Obsessed Heir (Billionaire Heirs #4)

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Barron

T he unmistakable dun-dun sound effect from the opening credits of Law & Order plays on the suite’s television as I stride through the door.

“Oh, that one,” Mother says enthusiastically from where she’s sitting on the couch. James is standing beside her, the remote in hand.

“Good evening, Barron,” she greets me with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. It’s a nice change from coming home to an empty apartment every night.

“Hello, Mother.” I close the door behind me and glance across the room, taking stock of what’s happening. James and Mother are focused on the television while two attendants are putting the final touches on our dinner service.

Abigail, the ever-present thorn in my side, is nowhere in sight. She must be off somewhere, licking her wounds. Then again, knowing the scheming she’s capable of, she’s likely plotting another way to ingratiate herself to my mother.

Eyeing the table, I try to identify the tantalizingly rich aromas wafting through the air—garlic, thyme, butter, something heady and gamey underneath. “What’s on the dinner menu, James?” I ask, heading straight to the bar.

“Chef prepared a seared duck breast, served with roasted vegetables and a side of dressed greens,” he responds without missing a beat. “Dessert will be brought up with the coffee service.”

“An excellent choice,” I tell him with an approving nod. Then I shrug out of my suit jacket and drape it over the back of a nearby chair.

“I’ll let him know you’re pleased.” He lowers the volume. “This is your favorite series, Mrs. McClelland?” James asks, deftly dividing his attention between the conversation and the television screen.

While her friends were into the Mexican telenovelas, she’s been a devout Law & Order fan ever since I can remember. It’s the reason I made sure it was available on board.

“I watch the older episodes.” The volume lowers. “It hasn’t been the same without Lenny.”

“It’s been a long time since he was on the show, Mother.” I drop a few ice cubes in a heavy crystal tumbler.

“Well, the series has been on the air for decades,” she counters. “I can’t be expected to like every character they’ve brought on over the years.”

I smile to myself as I uncork the expensive bottle of scotch. If only we could get rid of all the undesirable characters in our own lives as easily.

“Would you like a drink?”

I pour a generous amount of the amber liquid over the ice. Something tells me I’ll need a good, stiff drink before the end of the night.

“Oh, no, thank you, dear. Abby served me a ginger ale.”

Speaking of characters we should get rid of…

I turn toward the balcony doors, peering into the inky darkness beyond the rain-speckled glass as I swirl the scotch in my glass.

“Where is dear Abigail this evening?” I ask, unable to keep the snide edge from my tone.

“She isn’t feeling well, so she asked to be excused for the evening,” Mother explains, an undercurrent of sympathy coloring her words. “The poor dear is resting in her room.”

“I’m sure,” I mutter under my breath then toss back the drink.

The little manipulator likely wants to avoid having to face me after our earlier confrontation. With any luck, my words made her understand how unwelcome her presence is aboard this cruise.

I set the empty glass down on the bar top with a dull thud, fighting a rising tide of annoyance. I still can’t believe Mother has refused to sever ties with Abigail. I’ve laid out all the reasons she should cut her loose once and for all.

Our argument over the situation had been loud and scorching. Yet she kept the girl on as a personal assistant despite our original agreement.

“Did you say something, dear?” Mother’s voice cuts into my thoughts.

I paste on a neutral expression as I turn to face her. “I was asking if you were ready for dinner.”

“Yes, we’ve just been waiting for you to arrive,” she says, gesturing to James.

“I’ll assist her from the couch,” he says.

The diligent attendant immediately springs into action, offering her an arm to leverage herself upright before transferring her into the wheelchair. Once she’s settled, he wheels her over to join me at the table. He exhibits more grace than what I’ve managed so far.

“Thank you, James,” she says warmly as he locks the chair in place and steps back.

Once she’s comfortably positioned, I take a seat across from her. “And how are you feeling, Mother?”

“Oh, I’ve been doing quite well, all things considered,” she replies. “Abby has been such a great help to me since we boarded. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

My jaw clenches as a familiar surge of irritation bubbles up.

“I’m sure she has,” I reply through gritted teeth. I should have expected her to work in praise for her beloved daughter-she-never-had.

“Barron, don’t be like that,” she chastises as James wheels over the warming trays. “Abby is such a wonderfully caring, thoughtful young woman. She’s always looking out for me, making sure I’m comfortable and have whatever I need.”

“I’m sure she is.” I try not to let the sarcasm drip from my tone. “Though isn’t she supposed to be caring for you instead of handing you off to James?”

“Abby isn’t feeling well,” she reminds me, her voice holding a defensive edge.

“Hm.” Any answer I give on this particularly thorny subject will only displease her even more, so what the hell.

“It’s no trouble at all, sir,” James pipes up, adding his two cents before he sets her plate down. Fantastic. Abigail has successfully recruited yet another member for her little fan club.

“Don’t mind him, James,” Mother says with a weary sigh. “Barron is just being a smidgen difficult this evening.”

James sets my plate in front of me. He has enough sense to keep his thoughts to himself as he pours our wine.

“I’m not being difficult ,” I correct while reaching for my napkin and laying it across my lap. “I don’t see why you need Abigail constantly hovering around you. You are more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

“Interesting you should say that. Perhaps you missed James helping me into a wheelchair,” Mother points out, her lips turned down slightly.

Okay, so maybe not the best time to make my point. Though, in my defense, I’m not sure any time will be appropriate.

James, ever the consummate professional, steps away to wait quietly.

“We can take it from here,” I offer, letting him make his getaway.

“I’ll go prepare your coffee service,” he says then leaves us to our privacy.

“Not to keep returning to the subject,” I continue, undeterred. “But isn’t Abigail the one who put you in this wheelchair to begin with,” I point out, cutting into my duck breast.

She pauses, her utensils poised over her plate.

“You may not have noticed, Barron, but I’m what most people today would consider an elderly woman,” she remarks with finality.

I keep my mouth shut this time.

“I’m still mostly capable of taking care of myself. However, there are times when an extra bit of help is welcome, if not outright necessary.”

“I understand that, and I’m sure we could have arranged for a more suitable?—”

“And Abigail,” she continues, as if I hadn’t spoken, “has been an absolute godsend in that regard. I would be helpless without her.”

I sigh in resignation. There will be no getting through to her. “I worry about you, that’s all. I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you.” Or your money.

She reaches out and pats my hand. “I appreciate your concern, dear, but I’m a grown woman and perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry if you don’t agree with my choices,” she says, sounding anything but sorry. “But, I assure you, Abby is not taking advantage of me or my finances in any way.”

“But—”

“I trust her implicitly. And I value the assistance she provides,” she continues in a softer tone. “I have absolutely no doubt that she has my very best interests at heart with everything she does.”

I open my mouth with the intent to argue, but my gut tells me it won’t do any good. Frustration wells up inside me. I can’t understand why she can’t see what’s in front of her.

I’ll let it go, but I’ll keep a closer eye on Abigail from now on. I just hope it isn’t already too late.