“The list,” he found himself saying, “From the launch party last night, do you have it?”
“The list?” Grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“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.