Beautiful Affliction Read online

  A Dark Billionaire Romance

  By Celia Loren

  Copyright © 2015 Hearts Collective

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

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  BEAUTIFUL AFFLICTION

  A Dark Billionaire Romance

  By Celia Loren

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Prologue

  Jody Hall smiled nervously at Mrs. Redmond as they passed each other in the hall. Mrs. Redmond smiled back, but Jody always got the feeling that Mrs. Redmond was barely tolerating her. Jody promised herself that she would work even harder. Somehow she would win the approval of the matriarch of the Redmond clan.

  As she entered the kitchen, she just saw the back of Ms. Mueller as the cook walked up the rear staircase to the servants' quarters.

  "Goodnight!" Jody called, but Ms. Mueller didn't hear her. Jody reached into the pocket of her uniform to check her phone. Frowning down at it, she didn't hear the back door to the lawn open until Aaron Sarka was standing inside.

  "'Night, Jody," Aaron said with a friendly wave as he also turned to the staircase. Jody jumped guiltily, knowing she shouldn't have her cell phone on her while she was working, though she knew Aaron would never say anything to their boss.

  "Goodnight!" she called after him as he disappeared upstairs. She looked back down at the text her boyfriend Andres had just sent her. Tomorrow at Alicia's Diner, noon…please??

  She chewed the inside of her cheek, thinking it over. She and Andres had been dating for about six months. At first he'd seemed really sweet, and his Portuguese accent had really done her in. But then she'd met a couple of his friends, and there was something just a bit unsavory about them, and she could tell that they hadn't appreciated her presence either. Jody had told him that she wanted him to stop hanging around people like that, and Andres had stormed off. But now here he was begging to meet her.

  We'll see, she texted back, and smiled. She felt very mysterious, and a little proud to be playing hard to get. She smugly tossed her dark brown ponytail over her narrow shoulder as she tucked her phone back into her pocket and walked down the hall to the living room.

  She surveyed the space, noting that everyone who'd been at dinner had now reconvened here, gathered around the seating area by the fireplace like a well-conceived tableau. Her eyes immediately fell on the face of her boss, Brent Redmond, as the fire sent flickering light playing across his strong features. He was seated between his younger sister, Whitney, on one side, and his friends Mark and Kristine on the other, but she couldn't take her eyes off him.

  Jody felt deeply ashamed of the way her body responded to Mr. Redmond. She believed that there was right and there was wrong, and being attracted to your boss was definitely wrong—particularly knowing what she knew about him.

  Mr. Redmond glanced up, catching her staring at him. "I think we have everything we need here, Jody," he told her, the conversation around him ceasing for a moment as the group looked up at her.

  "Thank you, Mr. Redmond. I'll be off to bed, then," she replied, knowing he was giving her his implicit permission to head upstairs. He turned back to his guests, and after a slight pause, Jody turned around and headed to the kitchen, then up the back staircase.

  She turned into the first room off the hallway and yawned as she closed her bedroom door behind her and unzipped the back of her dress. Tomorrow was her day off, and she planned to get a good night's sleep and then spend the day in town. She pulled on her nightgown and then settled into bed with a book.

  The very next night, her bed would be empty. Jody Hall would be dead.

  Chapter One

  One month later…

  I push the skin on my cuticles back as I sit in the waiting room of Landmark Domestics. It's only the second time I've had to come in person to my placement agency, as I stayed at my initial assignment for so long. I sigh, dropping my hands into my lap as I think of the prospect of a new job. I was the live-in maid for the Akermans for three years, so going somewhere new feels jarring, to say the least. But they were an elderly couple, and were both having a hard time negotiating the stairs of their large Boston home. Moving into assisted living was the right decision for them.

  "Cora!" Tess cries, sticking her head out of her office. "You're back!"

  "Hi, Tess," I murmur, "Good to see you again." She ushers me into her small, dingy office and closes the door behind us.

  "I'm sorry to hear about the Akermans. Do you think you'll keep in touch?" she asks as she circles around behind her desk and I sit across from her. Tess and I didn't have a lot of contact after I was placed, but she always takes a motherly interest in her clients.

  "Maybe," I murmur, though I doubt we will.

  "Well, they wrote you a stellar reference, I have to tell you. I'd read it to you, but I think it would just embarrass you, it's so glowing!" My cheeks flush in surprise. We weren't close, but I did always do my best at the job. "So, let me just look over your resume and refresh myself and then we'll see what we have for you!" I nod, and hook my ankles under my chair as she turns to her computer, tilting her face up to look through the bottom of her bifocals.

