“I need it.”
“You need it?”
“Stop repeating everything I’m saying and just e-mail me the damn list.”
He could have sworn Grandfather’s lips twitched at the corners. “I’m merely curious what you could possibly want with a list of names—though maybe the idea of settling down with one of the bidders is starting to sound like a good idea?”
It wasn’t a list of names he wanted. It was one name.
A name attached to a beautiful woman who’d taken over his every waking thought.
Brock stiffened. “Well, I should at least do some homework if you want me to be part of the auction. Weren’t a majority of the people at the launch event the same ones that are planning on donating?”
“Yes, that’s true.” Grandfather tapped his chin. “I’ll send you the list. I’m just glad that you’re taking this seriously. This company is important to us; it’s your future.”
Brock suddenly wanted to run.
And then punch his fist through a wall.
His future.
Right.
“The auction is set for three weeks from tomorrow. The night will start off with the ball, but you don’t need to concern yourself with that. I have marketing and publicity working on the details. All you have to do is show up with a smile on your face.”
“Okay.”
Grandfather tilted his head to the side. “Was there something else you wanted to say to me?”
Yes. There were a million things he wanted to say. All of which started with “I’m sorry I can’t do this” and “I’m sorry they died.” “I’m sorry it’s my fault.” “I’m sorry that you lost your son and daughter-in-law.”
Because he was.
So fucking sorry.
“Are you sure?” Grandfather prodded further. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Brock.”
No, he really couldn’t. Because clearly bad things always happened when he said no, and his grandfather was the glue that held the family together.
And he was being selfish for wanting more for himself when his grandfather had sacrificed everything to raise three hellion boys who’d lost their parents.
“No.” Brock shot to his feet. “No, there’s nothing else.”
Grandfather sighed. “That’s too bad.”
“What was that?” It was hard to miss the hopeful look in his grandfather’s eyes. What could he possibly expect Brock to ask?
“The weather.” Grandfather nodded. “It’s supposed to get bad. Try not to leave too late on your trip to the ranch house.”
The ranch house.
Chills ran up and down Brocks arms.
The last time he’d been there he’d been a broken child searching for answers.
Funny how some things changed, and some things don’t.
Because somehow he still felt broken.
Chapter Nine
Cinderella Cleaning, you make the mess, and we’ll clean it up before you can utter ‘bibbidi bobbidy boo’.” Jane seriously needed to consider changing her company’s motto. Yawning, she put a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound and scrunched her nose at the scent.
Lemon Pine Sol was her perfume these days. She loathed every part of her job—except the way things looked once she was finished. That, she appreciated. But Cinderella Cleaning had been her father’s business. And it had helped get her through college. And it made sense.
Like everything else in her boring life. It made sense to take over his business, as if it was somehow keeping his memory alive. She’d even kept his surfboard key chain.
Thumbing the little board, she yawned again as the person on the other end of the line coughed and sputtered.
“Sorry.” The man sounded old. Real old. Great. A while ago she’d discovered that her phone number was nearly identical to one that belonged to a massage service that she was pretty sure offered happy endings. “This old cold has me down.”
“It’s okay.” Jane let out a sigh and turned off the engine. She had just pulled in to Starbucks, in need of a giant pick-me-up. “What can I help you with?”
“I have pipes that need cleaning, among other things.”
“Oh um, well.” She made a face and then cringed at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Mascara from last night streaked down her cheeks. Crap! She’d forgotten to wash it off. “I don’t…I think the number you’re looking for has an eight instead of a seven at the end. This is Cinderella Cleaning Company.”
A long pause and then, “I know. I need things cleaned.”
“Look, sir, I clean houses and offices.”
“Fantastic!” He seemed overjoyed at the idea. Was he drunk? “I have a very old house that needs a bit of attention. I won’t be in residence, but there will be someone there to help you out. I’m afraid I would need you round the clock for an extended amount of time.”
“I’m not really a live-in maid,” she said, as visions of being locked in the attic Jane Eyre-style filled her head.
“It’s only for a few days. I’ll pay handsomely.” The man started coughing again. “Five thousand a week.”
“Dollars?” she shouted, dropping the phone into her lap and staring at it in shock before picking it up again.
He chuckled on the other end. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in alternate forms of payment. Although I do have some chickens. Doubt I could get more than one good egg out of ’em, though. Five thousand? Good night, they’d probably explode. Ah, but then again, chickens need love, too. I believe mine simply enjoy the act of lovemaking more than the production of eggs. That’s all there is to it.”
Jane stared at the phone then put it back near her ear. Was he talking about chicken sex?
“At any rate…” he sighed. “I’d like to hire you, if you don’t mind. We can go over specifics tomorrow when I send a car for you.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“You will.”
“Why?” She drew out the word slowly.
“Because you need an adventure,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.
“Who the hell is this?” Her skin prickled with awareness as she nervously glanced out the window. Was he watching her? How creepy!
