THE GOOD MISTRESS II: The Wedding
Page 26
“Girl? What girl?” Mr. Kelly’s puffy nose wrinkled.
“The one who just stopped by.”
“That deaf chick with those hips?” In excitement, he whistled and made thrusting movements while pretending to hold onto handles. “Shit, I’d love to ride—"
Not a second later, Donavan’s forearm was in Mr. Kelly’s throat. His Adam’s apple crunched just as Donavan slammed back against the door.
Donavan smiled brightly, glaring him in the eye. “I reckon I must be a little deaf too. Repeat yourself.”
Mr. Kelly’s eyes danced around. “Oh, Miss Castle? She, uhhh, she’s a young thing, no older than my youngest daughter.” He gulped. “Just a joke.”
Donavan lowered the man and patted down the lapel of his cheap suit. “Why was she here?”
“She wants to renovate the Baudelaire house right outside of Myrtle Beach, wanted to low ball me, you know. That damn place is—” he paused to whistle again for emphasis at a lack of words. “Miss Castle is made of money.” Kelly paused once more. This time to see if Donavan would react to his subtle diss. “I told her my construction company might not be the crème de la crème, but she insulted me no less, wanting a payment plan. People like her can buy people like you and me.”
“The Baudelaire place.” Donavan’s mouth tipped at the edges, offering the slightest smile. Avery’s great-grandmother, Francis, might’ve been the only one in the world—at least on her family’s side—who rooted for their love. Francis had lived on her plantation after Verdrena’s mom, and later Verdie skipped town. Donavan didn’t recall Verdie’s mother’s name, but she hadn’t lived as long as Franny. It was a shame when Verdie forced Franny’s hand as power of attorney. But Avery’s great-grandmother had been ninety-three years old by the time the Castles got her out of that brokedown palace. If anything, the woman was smart as a whip until she moved in with the Castles.
Why would Avery need a deal? Alexander was loaded. Donavan recalled a saying he’d heard at the Baptist church he’d attended as a kid. There were some people who were so rich that they claimed to be as rich as God. Alexander Castle was that type of rich asshole.
“Avery wanted financing?”
“Yeah. Wanted to put down pennies too. I told her no, hell no.”
Donavan stalked back and forth. There was no need for him to get involved. And I won’t get involved. I’ll just have another look. He stopped pacing like a lion on the prowl and ended up right in front of Mr. Kelly’s face. The fat man jolted a fraction of an inch at how dangerous and determined Donavan looked.
Donavan ordered, “Tomorrow, you’ll call her, and you’ll have a change of opinion.”
Moments passed before the construction owner responded. “Come again?”
“You’re going to give her the financing necessary to get Franny’s house—ahem—the Baudelaire Estate up and running. That’s what you’ll do.”
“She has no plans. I asked if she intended to open a hotel. A fucking B&B. She said no. That girl does not have a single business proposal, nothing. Says she plans to live there, well, let her get her daddy’s blessing first. The girl can’t pay me back for the place without Mr. Castle’s signature.”
Donavan placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder and squeezed. “Palmer will co-sign.”
Mr. Kelly side-eyed him for a moment. Then he had an epiphany. “Oh, you are a loyal one, Donnie. If I knew the girl belonged to Elroy, I would’ve never joked about her.”
“She doesn’t,” Donavan gritted out. At the notion of Avery touching Elroy Palmer or any other man for that matter, he barked, “She belongs to me!”
The man jumped again.
“And Kelly, if you had half a fucking brain,” Donavan’s index and middle finger pointed like a gun, thumping the guy in the head, “you’d fear me more than Palmer. Do you understand?”
Mr. Kelly’s cheeks jiggled as he nodded.
Donavan rubbed a hand over his face. What was he thinking? Donavan hadn’t the slightest idea. Helping the woman who doused gasoline on his heart only to toss a match on it wasn’t something he should be doing.
But the first day they met roamed through his mind. There wasn’t even any hair on his balls at the time, and he’d been an asshole. It was in his genes to be. And she’d been a fucking angel . . . deceptively innocent. She’d played him from the start.
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