  "Oh, that's right, you went to art school! What kind of things do you do? Not those crazy performance-type pieces, I hope."

  I smile. "Well, I haven't done anything since…not in a long time. I used to do oils, though."

  She raises her narrow eyebrows. "Oils! Fancy!" She moves her mouse over and I see her eyes begin to scroll down
the page. "And you want another live-in situation, is that right?"

  "That's right."

  "Let's see what we have. No…no…that's been filled," she says looking through the available postings for domestic workers. "Hm, it's a little dry at the moment." I see her gaze stop for a moment, and she glances at me. "Well, I have one…no, never mind."

  "I'm not picky, really. I know they can't all be plum assignments like my last one."

  "Well, this one is actually quite a good setup," she says, turning to me with her lips pressed in a thin line. "It pays over fifty percent more than anything else we have right now, and it comes with generous health benefits and a nice private room. It might be a bit more traditional than your last placement. You'll be expected to wear a uniform and help with table service in addition to cleaning…"

  She trails off, and I sense that the uniform isn't her big concern. "But…" I prod her.

  "It's a big but, Cora, really," she says, leaning forward and interlacing her fingers on the desk. "The last young woman I placed there, Jody Hall, she—oh dear, I don't know if the police have even released her name yet..."

  "The police?" I repeat.

  "Yes, Jody, she…she disappeared, actually. A month ago. It's been kept rather quiet so far."

  "Oh, god. And the police don't know what happened?"

  "No. It's like she vanished into thin air. I have no reason to believe it had anything to do with the job, you understand," she says, reaching across the desk, "but of course it puts a lot of people off, and we haven't been able to fill the position since it was…vacated, despite the fact that he keeps increasing the salary."

  "He?"

  "Oh, I didn't even say. You would be the maid at Brent Redmond's estate," she says meaningfully. I stare at her blankly. "Brent Redmond. The Brent Redmond. You know, the real estate tycoon? And the most eligible bachelor in Boston since Tom Brady got scooped up?"

  "I don't really follow the news," I tell her by way of an excuse. "I mean, you know, I try to stay current on the international things…"

  She looks horrified. "Well, anyway, I try not to place any girls with looks like yours in these kind of situations so that no one thinks I've got a matchmaking service going here or anything, and Jody was really quite plain-looking—I think it's OK to say that."

  "You really don't have to worry about anything like that with me. I won't be tempted," I assure her emphatically, and I'm not just angling for the job. The last time I felt attracted to any man was a little more than three and a half years ago. Since then, I've felt not even a single butterfly in my stomach over anyone.

  "I just want you to have all the facts. I mean, I've just been so worried about Jody, and then if anything happened to you…I don't want you to feel any pressure to take this job, Cora, I really don't. I might not have any other openings now, but something will come up soon."

  I take a deep breath and study my fingernails. I know that Tess works on commission, so she must really be concerned if she's urging me not to take a job with such a high salary. I can stay at the Akermans' for a little bit longer, until the sale on their house goes through. But honestly, while I'm concerned for the last maid's wellbeing, that concern does not extend to myself. Ever since my sister died, I can't muster up much worry over what happens to me.

  I look back up at Tess. "When can I start?"

  Chapter Two

  I walk the last mile or so to the Redmond estate, dragging my overstuffed suitcase behind me. The Akermans' place, in the heart of Back Bay, was much more urban and easily accessible, so I never had to worry about not having a license. I suppose I'm lucky that the bus service extends as far into Norwich as it does. Plus, the weather is a bit warmer than usual for the middle of March, so I'm able to admire the scenery around me instead of pulling my hood around my face.

  The wealthy Boston suburb of Norwich is a far cry from the town in central Massachusetts where I grew up, I think as I gaze around at the mammoth houses tucked behind tall, iron-wrought fences. I can practically hear my dad's thickly accented voice in my head, Oh, brotha, these rich people, Cora. As soon as they get they-ah hands on a little money, they gotta have mo-ah of it. I lost my accent during my first couple years at college in an effort to become more cosmopolitan, but I can switch back into it at will.

  I head around a sharp turn in the road and stop in shock at the sprawling estate laid out in front of me. This has to be the Redmond estate, because the street dead ends in front of its impressive gates. I start walking slowly toward it. Even in this community of opulent houses, this one stands out. Behind the gates I can see white columns rising two stories high around the portico, and the rest of the house spreads out on either side in monolithic red brick. A well-manicured lawn dotted with stately oaks and maples surrounds it, and I think I can safely guess that the gardens extend quite far in the back.

  I approach the towering gates and spot a small call box on the left side. I walk over and press a button on it, staring into the nearly white sky as I wait for a response.

