He Chose His First Love. I Own His Empire. novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: At the Door

Camille offers two million dollars and the baby in a warm voice, and Hallie refuses to her face with Benton in the doorway. At dawn an email says Hallie is fired and her keycard is dead.

Camille came across the lawn alone, with her heels in one hand.

Adaline stayed beside the car with her arms folded.

"Hallie, please," Camille called. "Two minutes. I'm not here to fight."

Benton stepped in front of me without a word.

He stood between us in his black overcoat, and he did not turn around.

"It's all right," I said.

"It isn't," he said, but he moved a foot to the side.

Camille stopped a few yards off.

Her eyes were red and her mascara had run, and she looked like a woman who had cried the whole way here.

The porch light caught the emerald on her hand, and I saw a small white seam near one corner of the stone.

I didn't remember a seam.

I was too tired to wonder about it.

"I told you the truth in those texts," she said. "Every word. I want you to know that."

"You texted me about ginger tea."

"I meant it. Hal, I swear on my life, I meant it."

She came a step closer.

"I can't have a child," she said. "I had cancer at twenty-six, and they took everything. Dalton sat in a hospital waiting room for nine hours while they did it. I thought I'd never get to hold a baby that belonged to us."

I listened to every word.

It was true, and she said it simply, and part of me wanted to put an arm around her.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant that too.

"Then you understand."

"I understand why you want it," I said. "That isn't a reason for me to hand it over."

Her face changed a little.

She drew a folded paper from her clutch and held it out.

"Two million dollars," she said. "A house in any city you choose. Your mother's care for the rest of her life. All you'd have to do is let Dalton and me raise the baby, and you could see them every other weekend."

"Them."

"The baby," she said softly. "I'd be so good to it, Hallie. I would never take your place."

"You're wearing my place on your finger."

Benton made a small sound that might have been a cough.

Camille's eyes filled again.

"Please don't be cruel," she said. "I'm trying to be kind."

"You're trying to buy my child on the lawn of a house where I've eaten Sunday dinner for three years."

I took the paper from her hand.

I did not unfold it.

I tore it in half, and then in half again, and held the pieces out to her.

"No," I said.

She looked at the scraps without moving.

"I'd like you to go now," I said. "And Camille, I'd like you to leave the texts alone."

Adaline's heels crossed the gravel behind her.

"She's not going to sign," Adaline said.

She said it to Camille and did not look at me.

"I told you it was a waste of the drive. Girls like her don't understand an offer until it's too late."

"Mrs. Aldrich," Benton said quietly.

"Benton." She looked at him with open distaste. "How long has Odile been paying you to follow this one around?"

"Since dinner."

"Then I'll say this for the pair of you."

She turned to me, and her voice was smooth.

"The Maple Court home where your mother lives is paid through the hotel's staff benefit. It's a lovely arrangement. It ends the day your employment does."

My mouth went dry.

My mother had not known my name in two years.

"You wouldn't," I said.

"I'm not the one who signs," Adaline said. "My son is. I'd think carefully about what you want him to sign."

Camille touched her arm.

"Adaline, that's enough."

"It's exactly enough," Adaline said, and turned back to the car.

Camille looked at me one last time, and her face was wet and honestly miserable.

"I'm sorry, Hallie," she said. "I am."

Then she followed Adaline across the grass and got in.

The white sedan backed down the drive, and its taillights shrank to red points on the road.

I stood there with the torn paper in my fist.

"She means it," I said. "That's the worst part. She actually means every word."

"Yes," Benton said.

"You say that like you've seen it before."

He looked at the dark water.

"Come on," he said. "You need to sleep."

The cottage had one bed with a quilt, a kitchenette, and a space heater already running.

He put my bag on the chair and checked the windows without being asked.

At the door he stopped, with one hand on the frame.

"Lock this behind me," he said. "I'm in the garage apartment if you need anything. I mean anything."

"Thank you, Benton."

He nodded.

When the door was shut, I locked it and sat on the edge of the bed with my coat still on.

I didn't sleep much.

At six, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

It was an email from the hotel's human resources office, copied to the payroll team.

Effective immediately, my employment as head pastry cook was terminated.

My keycard was deactivated, and my staff benefits were suspended pending review.

It was signed, in plain black type, Dalton Aldrich, Chief Executive Officer.

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