“Eh, think of me as your fairy godfather.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Fifteen thousand dollars a week.”
“Good-bye.”
She hung up the phone with shaking hands.
Within a minute, it started ringing again.
She let it go to voice mail.
This was crazy. Right?
He could be a homicidal maniac. Luring maids or house cleaners into his home with the promise of money.
But still.
She couldn’t deny she was tempted by the idea of an adventure. Or that she could use a break from the hamster wheel that was life with her sisters.
Especially after this morning.
Her phone beeped alerting her to his message.
She should just delete the message, but coffee first. Coffee always first. With a sigh, she got out of the large cleaning van and made her way into Starbucks, walking purposefully toward the counter, only to be cut in front of the minute she got close enough to order.
And like an idiot she allowed it.
Just like she allowed her sisters to walk all over her.
With a grimace she stared down at her phone and nearly threw it against the wall when a text from Essence popped up on her screen.
We’re going to be home late! Drinks after work! Save food for us?
Irritated, she didn’t answer.
They didn’t have money for drinks after work—every night of the week! It was bad enough that her sisters were probably going to stay until happy hour was over—but they always bought drinks for their friends, too.
With a groan, she tossed her phone back into her purse.
Jane ordered a large black coffee and headed back to the van. But the minute she turned the key in the igniti
on she knew something was terribly, horribly wrong.
The van shuddered, made a crazy choking sound and puffed out enough black smoke to kill a person.
“No, no, no,” She said aloud. She’d just taken it into the shop and the mechanic had warned her if she didn’t fix a few things the engine would die. But the few things had turned into close to five thousand dollars’ worth of work. She didn’t have that kind of money.
Tears stung her eyes.
Her van wasn’t a want—it was a necessity for her to actually run the business.
She jerked the keys out of the ignition and picked up her phone, chewing her lower lip before pressing play on her voicemail and putting the phone on speaker.
“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Cinderella Cleaning.” The man had another coughing fit. “If you do this job for me, I will pay you thirty grand, final offer. I won’t be at the estate while you are in residence. In fact, you’ll probably be bored out of your mind. We have state-of-the-art security, and I believe the only concern you’ll have is when the ass gets loose, which I’m sorry to report happens quite often, if my ranch hand is to be believed. Then again, he’s old, so maybe he’s imagining it.” Another long sputter. “Call me back, we’ll make arrangements. You’ll open the house, keep it clean, and prepare it for its new tenants, all the while taking breaks out by the pool. How hard could it be?”
Jane chewed her lower lip.
How hard indeed?
Chapter Ten
Jane!” Esmeralda shrieked so loudly that Jane winced beneath the warmth of her old blanket. “Jane!” Another loud yell was followed by stomping up the creaky wood stairs.
The wool blanket was jerked away and tossed onto the floor.
Esmeralda towered over the bed, arms crossed. “It’s seven.”
“I know,” Jane said in a small voice. “It’s also Tuesday. You go into work at nine on Tuesdays.”
Esmeralda’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “But I still need to eat, and Essence wants to get in early, so hurry the hell up. God, I don’t know why we put up with you.”
They’d been fighting with Jane ever since Monday night, when she had gotten into it again with them about staying out late and spending money that they didn’t have. It didn’t help that Esmeralda didn’t get the promotion she’d thought she was up for, which meant no pay raise. Essence had said as much when she got home last night. Her face was pale when she’d mentioned that Esmeralda had been counting on the money.
Jane didn’t want to know.
Didn’t ask.
Because she had a sinking feeling her sister had done something stupid. And they couldn’t afford to bail her out again.
Jane waited until the door slammed after her sister then allowed the tears to fall freely. She’d been having the best dream.
About Brock.
Because naturally a man that good-looking just had to invade her dreams, as well as every time she thought about shoes, or dark hair, or men with kind smiles. He’d been so nice.
So. Nice.
Typically, she just cleaned offices, moving through the day while people passed her by, not giving the cleaning lady a second glance. She was okay with that; she’d always been okay with that.
Until now.
Until someone…had stopped.
Until someone beautiful…had smiled.
Gah!
She pounded her fists into the mattress as her name was screamed up into the rafters yet again, this time by Essence.
She grabbed her sweatshirt like she did every other day, threw it over her head, and slowly ambled down the stairs.
Both girls were seated in their spots at the table, and Jane got a sudden vision of her future.
She’d be eighty and still cleaning up their messes.
In the same ratty sweatshirt.
In the same sad pathetic flip-flops.
Frowning, she grabbed one of the skillets and tossed in some bacon. She’d promised her father, but what if, by keeping her promise…she lost her soul? Her will to live?
“Damn.” Essence let out a long whistle. “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”
“Let me see!” Esmerelda snatched the paper from Essence’s hands. “Please. He didn’t even look at you the other night.”
“He would have,” Essence grumbled, “if Jane hadn’t fallen and caused such a commotion.”
