Page 38 of The Christmas Nanny

“I’m Charles’ grandfather, though he does not know this. He thinks I died before he was born.” He raised his head and studied the heater above. “If I’d had this heater, I may never have left the river in the winter as a child.”

“Again, I don’t understand what’s going on. Why doesn’t he know?” I half expected him to pull out an envelope full of money.

“It’s simple, really,” he said. “My father became an oil tycoon and passed the oil company and riches on to me when he died. I hated everything about the oil business. Severe depression eventually set in, and I left public life. I passed it on to Charles’ father when he was old enough to manage it. I left for many years. When I found out my son had been struck with cancer, I asked to come back here and become his servant with the understanding that neither of my grandkids knew who I was.”

“Damn,” I said. “And he still doesn’t know?”

Boris—Arthur—laughed a good belly laugh. Slim barked his approval. “He does not.”

“You said grandkids.”

“My granddaughter was ousted from the business last year by Charles and his wife.” He watched the water for a long moment. “Charles managed to take everything from her. Although she’s doing fine, she deserves what he took from her. In fact, she deserves it all.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

He turned on the bench and looked me directly in the eye. “Because you’re going to help me fix this. My granddaughter should be running the company.”

It was my turn to give a belly laugh. “What can I do? The man is playing with everyone, and nobody, including me, has the power to stop him.”

“I need you to keep playing the game until Christmas Day like he wants.” He poked me in the chest to drive home the next point. “But you have to play the game properly.” He crossed his arms, disappointment on his face. “I don’t like what he and Stephanie have been doing. It’s against everything I believe in, but I need more time to stop the shenanigans. Christmas Day is a good time to make it all happen.”

“What happens on Christmas?”

“That’s all I can tell you for now, Jacob. Play the game. Be the best player in the game. Do what they ask and enjoy it. You’ll be greatly rewarded when it’s over.”

“What about Christine?” I didn’t want her to get hurt any more than she already had.

“As long as she doesn’t allow Charles to get his hooks into her, she will be fine.”

“What about your great-granddaughter?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “That little whore?” He made a tsk tsk sound. “She’s being paid just like you and Christine. She’s not their daughter.”

Chapter thirteen

Christine

I was sure Quartermain would come to my room in the middle of the night, but that didn’t happen. Wigglebutt curled up against a pillow about midnight and stayed there until the sun from the window woke me. It was almost nine, which meant the Quartermains had allowed me to sleep late. Allowed? I guessed they were plotting their next moves.

“I swear I didn’t know,” read Annette’s last text at one in the morning. “I’m really sorry.”

I believed her. The Quartermains were manipulative assholes and had everyone in their crosshairs. I also thought they would set fire to anyone who wronged them, which meant I needed to play the game until the end. I hated that Jacob thought I’d somehow bowed to Quartermain, but I was only playing the game until I could figure out a safe way to get out. Or was I? I knew I couldn’t walk away from the money. Could Jacob? I didn’t think so.

Wigglebutt jumped off the bed and pranced to the mini-kitchen. I followed like a good slave and opened a can of food, dumping it into his dish without breaking it up. His whiskers twitched, disgusted with my behavior. Lord Wigglebutt would have his revenge!

“I’m crawling back into bed.”

When I had the covers over my shoulders, Samantha entered the room without knocking and closed the door. She turned the lock and held a finger to her lips.

“I wanted to check on you,” Samantha said. “Did he show up last night after he left my room?”

“What? Why was he in your room last night? He can go to jail for that. You both can!”

Samantha moved the covers back and crawled into bed beside me, wearing only panties and a Rolling Stones tee, the big red lips and enormous tongue watching. She put her face next to mine, and I froze when her hand rested atop my stomach beneath the covers. If Quartermain decided he needed some this morning, we were both screwed.

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