Page 11 of The Cinderella Secret
Jackson nodded, looking at his cousins again.
“Jacks…”
He looked back at Nika, who chewed her fingernail. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”
“I want to move in with Max. Or rather, I want him to move in with me.”
“His lease is up in a couple of months. It would be the time to do it,” agreed Jackson. She gave him an annoyed look.
“Do you have to know these things?”
“I like to be able to predict the future,” said Jackson. “It makes me look cool. Plus, I dislike surprises.”
Dominique chuckled. “You like to have your minions keep tabs on us.”
“I’m in charge of security, and like I just said, I hate surprises. What’s Max say about moving in?”
“I wanted him to move in months and months ago, but he gets stuck on the finances and doesn’t like to look like he’s taking advantage. Which is stupid because I don’t want or need him to help pay my mortgage.”
“He’s a stand-up guy,” said Jackson with a shrug. “And you wouldn’t like him if he just did everything you wanted when you demanded it.”
Dominique tried to look stern and then laughed again, but this time it was the entirely unrepentant giggle of happiness that was specifically tied to Max. “Yeah, that’s true. Anyway, I’ve finally persuaded him that we’re starting to look ridiculous and that him paying rent is a waste of money which would be better saved and used toward his other goals. But now… what do I say to Grandma? What do you think? Is she going to get all old-fashioned and weird?”
Jackson considered that. “I don’t think so. You want me to float the idea and see what she says?”
“Can you? I can’t strategize appropriately without a trial balloon. And none of you jerk-faces will do me the favor of bringing a girl home to take the heat off me.”
Jackson laughed. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t think that one special girl is in the cards for me.”
“Yes, you feel like everyone is always working an angle on you, which you detest,” said Dominque. “I sympathize. And I can’t say I think you’re even entirely wrong, but I also don’t think you’re really making an effort.”
“I don’t have time to make an effort,” said Jackson. “All of you keep me too busy. Not to mention Eleanor. Bug your brother or something. He’s the stable one.”
Dominque rolled her eyes.
“So we’re saying he could fucking do it,” said Aiden, standing up and angrily throwing down a stack of papers onto the tabletop.
“No,” said Evan. “I don’t think so. There aren’t enough shares on the market.”
“And what if someone decides to sell?” demanded Aiden. “We can’t predict that. We’re tip-toeing up to the line here.”
“I’ve put in standing orders to buy whatever becomes available. And I can make some calls,” said Evan calmly. “I can get a heads up if someone with a large percentage decides to sell.”
“Evan!”
The shocked exclamation drew all eyes to Eleanor Deveraux standing in the doorway of the study. Eleanor never dressed casually. Today, as usual, she was wearing a carefully stylish, but not overly fashionable skirt, blouse, and low-heels. She came from the generation where a woman dressing for power had to tread a careful line to avoid the dreaded criticism ofunfeminine. As if only by appearing soft, vulnerable, and in a skirt could she blind everyone to the fact that she was a United States Senator with over a decade of experience and political clout.
“Evan, we do not admit to insider trading!”
“Grandma,” said Dominique, taking a sip of wine, “exactly which one of us do you think is going to be reporting him?”
Eleanor looked at Dominique and appeared to be at a loss for how to answer the question—or at least answer it when it was being asked by Dominique. Eleanor really seemed to think that Dominique was a fragile little girl.
“Someone is always listening,” Eleanor said at last. “You never know when the house is bugged.”
“I checked last week,” said Jackson. “We’re fine.”
“Really?” asked Aiden.
