Chapter 11 Aston
A lawsuit was the last thing I expected to deal with on a Saturday night.
I barely slept, maybe an hour at best, and only at my desk when my eyes couldn’t stare at my laptop screen a second longer.
It was call after call, and when my father got involved just before ten this morning, he demanded I deal with it. He’s at the country club with his buddies, smoking cigars and drinking aged whiskey as if the business world around him isn’t burning to the damn ground.
The infuriating thing is—this is his fuckup.
He insisted we invest in a brokerage company to get back at some rival, only for us to inherit lawsuits. I warned him to stick to what the Beaumont Group does best—property investment. Of course, he didn’t listen because pride was far more important to him.
Our legal team scrambled to resolve the problem before we hit the headlines. All the while this was happening, time was lost on me, and I completely forgot about the breakfast meeting with Everleigh.
Until she stormed into my bedroom, a force of pure determination.
Her cheeks were crimson, her eyes glaring at me, ready to battle over my lack of consideration of her time. The moment I hung up the business call, Everleigh didn’t hold back.
Her incessant nagging was the last thing I need.
Frankly, I am exhausted.
I need a shower and sleep.
But Everleigh disregarded my need for peace.
The woman is relentless.
She did, however, strike a nerve with her sharp, unfiltered words, each one landing like a calculated blow. Everleigh has no idea what I have sacrificed for Madelina, and I’ve been doing it my whole damn life.
My head swells, tension building as my chest tightens beneath yesterday’s clothes. It’s been a clusterfuck of a day, and if I survive it without a migraine, I’ll be astonished. They have hit me more lately, no doubt induced by the pressure of running this company under my father’s watch.
But if only she knew the truth.
How much I sacrifice for my own blood.
My sister. The only person I would take a bullet in the head for.
My mind rushes back to our interaction, replaying how she stormed out of my room, the fire in her eyes unmistakable. I can’t help but relish her reaction, savoring the satisfaction of finally setting the record straight and watching as my words landed precisely where they were meant to.
It left me hard as a fucking rock.
In desperate need of release, I step into the shower, turning the water to nearly scalding, letting the heat wash over me and melt away the tension. I battle with myself as to whether I should give in to my urges. Closing my eyes, I convince my hand to move away and turn the faucet off.
Then, I picture her for the first time. She’s so fucking sexy when she’s angry at me.
And it’s a record finish.
So much so that I go for round two without a second thought.
The day didn’t improve, even after I slept for two hours and my release in the shower. Madelina is in the city for something urgent, leaving me alone with nothing but a questionable box of take-out Chinese in the refrigerator.
All the food Hilda supposedly left behind has been eaten. I can only assume it was my father, and despite him staying in the same house, our paths haven’t crossed. Thank fucking God for that.
My mother landed at JFK but chose to stay in the city for the next few days before traveling out here. Honestly, I don’t blame her. I know I’m not the only one avoiding my father at all costs.
After his golf game, he calls to lecture me on how I handled his mess .
His voice carries the husky edge of too much Macallan, laced with his usual condescension.
Even though I’m his son, he treats me with zero respect.
However, the message is painfully clear— I’m nothing but a disappointment to him.
So, I put the phone down and let him rant while I answer emails.
Tomorrow, he’ll be sober and won’t remember a thing.
It’s early evening when darkness fills the house. I stretch my arms and crack my neck to alleviate the stress of staring at my screen for most of the day. The only light in the room comes from my laptop and my phone, which pings continuously with messages.
Little Brat
I’m stuck in the city, there’s been an accident on the interstate. Can I crash at your place?
I let out a huff. My sister knows I don’t like anyone staying at my penthouse—not even her.
It’s my sanctuary, the one space I keep solely for myself.
No matter how many women I’ve been with, none have been allowed to stay the night.
I am quick to set boundaries, drawing a firm line in the sand.
Fuck me all you want, but you better be gone before the sun rises.
Me
Fine. Don’t touch anything.
Little Brat
I’ll sleep on the couch. Wouldn’t want to catch cooties from all the women you screw in your bed.
Me
Anything else? You leave me here in this godforsaken town with nothing to do on a Sunday night. I’m starving.
Little Brat
Go to The Spice House. They serve the best tacos and margaritas. Plus it’s where all the single women hang in case you’re looking for a small-town romance.
Me
Small-town romance? You’re delusional. I’m more than happy to continue living my life as your single older brother.
Little Brat
Two words for you. Grumpy/sunshine.
Me
***
Madelina doesn’t respond, but my notifications alert me to someone entering my apartment.
I click on the front door camera to watch Madelina removing her coat and knocking over a vase near the coat rack.
The sound isn’t on, but judging by the way her mouth opens, she’s swearing at her clumsy mistake, staring at the glass scattered all over the marble tiles.
“Fuck my life,” I mumble.
I grab my keys, wallet, and phone, desperate to leave this place.
The drive into town is dark, and only a few lights can be seen from some ranches nearby.
When I hit the main intersection, I turn left to drive down Butterscotch Boulevard.
Unsurprisingly, all the shops are closed, the complete opposite of the city.
How people don’t die from boredom in this town is beyond me.
The Spice House is well lit, which makes sense since it’s one of the few places that seem to be open.
