The Bargain With The Mistress's Brother

CHAPTER 004: One More Bridge To Cross

As I drive home, my heart feels empty.

Whatever’s left of it has been shattered and stolen by Harold. Just three weeks since he died, and I’m sprouting gray hairs at thirty. How could he do this to me? What did I even do wrong?

“Listen, Claire,” my friend, Shanice, says through the speakerphone. “You have to go see this Damon guy. He’s your best shot. I understand you had grievances at your first meeting, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”

“Grievances?” I say. “I called him an asshole, Shan.”

“That’s because he is. Who faults people for calling them what they are?”

I pause. “An asshole?”

Shanice laughs, her voice filling the car.

“It’s not funny,” I say.

She calms herself. “Alright. Alright. Let’s be serious. You’re going to meet this guy and try to reason with him. Men have a soft spot for women, especially mothers. A widow at that. Use that to your advantage.

"You didn't meet him,” I say. “I feel like he hates me or something."

"You're just being dramatic."

"I'm not."

The memory of our encounter at Peter's office flashes vividly in my mind. Damon's piercing gaze, the way he looked at me as if I were some insignificant thing. I shiver, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

"Look," Shanice continues, "a mother's sole obligation is to her child. Not to her pride or whatever is going on with you right now. This Damon guy is just an obstacle. You've got the tools. Crush him. Go to his office. Display some böobs. Cry."

"Shanice—"

"Listen to me. Nobody on top got where they are by doing things the right way. Hell, I just got promoted. And you know how.”

Yeah, she kinda blackmailed the CEO of her company with footage of him engaging in some very inappropriate activities with an intern in the break room. She secured herself a promotion to regional marketing director.

“You're a beautiful, sëxy, strong woman, Claire,” Shanice continues. “Don't let anyone tell you anything less. What was that thing Harold said in that letter? 'Become the star.' How are you going to do that sitting on your ass and feeling sorry for yourself? Yes, your husband did you dirty. He let that bïtch give him the glock glock 3000 while driving, and he swerved off the road and hit a tree. It's your turn to man up. Use the patriarchy to your advantage. Become that fuçking star he mentioned. Harold thinks he did a thing with this prank of a will. Send him a middle finger in Hell."

I sigh. Sometimes I forget I’m friends with a marketer. "That was intense,” I say.

"I only do this for friends, Claire. My advice isn't cheap."

"Alright, I'm going to think about it."

"You're going to do more than think about it,” she says. “I'll set your ass on fire until you go see him. I mean, I'm looking at his pictures right now, and goddamn. I'd be jumping on that. He's fuçking rich. He doesn't need the money, Claire. It's your husband's money anyway. Go demand it. With your böobs out, of course, and your voice small. They love that shït."

I chuckle. "I said I was going to think about it, Shanice."

She exhales, finally catching a breath. "You better do. I love you. And I gotta go. Think about Kieran, Claire. Only about Kieran."

The line goes dead, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the hum of the engine. I keep driving in a daze, Shanice's words echoing in my mind.

The city lights blur past. Each passing landmark is a reminder of the life I once led—a life carefully constructed that’s now on the brink of collapse. This is the life Kieran has always known, one of luxury. If I don’t do this, we’re going to lose the house and his father’s fortune to a total stranger. And I think he might get a bit stingy with the trust funds just to spite me.

It’s going to take the deepest level of my self-control not to tell him what I think on sight. But Shanice is right. I have an obligation to Kieran. I need to try. I’m going to call Peter when I get home and get the necessary information—Damon’s office address. And then I’m going to be an adult and go see him.

I got this.

~~~

The next morning, I stand before the mirror, scrutinizing my reflection. My hair is pulled up into a neat bun, a few tendrils escaping to frame my face. The blouse I've chosen dips just low enough to be suggestive but not overt. A pencil skirt hugs my curves, ending just above the knee, revealing a tasteful expanse of leg.

"This is ridiculous," I mutter to myself. "Have I really sunk this low?"

But then I think about Kieran, his innocent face, his future hanging in the balance. What’s the worst that could happen? Damon will say no. That’s a familiar word to me. I straighten my shoulders, determined.

After stepping out of the house, I get in the car and drive. The farther I go, the tenser I feel.

Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of Penrose Realty, a prestigious real estate investment firm managing luxury properties and multi-billion-dollar real estates globally. Yeah, I did my research.

I kill the engine and sit for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel.

"Get a grip, Claire," I mutter to myself.

With a deep breath, I step out of the car and walk into the glass building. Once inside, I approach the reception desk.

A young woman with impeccably styled hair and a practiced smile looks up.

"Good morning. How may I assist you?"

I summon the most confident smile I can muster. "Good morning. I'm here to see Mr. Damon Penrose."

"Do you have an appointment?"

“I do.”

A blatant lie.

“Name, please,” she says.

“Claire.”

The receptionist's fingers dance over the keyboard, her eyes scanning the screen. "I'm sorry, I don't see your name in the system. Also, Mr. Penrose is not currently on seat."

My heart skips a beat, but I maintain my composure.

"Actually," I begin, "I spoke with him on the phone earlier. He asked me to wait here; he'll be in shortly. He was quite insistent."

She regards me for a moment, her brow furrowing. "Pardon my intrusion, but you look quite familiar."

I hesitate, wondering where this is going. Then I realize this could be my way in. "Oh, yes, you must have seen my pictures in the media. Claire Montague."

Her eyes widen with recognition. "Mrs. Montague, of course. I’m a supporter.”

“A supporter?”

“People who believe it’s cruel how the media is treating you. Everyone should be allowed to love whoever they want. Age is just a number."

I offer a grateful smile. "Thank you. It's been a challenging time. In fact, that's partly why I'm here. Mr. Penrose and I are discussing some... personal matters, given the recent events involving his sister and my late husband."

The receptionist's eyes widen further. "Oh, my god. I had no idea they were siblings."

"Yes, it's all quite discreet," I say, lowering my voice. "Mr. Penrose prefers to keep it that way, which is why my appointment might not be in your system."

She nods, sympathy evident in her expression. "Of course, Mrs. Montague. Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," I reply, relief washing over me.

As I settle into one of the plush lobby chairs, I can’t help but marvel at my own audacity. Manipulating the situation with such ease—it was a side of myself I hadn't known existed.

You know, in some weird way, I would have been a good corporate staff.

I got this.

Just one more bridge to cross. Damon Penrose.