the foolish choice to leave, and took the ring with her. That diamond belongs to our family. It is mine to do with as I wish.”
But not the ring? This wasn’t about a piece of jewelry Armand could hand down to his children. It was about something else… Money? Pride? Surely not after all of these years.
“Then you shouldn’t have given it away,” Blake reasoned.
“I sent several letters through the years demanding the ring back, all of which were returned unopened.”
“From my limited experience with broken engagements, that’s her prerogative.”
His father’s snap to attention told Blake he’d touched a nerve.
“Dammit, this is not the time for your flippant sarcasm. I want that ring and I will have it.” Armand smoothed down his hair and jacket in a move utterly familiar to Blake. Growing up, he’d seen it often after his father’s rages. Blake steeled himself as a wave of unpleasant emotions washed over him.
“You will get it for me, Blake.”
“How? You don’t even know if Jacqueline’s daughter still has it.”
“There’s never been any record of it being found or sold. Which means it’s still in the family’s possession somehow. You will find this woman and get it back from her. With her knowledge or without it.”
“You expect me to convince her to just hand over a priceless diamond that belonged to her mother?”
“You’ll find a way. I’m sure a man like you, one who has seduced and discarded numerous women through the years, will have no problem with this mission. It should be a perfect use for the very few skills you’ve actually cultivated in your lifetime.”
Blake had to admit, that stung a little. Even if it came from his father, who wouldn’t have a nice thing to say about him if he’d used his wealth to become a big-shot CEO, either. Of course, the other skills Blake had developed he kept well disguised behind the facade of his carefree lifestyle. “Those women knew the score going in.”
“This one won’t. And I forbid you to enlighten her.” He narrowed his gaze on his son. “Until afterward, of course. If you want to tell her you stole from her to save your sister, that’s your business.”
Armand handed over a file with all the confidence of a man who would get his way. “Read it. Let me know.”
“I can’t do this.” Could he?
“And there’s one more condition,” his father went on, as if Blake hadn’t spoken. “Access to Abigail will be limited by me until the job is done. But afterward, you can have her all to yourself. I’ll sign the paperwork to wash my hands of her, and you can give her the upbringing you claim she needs.”
Bile rose in the back of Blake’s throat. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d walked back through the Boudreaux plantation’s doors, but no part of this conversation had gone according to plan. What business did a man who’d spent his life deliberately avoiding any type of responsibility have raising a young girl with epilepsy?
As if he could read Blake’s thoughts, his father smirked. “Are you sure a playboy like you is up to the challenge?”
“Sleepy?”
Madison Landry started awake, embarrassed at being caught sleeping by her boss at Maison de Jardin. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered out, “I’m just not sleeping well right now.”
“It’s not a problem for me,” Trinity Hyatt said with one of her trademark gracious smiles, “especially since you’re here on your day off. Want to tell me why that is?”
Madison tried to shrug off the question with a lame excuse. “There’s always plenty to do around here.” And there was.
The charity, which provided a safe haven and life skills training for abused women and children, was in a constant state of managed chaos. If it wasn’t laundry that needed doing, it was job applications or fund-raising or any number of things. The desk in front of her in the downstairs office was filled to overflowing with paperwork and records.
Not for anything would Madison admit she’d come over to Maison de Jardin, which shared a border with her family estate, because she needed a distraction. Not because work needed to be done.
The last thing she wanted to discuss were the sleepless nights. The memories of her father’s last painful days. Dreams where she could hear him struggle to breathe with the pneumonia clouding his lungs, causing fear to tighten her own chest. Waves of gratitude over the old-fashioned doctor who would still come to the house to treat him after her father’s refusal to be moved to a hospital. The stuff of her nightmares.
Though the understanding expression in Trinity’s soft gaze said she probably knew already. And her boss wasn’t one to shy away from the hard discussions. “Well, I hate to see you suffering from insomnia. I had the same issue after my mom died. Just couldn’t turn my brain off for anything.”
“That’s definitely an issue,” Madison agreed, fiddling with her pen as she thought back over so many sleepless nights lately. It was one of the few things Madison felt comfortable discussing. She tried distracting Trinity from any deeper issues. “Besides, it’s hard to retrain yourself to sleep well after having to stay alert during the night for so long.”
Only her attempt at distraction just gave her boss more fodder for discussion.
“How many years did you take care of your dad?” Trinity asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
Her gaze swept over the room with familiarity, giving Madison a momentary reprieve. After all, the office had last been Trinity’s. She’d only moved up to take care of Hyatt Heights, the company started by her late husband. He and his parents had established Maison de Jardin in New Orleans when he’d been a young man. But taking over his company meant Trinity didn’t have time to run the charity, too, especially after her late husband’s relatives had gone to court to fight over his estate.
Madison just happened to be in the right place at the right time. She’d known Trinity since she was a teenager, coming over to the shelter to help whenever she could. Unfortunately, her dad’s illness had prevented that at times. But when Trinity had to move on, she’d trusted Madison to step into the role despite her age, knowing her life experience went way beyond her years.
Trinity’s perusal of her old office ended with a look straight at Madison, who squashed the urged to squirm in her seat.
Madison cleared her throat. “Ten. But the sleeping and mobility issues were only a problem for the last five or so.”
“Madison,” Trinity said in a voice so gentle it eased Madison’s instinctive panic. “You realize that it’s perfectly normal to not be okay. Right?”
Madison knew her answers were clipped, but the dread she’d felt for weeks was clawing at the back of her throat with each word.
Multiple sclerosis was a tough disease. One Madison didn’t wish on anyone after dealing with it up close and personal. The thought of what her dad had gone through always made
