Cocky Romance: Chapter 3

I’m about to commit murder in an elevator.

Seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to choke someone this much in my entire life.

And that is saying something because I’ve encountered every type of misogyny that the male species can inflict. Being talked over during strategy meetings. Ignored when I give a car diagnosis. Sexually harassed by idiots who lack restraint.

Before I joined Clint’s team, I was screwed over by a male counterpart simply because my boobs made me less viable for the promotion.

I managed to keep myself from crossing the line every time. How? By focusing on the bigger picture. Giving Beth a better life. Accomplishing the dreams I’ve had since I was little. Doing what I love because it makes me happy.

But none of those things are keeping me in check today.

Not a single one.

Just staring at Max Stinton’s smug face is making my fists itch.

He’s obviously amused by me, but this chilly brown-eyed stare of mine? It’s a death warrant.

“I feel like now would be a good time to remind you that those cameras work.” He points a thick finger upward, indicating a camera with a red, blinking light beneath it. “Security will be watching us closely, waiting for my signal to start the elevator again.”

I grit my teeth. Maybe I’ll just give it all up for one punch to the throat. A little physical assault charge won’t send me to prison for life. What will it be? Five? Six months?

I can leave Beth with Sunny and Darrel. Or maybe even Kenya and Alistair—my daughter and Belle get along great. A couple months in the slammer would be worth it. I’ll tell Beth I’m going overseas for work. She won’t know any better.

Stinton moves closer to me because, obviously, he has no fear of death. “Ms. Banner, unclench your fists.”

I catch my breath.

It’s not the words that make me jump in my skin.

It’s that voice.

Deep and smoky, like simmering flames licking at coal. The type of voice that’s better suited for dark rooms and a lone spotlight. An accompanying piano with fingers dragging over white keys while a singer moans into the mike, wrenching emotions out of your soul without your permission.

A flicker of awareness thrums through my body, but I’m a single mother and a female mechanic. The one thing I’ve got in spades is putting on a hard face even when I don’t feel particularly powerful.

I tilt my chin up, daring him to utter another instruction. The corner of his lips curl. It’s not a full-on smile—something tells me Max Stinton doesn’t hand out many of those—but it’s no less impactful.

He takes another step toward me, crowding my space. If I were another woman, a dainty woman who hadn’t grown up with a single father, surrounded by rough and tumble mechanics for most of her life, I would have trembled.

Max Stinton is a tall, elegantly built threat. His clothes hug his powerful frame in a way that communicates both his status in the top tiers of society and his indifference towards that position. Impressive muscles strain against a sleek button-down. Dark grey trousers make long legs seem even longer. And his leather shoes are the kind that scream wealth without being ostentatious.

Careless and cocky.

Dangerous and restrained.

I can’t help but compare him to his lackey Hills. Hills wore the same outfit yesterday, but it didn’t sit that perfectly on his frame. It didn’t carry the same threat. It didn’t have the same polish. Or maybe that has more to do with Stinton than it does the clothes.

The maniac bends over and wraps his hand around mine. I flinch and try to pull my hand back, but he holds fast. Slipping his finger under my thumb, he pries until I’m no longer forming a fist.

“Can we have a decent discussion now?” His hair tumbles over his forehead. It suits him—that slightly disheveled look. Suits him way more than the sleek and proper businessman act.

He might look like a prince from afar but, up close, he’s all rogue. All sharp edges and square jaw and tension coiling beneath broad shoulders.

I hiss at him. “Are you off in the head?”

“Some would like to think that.” He doesn’t stop until he’s unclenched both my fists. Still bent over, he glances up. His crystal blue eyes are half-lidded and—oh yes, he’s definitely a rogue. The most dangerous kind. The kind without a heart. “But generally, what people think doesn’t bother me.”

“I’m not working with Stinton Group. Should I say it in another language?”

“Can you?” His eyes flicker over my lips. Then he backs off. Walks all the way across the elevator. He leans against the wall and crosses one leg over the other.

Although he gives the appearance of a careless and laidback prince, those eyes give him away. They’re a piercing blue. Priceless gemstones, polished to perfection. Constantly assessing, calculating and drawing conclusions. The cutting edge to them can’t be hidden by his mask of arrogance. There’s something dark and dangerous swirling in their depths.

He twirls his fingers as if he’s playing with an imaginary pen. “Would be perfect if you were bilingual. You’d appeal to a broader demographic.”

He’s talking about me like I’m a product.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re still not answering my question.”

I give him the evil eye. “I gave you an answer. Don’t pretend that I didn’t just because it’s not the answer you want to hear.”

