Chapter Seven #2
“Oh my Lord! Please! It’s just Finn! Aww, does someone have a crush?!”
“Stop it!”
Finn made no motion to interfere, but he was watching. Clara noted her eldest son had always watched Flora as if she was some sort of zoo exhibit. Or maybe it was just the fact that Flora was a perfect example of freedom. Something he did not have.
And to that point, the gate to the hill was locked, so of course, Flora flung herself over the fence, landing in a heap on the ground, dust and dirt flying everywhere. Her friend daintily hopped over and looked back to see if Finn was watching.
Finn turned back quickly after he saw Flora jump into a pile of dirt, smothered a gigantic grin, and missed the blonde girl’s glances. He was shaking his head, chuckling to himself.
Clara felt her brow furrow. She wondered momentarily if Flora would even entertain Finn’s elaborate distraction plan. She seemed more inclined to roll in the dirt still than to pay attention to the male species in general—unless it was Roman, of course.
Clara thought Finn might be in more danger than Flora.
She mulled that prospect over for a moment and then groaned to herself about what the next several months might look like if things went as south as they seemed to be going.
“Heaven help us,” she muttered.
The girls disappeared over the hill into the afternoon sun, and Finn into the house to shower and change for dinner.
They were preparing to welcome the Carlisles to their home that night.
The Carlisle’s permanent residence was in London, but they were spending the summer in San Francisco for business.
Clara had no idea what that business was.
Mr. Woodhouse had always said he was glad George Carlisle lived in London but never specified why.
Regardless, she thought it was good that Finn and Holly should meet each other.
Finn hadn’t dated anyone seriously in… well, his entire life and Holly was so accomplished.
The Carlisles swanned in that evening, their Bentley parked in the driveway, and she ushered them to the living room for drinks, trying not to read too much into the fact that the Bentley was a rental. And a beat-up rental at that.
Finn appeared a few minutes later, apologizing for taking a call so late, and was re-introduced to Holly.
Holly was objectively beautiful—perfectly manicured blonde hair that hit right above her shoulders, fringe bangs, blue eyes, red cheeks, tall, and thin.
She had modeled for Dior, Cavalli, and Prada before hanging up her heels to go to law school.
She was refined, elegant, and chic. She screamed “CEO wife material,” and with her forthcoming law degree, specializing in corporate litigation, she was now an asset to any company or family business.
If the three Woodhouses could agree on one thing, it was that no one wanted a future stay-at-home-wife hanging around.
“They don’t do anything!” Clara said one night at dinner.
“They sit around and ‘take care of the kids’ but that’s code for spend their husband’s money without thought.
Never saw a stay-at-home-mom who wasn’t lazy.
They think motherhood is the ‘hardest job in the world.’ You know what’s harder?
Getting up and commuting to work every morning on BART. ”
“BART…” Roman shivered.
“Agreed. Well said, Mum.” Finn nodded. “You know Fred Upton, from Branson? He married that girl from the Midwest who wore all those—”
“Prairie dresses?” Roman offered, making a face as if to say ‘Sorry, but it’s true.’
“Yes. Well, she sits around all day drinking matcha and taking their baby to the park while he works a seven to seven. What sort of relationship is that?!” Finn exploded.
“I sure as heck don’t want to marry a future Mombie,” Roman added, making a face and waggling his fingers.
“Mombie!” Clara exclaimed, laughing. “That’s hilarious! Like zombie. Oh, I’m using that one when I see Janis next weekend. Her daughter is an ‘aspiring stay-at-home mom’.”
“Aspiring?” Finn asked, dumbfounded. “How can you aspire to such a low bar?”
Finn and his mother both briefly looked at Roman, but neither of them said anything. Oblivious, he reached for the wine not realizing they were wondering how they’d ended up with a stay-at-home brother-son.
Holly—with her perfect blow out, sleek black dress, and stilettos—didn’t appear to be a future stay-at-home mom.
“So pleased to see you once again, Mr. Woodhouse,” she said, extending her hand. “Or can I call you Finn?”
“Finn is much better,” Finn replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m not my father just yet.”
This got a laugh from everyone, though he didn’t see why.
He was being dead serious. He hated being called “Mr. Woodhouse.” It made him feel so old.
And he’d been forced to be old since he was around six.
The “Mr. Woodhouse” added the final nail in the coffin to his dead youth.
