“Good.” His gaze is the very definition of serious. “I want this to be our home.”
Not sure Beck’s ever even had a real home before. Or at least not for a long time. As he said, living in a hotel isn’t quite the same. And it’s not as if his father (may he rest in peace) or his mother seem to have made much room in their lives for him. Catherine, his grandmother, is somewhat terrifying and ditto with her mausoleum of a mansion.
I smile. “Okay then.”
Mrs. Francis is our new housekeeper. She is short, cheerful, and around fifty. Due to the place needing to be kept show worthy at all times for sale, the previous owners had kept her on and recommended we do the same. A cleaning crew also comes through three times a week. Beck can happily continue not picking up after himself. (That is a lie. I will do it because it drives me crazy otherwise.) Mrs. Francis has the staff we borrowed from the Heritage to move our personal belongings under complete control. The woman is an organizing aficionado. She’s also sorted new sheets and towels and so on for us and made a pot roast for dinner. There’s even a couple of thick pillar candles on the dining table for atmosphere. Once dinner is served, she retreats into the staff quarters in the front half of the ground level, where I presume Smith is also, and Beck and I are alone.
“Grandma has a staff of eighteen including gardeners,” comments Beck, apropos of nothing.
“And?”
“It’s okay for us to have two, beloved. You’ll get used to it eventually.”
“I don’t want to.” I lift my glass of white wine. “May this lifestyle always happily weird me out.”
“But is it happily weirding you out?”
I think it over. “Yes, it is. I might still get nervous or anxious sometimes, but that’s just me.”
“Okay then.” He taps his crystal glass gently against mine. “Here’s to our first night in our new house.”
I take a sip. “Oh, I meant to ask you, why are charities thanking me for funding their programs and inviting me to events?”
“Actually, that reminds me,” he says, pushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. “Would you do me a favor?”
“What kind of favor?”
“I was hoping you’d just say yes,” he admits with a frown.
“I’m sure you were.”
“With the inheritance and everything, I’m in need of someone to head up the philanthropy side of things. Penny’s been helping me set up a charity foundation and she suggested that you’d be an excellent choice for director.”
“Director?”
“You’d be the public face and have the final word on what happens,” he continues, cutting into potato and green beans. “There’s money put aside, but someone needs to meet with the charities, decide where and how we can help. What do you think? Probably only take a couple of days a week. You could fit it in around what you’re doing for The Crooked Company.”
“Shouldn’t you hire an expert?”
“I trust your judgment and I’d prefer to keep it in the family, so to speak. People appreciate a personal touch when it comes to these sorts of things,” he says. “Besides, you’re good with people; they like you. Imagine how much more they’re going to like you when you’re giving them money.”
“But I sucked at that luncheon. Your grandmother still isn’t talking to us.”
He swallows his food. “Only if by sucked you mean completely rocked it. And Granny will give in and forgive us eventually. I think it quietly pleases her when people don’t do what she wants. Gives her something to bitch about at tea parties.”
“Doesn’t that woman own like half of Elliot Corp.?”
“Not quite that much,” he says. “And it doesn’t mean she doesn’t love a good tea party.”
“You want me to do this?”
“Yes. But, of course, it’s your call.”
I think it over. “That’s why Penny gave you a weird look at The Downstairs Bar when I mentioned my dislike of charity luncheons.”
He shrugs. It’s pure avoidance. What a sneak. “Question is, do you really hate the events, or did that one in particular just freak you out due to Granny’s evil machinations?”
“Good question. I’ll ponder it.” I cut up some meat. “You’d think all of the years in customer service would make me more people friendly as opposed to less.”
“Not sure if it really works that way. Plus, people.”
“True.”
A low resonant tone echoes from the front of the house. Next comes