“I’ll be dead before that happens.”
“You have to promise me,” Monica said. “We’ll do whatever it takes to find Abigail. I’m already dreading Henry’s call declaring that they’re no longer in France.”
Eva nodded. “You’re an excellent bargainer. If anyone can get him to talk, it’s you.”
“Who do you think I learned such bargaining tactics from, dearest sister?”
She finally sensed that Monica was in no mood to be cheered on. Eva remained stoically silent next to her, counting down until Jackson finished his call.
The whole time they waited, someone peered at them through a crack in the door, that fire still burning, ready to waste the entire building if it meant Monica would be gone for good.
Chapter 12
Reasonable Acts
Chapter 12
When Jackson reappeared, it was with neither triumph nor regret on his face.The only better poker face than mine.Monica saw enough, though. She saw right through the ridiculous façade that he mounted when he approached the women sitting on his couch.
“Monica,” he genially said, “could you come into my office? I kindly ask that you stay here, Evangeline.”
When the latter was about to inquire what that was about, Monica shook her head.Here we go.Whatever Jackson wanted was about to be laid on the proverbial table, and he wantedMonicato hear it.
She thought of her daughter and the way Abigail raced into the car after school to show Monica the good marks she got on her spelling and math quizzes.The crafts she makes.Her childlike wonder that past Christmas when she took a picture with SantaClaus and toured the bright, twinkling lights on display in a historical neighborhood.
I will do anything to get her back.Before it was too late. Before Abigail’s childhood preemptively ended.
She entered the office, which had only minorly changed in the decade since Monica was last in this prison. This wasn’t Jackson’srealhome office – that one was upstairs, near his quarters. This one was for entertaining guests in a business-like setting, since Jackson didn’t have an office he owned or rented in the city. When he was Ethan Cole’s business partner, he made liberal use of the conference rooms in the formerly named “Jackson-Cole” building.
The biggest change was the painting on the wall. While this didn’t surprise Monica – and, honestly, assuaged her worries – she still hadn’t anticipated what hung in its stead. Because where once a portrait of herself hung on prominent display in Mr. Lyle’s office, there was now an evocative painting of Paisley, proving that she was Jackson’s partner for the foreseeable future.
Monica wondered how many there had been since she violently left this house. She only knew of a handful, none lasting more than two years. But she knew there had been others – lesser women in Jackson’s clouded eyes. Since Monica left him, he hadn’t shown any other woman the promised monogamy that Jackson had bestowed upon Monica.He was a liar, anyway.The monogamy was only a pretense because he had no problems introducing extraneous partners when it suited him. Let alone their ongoing threeway with Ethan…
Even when he did not participate, there had been others who appeared in their bedroom. And Monica had been expected to lay with all of them, whether she was attracted to them or not.
Her purse strap was taut in her hand as she gazed at Paisley’s portrait. Her silver off-the-shoulder dress showed off more thanher arms and cleavage. Her legs poked out of the slit in the skirt, and she blew pursed kisses to the painter who didn’t hesitate to capture her sexuality in oil.The lighting in this painting is exquisite.Monica wondered if it was the same middle-aged professional who had painted her likeness fifteen years ago.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jackson poured himself a glass of brandy from the small bar he kept in this office. Monica didn’t have to ask the make. One sniff and she knew the exact year it was made. “You’d never guess where I met her. Well, maybe you would. In New York. That naughty club beneath the streets of Manhattan. You know the one.”
Indeed, she did. Jackson was banned from The Dark Hour, something Damon Monroe had no trouble doing on his own accord after he heard what happened between his rival and the man who had tried to ruin her life. In fact, Jackson wasn’t welcomed at many kinky establishments in New England. Where Monica and Henry had influence, Jackson was ejected. It hadn’t stopped him from finding new partners in other places, though. He had enough money to buy his way in, as long as his name was still good.
“Never thought I’d be into the bratty type.” Jackson sat on the front of his desk, one hand in his pocket while the other held his brandy to his mouth. “Paisley hasn’t bored me yet, though. But she is woefully undertrained. I have half a mind to send her to that new club you’re opening in the city. You’re offering training as taught by your harlots, yes?”
She didn’t deign that with an answer. “What did Jean-Pierre tell you?”
“Right, right.” With a smack of his lips, Jackson lowered his glass. “You don’t want to hear how I am perfectly capable of moving on as well. You want to find your daughter.”
Monica did not care for the way he said that as if it were a preposterous notion.
“Well, Jean-Pierre was quite busy over there. Do you know what time it was? I had to come up with a burning good reason to ring him at two in the morning, Monica. Made him talk shop about a business acquaintance we have in Belgium. Sounded like I was thinking of investing as many Euros as possible into a stupid venture I needed him to talk me out of… anyway, once that was done, I plied him with innocent questions about his family. Asked him if his pretty ADU was available so I could come visit in a couple of days. You know the drill.”
Get on with it, anyway.Monica swallowed her impatience. “And?”
“It was being turned over. Took him a moment to admit that it was your mother-in-law and daughter staying there, and only because I was willing to say the most awful things I could think of about you, Monica. Your name is quite poisoned in the Beaumont house, but you have Isabella to thank for that more than me.”
She played her hand before she intended: her eyes lit up, her mouth parted, and she took one generous step forward. “Where are they?” she gasped.
“Ah, ah.” He held a finger up before her face. “First, I want you to appreciate the fantastic game I played to get the answer out of him. Becauseyouhave something that I want, Monica. And that was what fueled me through the entire conversation.”