  "Yes?" a woman's voice crackles through.

  "Hi, it's Cora MacAuliffe, from Landmark Domestics. I'm the new maid."

  "There's a small gate on the side. I'll buzz you through."

  I glance around and then spot a well-camouflaged gate to my left, separate from the main gate made for cars, that's emitting a soft humming noise. I hurriedly push it open before I miss my chance, and step onto a path of small stones that connects to the curving driveway. I walk up, hearing the crunch of the white gravel under my feet.

  The front door opens and a portly woman who looks to be in her early sixties stands in the doorway, fist perched expectantly on her hip.

  "I'm Ms. Mueller," she says without a trace of a smile. "I'm the cook. I'll be showing you around."

  "Cora. Nice to meet you."

  "Well, we'd better drop your suitcase off first, and then I'll show you the rest of the house and explain your duties." I follow her through an enormous entryway. Everywhere I look are touches of opulence, from the white marble floor to the gold inlay on the small table by the door with a vase of pink lilies on top of it. I realize I've stopped and hurry to catch up to her as she marches through a lavish formal living room, dining room, and then finally into a large, spotless kitchen equipped with modern appliances.

  We walk to a small, unobtrusive doorway in the corner of the kitchen and up a narrow, winding staircase. "Here's your room," she says, pointing to a closed door, then gestures further down the hallway. "The next door is your bathroom, then my room and then Mr. Sarka's. He's the head of security for Mr. Redmond, and his driver. The gardener, Mr. Jones, lives offsite, though I'm sure you'll see him working around the grounds once it warms up. Mr. Sarka and I each have our own bathroom, so you're the only person using that one."

  "Wow," is all I can say. She opens up the door and I walk in. It's a small, but clean and sunny room, lit by a floor-to-ceiling window on the wall opposite the door. A desk sits on one wall next to a bureau, and there's a closet and a twin bed across from them. "Is this where the last maid—"

  "Yes," she cuts me off. "But the police have gone through everything, so there's no problem with you staying here."

  "Right," I murmur, thinking that it does feel just a bit creepy anyway. She stands looking at me expectantly and I wheel my suitcase into the corner and take off my coat. She nods.

  "You'll find your uniform in the closet. Make sure it's always clean and pressed. Follow me." I hurry after her as she abruptly turns and walks back down the stairwell. "The house was built in the late 1800's in the Colonial Revival style by the Redmonds' ancestors, and then added onto by subsequent generations. Mr. Redmond built the guest house out back only two years ago for his mother to live in," she says over her shoulder.

  "So just Brent Redmond and his mother live here?"

  "His younger sister Whitney goes to Wellesley and visits home quite often, and Mr. Redmond frequently has overnight guests and parties. This house functions not j
ust as a home, but as a centerpiece for his real estate company," she replies boastfully. "The parlor," she points out as we pass a room facing the backyard with a grand piano in the corner. "The dining room," she says continuing, gesturing toward a large room with a table that must seat at least a dozen people. "I've been trying to do some of the cleaning myself since we've had a difficult time filling your position, but I'm so busy with the cooking, and my knees aren't what they used to be. I used to do it all, but I move a little slower now."

  This is her slower? She's walking so briskly through the house that I hardly have time to look at anything. We circle back to the formal living room before we head upstairs and I stop, glancing at a family portrait over the fireplace. An oil done in muted colors—but that's not what catches my eye.

  "Is that him?" I ask, staring at the light blue eyes that have stopped me in my tracks. His dark brown, almost black hair is combed back, though I can see a slight wave to it, and his strong nose has just the slightest turn to it, as though he may have broken it at as a child.

  "Yes, that's Mr. Redmond," Ms. Mueller replies, throwing me a sharp glance. "With Whitney and their parents. His father passed away soon after they lost the house."

  "Lost the house?" I repeat, breaking the painting's gaze to turn to her.

  She turns to face me from the first step. "Hugh Redmond did not have his son's talent in business, nor did his father or grandfather, for that matter. They went into debt and the house had to be sold. Hugh Redmond passed away, and his son made it his mission to build the company back from bankruptcy. He more than succeeded, and one of the first things he did was to buy this house back."

  "You've been with them a long time."

  "Almost twenty years," she says, a hint of softness creeping into her voice. "Except for a short time during the years when they couldn't pay me." She looks me over for a moment and I wonder if she’s found something to criticize, but she steps forward and says, "I'm sorry I have to rush you, but Mr. Redmond is having a dinner party tonight, the house doesn’t quite look like the way it should, and I have a lot of food prep to get to. Mr. Redmond is very…specific about what he likes."