She’d already called Brock’s crazy grandfather and confessed she’d left early, in hopes he would still pay her for the time she did clean. When he asked about her ankle injury she assured him that she only needed half-pay.
He started to argue but she held firm. She wanted to be fair. She hadn’t done all the work alone.
Reluctantly, he told her he’d have a messenger drop off her check later that evening.
At least that worked out in her favor.
She’d expected Brock to follow her.
To call her.
To say something.
Anything.
But he didn’t chase after her and confess his feelings, and there were no texts from the prince stating that he’d stormed the castle and fixed the shattered happy ending in their future.
Just. Nothing.
She straightened her shoulders and took a deep, long breath, before grabbing the handle to the door of her house.
Locked.
Since when did her sisters lock the house?
Confused, she grabbed her keys and shoved the right one into the keyhole, only to have it only go in halfway.
The doorknob looked the same.
Had they seriously changed the locks to piss her off?
Were they that immature?
She knocked as loudly as she could, then rang the doorbell repeatedly.
After a few minutes, during which she seriously considered trying to break the door down, it flew open, revealing a crazed-looking Essence.
“Jane,” she spat. “What are you doing here?”
Jane tried to shove the door open. She was exhausted and in no mood to argue. “I live here. Remember?”
“It’s been almost three weeks,” Essence said in that same irritating tone. “For all we knew you could have been dead. You never took our calls, remember?”
Jane remembered. It had been the most peaceful three weeks she’d had in years!
“I was working,” Jane finally answered. “I got hired to do a job and now I’m home.”
“Oh, we know.” Essence’s smile was cruel.
“I don’t understand.” Jane gulped as dread washed over her. What had her sisters done now? Finally Essence moved aside enough for Jane to enter.
And what she saw nearly made her collapse in a heap.
The news was on.
The cameras were pointed toward the ranch.
And images of Jane and Brock, kissing, were plastered all over the screen.
She covered her mouth with her hands as tears filled her eyes. When she grabbed the remote and changed channels, it just grew worse. Every news station was reporting about the maid who’d seduced the bachelor weeks before the auction.
But the worst part was yet to come.
Because when the camera went back to the reporter, the reporter was standing in front of her house.
With both of her sisters.
“She turned off her phone. We had no idea she was this…conniving. I mean the auction is days away! She’s supposed to be helping out and putting food on the table, and”—Essence wiped away a few fake tears—“she hasn’t spoken to us in days. We’re so worried!”
The reporter nodded her head and turned toward the camera. “It looks like the bachelor has some explaining to do. After all, he’s set to be bid on this weekend, and rumors have been rampant about an impending marriage to one of the lucky ladies. Sources say that he’s just returned to the city and refuses to talk to any media outlet, but we did get a statement from Bentley Wellington in the form of, “Leave our brother the bleep alone.” The TV bleeped out the curse word.
Oh Bentley.
The media was losing their minds over the story.
With shaking hands she turned off the TV. Esmeralda had come into the room and both she and Essence started yelling at Jane at the exact same time.
But it wasn’t their yelling that caused tears to slip down her cheeks.
Or even the fact that the world probably assumed the worst of her.
It was a simple truth that Brock would have to go through with the auction, and even though it killed her, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. There was no way his family could survive this scandal and keep Wellington, Inc. under their control—under Brock’s control. Wellington. Inc. and his family were everything to Brock—which in turn meant they were everything to Jane, too.
“We’re going out.” Essence announced even while she was still shouting. “Oh, and the dishes probably need to be done. Good to have you home, sister. Hope it was worth it.”
They left in a flurry of perfume and mean-spirited laughter.
Jane stayed on the couch.
And cried.
* * *
With her sisters gone and no message from Brock, she wasn’t really sure what to do with herself. Dishes were stacked high in the kitchen and a weird odor was coming from the fridge. Everywhere she looked was absolute chaos.
So she did what she knew best.
She cleaned.
Not because she was reverting back to what was familiar, though it looked that way, but because it soothed her, helped her think. And no matter what her sisters did, it was still her house; she was still proud of it and wanted it to look good.
Besides, the only other option was to cry some more and open up a tub of ice cream.
Why hadn’t he called?
She was just getting ready to start on the dishes when a knock sounded at the door. Jane jumped half a foot and then ran to the door like her life depended on it.
But when the door swung open it wasn’t Brock.
The man standing there, however, looked like an older version of him.
Jane took a cautious step back. “Can I help you?”
The man narrowed his eyes into tiny slits; the moon glistened off his thick silver hair. “I think that’s my line.”
“I’m sorry; what did you say your name was?” She probably looked horrible, with mascara strained cheeks and red puffy eyes. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to deal with some psycho news reporter getting a picture of her and splashing it all over the Internet. Not that it would matter.
Because Brock still had to do the auction.
To save his company.
To save his family name.
Ugh. This was such a mess.