I park my car in the street, then make my way to the pub.
Upon entering, I notice it’s bigger than I assumed.
The place itself was a jam factory back when I was a kid.
In junior high, the owners officially closed it down, and it remained abandoned for years.
The brickwork still stands, and whoever owns it now has restored the building with a modern twist.
In the central area, the tables are occupied by families. A few kids are running around, much to my annoyance, but I ignore them and head straight to the bar.
The bartender serves me my bourbon of choice. Beside me, two women are eyeing me up and down. Great! The so-called small-town romance girls my sister informed me about. I press my lips together and take a slow breath to gather my patience.
“You’re not from around here,” the woman with the jet-black hair is quick to say when I take a seat.
I force a smile, but truthfully, I’m too drained to even think about fucking her or anyone else in this bar.
“I’m not” is all I answer.
“Fresh meat,” I hear her whisper to her friend before they giggle. “We have a competitor for the hot doctor.”
Hot doctor? Jesus Christ. The women in this town are clutching at whatever they can get their hands on. Despite wanting to take my mind off today, going home with these women seems more tiresome than exciting. I continue to sit, keeping to myself.
“Can you believe the hot doctor is here with Eva?” the other woman complains. “Her donuts aren’t even that great.”
My eyes widen at the mention of Everleigh’s nickname. Unknowingly, my hand has tightened around the glass of bourbon. I slowly raise it to my mouth, drinking the remnants in one go before slamming the glass on the bar, making the leftover ice rattle.
Then, I slowly turn and scan the room. It doesn’t take me long to find them huddled in a darker corner of the bar. Everleigh is laughing, and her doctor friend is sitting close, resting his hand on her thigh. It doesn’t help that she’s wearing a dress that appears too short from where I’m sitting.
My breathing increases like a drum banging inside the walls of my chest. Before I have a chance to calm myself the fuck down, my feet are moving toward where they sit.
Everleigh is telling some story, only to stop talking mid-sentence when her eyes lock onto mine. With her lips flattening, she pokes her tongue into her cheek and inhales a deep breath.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise.” I attempt a forced smile, given the circumstances. “Is this your friend?”
She opens her mouth but quickly closes it. I suspect she was going to say something cutting, but then she contrives a smile, which is obviously as fake as it comes. “Aston, this is Marco. He’s a doctor.”
The hot doctor, according to the woman at the bar. I pause to observe him, then shake his hand politely. “Aston Beaumont.”
“Beaumont,” he repeats with a curious glance. “Your father is Harvey Beaumont?”
My lips curl, barely opening as I respond, “Yes.”
“I believe he golfs with my friend’s dad.”
I nod, keeping my eyes fixed on Everleigh. It’s evident she’s irritated by my presence, which I find amusing.
“Aston is Maddy’s older brother. We’re helping plan her wedding.” She’s quick to set the record straight.
“Of course, you mentioned the wedding earlier,” Marco says.
Earlier?
How long have they been sitting here?
Or is this a post-fuck meal?
Don’t even go there.
I attempt to clear my disruptive thoughts, but something is off, and my usual self-control is somewhat compromised.
“We have a wedding to plan, and to get the ball rolling, I suggest we meet up after you’re finished with whatever is happening here. Dinner, I presume?”
Everleigh looks completely unimpressed, her mouth slackening while her gaze turns distant. “Wait, are you kidding right now? You, the one who blew me off? You bailed on me without a word.”
“Again, I apologize for the emergency that required my attention.”
“ Emergency? It was a business call, Aston. It takes two seconds to send a message to say you can’t make it,” she reminds me in a huff.
The so-called doctor watches the both of us but keeps quiet. If he’s bothered, he doesn’t show it. Then, he takes a breath. “I’m going to grab us another drink. Aston, would you like to join us?”
Everleigh’s glare is a silent warning, daring me to accept the invitation. The easiest thing would be to stay here and make her life hell. I mean, why not? Does she think starting a relationship with the town doctor is a good idea? It would violate some HIPAA code, surely.
“Aston was just leaving,” she states. “You said earlier you had so much work to do before we catch up tomorrow, which works much better for my schedule.”
I continue to stand there, smug, as Marco waits for my reaction, but it’s obvious he isn’t stupid and has picked up on the tension between Everleigh and me.
“Yes, I have business to take care of,” I respond with a fixed stare. “Tomorrow morning, then. Nine sharp.”
Everleigh relaxes her shoulders with a satisfied smile. She is sorely mistaken if she thinks this is how the night will end. I leave them inside the pub, but instead of heading home to work, I park myself at the entrance of her apartment.
There is no chance she is bringing him back here.
I’ll wait all night if I have to, even though my conscience tells me to ignore whatever the hell is happening. I have better things to do than act like some goddamn puppy dog wanting attention.
The problem is— I can’t.
I won’t.
Just like when she got the flat tire, and I arranged for it to be repaired and towed back to her place. Given the lawsuit, it was the least of my problems, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I paid the invoice and then asked them not to mention it to Everleigh.
Something has a hold over me, and fighting it is proving fruitless.
But I’ll be damned if I walk away now and allow another man to touch her.
And that, in itself, is the part I don’t understand.
Why the fuck do I care so much?