Ever After

By Eden French

Former heiress Ashe Pembroke can’t believe her life has turned into a freaking cliché, a modern day Cinderella living under the thumb of her ruthless stepmother, hated by her perfect stepsister, and treated as a servant in her own home. Then on her worst day ever, she meets Sebastian Bradford, a handsome prince charming if ever she’s seen one. Their chemistry is hot and instant. But imagine her surprise when he brings along his hunky spec ops lover, Elijah, who issues panty-melting orders in a deep voice like smooth cut velvet. Suddenly her life—and she—is turned upside down in ways she never, ever dreamed of!

The sex is ridiculous. Exciting and...well, just plain mindblowing. The two men are clearly madly in love with each other, and it’s rubbing off on her in all the best ways. They treat her like royalty, and cater to her every sexual fantasy while indulging in a few of their own. As she gets to know Sebastian and Elijah, she finally understands the power of true love, and begins to fight for her freedom. She desperately wants to accept the unique life they are offering her. But is it really possible to fall in love with more than one person at the same time, and together have a happily ever after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Nov 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640638914

Book preview

To knowing that Happily Ever Afters come in all shapes and sizes…

and that unexpected love is some of the best kind.

Prologue

Elijah Stevens stepped off the helicopter and peered past the armed guards to the limousine waiting a hundred yards away. Lincoln sedan, dark tinted windows, a uniformed driver standing at the back door. Obviously, someone powerful had summoned him. But who?

Elijah glanced around the deserted airport, ultra-alert. One, two, three, four… He quickly made five guards posted up against the surrounding buildings. The muscles in his shoulders tensed. Why had he been pulled from his assignment? How? Who could possibly have authorization? His unit didn’t exist. No one knew about them. No one.

Be cool. Be ready.

He squinted as the sun bounced off the impenetrable windows of the limo with an eerie orange glare. Lowering his sunglasses, he jogged out from under the chopper’s blades toward the long black vehicle. Whoever had the clearance to pull him out of the jungle was sitting in that limo. Who the fuck was this guy?

He walked past the motionless guards in their crisp black suits and reached across his torso, pulling his bag over his shoulder, and deliberately flashed the holster hidden underneath his jacket. Yeah. He was a badass too, motherfuckers.

As he approached the car, the window rolled down. No point going on the offensive now. If they’d wanted him dead, there had been plenty of time to do so. Best to keep cool. Still, he planned out his next seven moves, if things went down. One could never be too careful.

When the window was opened, an older gentleman with silver hair appeared. He eyed Elijah up and down before speaking.

I appreciate you joining me tonight, the man said.

Elijah recognized the smug, uppity tenor. Typical aristocratic blowhard. And yet, there was something about this man’s eyes. Ruthless. Uncompromising. Hard. If there was one thing his special ops training had taught him, it was to always trust your instincts. And instinct told him this man was as dangerous as the drug lords he hunted in the jungle.

"And who exactly do I have the pleasure of joining tonight?" he casually asked. That’s right. Just here for a little friendly conversation. Yeah, right. Inside, every nerve sent SOS signals to stand guard. This man was a threat.

My dear boy, we’ll get to that. Now, if you wouldn’t mind joining me for a ride. We have much to discuss.

The driver opened the door for him. Elijah narrowed his eyes at the older man inside. What choice did he have? Five against one were odds he could probably handle, but morbid curiosity got the better of him. Whoever the man in the limo was, he had the capability of plucking him out of the Ecuadorian Amazon and escorted directly stateside to…California? The low setting sun seemed to think so. This guy was a big player. Still, Elijah wasn’t the sort of man accustomed to doing everything asked of him without some assurance.

He smiled at the gentleman. Perhaps you can understand my hesitancy in engaging in conversation when I have no idea why I’ve been called here or by whom.

A guard approached him from behind and tried to remove his bag. Elijah grabbed the man’s hand and twisted it backward. Spinning at lightning speed, he knocked the guard off his feet, but not before disarming him. His heartbeat barely rose as he aimed the Glock at the man’s head. Pathetic. Those five to one odds just landed more firmly in his favor. The helpless guard lay stunned on the ground as he stared into the barrel of his own weapon.