He folds his arms over his chest. He’s still leaning against the wall, long legs firm on the ground, head cocked. He taps a finger against his elbow in a steady beat. Languid and lounging, but only in appearance. Like a mountain lion preparing to spring on a mouse, a split-second of rest before he pounces.

“We’re prepared to pay. Name your price.”

Of course he thinks money will solve this.

My body tenses. A memory of that day eight years ago dances through my head. We’re prepared to pay for everything. Just sign here.

Bile rises in my throat and the bitterness spews out of me in a toxic gush. “You might be able to buy every building in this city, you jerk. But the one thing you won’t ever be able to buy is me.”

“Everyone has a price.”

“The fact that you think people have price tags is why I would never work with you.”

“Then I’ll put someone else in charge of the project, so you don’t have to work directly with me. Is that better?”

“You just don’t give up, do you?”

He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Since you’re still here, I figure negotiations are on the table.”

“I’m still here because you locked me in a freaking elevator!” I jut a finger at the door.

He rubs his chin. Nods. “You make a good point.”

I’m going to throttle him.

“On top of the signing bonus, I’ll put you in charge of the shop. Put your name on the franchise contract. Get you an army of mechanics under your thumb.”

My patience is running thin. “Enough of this. I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Terrorists?”

“Emotional terrorists.”

Those blue eyes charge toward me. The rough gaze gives me a full-body shiver and I fight off a feeling that isn’t quite disgust.

More like fear and a reluctant dose of regret.

I hate that one look from him can make me catch my breath—and immediately shoot my eyes to the wall above his head.

No way.

I’m not going to feel sorry for another Stinton for crying out loud.

Look how well that worked out the last time.

Silence swirls between us, thick and pulsing.

Stinton breaks it first. “Since you already think so gravely of me, Ms. Banner, should I show you how much lower I can go?”

I don’t dare to look at him. I don’t dare to breathe, knowing that if I stare at him now, he’s going to destroy me. And he’s not going to be sorry about it either.

My fingers curl into fists again. My heart is pounding, moving, climbing from the protection of my ribs and into my throat. Maybe if I stand completely still, this all goes away. Maybe I can turn back time so I never met Max Stinton. So I never caught his eye.

“How is my niece?” His voice is softer. Softer than the click of a silencer just before the gun spits out a bullet.

Pursing my lips, I push myself forward and face him. I’m on the balls of my feet, every muscle coiled to fight. “Don’t you dare.”

“My family doesn’t know she exists…”

Oxygen. I need oxygen if I’m going to survive this moment. The one moment I’ve dreaded for seven years.

“… Yet.”

My hand is moving. Flying mid-air and gaining speed as it propels straight toward his face.

Stinton wraps pale fingers around my wrist, grinding my hand to a halt. “Ms. Banner.”

“She does not belong to Stinton Group,” I spit.

“The blood in her veins would say different.”

I can feel my face turning hot. “Keep her out of this.”

“I’ll do whatever you want.” Stinton’s blank expression stops me cold. “If you agree to become the face of Stinton Auto.”

He’s pure evil. If I cut him open, I bet black sludge would come pouring out of his veins. Not even blood-sucking vampires are this heartless.

“Well, Ms. Banner?”

I try to think of a way out of this. Some way that’ll keep Beth far away from Stinton Group’s grimy hands. Nothing comes to mind. He’s got me pinned in a corner.

“Okay.” He plucks out his phone. “Let me just call her granddad.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

He puts the phone on speaker and I listen to it ring.

And ring.

“Stop.”

The line connects. An old man croaks, “Hello?”

My heart flees my chest. I leap forward and grab his phone, slamming my thumb on the end button.

“I’ll take that.” Max Stinton grabs his phone back. “What will it be, Banner? I don’t have all day.”

My eyes lift to his. The man across from me lacks all human decency. I should have expected that from a Stinton, the family that believes they own the world. Everyone around them is a pawn in their twisted game.

Stinton is facing forward, feet planted firmly on the ground, hands clasped behind his back. He’s not looking at me, but he doesn’t have to. The seeds he’s planted have already begun to bloom, spreading their trails of poison ivy all over my body.

Scum. Pure scum.

I swallow hard. There’s no other option and we both know it.

“What do you want me to do?” I croak.

“Say yes.”

Monster.

My chest rises and falls on a tortured breath. I can’t pull in air fast enough. I can’t get a grip on a world that’s turning in a crazy direction.

Stinton doesn’t utter another word to me. He puts his phone to his ear and speaks in a clipped voice. “Turn the elevator on.”

