Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
“ A ah James, Niall, welcome to my humble home,” Granger Abernathy greeted them a few hours later in the overly formal drawing room where Cade and his father had been left to cool their heels for nearly half an hour, with forced bonhomie and a huge smile.
The rest of the Hawthorne team had been asked to make their own dinner arrangements, because Abernathy had insisted that this night be only for family. No attorneys, assistants, or advisors. Which had been damned rude, considering they were all his guests.
Now, Cade watched in distaste as Abernathy spread his arms, as if to embrace James Hawthorne, but Cade’s father’s expression and general demeanor exuded so much hostility, the man wisely thought the better of it and dropped his arms. He settled instead for a thump on the taller, broader man’s back, as if they were old chums happily reuniting.
Cade nearly laughed at his father’s glare… his dad was about five years the other man’s junior, but looked at least a decade younger, and a hell of a lot fitter. Granger Abernathy wa s skeletally thin, with an oily gray combover that fooled absolutely nobody, hunched bony shoulders, and a pallid skin tone. Cade privately thought he looked like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons . A sentiment he hadn’t realized his father shared, until the old man had referred to Abernathy as that Mr. Burns looking cocksucker in a voice note a couple of weeks ago.
“I trust you’ve both made yourself at home? My home is your home and all that. I heard you put on quite the show for my girls earlier, young man,” he said, directing a lewd smile in Cade’s direction, while nudging his glowering dad suggestively in the ribs. “They’re quite taken with your boy. Allie is especially infatuated. We might have ourselves a little romance blooming, hey James?”
Cade had barely exchanged half a dozen words with the two women after exiting the pool. He’d been appalled to discover them both topless, and while he was by no means a prude, he’d found the entire scene distasteful and off-putting. Romance had definitely been the furthest thing on his mind when he’d grabbed up his towel and fled the scene with indecent haste.
Cade was a man of few words, and one of the reasons he’d always enjoyed having his younger siblings around was because they were chatty and sociable to the extent that people didn’t notice that Cade rarely spoke.
Nox was especially brilliant at filling awkward silences, and because he knew that Cade didn’t enjoy socializing and forced chitchat, he’d always picked up the conversational slack for him. And while Cade knew Nox needed this time away, he still felt a bitter pang of betrayal every time he found himself in situations like these without his brother there to act as a buffer.
He froze when Abernathy slung a chummy, skinny—surprisingly strong—arm around his shoulders, using his free hand to pat Cade on his chest with a familiarity that made his skin crawl .
“What do you say to that, Niall? Imagine uniting our dynasties. We’d be a force to be reckoned with, right? What do you think, James? One of my girls with one of your boys? I’d even knock a hundred million off the Lambecrete price tag. An engagement gift for the youngsters.”
Cade couldn’t tell if he was serious, and he slanted a narrow-eyed glance at his dad, as he tactfully stepped out of Abernathy’s grip.
“I’m happy with our agreement as it stands,” his father gritted out, his voice frigid. “I don’t see the need to sell one of my children like livestock to get a better fucking price on a deal I signed off on half a year ago.”
Abernathy’s smile faded to a grimace and his eyes went cold as he shrugged.
“Never say never. They’re young and attractive. Stranger things have happened. Anyway, why don’t we join the rest of my family for dinner? I’ve invited my sister’s son as well. You’ve met him—Richard Wilson?—my right-hand man.”
Yeah, they’d met Dick Wilson alright. He was very much a younger version of Abernathy. Lanky, weedy, slimy—and every other negative adjective Cade could possibly think of. Cade always had the irrepressible urge to wipe down every surface that oily fucker touched every time he sidled into Cade’s office.
The thought of sharing a meal with that guy was frankly nauseating.
They lagged behind Abernathy as he led the way to the dining room, and Cade exchanged another look with his father, wondering how the old man would take it if he cried off and instead joined the rest of the team in whatever plans they’d made for the night. He swallowed down a derisive snort, imagining his dad’s outrage and incredulity if he did exactly that, before swiping a hand over his face in an attempt to neutralize his expression.
“Don’t ye fookin’ dare!” The growled aside came from his father and the fact that his accent had thickened on the warning told Cade he meant business.
He slanted a quick unrepentant grin at the older man before shrugging. “Someone has to stick around to babysit you, old man.” His own low voice was practically identical to his father’s raspy growl.
“On second thought, fuck off, will you?” his father suggested, the corners of his mouth turning up while a glimmer of unholy glee lit his eyes. “I don’t mind spending some quality time with old Burns over there.”
“Fuck’s sake, don’t call him that to his face, okay?” Cade warned, suddenly serious as he pictured his dad doing exactly that. “I’d just as soon get this goddamned deal done and dusted this weekend. Any glimmer of an insult and he’ll drag it out relentlessly.”
