a few ice cubes in a heavy crystal tumbler.

“Well, the series has been on the air for decades,” she counters. “I can’t be expected to like every character they’ve brought on over the years.”

I smile to myself as I uncork the expensive bottle of scotch. If only we could get rid of all the undesirable characters in our own lives as easily.

“Would you like a drink?”

I pour a generous amount of the amber liquid over the ice. Something tells me I’ll need a good, stiff drink before the end of the night.

“Oh, no, thank you, dear. Abby served me a ginger ale.”

Speaking of characters we should get rid of…

I turn toward the balcony doors, peering into the inky darkness beyond the rain-speckled glass as I swirl the scotch in my glass.

“Where is dear Abigail this evening?” I ask, unable to keep the snide edge from my tone.

“She isn’t feeling well, so she asked to be excused for the evening,” Mother explains, an undercurrent of sympathy coloring her words. “The poor dear is resting in her room.”

“I’m sure,” I mutter under my breath then toss back the drink.

The little manipulator likely wants to avoid having to face me after our earlier confrontation. With any luck, my words made her understand how unwelcome her presence is aboard this cruise.

I set the empty glass down on the bar top with a dull thud, fighting a rising tide of annoyance. I still can’t believe Mother has refused to sever ties with Abigail. I’ve laid out all the reasons she should cut her loose once and for all.

Our argument over the situation had been loud and scorching. Yet she kept the girl on as a personal assistant despite our original agreement.

“Did you say something, dear?” Mother’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

I paste on a neutral expression as I turn to face her. “I was asking if you were ready for dinner.”

“Yes, we’ve just been waiting for you to arrive,” she says, gesturing to James.

“I’ll assist her from the couch,” he says.

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