The older man eyed Elijah in approval. There it is…that defiant streak. I can see just a quick glimpse of it now. Never mind that, though. Your reflexes are just as quick as they say, and you come highly recommended by General Wilmington.

Elijah glanced up at the mention of the general’s name. Wilmington knew this guy? He should have guessed. He disassembled the gun and tossed the pieces on the ground next to the guard. Better luck next time, bro.

He turned to face the older man. What am I doing here?

The man smiled. I have a job for you. A special assignment, if you will. One that I’m sure you’ll find more than worth your while.

Elijah raised an eyebrow.

The old man huffed. I need you to protect my son.

Protect him? From whom?

The stranger’s lips twisted. From himself.

Chapter One

Four years later

A thick ribbon of early morning sunlight broke through the space between the drapes and shot like a laser beam across the room directly into the face of Sebastian Bradford. Elijah propped himself up on one elbow and watched his lover sleep. Peaceful. Relaxed. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. Bastian’s eyelashes fluttered, and Elijah smiled.

What are you dreaming about?

Four years ago, he’d walked through the doors of Bradford Communications Headquarters in Carmel-by-the-Sea to be the personal bodyguard of Carrington Bradford’s wayward son. And found love. Who would’ve fucking guessed?

Initially, he couldn’t believe Wilmington had agreed to such a bullshit assignment. He had let his best soldier go. But apparently the two older men went way back, and a favor is a favor is a favor among old fraternity mates. Goddamn rich people.

Bastian tossed lightly in his sleep, and Elijah gently brushed a wild strand of hair off his forehead. Everything was different now. He was different.

As a teen, Elijah had been taken to a training facility for people with…special skills. He’d always thought it a coincidence that the general happened to be at the same shooting range Elijah used for practice. So naïve. Years of studying under the general had taught Elijah enough to know that there were no coincidences regarding the battle-scarred man. Like some twisted fairy godfather, he could make your dreams—or nightmares—come true. He had connections everywhere. With everyone.

When Elijah had first read the briefing in Carrington Bradford’s office, he nearly spit his scotch on the plush leather chair. But he didn’t refuse. For some reason, babysitting a frat boy was where he had been called to serve, and when it was time for a decision, he had swallowed his pride and followed the directive.

Thank. God.

He chuckled to himself remembering his and Sebastian’s first encounter. Bastian was finishing up his senior year at Dartmouth. Elijah had been sent to his fraternity house to rein in the wild heir.

Chug, chug, chug!

Elijah had stepped into the chaos of the Bones Gate jungle-themed party and grunted. He’d left one jungle for another. The smell of rum and cola was thick in the air.

Rich pricks. They have no idea what happens in the real world.

He hadn’t been much older than them at twenty-two, but a hard life and military training had added mental maturity. He lifted his sunglasses in the darkened room, perching them atop his head.

Dude, look out!

A rogue Frisbee flew toward him from the right. He’d whisked around and snatched the disc from the air with barely a movement. You’ve got to be kidding me with this.

Fuck. Me, he grumbled under his breath.

Whoa, bro. You totally ninja’d that disc.

The stoned frat boy stood under Elijah’s penetrative gaze. His board shorts hung low on his hips. Blond hair fell over his amber eyes as he stared back, challenging him. Elijah’s heart had skipped. Shit. He couldn’t be attracted to this one. This was the assignment. This frat boy was the objective.

Sebastian Bradford? he had said, desperate to will away the massive erection threatening to appear. Christ.

Sebastian had taken the Frisbee from him and flashed a half smile. I’m your man.

Yeah, you are. Thoughts of pressing down on Sebastian’s back as he took him from behind flashed in his brain. His cock twitched.

Stop it. Not now.

And you are…?

Your new best friend, Elijah responded. At least his elite training was good for something. The guy would never suspect the storm brewing in his jeans from his casual response. Jesus.

Sebastian let his head fall back. Fuck me. You’re my father’s goon, aren’t you? I should’ve known.

