The Bargain With The Mistress's Brother

CHAPTER 003: Do You Lack Attention?

The stranger seems to find my outburst amusing. A smirk is permanently fixed on his face. It only fuels my anger.

“Is that all you’ve got, Mrs. Montague? Surely all that money you’ve spent throughout the years should have bought you a more extensive vocabulary.”

Really? “What is wrong with you?” I say. “You sit there in your polished suit calling me uncouth and making misogynistic comments. Who chases someone out of an office that isn’t theirs? I’ll tell you who. A döuchebag. I’m not going anywhere. You are.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but Peter jumps in, his voice rising in desperation. “Alright, enough! Claire, please, this is not the time or place for this discussion. I’ll contact you later to—”

“You’ll contact me now,” I snap, turning to him. “You’ve been dodging my calls, Peter. If you think I’m leaving without answers, you’re sorely mistaken.”

The stranger chuckles, low and infuriating. “Persistent, isn’t she?”

I shoot him a glare. “You can shut up now.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “By all means, carry on.”

Peter, pale and visibly sweating, clears his throat. “I… I’m deeply sorry for this.”

The stranger leans forward, the light catching his amber eyes as he stares at me. For a moment, it’s like the room narrows.

“No need, Whitmore,” he says. “We’ll pick up where we left off some other time.”

He rises in one fluid motion, adjusting his suit jacket. Those eyes never leave me. If he expects me to shrink under the weight of his stare, he can think again. I hold my ground, arms crossed, jaw set.

He takes a deliberate step toward the door, then pauses. “We’ll meet again, Mrs. Montague.”

I smile. “Sure. In Hell.”

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that irritates and intrigues me all at once. His eyes sweep over me—lingering on my face, my hair, the exposed skin of my legs. Then he turns away.

In a couple of seconds, he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that follows is deafening.

Peter collapses into his chair with a groan, rubbing his temples like a man who’s just aged ten years in ten minutes. “Why did you do that, Claire?”

“Oh, come on,” I say. “He had it coming. And if you’d not ignored me, we wouldn’t even be here!”

“Ignored you? It’s not even been twenty-four hours. What makes you think I was ignoring you?”

“The constant voicemails? The fact I had to come down here in person to get your attention?”

Peter’s expression hardens. “I was busy. You know, dealing with Harold’s estate, not catering to your every whim. Do you just lack attention or something? Is this some miserable reaction to Harold’s death? You need someone else to be infatuated with you?”

The words hit like a slap. My throat tightens, and to my horror, I feel my eyes sting. But I refuse to let the tears fall. Instead, I laugh—a sharp, bitter sound.

“Infatuated?” I say. “The man I loved, the father of my child, died. With his mistress. What kind of man receives a blowjob while driving at his age? With his status? And then he wills his money to her? I’m sorry if I’m not ticking all the boxes for decorum right now. It's because I don’t give a fuçk.”

Peter buries his face in his hands, his voice muffled. “Oh, God. I don’t want to do this anymore. I told Harold it was a foolish idea from the start.”

“You did?”

He looks up. “Yes. I told him this would be a mess. But he was of sound mind when the will was written, Claire. Those were his wishes.”

“So it’s not fightable in court?”

Peter sighs. “You could try, but I doubt you’d win. He took care of Kieran’s education and welfare, left you some money to start a life. It’s all legally airtight. It’s going to be a messy and expensive battle.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” My voice cracks. “I can't ask his kids. They hate me. Am I supposed to rely on Social Security benefits?”

Peter shrugs. “You can get a job.”

“A job?” I let out a humorless laugh. “I left school eight years ago. I’ve never worked. Where do you think I’m going to find a ‘good job’ with my experience? Do you have any idea how much Kieran’s nanny costs in a year?”

“Then remarry,” he says bluntly. “Find someone else to—”

“Really?” I cut him off. “My husband just died. And contrary to what you all seem to think, I’m not a gold digger.”

Peter leans back, folding his arms as he studies me. For a moment, he’s silent. Then he says, almost softly, “Alright. You’ve got one other shot.”

I lean forward, hopeful. “I knew you could do something.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not doing anything, Claire. I’m only reminding you about something you already know. The trust funds. They’re substantial.”

Of course, the trust funds. The will hadn't carried specifics—no clear figures, no detailed terms, just a promise of Kieran's education and welfare being taken care of.

“Okay,” I say, eager. “How do I access the funds?”

Peter’s expression turns almost apologetic. “That’s the problem. You can’t. Only the trustee can.”

I frown. “The trustee? I’m his mother. Harold couldn’t have possibly made someone else the trustee. Or did he?”

“Unfortunately, he did.”

Every day, I keep getting closer and closer to losing my shït. It’s a crazy thing when the person who’s constantly betraying you is dead. You have nowhere else to place that anger except at yourself and other people.

“Shït,” I say. “Who’s this trustee?”

Peter’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting a grimace. “I have to warn you, you’re not going to like it.”

“Is it Vivian? Did he put my child’s future in his daughter’s hands?”

“It’s not Vivian.”

“Who the fuçk is it then? Grant? Nate? Does Harold have other children I don’t know about? Or a sibling. Tell me. I’m getting impatient.”

“The trustee is Damon, Claire.”

I blink. “Who?”

“Damon Penrose. Cassandra Penrose's brother and next of kin.”

Wait a damn minute. Harold put my child’s welfare in his mistress’s hands? To think I can't get hurt anymore. I have to quickly round up this business with Peter before I break down and cry in his office.

To do that, we’ll start with the most important question. “How do I meet this Damon Penrose?” I ask.

He sighs. “I’m afraid you've already met him, Claire. He’s the man you just chased out of my office.”