Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Wallowing in self-pity doesn’t pay much. Or anything. Whenever you hit rock bottom, people love to say, There’s nowhere to go but up , but they don’t exactly specify when that will happen. Because I’ve been scraping the bottom of this barrel for two weeks now, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll last.

Aaron moved out ten days ago. When he tried to come home that night with second-degree burns on his back and tears in his eyes, I threatened him with a kitchen knife. He called me a bitch, grabbed his phone charger, and left.

Margot tried to call me. She left me a seven-paragraph text message about how I’ve never been that great of a friend and somehow managed to pin this all on me, explaining how my never consoling her over her breakups led to her spreading her legs for my long-term boyfriend. I don’t know. I didn’t really read the whole thing, if I’m honest.

She did claim that they were in love and had been for a while. Maybe she should have gone to Scotland with him. She could have chased around his ancestor’s bullshit for three weeks.

There’s been a red eviction notice on my door for the past three days, but I’ve been ignoring that too. I’m working on a theory that if I just ignore literally everything in my life, then the universe will just work itself out.

I mean, what are they going to do? Carry me out?

I’ve sold enough of Aaron’s shit to feed myself over the last two weeks but not enough to pay the rent. He took the really good stuff.

Lying on my couch, bored and depressed, I scroll through the pictures on my phone, deleting every single one of me and Aaron. They just feel like lies now. Why did he ever bother to look happy with me?

There’s a knock at the door that I ignore.

Ignore everything.

Nothing matters anyway.

I turn my attention back to my phone, discovering a dirty video Aaron and I made over a year ago on Halloween when he filmed me sucking his dick in my Alice in Wonderland costume. He was the Mad Hatter.

I won’t delete this one just yet…

“Ms. Devereaux,” a woman calls through the door, and I wrinkle my brow as I stare at it. There’s something familiar about the way she said my name. Melodic and enticing.

It reminds me of…

“My name is Anna Barclay. Are you home?”

Barclay?

“What the…?”

My voice trails as I climb off my sofa and walk silently toward the door. Without a sound, I squint through the peephole and see a well-dressed woman holding a manila envelope standing on my welcome mat.

“Hello, Ms. Devereaux,” she croons. “I see the light through the peephole. I know you’re there.”

I pull my head back in a snap. “What do you want?” I ask with skepticism.

My mind is reeling, trying to figure out why this woman is here. Is this because I broke into their house? I mean… broke in is hardly accurate. I just walked in. Did that brutish asshole tell on me? Can I still be arrested?

“I’d like to speak to you,” she says. “I believe you already met my brother.”

Her brother?

So is this the sister that sends spies into his house? Maybe that’s what she’s looking for now? Would she pay me to spy on him again? I’d gladly do it.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I unlatch the dead bolt and turn the brass knob on the door. As I peel it open, I stare at the woman waiting there. She’s very pretty. With long brown hair and large green eyes, she looks to be in her mid to late thirties. I can see the resemblance between her and the man who nearly attacked me. She’s tall too, but not as tall as him.

“What do you want?” I mumble through the gap of the doorway.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“For what?”

“I have something to discuss with you. A…business proposal, if you will.”

My brow lowers as I stare at her, glancing down at the envelope in her hands. A business proposal? She does want me to spy on him.

I quickly glance behind her to see that she’s alone before I slowly open the door and allow her to come in. She scans my apartment, possibly noticing how immaculate it is. I might be broke, depressed, and lonely, but I keep my space clean, always.

Leading her down to the dining room, I point to the table. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask hesitantly.

“Coffee would be nice,” she replies.

As she takes a seat at the table, I move into the kitchen and grab the coffeepot from the machine. “So, how did you find me?” I ask as I fill it with water.

“My brother told me your name. I saw your face on the security footage. Then, I looked you up. Read an interesting article in the New Yorker about you. You were listed as a potential rising star in literature. Your parents were mentioned too.”

I glance down as I continue making a pot of coffee. That piece came out nearly two years ago. I was fresh out of college and had impressed enough professors to get a spot on the ones-to-watch list they publish every year.

It felt like a gold star at the time.

Now it feels like a festering wound.

“Are you looking for a freelance writer? I don’t really do that sort of writing,” I say before switching the machine on. It whirs to life as I take down two mugs from the cabinet.

“I’m sorry, but no. I’m not interested in hiring you as a writer.”

Ouch .

“Then what is it?” I ask from the kitchen.

“Why don’t you come sit down, and we can discuss it? It’s…sensitive in nature.”

My cheeks grow hot as I stare at her. Possibilities flit through my mind, but nothing sticks or makes any sense.

Pulling out a chair, I sit down and face the woman, waiting for an explanation.

“Ms. Devereaux, what I’m about to offer you is unconventional and a bit strange. I’ll warn you now.”

“Okay…”

She opens her manila folder. Inside is a stack of what looks like very official papers. There’s even a fancy crest at the top.

“You should know a little about my family before I continue.”

I don’t respond as she turns the papers toward me. I stare at her inquisitively.

“I have three brothers. Killian is the eldest. Then, Declan. And Lachlan. Then me, between Killian and Declan.”

“Okay…” I say again, waiting for the part where I come in.

“My brother Killian, being the eldest, is the heir to our family’s estate, Barclay Manor, which you have recently visited. He chooses to live there, regardless of our family’s wishes. Our parents have sadly passed away.”

“Why does your family not want him there?”

