Rubbing the spot to ease the ache, I pulled out my phone and flicked through the dozens of emails that had landed in my inbox since I’d last had a look. Iris shifted when the helicopter slowed above the familiar sprawling grounds of an estate, her curious eyes roaming over the contours of the tree-lined drive and the stately stone home at the end of it.
The bird flew to the back of the house, and we alighted on the helipad set back from the main house. Grass flattened itself at our landing, ripples flowing through it and across the surface of the nearby pond. A duck made a hurried escape to a clump of rushes on the far side of the water.
I unclipped my seatbelt and removed my headset. Iris did the same, then followed me out of the helicopter and onto the grounds of the lavish estate.
The house was just the same as it had always been: big, imposing, and cold.
The blades above us slowed as we made our way toward the house; the pilot would wait there for us to return.
Iris’s heels clacked on the stone pathway beside me as she finger-combed her hair with hasty movements. “Hold up,” she said, then dug through her purse to pull out a tiny hairbrush that unfolded to full size. She ran it through her hair a few times then fluffed it, looking at me. “Better?”
“Your hair’s fine.” I checked my watch. We were a few minutes late, which wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“Oh, great. ‘Fine.’ Just what I love to hear.”
Arching a brow, I met her sparkling eyes once more. “Are you done? We need to get in there.”
“And do I get to find out what ‘in there’ actually is, or am I to be presented to this Joanne lady without any warning about what’s coming?”
“Let’s go.”
“I see you choose Option B,” she grumbled, but her heels clacked beside me and the scent of her teased my nose. We rounded perfectly groomed topiaries-one in the shape of a swan, the other a bunny-and crossed a square containing a dramatic fountain. The lights were on, so the water danced through the air as colors shifted through it, to a dazzling effect.
Or it would be dazzling, if I didn’t hate this place.
“Wow. That’s so cool!” Iris slowed beside me. “And listen! There’s music! They’ve timed the fountain to the music!”
“They had it designed after a trip to Dubai. It’s a miniature version of the fountain outside the Burj Khalifa.” I kept walking.
“You’re not impressed by this?”
I shot her a sideways glance. “The novelty wears off,” I said. I’d gotten used to noticing all the changes that occurred to this place while I was away. And all the things that stayed the same.
We passed two more topiary sentinels-perfect spheres-and the vastness of the house came into view.
Half a dozen stone steps lined with chunky carved banisters led to a huge back patio dotted with soft, buttery lamps. The music of the fountain mingled slightly with the sound of harp music coming from the other side of the French doors.
The home was almost a palace, all gray stone and severe lines. It had eight bedrooms and nine and a half bathrooms, a kitchen big enough to run a catering company, and at least half a dozen living spaces. It was decorated sumptuously, with antiques collected from trips all around the world-most of which should probably have been in a museum instead of a private collection.
It was a beautiful home. Iris gasped.
And I crashed to a stop. She stumbled and bumped into my back, catching herself on my arms. The weight of her fingers against my biceps sent warmth arcing through my veins. I turned, and she took a hurried step back.
“This was a mistake,” I told her. “Go back to the chopper.”
Dark brows drew together as her lips tightened slightly. “What?”
My heart thundered. She stood here, gawping at fountains and staring at topiaries, and we’d go in there and she’d be eaten alive. And I would be the one who’d have to save her or watch her suffer. And then I’d be the one who’d get the criticism for bringing her here in the first place.
“This was a mistake,” I repeated through gritted teeth. “Turn around and go?-“
“Jared,” a voice called out from the top of the steps. “You finally made it.” There was a short pause. A pause that said as much as any words, because the woman at the top of the steps was a master at using silence like a weapon. In the stillness of the evening, with crickets chirping around us, delicate music dancing around us from two directions, and the last sounds of the helicopter engine fading, the silence said, You’re late, and I’m unhappy.
I turned to see a woman in her early sixties, dressed in black pants and a cream top with a cashmere sweater draped over her shoulders. Her throat was adorned with a necklace of huge freshwater pearls, the ones in her ears completing the matching set. She had dark hair and few wrinkles, and eyes of dark, judgmental blue.
Her thin lips curled into a predator’s smile as her gaze slid from me to the woman behind me. “And you brought a friend.”
Yes, I had, and I regretted it, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Resigned, I stood straighter, and said, “Hello, Mother.”
Iris’s POV
My body went still, all the way down to my little toes. I stood in front of the most gigantic house I’d ever seen, surrounded by beautiful, manicured gardens, and all the color leached out of the world before my eyes.
The woman at the top of the steps looked down at us, haughty and unimpressed.
Beside me, Jared shifted, putting his hand on my lower back. “Mother, this is Nikita Little. Ms. Little, my mother, Joanne Branson.”
I realized the smile plastered to my face had slipped, so I did my best to stretch it a little wider. “The famous Joanne!” I said, and immediately realized that was the wrong thing to say when her cold gaze narrowed on me. And I remembered-I was a courtroom extra. Bland and beige, with no speaking lines.
And I’d already put my foot in it.
Clearing my throat, I used every bit of willpower to keep that stupid smile in place as I changed tack, trying to appear demure and uninteresting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Branson.”
The woman just blinked and slid her gaze to my boss. No words were spoken, but they seemed to communicate just fine. The woman whirled and strode toward the open French doors.
And by “the woman,” of course, I meant Jared Branson’s mother. Which meant this was his home. And he’d brought me here with zero warning or preparation.
Suddenly, the horror faded, and I was angry. He’d done this on purpose! This whole thing-the outfit change, the helicopter, the introduction-was just a way to get me off-balance.
It was his way of saying, You thought you had the upper hand? Think again, Little.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.