Well, I don’t know about goon, but yes, your father did send me.

I don’t need a babysitter.

Think of me as a bodyguard.

I don’t need a bodyguard.

Your father feels otherwise.

Sebastian ran his hand through his thick hair. Elijah’s fingers itched to do the same.

This is a job, dammit! Pull yourself together!

I’m not getting rid of you, am I?

Elijah shook his head.

Well then, here’s the gist. My father’s a dick. I want to be nothing like him. And my plan is to spend as long as I can partying it up and enjoying my life before he chains me to his company. Are you willing to go along with that, uh— What’s your name?

Mr. Stevens.

Nah, man, if we’re gonna hang, it’s gonna be on a first-name basis.

How in the hell had he gotten mixed up in this shit? He was a trained assassin, not a fucking wet nurse.

I don’t think that’s appropriate.

Ahh, so you do have independent thoughts. And here I just assumed you were another one of my father’s robots.

Elijah’s jaw ticked. Fuck Bradford. Fuck Wilmington. Fuck this assignment. And goddamn fuck my edging boner. He wished he was back in Ecuador. At least there, he could jack off in the jungle and no one would be the wiser.

Elijah. My name is Elijah, he replied tightly.

Elijah. Nice. So, what do you think, Elijah? You ready to come along for the ride? Sebastian punctuated the question with a wink.

The Bradford heir’s amber eyes had stolen Elijah’s breath. Oh, yeah. He was totally screwed. He had killed more people than he could count, slept in places that would give monsters nightmares, and seen more blood than anyone should in a lifetime, yet his hands began to sweat under the gaze of this frat boy.

A quick nod. Wherever you go, I go.

I was hoping you’d say that.

The memory faded and Elijah smiled as he watched Bastian sleep. The light-green silk sheets fell across his lover’s waist, exposing his smooth, tanned torso. Had it been four years? Time gone in a blink of an eye. Reaching over, he brushed another thick lock of golden hair off Bastian’s forehead.

The sleeping man stretched like a lazy cat and turned his head in Elijah’s direction but didn’t open his eyes. I can feel you gawking at me, he mumbled in a husky voice. Even when I’m asleep, I know when your eyes are undressing me.

Elijah released a quiet laugh. That makes no sense…you’re already undressed. He slid his hand around Bastian’s chiseled torso, his fingertips tracing the rock-hard obliques until they found the pointy part of his pelvic bone. Mmm.

With the touch, Bastian’s eyes opened. The crystallized amber flecks were hot. Molten. Come here. His hand wound around Elijah’s neck and pulled him close until their lips met.

Elijah’s insides squirmed. His lover devoured his mouth, and electricity flashed through his body. His cock sprung to attention. Just like a good soldier.

If you don’t slow down, he said between kisses, You’re going to be late for your father’s brunch.

Bastian huffed and pulled back. Does it look like I care about my father’s pretentious breakfasts? It’s only a ruse to go over company shit anyway. I don’t know why he insists on it every Sunday. You’d think I could get one day off.

He’s trying to prepare you to take over the company.

Don’t tell me you drank the Kool-Aid, too?

Elijah leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Sometimes I wish I had. At least then I wouldn’t feel your pain.

Or continually try to convince myself that I deserve you.

Well, it’s a good thing I swept you off your feet when I did. Bastian wrapped his arms around Elijah’s body and rolled over, pulling him on top.

Elijah braced his arms on each of his lover’s strong shoulders and looked down at him. He pressed his cock against Bastian’s thigh. Yeah, this was not helping their timetable. Do you remember when we first kissed? he asked in a low voice.

Bastian traced the hairline along Elijah’s temple. How could I forget? We were in Thailand. Railay Beach.

The limestone cliffs were amazing.

You’re amazing. Bastian lifted his head and sprinkled kisses along his jaw like angel feathers.

Absolute heaven.

Elijah struggled to focus. Do you remember what we promised each other that night? he said, regaining his train of thought.

