Chapter Eighteen

~ Scotty ~

I straightened my tie and schooled my features into a stone cold mask before knocking on the door of the Beckerman home. I could say without a single doubt that this was the last place on the planet I wanted to be.

A woman dressed in a black and white maid's uniform answered the door. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Maxwell Prescott," I replied. "I believe I'm expected."

"Yes, sir." She stepped back, opening the door further. "Please, come in."

I stepped into a fancy, yet smaller version of the entryway of my father's mansion. In fact, as I looked around, I realized this place looked a lot like my father's mansion, right down to the imitation Ming vase on a sideboard near the door.

All of this made me wonder just how many times Beck's father had been there. I certainly didn't remember ever seeing him there. I'd ask Cynthia, but I really didn't care that much.

They all deserved each other.

"Drinks are being served in the salon," the maid said. "If you'll follow me?"

I hated that word. Salon . It was just a fancy way of saying living room. Why didn't people just say living room? This was not the Victorian age.

"Thank you," I said just to be polite.

I drew in a calming breath because calm was about as far from what I was feeling as the moon. I plastered half a smile on my face and followed the maid into the freaking living room.

"Darling," Julia said the moment she spotted me. She didn't get up, as if she expected me to go to her.

Wasn't going to happen.

I made a mental note to tell Beck never to call me darling . It made my skin crawl. Or maybe that was just Julia.

"Maxwell, my boy," Mr. Beckerman said as he walked up to me.

I shook the hand he held out to me. "Sir."

"Your stepmother is using the phone in my study currently. She should be done in a moment, but she did say she wanted to speak with you for a moment."

Shit!

Had our plan fallen through? Did Cynthia know Beck and I had gotten married? Had someone called her and told her we were trying to free my father? Was Beck in danger? So many questions flew through my head that I couldn't settle on just one.

"Can I get you a drink, sir?" the maid asked.

"Scotch on the rocks, please." I'd need it if I had to deal with Cynthia and Julia, and maybe even Mr. Beckerman.

Wonder what he'd say if he knew I was his son-in-law?

I was surprised that Julia didn't say a word to me while I waited for my scotch. She didn't even lift her head. She was too busy staring down at her phone.

As rude as I found her behavior considering we were supposed to be engaged, I was glad of it. I'd rather not have to talk to the woman. I didn't even want to look at her.

Julia might be considered stunning by most people, and she was. Statuesque blonde, nice curves, and legs that went all the way up. She also seemed to know how to dress nicely and didn't put her makeup on with a spackle. She was good looking and if I swung that way, I'd probably be interested.

I'd never been so thankful to be gay in my life.

"How is it going over at the plant?" Mr. Beckerman asked. "Things going okay?"

"Good as far as I know," I replied. It wasn't like I knew that much about the running of the company. I was a peon, a working stiff. I had nothing to do with the actual running of Prescott Textiles.

"Good, good." The man smiled. "I know Julia will do great things when she takes over. She's such a smart girl."

I tried not to let my shock show. This was the first t I'd heard that Julia was planning on taking over the company or even work at the company.

I glanced at the woman. She was still engrossed in her cell phone. Kind of made me wonder if she'd still be stuck on her phone when she eventually took over the company.

I was saddened at the thought of what was becoming of the business my family had started over a hundred years ago. All their hard work and determination was being shot down the drain by Cynthia, and Julia planned on continuing it when she took over.

Made me want to smack them both.

"Maxwell, you're here."

The shrill voice made me cringe, but I plastered a smile on my face as I turned to face my stepmother. "You did say to be here at seven, Cynthia." I spread my fingers wide. "So, here I am."

I could see the fire in her eyes as she squinted at me.

"Michael, how long before dinner?" Cynthia asked, plastering the same fake smile on her face that I had on mine. "I need to speak with my stepson for a moment. Company business."

"We have a few moments, Cynthia," Mr. Beckerman replied.

"May I use your study again?"

"Of course, of course."

The maid walked up with my scotch on a silver tray right on time. I thanked her and took the drink, taking a healthy swing before setting the glass back down on the tray.

I followed Cynthia down the hallway to a study. I didn't even care what it looked like, even though I did note that it was an exact copy of my father's study, only smaller. Kind of made me wonder just how many times Mr. Beckerman had been to my father's place.

Cynthia walked behind the desk and sat down before glaring at me. "Where have you been?"

Oh, I'd really like to tell her exactly where I'd been, but I needed to give Jake and Beck time to rescue my father so I had to stretch this out. "I'm here, aren't I, just like you demanded."

Cynthia's nostrils flared. "What were you doing in Bentonville?"

I pushed my eyebrows up in an act of surprise. "How did you know I was in Bentonville?"

"That doesn't matter," Cynthia snarled. She really didn't look nice when she did that. "What were you doing there? Why did you go to the bank?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Are you having me followed?"

