So Much More

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Park Avenue

Markus Blackthorn’s penthouse

7:30 p.m.

“Markus,” Elijah Blackthorn called, poking his head into his son’s home-office.

Markus looked up from his iMac and waved him in with a smile. “Come in.”

The elder Blackthorn was a tyrant under the guise of an affable and approachable man. It was reflected in his body and behavior: Solid and robust, with perfectly trimmed gray hair and sharp icy-blue eyes; his posture was straight, clearly that of a man used to exercising authority.

He rarely raised his voice, and never his fists, but he could dominate a life and leave a person feeling beaten without even trying. Or he could make a person feel the most important in the world. If he so wanted.

This ability had served him well in conquering the young, beautiful and billionaire heiress, Judith Greene. With her fortune and her parents’ influence, and his charisma and cunning, his entrance into politics had gone flawlessly.

After kissing his son affectionately on the cheek, he served himself Hennessy cognac and sat in the armchair, waiting for Markus to finish his work and shut down his computer.

“Good to see you, Senator.”

He smiled and said, “I heard the takeover of Haskell & Sons was successful. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Markus answered, knowing very well that wasn’t the reason his father had come to his apartment without notice.

Elijah lit a cigar, dragged, and slowly exhaled the smoke.

Markus looked at Elijah expectantly when his father didn’t elaborate. By now, he was used to his father’s tactic of making a person blurt out their inner-most secrets. But it just didn’t work on him anymore.

Elijah finally cleared his throat and asked, “How are the bride interviews going?”

Ah! “I’ve decided on one.”

“Glad to hear it,” Elijah said with a sigh. “Your mother has been in tears lately about not being able to see Victoria. She’ll want to meet your fiancée. Set up a—”

“Senator,” Markus interrupted. “She hasn’t accepted the position yet.”

“Do you need me to…give her an incentive?”

Markus rested his chin on his folded hands and studied his father. Elijah loved his wife and son to distraction but he had the annoying habit of meddling in everyone’s affairs and trying to direct their lives.

“No.”

Elijah pressed his lips together.

Since Markus left home, he had managed to keep Elijah at arm’s length and no matter how desperate he was to have Victoria back, he was not going to allow his father to dictate his life again.

“Markus—”

“I will let you know about it tomorrow.” Markus cut his father off and quickly changed subjects. “Tell me about your campaign.”

An hour later, Markus stood in the hall of his apartment watching his father leave, musing that the old man wouldn’t be very happy if Hannah accepted his proposal. Elijah had always thought it a nuisance to have the young girl living at his expense, but it had been good for his image as a politician, so he tolerated her. When Markus mentioned Hannah’s blooming beauty, he had teetered between indifference, disgust, and worry. A scandal wouldn’t be good for his Senate campaign and he had made his feelings clear to his son when he stated, “Blackthorns do not sleep with the help.”

Markus headed back toward his bedroom to shower. As the warm water beat the knotted muscles in his back, his mind cleared of the annoyance he was feeling toward his father and his thoughts meandered toward the five women he had personally interviewed. He ticked each one off until he arrived at Hannah.

In the whirlwind of his life, Markus hadn’t given further thought to the shy young woman when she and her Irish immigrant mother had suddenly disappeared from his father’s household, although he would have very much enjoyed getting more intimate with her if she had stayed.

But now his thoughts kept returning to her.

With enough education, a newfound elegance she hadn’t had before, and with no living parents or family, she was perfect to be Victoria’s tutor and pass as his fake wife.

Maybe too perfect.

Manhattan, West Village

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

1:30 a.m.

The tick-tock of the bedside table clock in little Sarah Muller’s room was lulling Hannah into a slumber when the sound of voices made her sit up straight on the chair.

As always, the Mullers were late to return home from their night out, but in her dire circumstances Hannah was not going to complain about their tardiness. Even though they under-paid her for taking care of their child, she was welcomed to their day-old left-overs, and she would rather have a small steady income of money and food twice a week than nothing.

Carmen Muller tiptoed inside the room, her earlobes unnaturally elongated as they were pulled down by the weight of the long diamond earrings. She bent over the crib where her daughter slept, her large breasts almost spilling from the low neckline.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Muller,” Hannah said with a smile, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. “Sarah is a dear.”

“She barely gives you any work,” Carmen said.

“Barely.” Hannah agreed, rolling her eyes. Yes, the girl was a dear baby and demanded very little of Hannah’s time, but on Wednesdays she was not only responsible for taking care of Sarah, but also for washing and ironing the Mullers’ clothes, cleaning the apartment, and washing the dishes—with no extra pay for the extra work.

Carmen waved a ringed-covered hand at Hannah, saying, “See you on Saturday, darling.”

“Sure, Mrs. Muller.” Hannah waved back at the overdressed, overly made-up woman as she left the room, betting Carmen would need a corkscrew to get her voluptuous body out of the too slinky gala dress.

“Good evening, Mr. Muller.”

“Good evening, Hannah.” Jacob Muller was a strange man, with strange habits. Round, with fluffy graying-blond hair and puppy eyes, he looked like a sheep but was always surrounded by men who looked like wolves and vultures. Hannah knew by now his appearance had nothing to do with his cunning. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.” She accepted the hundred-dollar note and put it in her jeans pocket. “Mr. Muller? Would it be possible…could I get an advance for the next…”—What? The next year?—“I mean, I have an emergency. And if I could possibly get an advance payment for…”

“Do I look like a bank?” Jacob mumbled beneath his breath.

Quite. The fat stack of hundred-dollar bills that deformed his wallet was proof enough the man wallowed in money. On more than one evening while babysitting Sarah, Hannah had seen—and heard—him engaged in mysterious talks with others, who seemed to be his associates, about multi-million dollar deals, stock market fortunes, profits from this and that, and various mergers and acquisitions. Not that she was an expert on any of it, but it all revolved around great wealth.

“How much?”

“Fifteen,” she said, mentally crossing her fingers.

“Of course,” he said, having difficulty finding a ten and a five dollar bill amid the fifties and hundreds, then finally handing them to her.

Cringing inwardly Hannah whispered, “I meant fifteen hundred.” Forty-five would be better.

“Fifteen…” When the amount registered in Jacob’s mind, his beady eyes nearly bulged out and he closed his wallet with a snap. “One thousand and five hundred dollars? I don’t have that kind of money!”

No? “Five hundred?” she asked, mortified, looking at the floor. She was sure the rug they stood upon was worth a thousand times more than she was asking.

“Fifty is all I have.”

“Thanks.” Cheeks hot, Hannah grabbed the money. At least she would not need to overthink her subway fare that night, nor her breakfast the next morning. “Thanks a lot.”

It was after three in the morning when Hannah fell face first on her bed for a few hours’ sleep.