However, before he got to think about this too much, the conversation quickly diverted to Holly’s most recent accomplishment of being in the top fifteen percent of her class at Harvard Law.
Holly eyed her mother and then her eyes slid over to Finn.
“Mum!” she said, looking embarrassed. “Please!”
“Oh, don’t be silly, darling!” her mother replied, waving her hand. “You are just so smart. We couldn’t leave here without telling them that you are one of the smartest law students in the country.”
“Cravath can’t wait to get their hands on her,” George added now.
Holly smiled and shrugged at Finn. “Sorry. You know how parents can be. I’m always so embarrassed.”
Finn nodded. “At least they’re proud of you.”
His eye caught on his mother, who was studying Holly from the side. Holly turned to Clara to apologize for her parents, and Finn saw his mother recover quickly.
“Oh, don’t worry!” she said, smiling. “Harvard Law is something to crow about.”
Clara now looked at Finn. He was looking at his phone. Then back at Holly. She was looking at Finn like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Mrs. Carlisle was whispering and she was nodding. Orders from HQ.
Clara was well aware that Finn didn’t just fit the cookie-cutter good looking guy standard—the standard that required mere conventional attractiveness, being over five-nine, and at least better looking than fifty percent of the guys out there.
No, that standard was much too low of a bar for Finn.
From the time he was twelve, she knew he was going to be one of those men that drew attention, regardless of what he did. Finn could have been a mechanic and still had girls lined up around the block with mysterious “car trouble.” The problem was, Finn was not a mechanic. Finn was a billionaire.
Holly felt her mother grab her arm.
“Holly,” she said, eyebrows raised.
“I know…”
“He’s even more handsome than we thought.”
Her mother wasn’t wrong. Finn was shockingly good looking.
Not just a strong jawline, but a cut from marble jawline.
Not just blue eyes, but blue eyes that were reminiscent of dark frost and ice shards.
Not just a nice face, but an artfully crafted, chiseled face with high cheekbones and a rugged yet refined appeal.
Not just soft, brown hair, but midnight black hair with a set of unpretentious curls.
She’d won the lottery.
Her parents had told her to wait until they got a better read on everything before making any plans.
But she’d disregarded it quickly because it was all very clear.
From the second she walked in and saw the size of the grounds, the staff, and the gorgeous pool, she made it her goal to be his future wife regardless of what he looked like up close.
She’d deal with anything to be running around this estate, a Woodhouse Wife.
And his looks?
Well, they weren’t an issue.
“Holly,” her mother continued, “this is it.”
“I know.”
Holly Woodhouse had a certain ring to it, didn’t it?
Dinner passed seamlessly.
There was no shortage of conversation about business between Finn and George, but the Carlisles made sure to keep some of the conversation to themselves. Everyone seemed to know why they were there.
“What do you do in your free time?” Finn asked Holly.
“In the little free time I have, I am usually sleeping, training my horse, Stag, or working out,” she said, smiling. “I don’t see the value in things that don’t feel productive. Never really been drawn to slower hobbies that don’t have output, you know?”
Finn nodded. “I do know. I’m the same.”
“Though, I do contribute to animal wildlife rescue efforts. I love giraffes. See?” She held up her purse, which was giraffe patterned. “I have a small fashion company, Giraffe Girls, and this is our big thing.”
“Purses?” he asked.
“Animal patterns. Giraffes, specifically. I donate a lot of the proceeds to animal rescue foundations in Africa. None of the bags use real animal skins, obviously. It’s supposed to remind people of the cost of real animal products. This bag went viral last month.”
“That’s a great cause,” Finn said honestly. “I opened the Woodhouse Wildlife Fund a few years ago. We do a lot of work in Africa to stop poaching.”
“Really? I had no idea. I’ll have to look it up.” Holly smiled. “Have you ever been to Africa? I spent a few weeks there last year. It’s amazing. I did a safari, and I can’t imagine living your life without seeing the Serengeti.”
“I have not. I’m not a huge fan of traveling anywhere that requires shots for yellow fever.
I trust the people we’ve hired to get the job done and not cause environmental disasters while they’re at it.
We have strict protocols and a stacked board of directors, so you won’t catch me in Africa unless, well, unless something is important enough to get me there. ”
“I understand. I just stayed in a five-star resort. It’s the best way to do anything. So, what do you do in your free time?”
“I work.”
“A man after my own heart.”