Part of her didn’t blame him for not calling, but another part was heartbroken he hadn’t at least sent her a text or called her and let her know he was fixing things.
“I didn’t.” The man peered around her. “Mind if I come in? I’m a bit chilled.”
Yeah, she wasn’t buying that. It was at least eighty degrees outside even though it was starting to get dark.
“Sorry.” She started to close the door. “I don’t know you so—”
“Ah, but you know my grandson.”
“Grandson?” She countered, crossing her arms. After all, she’d never seen this man before, though his voice did sound vaguely familiar. And there was definitely a family resemblance.
The man’s mouth twitched before it broke out in a wide smile. “You are well acquainted with…the arrogant one.”
“You just described every man I know.”
“Yes, well.” He rocked back on his heels and glanced down the street before looking back at her. “Some things can’t be helped, I imagine.”
“Look, sir, I don’t care if you’re the President of the United States. I don’t just let strange men into my house and—” He shoved past her and closed the door.
“Hey wait a second!” She ran by him to grab her phone, just in case she needed to call the police to give them a play by-play-of her murder, but the elderly gentleman pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on her kitchen table.
“I believe,” he nodded, “this was the agreed-upon amount.”
Frowning, she glanced down.
It was a check.
Written out to her.
From Wellington, Inc.
Signed by Brock’s grandfather.
Suddenly everything fell into place.
Except for the amount on the check: One million dollars.
She shook her head.
“No.” Jane suddenly felt faint. “I’m pretty sure there weren’t that many zeros in the amount we agreed upon.” She’d never seen so much money in her entire life.
And it was made out to her.
She could do anything.
Start over.
Kick her sisters out of the house.
Put money in her business!
Hire employees!
The possibilities were endless.
But a million dollars?
Something wasn’t right.
“As much as I want to jump up and down right now that you’ve given me a check with that many zeroes, I’m going to have to ask what the catch is.” She sat down in a nearby chair and put her head in her hands. “What are you really doing here?”
He seemed to assess her from head to toe. His perusal, almost mocking in the way his eyes slowly took her in, so very clearly seemed to find her wanting—from the way her cheeks were streaked with makeup, to the plain clothes she was wearing—then his gaze fell to the kitchen and the surrounding mess.
Tears blurred her vision.
Yeah, she was making an awesome first impression, wasn’t she?
“Jane.” He pulled out a chair; it screeched across the dirty tile floor. The man seemed too big to be sitting at her small kitchen table. He folded his hands across the worn wood grain, nearly ruining his expensive suit’s sleeve on an open packet of discarded soy sauce. “What would you say if I told you I’d give you a million dollars to never see my grandson again—the arrogant one, about yea tall.” He held his hand way up above his head and winked, his indifferent mask slipping to reveal a kind smile. “Carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, prone to barking, yelling, shouting.” He shrugged. “And those are just the positive attributes.”
Jane attempted a smile, but failed at even that.
“So?” He leaned back, the chair creaking under his massive frame.
Jane leaned forward and uttered a simple, clear “no.”
His mouth spread into a wide grin. “Money could buy you everything you need—including happiness. Soon you’d forget about him. It would be so easy, Jane. So very easy to cash this check. Brock doesn’t ever need to find out about it.”
“My answer”—her eyes never left his—“is still no.”
He tilted his head. “Two million.”
“Three? Four? Seven?” She countered with a proud smile on her face. “You can’t place a price tag on what I’ve found with him. And my answer is still the same.” Her voice was wobbly; maybe it was from the stress of the day or just the fact that Brock’s grandfather was trying to give her hush money.
A lone tear slid down her face. She quickly wiped it away and slumped back in her chair. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long and horrible day.”
“Some days…” he sighed, “are longer than life.”
She nodded. Suddenly she was so overwhelmed with exhaustion it was hard to keep her eyes open.
Embarrassingly enough, her stomach chose that moment to growl. She hadn’t eaten since that morning.
“Food.” Brock’s grandfather nodded at her in a knowing way. “Sometimes all you need is a full stomach for things to start looking better.”
“And here I thought it was time…or sleep.”
He slowly reached out and pulled the check back, then folded it and stuffed it in his pocket. “When you sleep on things, it makes those things disappear until you wake up, more frustrated than before. When you give them time, you allow yourself the possibility of hesitation. I don’t believe in hesitation, not anymore.” His face fell. “Action, sweetheart. I believe in taking life by the horns and maneuvering it.”
“Obviously.” She nodded toward the pocket he’d just stuffed the check into. “And what would you gain from sending me away?”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “In order to gain you sometimes have to lose.”
“I refuse to lose him.” She stood. “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
“Ah…” He stood. “I guess you’re right. An old man needs his sleep and a young woman has a lot to think about.”
She laughed bitterly. “There’s nothing to think about. I’m not taking the money.”