Her spine straightens. “Killian is…eccentric. He’s turned our family’s estate into a house of debauchery and parties.”

“Sounds fun,” I mutter to myself. Behind me, the coffeepot beeps, and I quickly turn away from Anna’s judgmental glare. “Cream and sugar?”

“Just cream, please.”

“Got it,” I reply, going to the fridge for the cream. “So, Killian won’t leave your family’s castle,” I say as I prepare our coffees. “What do you need me for?”

“That’s the strange part.”

As I carry over our cups, she purses her lips and waits for me to sit before speaking again.

“I’ll cut to the chase, Ms. Devereaux.”

“Please,” I reply, setting my cup on the table.

“I’d like you to marry my brother.”

Suddenly, it’s as if the entire dining room of my apartment cants to one side, and my coffee cup tips over, spilling the hot contents all over my lacquered table. Anna quickly lifts her papers, to avoid the coffee staining them.

“Oh shit,” I mumble, rushing to grab some paper towels from my kitchen and quickly cleaning up the mess. She waits patiently as I dab it up.

“I’m sorry…what?” I stammer, sitting down and staring at her in shock. The wadded-up paper towels are still littered all over my table.

“It’s quite complicated, but the only way for my family to access the ownership of the manor is if it’s transferred out of our brother’s name. And the only way for it to be transferred out of his name is if he remains married for at least one year. At which point, ownership of the home would be granted to his wife.”

“One year?” I stutter.

“Or until they have a child.”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head.

“I don’t expect you to do that,” she adds.

“Oh, good,” I reply sarcastically. “You just want me to marry a complete stranger for a year so you can con your brother out of his home. Okay. Well, that’s good because, for a moment, I thought you were out of your mind.”

She lets out a sigh. “Before you paint us as the villains, you should know that Killian’s reasons for staying in the manor are not to his benefit. He did not handle the death of our parents well, and after he spent his twenties in a drug- and alcohol-induced haze, he has secluded himself in that house since. We discovered recently just how out of hand his lifestyle has gotten. We’re doing this for his own good.”

“Have you, and I’m just tossing out ideas here, thought to talk to him about it?”

“For seventeen years,” she replies flatly.

“Seventeen years?” I snap.

“My brother needs to move on with his life. He needs a nudge.”

A laugh bursts through my lips. “A nudge? You flew halfway across the world to ask a complete stranger to marry your brother, and you call that a nudge? Why on earth would I agree to this?”

“Ten million dollars.”

My body freezes, and I stare at her in shock. She said that so calmly that it took me by surprise more than the actual amount.

“Of course, we would support you during the year. You’d live at Barclay with Killian. You’d be taken care of with whatever you require. There are some serious stipulations to the contract, such as you’d be required to make public appearances with Killian. Neither of you could be adulterous, or else the contract would be nullified.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, holding my hands up. “Why would he agree to this?”

“He thinks it’s a ploy to improve his reputation in order to get his family off of his back and let him keep the house.”

His reputation. I know a bit about that from what I read online the day I saw him. Killian Barclay had made a name for himself as a playboy and partier.

“Why couldn’t he just improve his reputation?”

“We’ve convinced him that if he is seen settling down, the family might be more inclined to allow him to stay in the house without a fight.”

Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest. “So…what’s to stop me from just keeping the house to myself after the year of marriage, if, like you said, I will have ownership of it?”

Her lips purse. “Because there would be a very strict contract that states you will sign the deed over to my family or face a hefty fine worth more than the cost of the manor itself.”

“This is some manipulative shit,” I reply with a laugh.

“Like I said,” she mumbles. “It’s for his own good.”

“Why me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. “Out of everyone on this planet, why me? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you were bold enough to walk into our house uninvited that day,” she says with a scolding expression. “I know you were raised in a wealthy environment. You’re well-educated and accustomed to a certain level of comfort. And I know that your parents recently cut you off.”

My head tilts in surprise. “How do you know that? That’s not something you’d find in a Google search,” I say skeptically.

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, implying that this lady is even more manipulative than I first assumed.

The dining room grows silent as we stare at each other. My mind is spinning as I let the entire thing play over and over. It’s unbelievable and sort of hilarious.

“So…” she mumbles over the top of her coffee cup. “What do you think?”

I let out another laugh. “I think you’re fucking bold. How many unsuspecting American girls are you bombarding with this offer?”

She takes a sip and sets down her cup. “You are the only person we’re asking.”

I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. “Well, I’m sorry you wasted a trip. Be sure to see the Statue of Liberty while you’re here. Thanks for a good laugh and a hilarious story I’ll tell someday.”

“Why don’t you think about it?” she asks as she stands.

“Yeah, sure,” I reply with a chuckle. “I’ll think about dropping my entire life here to marry a stranger in Scotland.”

“Here’s my card.” She sets it on the table and gives me a tight smile. “Thanks for hearing me out.”

I don’t have anything else to say, so I stand in silence as she walks to the door. She gets to it and puts her hand on the knob before I realize something.

“What did he say?” I ask. “About me.”

She stops and turns toward me with a crooked grin. “He said you were the rudest, meanest, most infuriating woman he’d ever met.”

“And that made you think I’d be a good fit for this?”

“No,” she replies with a shake of her head. “But he did.”

With that, she opens my front door and disappears out of my apartment.

I’m left standing in silence, confused and shocked and wondering what the fuck just happened.