“Aye? Then you’d better marry y’self off to one of his daughters, hadn’t you? I get the distinct impression that that’s what he’s been after from the very beginning.”
That comment didn’t deserve a response, and he gave his dad a jaundiced look as they walked into a huge, ostentatious dining room, dominated by a massive banquet table that appeared to be at least twenty-four feet long. A handful of people were already seated on one end of the ridiculous piece of furniture.
The room was decorated with cherubs and statues of Greek gods… everything was gilt and marble, with a massive crystal chandelier suspended above the lavishly decorated table. It was all so tacky and Cade winced, feeling like an outrageous snob for scoffing at the gaudy display of new wealth. Yeah, money couldn’t buy taste, and if this was what Abernathy and his family liked, then live and let live and all that. Cade felt petty for instinctively cringing at the gaudiness of it all.
Cade’s gaze fled—in almost panicked defense—from the overwhelming amount of tawdry flash on display to the people sitting at the table. Abernathy naturally took the head—Jesus, was that an actual fucking throne ?—and sat down in his gold and red velvet seat. While his daughters sat on his left—wearing dresses cut so low their tits threatened to spill out and offer themselves up as the entree dish—with that weedy motherfucker Wilson seated between them. There were three empty place settings on the right of Abernathy and it was to these empty spaces which the smiling maid ushered Cade and his father. An ornately uniformed man—whom Cade could only assume was a footman of sorts—held out a chair for his father and then one for Cade. He sat down and diverted his frowning gaze at the empty place setting between him and his dad.
“Are you expecting another guest?” James Hawthorne boomed and Abernathy laughed dismissively while his daughters tittered and Wilson smirked.
“A guest? Hardly. Just the girl, she’s likely frittering around making certain everything is running smoothly. She lives for shit like that. It’s good she’s found a way to make herself useful, what with everything we all do for her, y’know? She’s useless at just about anything else, to be honest.”
James and Cade exchanged mystified looks. Were they supposed to know who the fuck the man was talking about? As far as he knew the only people in attendance this weekend were Abernathy’s daughters and—later—his legal team.
The only girl he could think of was possibly the stepdaughter, but the last time Cade had checked the teen was at boarding school in Switzerland. As far as he could recall, there’d been some vague inferences about the girl’s mental competency, and even when she came of age, it was likely her stepfather would continue as her proxy in all business matters.
Abernathy clapped—he actually clapped —and a procession of uniformed maids entered the dining room with trays of food. Cade was too busy gawking at the tacky display of excess to notice the small, neat figure following the line of servants. The first he knew of her presence was from the movement to his left. He glanced over to see a slender woman in a drab gray skirt and cream blouse slipping into the chair beside his. He half stood, wanting to assist her into her chair, but his father had beaten him to it.
His gaze travelled up to the bent head and he froze in horror, when he instantly recognized that hair. The long silvery mass was braided and twisted into an intricate coronet around her head. It was the kind of otherworldly style into which he imagined an elf from Middle Earth would magic their hair. The delicate length of pale blue ribbon woven through the elaborate crown on her head, appeared to be her only adornment.
She wore no make-up, dressed like the housekeeper—fuck was she the housekeeper? Would Abernathy actually invite his housekeeper to dinner?—and wore no jewelry.
“You’re late,” Abernathy snapped, his voice taut with something that resembled dislike.
She hadn’t looked at Cade, not once, instead she kept her gaze downcast. That display of humility was starting to irritate him immensely.
“Yes, I’m sorry, we had a complication with the main course.”
“Resolved, I hope?”
“Of course.” She reached for her napkin, the slightest of tremors in her hands, and smoothed the fabric onto her lap.
“Good. Uh, gentleman, this is my stepdaughter, Fern. I invited her to join us tonight so she’d have an inkling as to where her mother’s company is going. And since the sale is to her benefit, it’s important she bears witness to everything I do to keep her trust healthy.”
Cade’s brain stalled. It literally stuttered to a complete and utter halt at the shocking information. Yes, he’d known that Abernathy was the sole trustee of his late wife’s estate, in absolute control of his stepdaughter’s immense wealth and assets until she came of age, but he’d always believed said daughter was much younger. Sixteen at the most. Which was why he hadn’t bothered to do any real research on her.
He wasn’t sure what to make of this. Had she known exactly who he was to her and her business at the gala two months ago? If so, had there been an ulterior motive to what had happened between them?
He stared at her profile, willing her to fucking look at him, but she didn’t and that infuriated him.
“Fern?” He wasn’t sure why he said her name. He sounded incredulous, questioning, and he couldn’t be certain if the exclamation came from some innate desire to have her confirm that it was indeed her or a prompt to get her to finally meet his eyes.
