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THEO
“We need to talk,” Oliver says, walking into my office in the early afternoon, the sun casting a glow over him as he enters.
I look up from my paperwork just as Oliver sinks into the plush velvet chair in front of my desk.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “How was your meeting with Declan this morning?”
“It was productive,” Oliver says. “I’m sure you know that the DeLuccis were causing trouble again. He sent me to deliver a message.”
“And how did that go?” I ask, wondering why he’s in here.
Oliver shakes his head. “I think the DeLuccis are getting too big for their britches,” he admits. “They seem to want to challenge us head-on. But one of them made a comment that stuck with me. He said that our father bet on the wrong horse and that’s why he’s dead. Implied that Declan was involved and was going to come after us next.”
“That’s completely ludicrous,” I tell him. “Declan is like an uncle to us.”
“That’s what Liam Gallagher said,” Oliver says. “He said that they were spouting off bullshit to rattle my cage, sow discord among the ranks of the Callahans.”
“He’s right,” I agree, waving a hand dismissively. “You shouldn’t worry about this shit. Let me and Declan worry about taking care of the DeLucci family. You just keep doing what you do best.”
“I’m more than just the muscle,” Oliver protests, a frown on his face. “Not that you or Declan appreciate that…” he added in a mumble, making me roll my eyes.
“What brought this on?” I ask, wanting to know why Oliver is acting this way all of a sudden.
He frowns. “Liam told me that Declan offered to let you lead the Family after our father died, but you turned him down. Did you not want the family legacy to continue?”
I shrugged. “At the time, it didn’t seem right to step up and take on the responsibilities. I was still reeling from the attack on the manor, and Declan seemed like the natural choice to take over. Why? Do you think Declan killed our father to take his place? Because that isn’t what happened at all,” I say firmly.
Oliver sighs. “I thought maybe you would want to continue Dad’s legacy. He had so many grand plans, and it seems like Declan isn’t going in the same direction anymore.”
“Well, that’s not for you to decide,” I snap. “Don’t let me hear you questioning Declan’s decisions again. The DeLuccis have gotten into your head if you think Declan had anything to do with our father’s death.”
Oliver frowns but smooths his hands over his trousers and stands up. “I need to get going. I’ve got a meeting with a potential client for the club,” he says.
I wave him off and return to my paperwork, annoyed at the interruption. Oliver needs to grow up and stop questioning everything so much. Declan is an effective leader, though more ruthless than our father had been. I want to learn everything from him because one day soon, he’ll be passing on the reins of the businesses to me.
After a few minutes of staring blankly at the papers in front of me, I sigh and rub a hand over my face. I need to shave. My usual stubble is growing in thicker, almost to beard length now. I’ve been distracted with silly matters like the bratty maid lately.
Speaking of which, I realize that I haven’t seen her in a while. Maybe I’ll have her make me coffee and then give me a neck massage. That would be a great way to relieve some of this tension and stress.
Standing up, I make my way down the stairs and check her usual spots. She’s not in the kitchen or hiding in the library “pretending” to dust.
Nor is she in the garden pulling weeds. When I glance up at the sky, I realize it’s far too gloomy for gardening, anyway. The sky looks like it’s about to open up and pour down rain.
Heading back inside, a twinge in my gut tells me something isn’t right. I send a message to her pager, but after ten minutes with no response, I search for her again. Anger and irritation roll off me in waves. If she thinks she can slack off in her duties, she has another thing coming.
My footsteps echo across the marble tile as I look in more rooms and through the closets downstairs. She’s not hiding anywhere, so I head to her bedroom as a last resort.
Her room is just down the hall from ours, a side effect of the servants’ quarters being damaged in the attack. Poking my head inside, I realize the room is empty and the drawers are half-open, her stuff gone from inside.
Did that little witch fucking run away? I spot her phone lying on the bedside table and pick it up. It’s on thirty percent battery, so she definitely wasn’t planning on taking it with her, wherever she went.
“Fuck,” I curse, hands balling into fists. The soft scent of her perfume lingers in the air in here, and I take a whiff, flashes of the other night coming back to me. Is she pissed we slept with her? She wanted it, dammit. Practically begged us for it.
I need to find her, track her down, and bring her back. She’s not leaving this place so easily. We own that little brat, and she should know her place.
I stomp down the hall and push open the door to the lounge. Ryder is inside, listening to some vintage records on the turntable and drinking a glass of scotch.
“She’s gone,” I tell him. He turns to face me, the soft strains of Ella Fitzgerald in the background.