Bastian’s eyes narrowed, and Elijah could almost see the memories coming to life in them. Just a couple more seconds… The slight smile that lifted the corner of Bastian’s mouth told him his lover remembered.

We promised we’d never let anyone get between us. That we’d live our truth no matter what. That you’d always protect me—he paused—and once Bradford Communications was under my control we would use its influence to do good in the world.

Which means…

I’ve got to play my father’s game just a little while longer, until he’s out of the picture and I take the reins.

Bastian groaned and Elijah stifled a laugh. Bastian, I can’t keep playing ref between the two of you. You’re going to have to stand up to him eventually. We’ve discussed this. There are only two options here—either put up with it or cut and run.

Bastian’s eyes closed.

Elijah despised bringing reality into the bedroom, but the hard truth was that Carrington Bradford was an extremely powerful man. Desperate for his son to take his place when he retired. And way too bigoted ever to approve of their relationship.

Elijah knew Carrington’s prejudice wasn’t the only thing that pissed Bastian off. The elder Bradford had more than a small hand in the demise of Bastian’s mother, Lila. Apparently, living the life of a Bradford could break a person. Carrington had had his wife committed years ago and kept her there until her untimely death. Lila’s passing had marked the beginning of the rift between father and son, one that had grown only wider as time passed, Bastian fighting Carrington every step of the way.

Bastian opened his eyes. I say let’s cut and run. He pulled Elijah closer, rolling over in the bed and pinning him down.

Elijah let him. With one quick move he could have Bastian flipped, hogtied, and begging for release. Not a bad idea. The image made him hard, and Bastian shifted his body so his cock pressed against the crook of Elijah’s thigh.

Might I recommend the former? Elijah suggested. I mean, the man is my boss. I could get fired. Not possible. Especially if he ever finds out about the naughty things I’ve been doing to his son.

And what if his son loves all those naughty things? his lover whispered, and pressed his hips forward, his hard shaft imprinting into Elijah’s groin.

Yeah, this was going to end only one way.

Besides, Bastian continued. Finding out about us would mean he’d have to actually pay attention to me outside of business, and we both know that’s highly unlikely.

True, but Bastian, you’ve been dealing with him for all your life. What’s another twelve months? By this time next year, the transition will be over, you’ll be fully in charge, and Carrington will be helpless.

Bastian cocked his head. True. Then finally I won’t have to deal with him trying to set me up with all those ridiculous women. Or listen to him pester me about when I’m going to have children…continue his legacy. Total bullshit.

Elijah ran his hands down the length of Bastian’s sides. His mouth watered. He could eat this man up every breakfast, lunch, and dinner. For fuck’s sake, he was a Greek god. All parents want grandchildren. Cut him some slack. He’s old. Grumpy. Probably’ll have dementia soon. And it’s not as if he’s suggesting something we don’t want. We’ve talked about having children one day, too.

Bastian lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah, but on our terms. Not his. He’s relentless. Sometimes I wonder what lengths he would go to for grandchildren. You haven’t heard him, E. He’s obsessed. Christ, I’m only twenty-five. I’ve got time. Plus, I’ve agreed to children only if we find the right woman. Someone we can bring into our lives and share everything with. All of us equals. A real partner. Someone we can have an actual family with. And even then, I’m still not a hundred percent convinced I want a child."

Neither was Elijah. It was only a handful of years ago he was a straight-up killer…mercenary…assassin. Take your pick. None of the choices had a white picket fence attached. But now? Life with Bastian had opened up possibilities he’d never known existed. He could have more. A real family. He wasn’t sure if he deserved it, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted it. Badly.

And he wasn’t stupid. Bringing another person into their relationship could potentially derail everything they currently had. It was terrifying. But the biggest revelation from their late-night chats had been how a third person had nothing to do with what they lacked as a couple, but everything to do with a common foundational belief that love was unconditional and meant to be shared.

A triad could work for them. It had been a tough place to get to, and a conclusion neither of them took lightly, but now it seemed like the next obvious step—if they happened to find the right person.

I’m with you, Bastian. I am. I just don’t want your father’s way of doing things to deter us from what we’ve already decided would work for our relationship, our life, you know?

