Oliver Cooper POV
Present time.
Helen, my senior executive housekeeper, sits across from me, her eyes wide with surprise as I give her instructions.
"It is a bad idea," she says, airing her opinion.
Her loyalty to my father and me gives her the right to challenge my ideasâa privilege I don't usually extend to my employees. Most people just follow my lead, without question, but Helen sits comfortably, her eyes holding a motherly scold.
"What would you do?" I ask.
"Your father would not be pleased. He could conceive of death, but never could he conceive of betrayal," she says.
"I am not my father," I state firmly.
She remains unfazed by my dominant stance. "Is that a lie you tell yourself, sir?"
"Have room 350 ready by six in the evening," I order, ignoring her assumption. "Spotless," I add, remembering Jim's orders.
"As you wish, sir." She answers, and I know she will do it, though she is displeased with my decision.
No sooner does Helen leave than Gina walks in, seeming disturbed.
She wanders around my office out of habit, her eyes flitting over the paintings, clock, and certificates hanging on the walls. She does this when anxious.
"My father called," she says, her eyes staring at the huge wall clock above my head before dropping her gaze to mine. Her father has always been a delicate subject, and she usually avoids it altogether.
I assess her emotional state. "What did he say?" I ask.
"I didn't pick up his call," she answers, angered.
"He is your father. I have no problem if you want to see him," I say, hoping to ease her worries if she intends to see him.
"After everything he did to your parents and all that you've done for me, you still want me to meet him, catch up, and pretend all has been well?" Her words linger in the air.
I respond gently, "I want you to be at peace with whatever decision you make."
She ponders for a moment, puckering her lips as if grappling with the weight of her emotions. "I don't want to meet him... ever," she confesses in a whisper.
"And I respect that. If you change your mind, I am open to talk. He is still your father," I remind her.
She shakes her head, a pained expression etched on her face. "And that is the unfortunate partâhe is my father," she admits, hesitating before she takes her first steps towards the door. Suddenly, she turns back, a look of sincerity in her eyes. "Hope you know I would never betray you," she adds, catching me off guard.
Her words are strange because I have never made her feel the need to assure me that.
I flip through the file Cara compiled, admiring the striking beauty of each woman. Just when I think they can't get more beautiful, I turn the page and feel overwhelmed again.
A fleeting idea of marrying them all crosses my mind, like diversifying an investment portfolio. I quickly shake my head with a chuckle, dismissing the thought as absurd.
Polygamy? Nah! I am a one woman man.
I start with the first phase of elimination, focusing on their net worth. Three don't make the cut. Leaning back, I gather my thoughts.
"Ugh!" I slightly push the folder away to clear my thoughts.
This isn't as easy as I thought. Interviews, selection process always stress me out.
I have an Hr team, maybe i should burden them with this....Or...i think of Christian Thorne, he could help me, but he will ask questions and as my best friend i will be obliged to tell him of my health.
No, I can do this alone.
I sigh. But I have to do thisâI'm working with limited time. I glance at the three women I've set aside. Maybe I'm being too harsh? I shut my eyes, then toss their portfolios away.
I move to the next process. A child's intelligence comes from the mother, and the past matters. I carefully examine each woman's background and achievements.
Then, my phone rings. It's Helen, breathless with urgency.
"Calm down," I state.
"Sir...I..room...350, " She stammers.
"What is it?" I demand, grabbing my coat.
"Hurry up, sir," she refuses to talk over the phone.
I take hurried steps to my private elevator, preparing myself for the worst. It is unlike Helen to be that panicked, and I try not to assume what awaits. I hate assumptions.
The elevator delivers me to the 15th floor, and I step out, where I am met by Helen and my publicist.
"Can someone enlighten me on what is going on?" I demand.
"I am doing damage control, sir," my publicist, Travis, says. He is like a needled evergreen treeâtall, slender, and well-balanced throughout any crisis.
His evasive answer only fuels my frustration. "You haven't answered my question," I retort, my patience wearing thin.
"H-h-the gu-guest in room 350," Helen stammers, swallowing hard as if the words are strangling her. "He is dead," she blurts out.
I process the shocking information quickly. "What happened?" I ask.
"A housekeeper found him," Helen answers a question I didn't ask.
"What happened?" I repeat.
"Sir, we have everything under control so that this doesn't leak out to the public," Travis says.
"Damn it!" I sigh, frustrated. I start walking towards the room to find the answer myself.
"Do not dare step into this room. It is out of bounds." I stop in my tracks at the voice of a woman who is squatting inside room 350.
She is taking pictures with her phone.
Who does think she is to keep me away from my hotel?
I look past her and on the bed, Jim lies motionless.
I return my gaze at the housekeeper squatting. It is not a scene I expected to find. I thought I would find a shaken and terrified housekeeper, but she seems composed.
"Do you know who i am?" I demand, annoyed by her audacity.
She remains squatted, her back to me, her corkscrew curly hair cascading down her back.
"I am maintaining the integrity of the scene until the police arrive," she says, standing up and turning to us. Whatever words I am about to say get stuck at the back of my mouth.