“A ridiculous name, right?” Abernathy guffawed, mistaking the reason behind his exclamation. “Sounds like something a new age hippy would name their kid. Although, to be fair, Maeve with her bleeding heart and her desire to save the earth was definitely a hippy.” He chuckled heartily and Cade’s contempt of the man increased a thousandfold.
Cade happened to like the name Fern.
“I happen to like the name Fern.” He couldn’t believe he’d actually said the words out loud and in such a contemptuous tone of voice. He needed to tread very, very carefully here.
His ever-perceptive father’s gaze sharpened on his face but Cade ignored the old man, keeping his attention fixed on that neat, unremarkable little profile. Her eyelids flickered, and her head jerked slightly. He watched her slender throat bob as she swallowed.
“Fern won’t interfere with our negotiations, of course. The girl is lucky to have me. She’s not very good with money or responsibility. Are you, Fern?” He raised his voice on the question, the way an ignorant arsehole would speak to someone who was mentally challenged and that just raised Cade’s hackles even more.
He truly despised this fucking prick.
That was when Cade recalled the other thing the man had said, about inviting her to join them for dinner. Didn’t she usually have dinner with her family? Why would she need an invitation?
And why the fuck was her stepfather still in control of her trust when she had to be at least twenty-five already?
“Ugh, Fern the scallops are rubbery,” one of her stepsisters—Cade couldn’t tell one from the other—suddenly whined, and Cade blinked. Why were they treating her like the hired help? What was wrong with these people?
“Are they?” She— Fern —sounded genuinely upset at the prospect, as she stared down at her plate of coquilles St Jacques . “I’m so sorry, you must have received a bad one. Why don’t we get you a new?—”
“ Mine’s rubbery too,” the other one sneered, before pushing her plate aside in disdain.
“Oh. I—I’ll ask Chef to fix…”
“The scallops are perfect.” James Hawthorne’s gruff voice interrupted abruptly, surprising Cade somewhat. His father rarely championed anyone. He preferred gutsiness, people who could stand up for themselves. Fern Lambert—seemingly fragile and vulnerable—appeared to be the family doormat. And James Hawthorne had no patience or respect for doormats.
Cade—even though his appetite had disappeared at the sight of her—forced himself to pick up his fork and take a nibble as well.
“Mine are great too,” he said, mostly in the hopes of getting her to finally look at him. He was rewarded with the slightest of head tilts and brief flicker of her eyes in his direction. He glowered over at the two women seated across from him, before stating firmly. “You must have received a couple of bad scallops.”
Cade was the one who nodded at a nearby server to disappear their plates and replace them with fresh scallops. The man obeyed without question, but Cade could swear he caught the glimmer of a smile on the server’s stoic face. If nothing else, Fern Lambert appeared to have the affection and respect of the staff here.
Abernathy, oblivious to—or more likely uncaring of—the seething tension around the table tucked into his entree with gusto and regaled them with the story of how he’d nabbed his award-winning chef away from at least three other extremely wealthy interested parties.
God, he was a tedious blowhard.
As the dreadful meal progressed, Cade remained acutely aware of the woman in the chair beside his. She hadn’t spoken since the entree course, and none of her family members paid any attention to her either. Instead, she kept her gaze fixated on the food in front of her, and studiously ignored both Cade and his father.
His brain was seething, as he thought back to the night they’d met and tried to recall what about her had initially grabbed his attention. Had she deliberately sought him out? No, he’d approached her. But had she done something subtle to catch his eye? He’d been intrigued by the way she’d shied from the limelight. He’d liked that… had appreciated it. It had been idiosyncratic enough to make him want to know more about her.
But had she known he would react that way? Was this all some elaborate ruse hatched by Abernathy to somehow fuck up this deal? He couldn’t figure it out. And didn’t like feeling like he’d been manipulated. And seeing her here this weekend was too much of a coincidence to be anything but deliberate.
But to what end?
His gaze was boring holes into her skin. She’d hoped to speak with him before dinner. Had hated to simply appear because she knew how it must look to him. Her stepfather was… he wasn’t a good man and he was known for using every weapon in his arsenal to get his way. Fern wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Cade Hawthorne now considered her one of those weapons and would be wary around her and suspicious of her motivations. It would make her own mission that much harder to accomplish, but she had to try.
Meeting his eyes, trying to convey her lack of deceit in some way would help, but now that she was in the same room with him, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She found sitting this close to him— smelling him, feeling his body heat—distracting and disturbing. And she knew she really needed to get it together if she wanted to make this work and present her case in a straightforward, appealing manner.
Dinner passed in an uncomfortable blur. She excused herself before they’d finished dessert, escaping to the kitchen to ensure the staff had the clean-up in hand. She knew she didn’t have to check; they’d done this hundreds of times before, they knew what was expected of them. They didn’t need her. But she’d been unable to sit there a moment longer.