Bastian turned his eyes up to the ceiling. He’s just so unbelievably infuriating.

I know. Elijah lifted his head and kissed the base of Bastian’s neck, letting his tongue linger in the groove at the center of his collarbone. Yum. I wonder if there’s anything I can do to help you blow off some steam… He ran his hands down over his lover’s tight ass.

Bastian leaned down and bit at his lips. Enough chitchat, Specialist Stevens. We’ve got only about twenty minutes before I have to go, and I need exactly twenty-three to make you come.

Now we’re talking.

Bastian scooped up Elijah’s left leg with his arm and hooked it over his elbow, spreading him open. Elijah’s stomach tightened. His cock throbbed in anticipation.

Finally.

Bastian leaned forward and crushed Elijah’s lips, then pulled back and slipped his fingers into Elijah’s mouth. Yes. Bring those here. Deeper. Elijah sucked hard before Bastian stole them away and jerked his cock a few times. Elijah moaned. He needed to have Bastian inside him…now.

The phone on the bedside table vibrated. Fuck it. Let them wait. If it was important, they’d leave a message. Right now, his lover was about bury himself inside him, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy every second.

Chapter Two

Ashe Pembroke stood on her tiptoes and stretched her arms above her head until her stomach muscles pulled tight along her torso. She narrowed her eyes at the target sitting on top of the refrigerator. So close and yet so far away. The jar of pickles mocked her from its place just out of reach in the center of the surface. How in the hell did they get up there?

Why on earth…? She jumped and swatted at the jar, trying to move it within reach.

Ugh. It was no use. Her fingertips hit the glass container just enough to push it farther back onto the beastly appliance.

She huffed and sat defeated on the kitchen floor. Of course I inherited my mother’s short genes.

She examined her legs stretched before her on the floor and twisted her mouth. At barely five foot two, there was no way she’d reach the jar without help. She stood and searched the pantry for the step stool.

Ashe! Ashe! The high-pitched screech echoed through the house.

She stiffened. Not again. What could she possibly want now? Ashe pinched the bridge of her nose. It was too early for this. She hadn’t even had her coffee yet.

Please go away. Please go away.

She waited in silence to see if the summons would pass.

A-a-ashe!

No such luck. There appeared no getting out of whatever her stepmother, Gloria Westerbound-Pembroke, wanted.

The tall, raven-haired woman appeared in the kitchen a few seconds later. Her mouth, pursed in a tight straight line, gave the impression her face was about to swallow her lips. Ashe’s heart fell to her stomach. Just the sight of the woman made her physically ill.

How…expected. Her stepmother sneered. "I suppose I should’ve known you’d be in this room. Lord knows you eat enough for three people."

Ashe’s face burned. That’s hardly fair, Glori—

Excuse me?

Ashe diverted her eyes to the floor. I’m sorry…Mother. I was just saying that it’s hardly fair to complain about the time I spend in the kitchen, since you’re the one who expects me to cook for you and Veronica when the staff is off. She slowly met her stepmother’s cold stare. She shivered. Snakes had more welcoming energy. And I never eat anything you haven’t designated as appropriate.

Gloria looked her up and down, her eyes stalling at her waist. Really? Are you sure? ’Cause you’re looking a bit plump around your middle.

Ashe brought her hands to her stomach in defense. Bitch. She knew Gloria was just trying to make her feel bad, but damn, did she always have to target her weight? And this early in the day? What was the point?

Still, it stung. At her height, even a wayward five pounds made her feel like a startled puffer fish. It hadn’t helped that after her father’s death she’d turned to food as a comfort. But who could blame her? Lord knew she wasn’t going to find the comfort she’d needed in her stepmother or stepsister. Sure, a little weight was gained. So what? That was a long time ago. Too bad the mean-spirited witch liked to remind her of it every chance she got.

Ashe took a deep breath. Find out what she wants and maybe she’ll go away. Is there something you needed me for, Mother? She forced a smile.

Gloria narrowed her eyes. Yes. Veronica requires your assistance in her dressing room. There’s a high tea at the club and she needs help tracking down her pearls.