I knew she was, but she didn't know that I knew that.

"Answer me or forget about seeing your father."

Hard to hold back that snort.

"I went to my safety deposit box at the bank."

The scowl fell off of Cynthia's face, replaced by a confused frown that pulled at the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. "What safety deposit box? Why not use your bank here in town?"

"Did Dad not tell you anything about our family history?"

Cynthia's head snapped back. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Was she serious here?

"Prescott Textiles was started in Bentonville," I started. "Surely you know that?"

"I'm not here for a history lesson, Maxwell."

"Prescott Textiles was started in Bentonville because that was where my family lived. That's where they started the company. My father was born there and grew up there. He didn't move here until after he married my mother. As a wedding present, my grandfather helped him set up a branch of Prescott Textiles here. Later, after my grandparents passed away, my father transferred the headquarters of the company here since this is where we lived."

Cynthia huffed. "And what does that have to do with you having a security deposit box in Bentonville?"

"My grandfather set up that safety deposit box for me when I was a kid. In the beginning, I kept my prized marbles in it. When I got older, I kept other important things in it."

I fished the little blue box out of my pocket. "I went to pick this up. I know that Julia picked out a ring already, but I refuse to pay twenty thousand dollars, money I don't have, to buy a ring for someone when I have a perfectly good one right here."

"You have a ring from Tiffany and Co.?"

I shrugged. "I'm not real sure who it's from." That part wasn't a lie, but the rest of this was. "I know it was appraised at ten carets when it was handed down to me when my mother died. I figured Julia would like that better than whatever she picked out at our local jewelers."

Cynthia held out her hand. "Let me see it."

I handed her the blue box, praying with everything in her that she knew nothing about real and fake diamonds.

Cynthia inhaled sharply when she popped the top on the blue box. She stared down at the ring in the box with sparkles in her eyes. I had no doubt, if she thought there was a way she could get her hands on that ring, or the ring on her hand, she'd do it.

"How did you get this ring?" she finally asked.

"Like I said, when my mother passed away, it was handed down to me."

"What else was in that box?"

"My marbles."

Cynthia's eyes rounded. "Your marbles? That's it?"

"Well, there are some pictures of my mother when I was a toddler and such, but yeah. I never really had any need for a safety deposit box, but it was prepaid by my grandfather for like twenty years or something so I just never did anything about it."

"That's all that was in there?" There was a tone of doubt in Cynthia's voice. I wasn't sure if she suspected there had been more if she knew there had been more.

"Pretty much." That was a vague enough answer. "Do you want to go to the bank with me tomorrow and look?"

Wouldn't matter if she did. Not only had I taken everything out of that damn box, but I wouldn't even be in the state. She could look all she wanted.

"Don't take that tone with me!"

I so wanted to roll my eyes.

I wished I had another scotch.

"When can I see my father?" I asked.

"If you behave yourself tonight, I might let you see him after work tomorrow."

Somehow, I doubted it, even if I wasn't going to be leaving the state. She held my visitation with my father over my head like a dagger poised to stab me through the heart.

"I want to see him tonight." I'd love to be a bug on the wall when Cynthia figured out what we'd done. She was going to be so pissed.

I couldn't wait.

"Why do you want me to marry Julia?" I asked. "You know I'm gay."

That had been carefully discussed when I was fifteen. I'd known before that, but hadn't felt like sharing with my stepmother until then.

"Why does that matter?"

"I'll never have a normal relationship with Julia." I wouldn't touch her even if I was straight.

Cynthia snorted. "Like she wants anything to do with you."

Huh?

"Then why does she want to marry me?"

"That doesn't matter." Cynthia stood and then started for the door. "What matters is that you do what you're told. You know what will happen if you don't."

"Just to be clear, if I don't do exactly what you say, you'll put my father in a home that could double as hell. Is that right?"

Cynthia smiled slyly. "Yes, exactly."

I wish I could get her answer on tape.

Knowing I had no other choice, I followed Cynthia out of the study and down the hallway to the living room. Surprisingly, Julia put her cell phone down when we walked into the room.

The smirk on her face when she looked at Cynthia gave me shivers. These two women were two peas in a pod. They deserved each other.

"Dinner is just about ready," Mr. Beckerman stated as he held out his arm. "May I escort you, Cynthia?"

"Thank you," Cynthia said sweetly.

I guess that left me to escort Julia. I took a calming breath and glanced at her. I really didn't want to do this, but I had to play nice for the next couple of hours.

I walked over to the woman and then held out my hand. Julia snorted, stood, and walked into the dining room on her own. It was as if she couldn't stand to touch me.

Doubted anyone saw the smile that crossed my lips.

It did make me wonder what type of marriage she thought we were going to have considering I was gay and she didn't want to touch me.

Was I destined for my own stroke?