He ignored her, or seemed to, as he walked around the table and wrung his hands. “Here.” He reached into a separate pocket and held out a check. This one was written for thirty thousand dollars.
Jane frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand?”
“Take what is owed you. From our original agreement.” His eyes twinkled as she touched the check with her fingertips and stared at it again.
“Oh.” He snapped his fingers. “And one more thing. I’m still auctioning him off, but that doesn’t mean you can’t bid on him and win. I think I’d like to get to know you better, Jane.”
Bitterness washed over her. “It’s ten grand a plate and—”
“Is it?” He grinned. “Imagine, ten grand. And look what you hold in your hand.” He shrugged his large shoulders. “If you really love him—”
“Who said I loved him?”
“You did.” His wise eyes didn’t even blink. “When you said no. Amazing the power that word holds…I think, no I hope, that Brock soon understands its meaning the way you have.” He hesitated but then took a step forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Good night, Jane. I’m glad I found you.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
He managed one day, one day of hell before Brock packed up his shit and drove into the city. The ball was the following evening, and he needed to talk to his grandfather. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to break the news or how he was still going to keep everyone happy and keep Jane. He just knew he had to do it.
Traffic was hell, so the drive took forever.
And by the time he made it to the Wellington offices, he was advised that his grandfather was out.
He wasn’t given a return time, or an address where his grandfather could be found, so he went home.
Only to find his brothers sitting in his apartment drinking.
Well, at least he was home.
“Dipshit!” Bentley opened his arms wide. “So, how was it? Tell me everything. Did you make love under the moonlight? Take long walks with Buttercup? Tease her mercilessly under the stars?” He smirked. “You’re welcome, by the way. How did grandfather take it?”
Brock was silent.
Brant rolled his eyes. “Told you he wouldn’t do it.”
Bentley looked like his head was going to explode. “You bastard! You had her! A beautiful, nice, funny woman who actually knows how to do laundry, and you passed her up? For what? A model?”
“Do I know you at all anymore?” Brant glared at Bentley. “You would do the exact same thing.”
“Right, but I’m me. This is Brock!”
They both glared at him.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Grandfather because he’s not in the office and not returning my calls. So I came home to shower and think about how best not to give the old man a heart attack when I tell him I’m not going through with the auction. I can’t do it. I won’t.”
“And Jane? How does she feel about all of this?” Bentley asked again, his voice grating on his every last nerve.
“She’s probably freaking out over why I haven’t called her yet, but I had to close the house down, traffic took fucking forever, and by the time I was able to even look at my phone it was dead.” Brock stepped around his brothers and made his way into the bathroom, bracing his hands against the granite countertop. He shook his head. “Why are you guys here, anyway?” He glanced at their reflections in the mirror. Both of them looked guilty.
Bentley’s throat worked into a tight swallow. “Grandfather said, and I quote, ‘You’re next,’ so we’re hiding….”
“Again.” Bennett sighed.
Brock’s lips twitched in amusement. He would have laughed had his heart not still been busy cracking inside his chest with every breath he took. He just wanted Jane. And in order to hold her in his arms he needed to figure his way out of this clusterfuck.
One of the twin’s phones went off.
“Holy shit.” Bentley breathed, and dropped his phone onto the glass table before running over to the TV, grabbing the remote, and turning it on.
Stunned, Brock could only stare as the news station showed pictures of him kissing Jane at the ranch. What was worse, he could see her name splashed all over the screen.
This image was followed by the sight of her horrible sisters.
His heart clenched and then a righteous anger, swift and strong, slammed into his body, making his blood boil and his teeth clench.
He’d pursued her.
And yet the reporters were making her out to be some sort of social climbing whore. The more he watched the sicker he felt.
“Turn that shit off. Now,” he roared, grabbing his phone. “Fuck!”
“What?” Brant stood.
“My phone’s dead.”
“Use mine.” Brant tossed his.
“I don’t have her number memorized!” Brock yelled, chucking the phone back at his brother. “Damn it!” He kicked the sofa. Repeatedly.
“Calm down.” Bentley held out his hands. “We can figure this out.” He motioned for Brock to sit.
“This is bad.” Leave it to Brant to state the obvious. “But we can fix it…”
“No,” Brock said in a hollow voice. “I need to fix it. There is no ‘we.’”
Bentley scowled. “Do you really think we’re going to let you go through this alone? When there’s a woman you love out there probably crying her eyes out because she thinks you’ve abandoned her—”
“Not helping,” Brant said in a low voice.
“Let me finish!” Bentley snapped. “Brock.” He knelt down in front of his brother. “Think. You’re the brains behind most of Grandfather’s asinine ideas; there has to be a way out.”
Brock sucked in a breath as the pressure of his family settled heavily on his shoulders. It was time to be honest. With both of them. “The auction,” He swallowed. “It’s for the shareholders.”
The Bachelor Auction Page 19