Ashe’s heart fell. Of course. High tea at the club. It was Sunday, after all. Another day of tracking down her stepsister’s belongings so the spoiled brat could pretend to be a lady. Lady, my ass.

Certainly. I’ll just finish putting together breakfast, and when I bring it up, I’ll help her.

Gloria glared at the dishes and pans piled in the sink from breakfast preparations, disgust pouring down her face. Make sure you clean all this up before you do. The staff won’t be in until tomorrow morning. What would your father think if he saw the condition you keep our house in? You’re worse than the help.

Hag. Ashe didn’t see her lifting a finger around here. She gritted her teeth. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—

He’d know I was doing the best I could with what I have, she challenged. And the staff has never let you down. They’re hard workers.

Crap.

Gloria glowered. "What did you say? Her lips curled back over her teeth.

Ashe’s heart raced.

Shit. Why’d she open her mouth? She knew better.

Back talk wasn’t exactly Ashe’s style, especially since Gloria controlled 100 percent of Pembroke Enterprises and was the executor of Ashe’s trust. Thank God her father had had the foresight to make it irrevocable. As much as she was sure Gloria wanted to, the woman was unable to touch one asset in the fund. Ashe was holding out and biding her time until she turned twenty-four. Once the magic birthday hit, the trust in its entirety would be released to her, and she’d be free. All she had to do was toe the line.

But that was two years away. Two long years. Twenty-four months. One hundred four weeks. Seven hundred twenty-eight days. Seventeen thousand, four hundred, seventy-two hours. But who’s counting? Her jaw ticked. It would do no good to create problems in the very home she’d be stuck living in for the next…seemingly forever.

Her throat closed slightly and she forced it open, allowing air to slip through. She broke from Gloria’s scowl and studied the polished wooden floorboards. Nothing, Mother. It was nothing. I’ll make sure the kitchen is spotless before I bring up breakfast.

That’s what I thought. Gloria huffed as she brushed a strand of her ebony hair off her face. She glared a moment longer before abruptly leaving the kitchen.

Ashe released a huge breath. I swear to God, Dad, she muttered. No disrespect, but I have no idea what you saw in that woman. What a freaking nightmare.

She turned her attention back to the pantry. Finding the stepladder, she easily snatched the jar from its spot. A small note was taped to the lid.

Next time make sure my clothes are done right, fatty.

V

Ashe popped open the jar and looked inside. The pickles were ruined. Veronica had filled the water with dirt.

Fucking Veronica.

Veronica had been particularly wicked to her since the dry cleaner stained one of her silk scarves three weeks ago. How was that Ashe’s fault? Guess Veronica had to blame someone.

I just wanted a damn pickle.

She sat down on the floor. It was so stupid. So petty. Would she even make it through the next two years? She was already doing everything in her power to tolerate each day, but the two women were deliberately making her life a living hell. Ever since Gloria sank her claws into her father’s heart and snatched him away from Ashe.

Her stomach growled. She pressed down on it and scoffed at how her stepmother and sister were always so amicable in public. Filthy liars. Gloria was a bitch, but she was a smart bitch. The two chameleons would never show anyone else who they really were.

Had it really been only two years since the plane crash when her father had died? It felt like infinity ago.

She ticked the numbers. Seven hundred and twenty-eight days. Seventeen thousand, four hundred and seventy-two hours. Could it be? Adrenaline whooshed in her ears. My God. Today was the halfway point. Today was the exact day in which she stood equal distance from her father’s death and ultimate freedom. How could she have missed such an important moment?

And still so far to go.

She leaned back against the paneled wall, the jar of dirty pickles held tightly in her grasp. Her heart started to race and her chest tightened. Oh, no. Not another panic attack. Not now. She took deep breaths and tried to focus on the facts, tried to ground herself back to the moment. But the bad thoughts persisted. How could he not have seen the truth about them?