The gears start with a jolt. I shake on my feet, and I’m glad when Stinton doesn’t turn around to help me keep my balance. If he lays one finger on me, I’m not responsible for what I do next.

We ignore each other until the elevator arrives at the right floor. The moment the doors open, Stinton’s assistant appears, looking in.

Hills scowls when he sees me.

I scowl in return and stalk out of the elevator like it’s a death trap.

“Hills, get the contract. Ms. Banner, my office.”

I stop as abruptly as a dog tugged on a leash. My feet burn into the carpet and I debate whether I should run anyway. Get as far away from Stinton and this grim and dark world as possible.

And go where? He’s Beth’s uncle. He’s running a bajillion-dollar company. If he and his family start raising a stink about my daughter, their fancy lawyers can take her away from me.

My nostrils flare.

I turn around, but Stinton is already marching down the hallway, hand in his pocket. His shoulders are ramrod straight and I swear I can see the flames sparking with every step. Why the heck is he so angry? He’s not the one who was just blackmailed into doing his bidding.

“Ms. Banner.”

“Who are you again?”

Hills narrows his eyes in my direction. “We met yesterday.”

“Then I guess we don’t need an introduction.” With a scoff, I stomp past him and follow Stinton.

He opens the door of a corner office. The room is bigger than my entire living room and kitchen. Dark woods everywhere. A bookshelf filled to the brim. A large desk full of binders, organizers and a fancy computer monitor.

Hills follows us into the room and locks the door.

Stinton takes the chair and pins me with his ice-cold eyes. “Sit down.”

“What do you want from me?” I clasp my hands together and raise my chin.

“Ms. Banner.”

“Spit it out so I can leave.” My lips fall into a thin line. “Unless I need your permission for that too.”

His eyes flicker to the left. Why does he keep pretending to have a conscience? It’s infuriating.

“Considering the rather drastic measures I had to take,” he beckons his assistant, “I thought it would be better to outline everything on paper.”

How benevolent of him.

“Here.” Hills shoves a file at me.

I stare at the contract. So many words. I force myself to slow down and take it piece by piece the way I would study the manual of my favorite diagnostic scanner.

“In summary, you’ll be signing on as the brand representative of Stinton Group’s subsidiary—Stinton Auto. You’ll participate in interviews, photoshoots, and act as a spokesperson for the franchise.”

I’m not looking at him.

I refuse.

But I listen keenly because, by signing this contract, I’m giving in to my sworn enemy. I’m letting Stinton Group do with my face, my life, and my privacy whatever they’d like.

“We will never mention your daughter.” He pauses. Swallows. “Trevor’s daughter. Not to the press. Not to my family.”

It’s there.

Printed in black and white.

That attempt he made in the elevator to woo me with money and my own auto shop—he already knew it would flop. He came prepared to hold my daughter for ransom.

A seething rage makes me crumple the paper. “How many lives have you shattered like this?”

Stinton’s jaw tightens, highlighting the angles of his chin.

“You made this personal.” I reach behind me without looking at Hills. “Let’s not waste time acting like I have a choice. Give me something so I can sign.”

“You have a choice, Ms. Banner.”

I flap my hand. “Give me a pen.”

“I’d like if you read the contract carefully—”

“Give me a damn pen!”

His eyes narrow.

My blood goes molten. I don’t want him to try that ‘we’re on the same side’ act now. When someone shows you who they are, believe them. Dad used to say that. He always gave the best advice.

I made stupid, ridiculous mistakes when I lost him. Having a one-night stand with a Stinton was one of them. It gave me my daughter, so I’m not going to complain about it. But if I had dad, he would have known what to do with this contract. He would have kept me away from this glamorous on the outside, rotten on the inside family.

There’s a heaviness—weighty and grim—in Stinton’s voice when he says, “Hills.”

His assistant juts a pen at me, his face turned away as if he doesn’t want to see this train wreck happen.

I snap it from him, march toward Stinton’s desk and slam the contract on the surface. Flipping to the end, I scribble my name over the dotted line.

Stinton’s lips flatten. “I’ve already opened a college fund for Elizabeth as well as deposited renumeration for her care—”

“Keep your freaking money.” I whirl around, intending to stalk out. I can’t take another second in his presence or I just might explode.

“Ms. Banner.” Stinton rises to his feet.

I stop and turn.

We both stare at each other. A clash of gazes and emotions and things that we could never say in church pass in the space between us.

“You raised your daughter on your own, but you didn’t conceive her on your own. It was Trevor’s responsibility to take care of her and now it’s mine. Whatever you do with the money isn’t my concern, but it belongs to you and Elizabeth.”

