Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
JO
An official comes onto the plane and inspects my passport and gives me his nod of approval.
Apparently, I’m clear to enter the country.
I’m guided off the plane by one of the airport staff.
There is no customs or baggage aisle to negotiate, and I’m taken directly to a waiting room to find a middle-aged man with iron-gray hair waiting for me.
He is impeccably dressed in a dark suit, with thin framed steel glasses halfway down his nose.
“Gavin Hampstead,” he says, holding his hand out. For some reason, I expected his hand to be cool, but it is warm against my skin. “Welcome to New York, Miss Button.”
“Thank you.”
As I withdraw my hand, he smiles, but there’s a graveness to it that instinctively makes my stomach knot.
“I’m very sorry,” he says quietly. “But I’m afraid your father passed away while you were in transit.”
His words are unexpected and leave me strangely hollow and detached.
Grief is supposed to hit harder, isn’t it?
Shouldn’t I feel a tidal wave of loss? But the man was a stranger, the father I never knew.
Even so, the moment doesn’t leave me entirely without feelings.
There is confusion, definitely that, and a soft twist of something that feels like guilt and sorrow rolled together. My lips press into a thin line.
“I … I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time,” I murmur.
“It’s not your fault. You did your best,” Gavin says sincerely. “He left instructions for you when he realized you wouldn’t make it in time. He wanted you to follow through with certain steps.”
My curiosity spikes above my swirling emotions. “Steps?”
“Yes.” Gavin hands me a swab. “First, a DNA test to confirm his paternity.”
I glance at it, annoyed. “You called me, not the other way around, and now I have to be the one to prove myself?”
“There is much at stake, and it’s standard procedure, in case there are any legal challenges from other family members,” he explains calmly.
“Once I have your sample, we can head out to the house, and discuss the other matters you have to attend to; the funeral, the reading of his will, that sort of thing.”
My sense of fair play wins over my annoyance. With a sigh, I take the swab. Feeling quite absurd, I press it to the inside of my cheek and twist it around before handing it back. Gavin carefully pops it into a glass tube and seals it all in a clear bag.
“I think it’s time to tell you who your father was,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “I’m sure you will have heard of him. He was a very prominent figure. His name was Joseph Manswell.”
What? I blink. No, it can’t be. He can’t mean … “The tech billionaire, Joseph Manswell?” I finally venture cautiously, still in total disbelief.
Gavin nods.
The world tilts, and I stare at him in shock. Wow! Joseph Manswell, one of the most influential, most celebrated, smartest, and richest men in the world, was my father. I swallow hard. It’s almost too fantastical to believe. I am the daughter of a freaking billionaire! The world tilts again.
If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the moment, I would be certain this whole thing is a wind-up, but Gavin doesn’t look like the kind of man to prank anyone, let alone pay for a transatlantic flight on a private plane for a joke.
“I … right,” I manage. “Ok. That’s … wow.”
Gavin inclines his head politely. “Yes, he was quite something. The world has lost a great mind. I worked for him for twenty years, and I have to say, he never failed to impress me with his brilliance. Now, if you follow me, I have arranged transport for you. You will be staying at his estate, Oak Grove. Betty, the housekeeper, will meet you there and take care of you.”
Gavin takes me to a waiting black limo.
“Your suitcase is already in the trunk,” he informs. “So, I will leave you to get settled in tonight, and I will be in touch tomorrow with more details.” He hands me a business card, and I take it. “In the meantime, if you need anything, you can either ask Betty or call me.”
I thank him, and he smiles slightly.
“I know this is all a lot to take in,” he says. “Don’t worry if it all feels a bit surreal right now, but it will get better.”
That’s exactly how it feels, and I nod gratefully.
He holds open the rear door of the car, and I get in.
As he slides into the driver’s seat, the driver greets me politely by name, then starts pulling away.
In a daze, I take in the unfamiliar streets of New York.
Soon, the city gives way to mansions ablaze with lights and set far back into perfectly manicured grounds.
When the car drives into a tall set of black gates, I can barely breathe.
It’s a hulking huge mansion. Colossal, imposing, and made from white stone it has at least four floors.
Six massive columns hold up the front structure.
On either side of me are sweeping front lawns of rich green.
On the left, there is a large lake with a fountain.
Water pours out of the mouths of a group of roaring stone lions.
Everything about the property screams immense wealth, power, and control.
My heart starts beating really fast. This can’t be real.
Things like this don’t happen to me. We come to a stop, and I get out gingerly.
The driver silently reunites me with my suitcase, and I thank him.
He tips his hat at me and gets back into the car.
For a moment, I stand where I am, butterflies fluttering in my belly, and watch the car drive away.
My life is about to change in a big way and I’m not sure I want it to.
I love the little life I have built in England, with my job, my apartment, and my intimate group of friends.
Then, before I can chicken out entirely, I balance my laptop bag on the top of my suitcase and start to wheel it towards the big house.
The door opens before I reach it. A petite woman stands at the massive doorway, looking out at me.
She looks to be in her mid-thirties. Her red curls are pinned up neatly, and her hazel eyes are bright and quick. When she smiles, they light up.
“Miss Button,” she says warmly. “I’m Betty, the housekeeper. Would you like me to show you directly to your suite or perhaps some refreshments in the music room first?”
“First of all, please, call me Jo,” I say with a smile. Betty is the first person I’ve encountered since this crazy adventure began, who feels like someone I could become friends with, and I don’t want us to be too formal if I can help it.
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“My room first. I think I’d like to freshen up a bit first.”
“Come on in,” she says, standing back and gesturing for me to step inside.