Pre-funeral and post-funeral Gloria had been two different people. Small things at first. A snap of attitude here, a dig there. Nothing Ashe couldn’t explain away as grief. She should’ve realized. She could have prepared herself. But she’d always believed in the goodness of people, and her father had loved them. He would’ve wanted her to try.

It took nearly a whole year after her father lay next to her mother in the cold mausoleum for her to accept that her stepmother and stepsister truly despised her. There was no sugarcoating it. They hated her. It was evident in the way Gloria narrowed her eyes when she spoke to her, how she spat obscenities, how Veronica continuously cut her down—ugly, stupid, fat.

The name-calling, the degradation, the secrets held just out of reach, piled high on Ashe’s shoulders. A small, thin shred of self-respect and dignity were all she had left, and even those were hanging on by a thread…just. Because now, over the course of those eternally stretching two years, Ashe had essentially become a servant in her own home.

Chin up. Halfway there, girl.

Damn you, Dad. Her heart still beat wildly, her voice echoed off the marble countertops, but she was coming down from the panic. "Why’d you have to leave me? Why am I suffering for your fucking mistake?"

Guilt choked her immediately. He hadn’t known. He couldn’t have. Ashe squeezed the glass jar. She had to believe it.

Two more breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Her heart slowed. Maybe, just maybe, the only reason they behaved the way they did was because they were so devastated by the loss of her father. Maybe they didn’t realize exactly how horrible they’d become. Right. Fat chance.

Another deep breath. Even calmer now.

They don’t really hate you, she whispered, trying to convince herself. And in two years, as soon as you sign those papers and collect your money, you’ll be out of here, on your own, finishing school, and who knows, maybe even meeting your own Prince Charming.

She exhaled. An independent life completely free from the torment of her stepmother and stepsister? Impossible to imagine. But she needed something to hold onto other than a pickle jar.

She studied the container in her hands. She unscrewed the lid and pulled out a tainted pickle. What a waste. Her stomach growled again, louder this time. A little dirt couldn’t hurt that much. No. She wasn’t that desperate…yet. She shoved the pickle back in and screwed the lid tight. Oh, well. No use crying over spilled milk…or dirty pickles.

Let’s do this, girl.

With new resolve, she stood and tossed the jar into the trash bin. Back to work. Eggs, brioche, a tall, cold glass of juice. With the dishes done and the kitchen spotless, she set the trays and headed upstairs. Any other Sunday, she’d drop off the platters and that would be that. She’d have the day to herself. But not today. She sighed. There were pearls to be found.

Chapter Three

Sebastian’s father waited for the staff to leave before bringing his coffee cup to his lips. Sebastian snuck a peek at his watch. This brunch was taking forever. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. Especially since Elijah had made plans for them. Ten…fifteen minutes tops, and he’d be gone.

Sebastian, you really should reconsider joining the Gentleman of Tehama at the club.

Father—

"I just don’t understand why you’re so opposed. You’re my son, Sebastian. You’d be a shoo-in, a legacy."

Another member of the kitchen staff entered the dining room, neatly dressed in a crisp navy uniform, and placed a tea in front of Sebastian.

Your specialty blend from Peru, sir.

Sebastian smiled. Thank you, Grace. I appreciate you going through the trouble.

Grace blushed. It’s no trouble at all, sir.

Carrington cleared his throat and Grace bowed her head. Nodding once, she hurried back to the kitchen.

I wish you wouldn’t encourage the staff like that, Sebastian.

Encourage? You mean speak to them like people?

Carrington’s lip lifted in what Sebastian could only assume was disdain. Here we go again. If you treat them as equals, they’ll begin thinking they are equal. And then you can forget about good service.

Sebastian clenched his teeth. What a prick.

Anyway, as I was saying, you should really reconsid—

I’m not joining your precious boys club, Father. Let it go. I have zero interest in what happens behind that door, thank you very much.

Hmm. His father took another sip. Fine. At the very least, you should come to the club’s annual golf mixer.

You know I don’t like golf.

"I don’t understand how someone who was at the top of his class can be so obtuse. It’s a coed event, son. There’ll be plenty of beautiful, wealthy single young women to keep you occupied. No golf