“I wish we had the money to bid on him,” Esmeralda whined, and then both girls fell silent.
Prickles of awareness shivered down Jane’s spine.
“Jane, dear?” Essence said first. “Didn’t Daddy leave you some money?”
“No,” she said quickly, irritated by the knowledge that if she had an inheritance they’d expect her to fork it over just so they could bid on chance to marry a millionaire. She didn’t have to turn around and read the newspaper to know they were talking about Brock. She’d looked him up after the party.
He was rich.
But it wasn’t just that he was loaded—he was famous.
Famous for being brilliant.
Famous for being nice.
Famous for being a terror in the boardroom, which he clearly made up for by doing good deeds during the holiday season.
He spent every Christmas at the freaking homeless shelter serving turkey dinners. He was an actual saint.
So should it surprise her that he’d bought her shoes?
No.
He’d do it for anyone.
She was nobody special.
And a few hundred dollars for shoes? Meant nothing to a man like him—meanwhile meaning the world to her.
“Jane?” Essence wrapped her arms around Jane’s waist then pressed her head against her shoulder the way she had when they were younger. “Come on, we just want a little bit. It says in the article that any girl that bids over two hundred grand automatically makes it to the ball.”
Jane shrugged away from her grasp and choked out a laugh. “Two hundred grand? Are you serious? Do you think I would still be a cleaning lady if I had that much money?”
Essence shrugged. “Who knows? You were always Daddy’s favorite. Hell, he probably gave you more than that, and you’re just too selfish to share it with us.”
Esmeralda tensed, looking between both of them, and then a slow nod from Essence had her jumping right in. “You always were selfish—first with Daddy’s love and now with whatever he left us. Figures you would keep it all to yourself.”
With a sigh, Jane plopped the bacon onto a plate and placed her hands on her hips. “If I had money, you guys would know about it. All I have is the business, and I highly doubt it’s worth more than a hundred grand, if that.” She frowned. “What’s this really about?”
The girls both fell silent and then they shared another one of the looks they were famous for. One where Jane was left out.
It was awkward. Tense.
Finally Esmeralda stood. “I should go to work. Thanks for breakfast.” She glared down at the bacon then purposefully walked by it, her heels clicking on the floor.
“Wait!” Jane called after her. “Are you wearing my shoes?” She pointed to the new shoes on Esmeralda’s feet. The exact ones that Brock had bought her two nights ago.
Essence breezed past them. “Let’s go!”
”Esmerelda!” Jane yelled after her sister, but her only response was the slam of the front door. Typical.
And typically infuriating.
It hadn’t always been this bad.
Jane remembered times when they’d watch movies together, do each other’s hair. But that hadn’t happened in years.
What had happened to her family? And why did it seem she was the only one who cared?
Her phone burned in her pocket.
Three weeks away from her sisters.
Three weeks away from this.
Enough money to fix the van.
And a much needed break from whatever her sisters were conspiring to do.
She pulled her phone from
her back pocket.
“Hello?” The old man answered on the first ring.
“I’ll do it.” The words rushed out before she could stop them.
“Wonderful decision, my dear. How soon can you make arrangements?”
Jane smiled. “Give me a day.”
Chapter Eleven
Thunder rumbled loudly as the sky lit up with a flash of lightning. The weather had gone from bad to worse since he’d left his house, and the drive to the ranch had taken twice as long as it should have.
He was irritated.
The rain wasn’t helping.
Jane’s name hadn’t been on the guest list he’d gotten from Grandfather. Maybe it was the universe’s way of telling him to just leave her alone—what good would it do anyway? Ask her on a date and then end the date by saying, “oh and by the way I’m going to have to put you on a time out while I go drink wine with that rich supermodel who bid on me”?
Thunder rumbled louder as rain pelted against the windshield.
Brock had always hated thunderstorms. Their loud, majestic power was yet another reminder that he was a very small part of a very big universe. Something that normally would humble a man made him feel weak, reminded him that he didn’t have the power to do anything, really.
His body chilled, he turned up the heated seat and focused on the rest of the drive down the three-mile long, tree-lined dirt road that led up to the main house. He hadn’t been back since he was a child.
The place held too many painful memories.
Memories that he’d always wanted to keep locked down, until now.
“Twirls me, twirls me, Daddy!” Brock giggled as his father twirled him around and around. “Higher, higher, Daddy!”
His dad suddenly stopped and set Brock back onto his feet. Out of breath, he’d mumbled, “You’re getting so big!”
“I four.”
“I’m four.” His father repeated with a laugh as he messed with Brock’s dark hair and then leaned in with arms open wide. “Now give your dad a hug. It’s time to go in for dinner.”
Brock hung his head. “I not hungry.”
“I’m not hungry.” His dad said the sentence again, correcting it for Brock. He’d had a speech problem as a child, was unable to say most of his R’s, and had been blind as a bat before glasses, and later, contacts.