Shit.
The media refused to let it go.
Which led to questions about the ball being rigged—which in turn had driven Brock to ask the notorious woman he’d just spent the last hour talking to for help.
Their plan had to look real.
He knew it, for the sake of the company and for Jane.
But that kiss.
He wouldn’t take it back.
He couldn’t.
It was everything.
His mouth burned with the memory.
“Fruit of my loins!” Grandfather yelled, interrupting Brock’s daydream. One more day. Just one more day. “You’ve caused more drama than the twins together! Childbirth was never this difficult.”
“Are you talking to me?” Brock asked. “And you didn’t actually birth the children, as far as I know…” He rolled his eyes.
“Good thing, or I probably would have given up and walked out of that damn hospital. Your grandmother was such a saint, pushing out God knows what through her—”
“All right, that’s enough bonding for tonight,” Brock said gruffly. “We need to talk about the ball.”
Grandfather sighed. “It is what it is, that is unless you have something on your mind?”
“Why?” Brock blurted before he could stop himself. “Why would you put the company before me? Before the twins?”
Grandfather sighed. “I guess I would have to answer with a question. Why, Brock, do you always feel you need to put me before you?”
Brock opened his mouth then shut it.
“That’s what I thought.” Grandfather sighed. “I’ve seen the news about you and the maid and yet I haven’t heard from you. Why is that, I wonder?”
“Because.” Brock cleared his throat. “I’ve found a way to have both.”
“Both?” Grandfather’s voice sounded like he was frowning; his brows were probably furrowing in confusion like they always did when he was forced to solve a puzzle that didn’t magically solve itself.
“Yes.” Brock chuckled. “Both. My family. And my Jane.”
“Your Jane, hmm?”
Brock closed his eyes and continued. “I’m keeping my word, to both of you, in the only way I know how.”
“Is that why you called?”
“I called to tell you that if it goes badly…if my crazy plan doesn’t work out…I still choose her.” God, it hurt. Hurt like hell to say that.
He sucked in a breath.
Waited for his grandfather to die.
Waited for the sky to fall.
Waited for an earthquake.
But all the old man did was sigh and say. “Well then. I guess that’s that.” The line went dead, leaving Brock to wonder if it was another omen for his future.
Death.
When all he wanted was a life.
Life with Jane.
Chapter Forty
The press attention was getting worse.
Well, what did she expect? The ball was tonight. Of course it was getting worse, with speculation about Jane being there even though she didn’t have the money to bid on Brock. There were also rumors that she was pregnant with his love child, amongst other things.
It made her sick to her stomach.
Bentley had said that he was going to stop by for some last minute details, but he was clearly running late. Her dress and shoes were upstairs waiting for her and she still had hours to kill before a team of highly trained professionals—Bentley’s words, not hers—would be at her house to do her makeup and hair.
Maybe it was her nerves.
Or the fact that her sisters still hadn’t contacted her. They’d said they were staying with a friend, but they’d never stayed away so long. Then again, she’d never made them angry enough to want to before.
Were they still planning on going to the ball? Or at least trying? Because that was so not the place where she wanted to have a confrontation with them, not that she’d be able to help it in the first place if they wanted to start something.
When had life become so stressful?
Oh right, the minute she’d said yes to a crazy old man and fell in love with his even crazier grandson.
With nothing to do but basically sit on her hands and try not to have a nervous breakdown, she slowly made her way upstairs to unpack from the ranch.
Sadness had kept her from unzipping her suitcase for fear that her clothes and the smell of the ranch would remind her of Brock too much, and it was hard enough as it was to not think of him. He was everywhere—on the news, radio—you couldn’t walk down the street without hearing or seeing something about the auction.
With shaking hands she pulled open the suitcase and a smile spread across her face.
She brushed her hand against the plaid fabric at the top of the suitcase and her smile grew.
Maybe all memories weren’t bad.