Page 2 of Sweet Little Thing

“I made it the exact same way I do every morning,” I replied. Arguing with Portia wasn’t a wise idea, but sometimes I couldn’t help myself. Like now, at this very moment.

She started to open her mouth. The front door noise stopped her. Voices were loud, laughter ringing down the hall, along with several footsteps. Confused, I glanced back at Portia. She sat up straight and hissed, “Shit! He’s already here!”

I assumed this was her son, whom she was referring to, since no one ever came walking into this house unannounced. One would have to know the code to get through her privacy gate and the code for the front door lock.

Portia popped to her feet and looked frantic. “He brought company. I need to get dressed.” She hurried to the back stairs leading up to the master bedroom. “Feed them. Take care of them,” Portia said before she disappeared around the corner. Her black coffee sat forgotten on the table. I wasn’t ready to face more Van Allan’s. The one I knew wasn’t pleasant. I’d hoped I wouldn’t see much of this second Van Allan. I knew I’d have to serve him meals, but other than that, I was going to stay out of his way. Going to greet him and the others he had brought with him was not what I had planned.

I walked down the short hallway separating the kitchen from the massive dining room. I thought I could hide in the kitchen until the son and whoever was with him went upstairs to find his mother. If he knew his mother at all, he’d never search the kitchen. Portia was afraid of that room. It had food in it, and she feared looking at food might make her gain a pound.

Just as I entered, the opposing door swung open, and there he was. I’d seen photos around the house. I knew Jasper Van Allan was handsome. However, seeing him in person, his messy blonde hair, as if his hand had just run through it, defined jawline, high cheekbones, the muscular build of his bodyhighlighted by a deep golden tan, I realized the photos hadn’t done him justice. He looked exactly like the Ken doll I had been given once for Christmas by the Salvation Army.

“My mother doesn’t eat, but she knew I was coming, so there should be something in here. Help yourselves, but if there’s some of Ms. Charlotte’s peanut butter pie, it’s mine. Don’t touch it.”

He was grinning as he turned around. Straight white teeth making the perfection of his face even more startling. Then he saw me. He paused as his gaze trailed down me slowly. I didn’t like to be studied, but I also didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t looked past him at the others, although I knew they were there. I dropped my eyes to the floor and waited on him to speak first.

“You’re not Ms. Charlotte,” his words finally broke the silence.

No, I wasn’t; I was her replacement. She’d retired to move to Florida with her granddaughter. I was going to tell him that when he released an unamusing laugh: “Guess I won’t be getting that peanut butter pie.”

“If you’d like breakfast, I could fix that,” I replied, praying they’d leave.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked sounding disgusted and verging on irate.

I might have thought he was attractive for a moment, but that moment was officially gone.

“Beulah Edwards. I replaced Ms. Charlotte. She’s retired. Moved to Florida.” I wanted to say more, for example, to inform his privileged, cocky ass that I was as good as Ms. Charlotte. Though I wasn’t sure that statement was true, so I bit my tongue to keep from blurting it out. He looked like he might resort to violence. Which was odd coming from a Ken doll look alike.

“Seriously? Jesus, has my mother turned back to the whiskey?”

The others behind him laughed. This was hilarious to them. Straightening my shoulders, I pinned my glare towards all ofthem. They were just copies of Jasper- tall, athletic, and wealthy. I didn’t have to study them to know they all believed me beneath them. That my position here made it okay to laugh at me. There wasn’t a day in any of their lives that they had gone hungry. Never had they worried about where they were going to sleep or get their next meal. They were all entitled, fearless assholes. No pressure, no stress, because everything was given, and chasing pleasures was all they knew. I didn’t usually hate anyone for this, but this bunch was making me reconsider if the wealthy had a disease that they handed off to their children.

I then noticed that one wasn’t laughing. He looked and dressed like them, but his shoulders were broader, his face more angular and masculine. There was none of the boyish charm that I had first seen in Jasper’s face. Instead of amused, he appeared bored, as if this were a waste of his time. In a way, strange to say, that was more demeaning than the laughter. With barely a flick of his dark gaze he had made me feel more unwelcomed than Jasper’s taunts.

“Just nightly, Merlot,” I replied, realizing Jasper had been waiting on me to respond. “Three to four glasses, depending on her mood. No whiskey. At least I’ve never seen any.” I wanted to appear as bored as the dark-haired guy behind Jasper. Unaffected, all a waste of my time. Because it was.

Jasper Van Allan smirked. “Well, Beulah, can you make an omelet? Is there any bacon in this house?”

Portia hadn’t given me a list of things to buy for him, but I had tried to get items at the grocery store that I thought a twenty-three-year-old guy might want to eat. “Yes, to both,” I answered.

“Portia must’ve had food brought in.” He then turned to look back at the guys. “We can take our things to the pool house.”

That wasn’t where Portia was expecting him to stay. Nor was she expecting Jasper to arrive with guests. Neither would make her very happy. She’d gobble additional tiny white pills, whichshe already ate like candy, once she found out Jasper’s plans.

“The pool house hasn’t been prepared. Your mother wanted you to stay in your room.” He was early, and his room wasn’t prepared yet, but I knew the pool house would freak her out.

Jasper then paused from his retreat then turned back around to look at me. I didn’t like the glint of amusement in his eyes or the touch of pity resting there. “Since Portia doesn’t own this house, it doesn’t matter what she wants.” He didn’t enlighten me any further. He left, and the others followed. I stood there trying to decide if I should be concerned by what he’d just said. Heidi’s security was on Portia’s shoulders. We depended on Portia exclusively.

Who owned this house?

Chapter

Two

Beulah

While making omelets, I tried to figure out what he meant by Portia not owning this house. Who else would own this house? Was she in financial trouble? That was my main concern. I needed her. We needed her.

“How many are there?” Portia asked, now dressed as she swept into the kitchen, appearing ready for a fashion shoot.

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