Now she stood in the kitchen, arms folded over her chest, sensible shoes kicked off, while she leaned against a cabinet, eyes shut, and let the soothing bustle and noise of the kitchen flow over and around her.
She was comfortable here.
After her mother’s death, it had become her refuge during school holidays. These people were her friends—her real family—and she could trust them enough to relax around them.
Someone—she wasn’t sure who—pressed a mug of warm milk into her hands and she stood with her hands wrapped around the ceramic, relishing the way the warmth seeped in through her cold fingers.
They left her alone, not speaking to her, knowing that she needed time to recover from the ordeal that passed as a family dinner around here. Whenever she was at this house, she ate with the staff, running the dinners smoothly from behind the scenes, but occasionally Granger liked to trot her out in front of the guests like some prized pony. Reminding them what a wonderful man he was to take care of Fern and her business interests.
She’d hated it when she was a child, she despised it even more now… because he made her feel like a beholden orphan, someone who owed him her very life and existence. When, in fact, he did whatever he wanted with her money, funding his and his daughters’ lifestyle and his own business with the money her mother had temporarily entrusted to him on Fern’s behalf.
She took a sip from her drink and sighed in contentment as the soothing warmth heated her from the inside out. This was a temporary peace. She’d have to find a way to speak with Cade Hawthorne tonight and the only way she could think of to do so was in his room. Where she hoped to find him alone. If he took Allie up on her very obvious overtures—she ignored the pang of something that lodged in the vicinity of her heart at the thought of Cade with one of her stepsisters—then Fern was highly unlikely to get him alone tonight. She only hoped he was really as uninterested as he’d appeared during dinner.
If not then this—her last opportunity to take control of her life—would die tonight.
The meeting after dinner had been as frustrating as Cade had expected it to be. Whatever the fuck cat and mouse game Abernathy was playing was getting old. If nothing was resolved tomorrow, Cade would advise his dad to cut his losses on this one, and move onto their second choice. There were other sustainable building options out there. Lambecrete just happened to have a business ethos that gelled with HC&E’s. They’d have to make very few changes to the company once they acquired it. It would be the perfect fit, which was why they’d been willing so far to play Granger Abernathy’s twisted little power games. But HC&E was ready to move on after this weekend. And they needed to make that very fucking clear tomorrow.
It was close to midnight, and Cade was unable to sleep. He stared down at the brightly lit pool from his room window, tempted to a grab few more laps but the certainty that one or both of Abernathy’s relentless daughters would follow him down there was enough to keep him right where he was.
That naturally brought his thoughts circling back to the woman who’d frequently wandered into his mind over the last two months. Usually, the memory of her was cringe inducing and while that cringe factor was still there, it was now mixed in with a healthy dose of what the fuck ness.
He needed to have a conversation with her.
Soon.
He needed to know what game she was playing. He considered sneaking around trying to find her room, but grimaced at the thought of accidentally stumbling into one of the Abernathy sisters’ rooms instead. God, that would be a shitshow and invite even further unwanted attention. Worse, he’d be unable to adequately explain his reasons for sneaking around the house in the middle of the night.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, it was best to stay put and try to corner her in the morning.
A soft, scratching noise coming from his bedroom door made him freeze and his head tilted as he tried to figure out the source of that noise. He slowly relaxed when a few seconds passed without the sound recurring, maybe it had been a rodent or?—
There it was again .
Louder… more purposeful. He was wondering if it was one of those predatory women, trying to get into his room, when a white slip of paper slid across the marble floor from the gap beneath the door.
Wha —? For a beat he stared at it blankly, when the name on what he could now identify as an envelope registered: Cade .
Only one person here would call him that.
His long-legged stride ate up the distance between window and door in four seconds flat and he yanked it open just in time to see her turning down the far corner at the end of the long hallway.
“ Wait !” he whisper-shouted, then swore viciously before taking off after her. He caught up with her at her bedroom door, hooking a hand in the crook of her elbow, just as she opened said door, and swinging her round to face him. She was a wearing a long, white, short sleeved nightgown, and her hair, only a shade or two darker than the gown, was tumbling down her shoulders and back in a mass of heavy silken waves. He froze, stuck by the absolute beauty of that fall of silver hair, haloed by the warm light of the room behind her.
His throat worked for a second as he fought to find his voice. She stared at him mutely, eyes wide in shock and no small amount of fear.
It was the fear that jostled him out of his daze, and he fastened his free hand around her other arm and frog marched her backward into her room, shutting the door firmly behind them before releasing her.
“Now, Fern Lambert, do you mind telling me exactly what the fuck you’re playing at?”