Page 12 of The Bargain

I sighed.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. I never asked for your help.”

I threw her a look. It was true, she hadn't. “You said you didn’t know Edward was a Beaumont.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I'd known, I wouldn’t have come.”

“Yes, you would. You people always do.”

“Wow, a way to make a generalization there.”

I chuckled, but it lacked humor. I knew she couldn’t be that naive, not with the life she led. She literally made money using her body. No, she was just a skilled liar. I needed to be more watchful.

“This is where you live?” she asked with awe looking at all the greenery, spotless streets and big expensive houses in the distance.

“Yes,” I replied curtly as I pressed the button for the iron gates, which were adorned with the B of Beaumont. This house was nice, yes, but it wasn’t even the biggest in the area despite us being the richest family in the town - hell, in the state and quite possibly on the east coast.

‘Live’ was also a bit of a stretch. I barely came here anymore. There were too many memories, too many nightmares.

This was the first time I had been back in over eight months. Staying here for an extended amount of time was something I looked forward to about as much as spending some time with the woman sitting beside me.

My parents had visited this house for a fundraiser when my mother was pregnant with me, and she'd fallen in love with the gardens. My father could never refuse her anything and so had purchased it for her.

If she could see the gardens now...

“This is magnificent,” Opal whispered, her eyes opened wide in awe.

“For you, evidently,” I replied after parking in front of the six-car garage.

“Yes, evidently.” She turned toward me and the winter sun lit her eyes, showing that they were not the dull brown I'd thought they’d been under the poor lighting of her dump-of-a-studio apartment. Rather, they were a rich honey, eerily quite similar in color to my signature drink - honey bourbon.

“This is small as far as estates are concerned.” I got out of the car as a couple of our staff hurried towards us. I gestured to the trunk for them to get her bags. “It only has ten bedrooms.”

She snorted. “Only. Wow. I guess I'll have to slum it.”

This almost made me smile...almost. She had a sense of auto-derision I hadn't expected.

I looked at her as she unlocked the child from his seat. Did she really have to dress like a twelve-year-old?

I sighed. "Come on. Let's go inside."

"You’re sighing a lot, you know," she remarked as we walked up the wide stone steps to the house.

"I never used to. I guess that’s your effect on me." It was not a lie. She was aggravating me. Everything I had expected her to do, she'd done the opposite. It would have been so easy for her to just take the money. Why did she need to make it so difficult? What did she expect to win coming here? Trap me? I snorted internally. I was neither high or stupid. An overused, cheap, junky whore wouldn’t make my list of potential girlfriends. Or maybe she wanted to steal from me? I shook my head. Well, good luck with that one. I had cameras everywhere and I'd be making sure they were monitored closely.

As I took the stairs up to the first floor, I turned to warn her about the security system, but she was not beside me.

I turned around to find her still in the middle of the entrance hall, the child clutched closely to her chest as she took in the room in a sort of reverent awe you'd expect from an art lover visiting the Sistine chapel for the first time. It was not really for a middle-range mansion.

I detailed the hall as well. I had walked it thousands of times, so it didn't really register anymore. The old patterned wooden flooring, the high engraved ceiling, the portrait of my mother hanging proudly in the entrance - the last gesture of an old fool full of love and grief...

“Could you please move!” I snapped, colder than I'd intended. Thoughts of my mother often had this effect on me.

Startled, Opal looked at me, the hurt in her eyes evident.Ah, well, go show someone who cares...

“I have a conference call soon.” I most likely didn’t, but I was a busy man. It was possible.

“You have a conference call at night?” she asked curiously as she picked up the pace to meet me on the stairs.

---