I enter and look around in awe. The space is vast with polished granite floors, Roman stone statues, magnificent crystal chandeliers, and soaring ceilings painted in the style of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Betty closes the door and comes to stand beside me.
“This is amazing,” I murmur, still quite unable to believe this is happening to me.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she agrees quietly. “Once you’re settled in, I’ll give you a full tour of the place.”
I’m interested in seeing the rest of the mansion, but I am more interested in picking Betty’s brain about my father and his life here. I turn towards her. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Let me get Joe to take that up for you,” Betty says, reaching for my suitcase.
“Oh no, don’t worry about troubling Joe,” I say. “It’s only a few clothes and toiletries. I can manage.”
She peers at me for a moment with surprise, then she breaks into a wide smile. I think that is the moment she realizes I’m not like the other people she encounters here who see her only as the hired help.
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.”
She nods. “I’ll show you to your suite now if you’d like to follow me.”
We cross the marvelous foyer and ascend a gorgeous marble staircase. Just as we reach the top, I catch a glimpse of someone crossing the hall. He sees us too and stops. For some weird, inexplicable reason, my stomach lurches as I take in the stranger.
He’s tall and broad, and looks impossibly composed and arrogant, carrying that ‘I’m a step above everyone else’ vibe.
He has one of those American jawlines. It looks like it’s been carved out of stone.
His shoulders are wide enough to make every thought about breathing stop.
He has dark, longish hair, and a little of it falls over his face as he turns his head to look at us.
Startlingly green eyes fringed with thick stubby eyelashes measure me with a sort of cold precision.
I get the impression that he has already judged me and found me wanting.
I feel my pulse quicken, an involuntary reaction to the man’s very presence. I have to tear my gaze away from the naked disapproval in his eyes.
“Jo,” Betty says softly. “This is Axel Rhodes. Mr. Rhodes, this is Miss Jo Button, Mr. Manswell’s daughter.”
I wait for him to hold his hand out for me to shake, quickly wiping my palm on my jeans in case it’s clammy, but he doesn’t reach for my hand.
In fact, he barely acknowledges me. All I get is a faint lift of his brow and a pinched expression that I guess could be seen as polite in theory if it wasn’t dripping with disdain.
My brain screams that he’s obnoxious in the way the wealthy often are (in my job I’ve met a lot of rich slimeballs), but my body … well, my body just doesn’t care.
It wants him.
I murmur a cautious ‘hi’ just so I don’t come across as ruder than him. As I expected, he doesn’t return my greeting. My throat tightens. Asshole. He walks away without a word to either me or Betty.
“Wow, is he always that friendly?” I say, walking away, silently hoping I won’t see him again.
“He’s not so bad once you get used to him,” Betty says in a conciliatory tone.
Half of me doesn’t want to have to get used to him, but the other half of me very much wouldn’t mind seeing more of him. I push those thoughts aside. I am here for … well, I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, but it’s to do with my father and not the very rude Axel Rhodes.
Betty stops at a door and opens it.
“I’ll come back in an hour or so to give you the tour,” she says. “If you need anything in the meantime, just press nine on the house phone in your room. If you want to call out, press one for an outside line.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She smiles at me and starts to walk away as I close the door.
The suite is stunning. To one side is a bedroom area with a king-sized bed made up with silk sheets and a thick duvet with a plush Oriental rug underfoot.
On the other side of the huge room is a lounge area with a sofa and coffee table that is bathed in soft lighting that feels inviting.
A large bathroom opens off the bedroom, and even from here, I can see it has a free-standing tub, plus a large walk-in shower, marble counters, and a hardwood floor.
I move into the room, sit on the edge of the bed, and experience a strange sense of deflation washing over me.
He’s dead, the mysterious father I never knew, and now this mansion, this life, stretches out before me, alien and imposing.
I pick up my cell phone and call my mother.
She answers immediately, her voice sharp and agitated.
“Please tell me you’re not still considering going to New York,” she says.
“Umm, not exactly. I’m already here,” I say quietly.
“What? Why? I’ve told you. This is a scam. The man who called you is lying about it all.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out for sure whether Joseph Manswell is my father or not,” I say.
She inhales sharply when I say the name, and I no longer need the results of the DNA test to know that he is indeed my father. Her reaction says it all.
“A DNA sample will prove it for sure.”
“What? You can’t just hand over a DNA sample, Jo,” she cries hotly. “You don’t even know these people. Billionaires are not people you trust blindly.”
“I’ve already done it, Mum.”
Her breath catches audibly in her throat, and when she talks again, her voice is barely above a whisper.
“You shouldn’t be there. You shouldn’t be doing this.”
“If you’d been honest with me sooner, then I wouldn’t need to be here looking for answers,” I say gently. “But now that I am here, I need to see it through.”
She goes dead quiet. I can almost feel the fear coming off her now that I am about to discover everything that she’s been hiding from me for all of my life.
“Jo … I’m sorry. I … I ” she whispers, then trails off.
“I know, Mum. I know,” I say sadly.
There’s nothing much left to say, and I end the call and set my cell phone down on the bed beside me. The weight of the journey, the revelations, my mother’s betrayal press down on me. Closing my eyes, I force myself to breathe deeply and evenly.
I open my eyes and look around. The enormity of the Manswell fortune looms over me. Squaring my shoulders, I get up and start unpacking, arranging my clothes and toiletries, taking small ownership of the vast luxurious space.
Somehow, even with my mum’s obvious discomfort at me being here, even with the strange grief of losing the father I almost got to know, I feel the tiniest spark of sexual electricity when a pair of disdainful emerald-green eyes flashes into my mind.
Very inconvenient, and yet…