I point a jagged finger at him. “After you get what you want from me, I never want to see you or anyone from this company again.”

“The moment we’ve accomplished our goal, I’ll be out of your hair but until then—”

“I’ll do your dog and pony show. Got it.” I feel the weight of that contract shifting over my shoulders. It’s suffocating. “Are we done here?”

“I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up tomorrow. We start with a photoshoot and an in-house interview.”

“Fine.” I wrap my fingers around my purse and stalk past Hills. He’s smart enough to move out of my way before getting trampled.

As I tear down the road in my truck, I consider what just happened. The contract. Stinton’s threat. The noose around my neck.

I walked into Stinton Group a free woman and now I’m walking out as a company asset.

Sure, Beth now has a college fund and my bank account’s probably seeing more zeroes than it ever has before, but if I was all about money, I would have taken it the first time they offered.

Stinton is trying to assuage his guilt by flinging cash at the damage he and his company leave in their wake, but I can’t give him the satisfaction. That money is tainted because it came from him. From them.

Should I withdraw all the money and shred it? Should I…

Think about Beth.

I squeeze the steering wheel tighter. My problems with Stinton Group shouldn’t negatively affect my daughter. I’m not doing anything illegal, so it’s not like the cash is dirty. Now, Elizabeth can go to whatever college she wants.

At least that’s a good thing, right?

Still it burns.

Burns so bad that I call Clint and ask for the afternoon off.

“What did Stinton do to you?” Clint’s worried tinge would make me smile if I hadn’t just wrestled with the devil himself. “Do you need me to send the cops?”

“No.” I blow out a breath.

“Banner.”

“I’m fine, Clint. I just need to calm down for a bit.”

“Okay. Sure. Take all the time you need.”

I drive home and back my car into the apartment garage. I think about popping open the bottle of wine Kenya dropped off the other night. I think about going online, making an anonymous avatar and blasting Stinton Group to the world. I think of bawling into my comforter until my eyes are puffy and my nose is stuffed.

In the end, I choose the only path that will bring me comfort—working on a car.

My hands are elbow-deep in oil when I get the call from Sunny’s mom. I have to tap my ear buds with my shoulder to accept the call.

“Dawn, baby.” Mama Moira’s musical Belizean accent is more soothing than warm chicken soup. “I told Bailey to invite you and Beth over for taco night, but I realize it would have been better to contact you personally.”

“Oh.”

“Mother-to-mother, you know? It’s more respectful that way.” She keeps talking without taking a breath.

Another thing that reminds me of my dad. He loved chatting too. He could turn a five-minute recount into a sprawling conversation that takes multiple detours.

I grab a rag and clean my fingers. “Tacos sound great.”

“So is that a yes? Are you coming tonight? I need to know so I can buy the right amount of tortillas. Nothing worse than running out of food.”

I almost laugh. Ms. Moira—or Mama Moira as she asked to be called—always has tons of leftovers after a meal. She has a real and visceral fear of not having enough food at a party.

Darrel will be paying through his nose for the catering at his and Sunny’s wedding. Not that he’ll mind. He loves Sunny and he can afford it.

“That’s a yes.”

“Perfect! Oh, Bailey will be so excited. He just adores your daughter.”

I want to say it’s mutual, but Beth doesn’t really ‘adore’ anyone. She’s quiet and reserved and a little closed off. Dad would say she gets that from me.

I sigh heavily.

“Is everything okay, baby?” Mama Moira is the only one who calls me baby and doesn’t make it feel like an insult. I’ve been frail and petite all my life, so any insinuation that I’m ‘cute’ or ‘cuddly’ used to bring out my wild side.

With Mama Moira, it just makes me feel loved.

“Yeah. Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

“You must be under so much pressure at work. I heard Darrel talking about the Stinton Group companies losing money after everything that’s been happening. I figured your auto shop wouldn’t be doing too well either.”

“We took a hit, yeah. Stinton Group seems to ruin everything it touches.”

“It’s a hard thing. I was so mad at that group when Trevor Stinton stole from my Sunny. But I do feel sorry for the older brother. It seems like it’s all falling on his shoulders now. Everyone’s pointing fingers at him. Blaming him. Expecting him to fix it. He must be exhausted.”

My shoulders stiffen.

The last thing I want to hear is any sympathy for the scourge of the earth known as Max Stinton.

“Hear what,” Mama says, her beautiful accent thickening, “I’ll ask Sunny and Darrel to pick up Beth along with the boys.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.”

“Don’t worry about it. You just call the school so they can inform Beth. We’ll watch her over here at the farmhouse, so you can have some mommy alone time.”

“Mama—”

“You work such a demanding job. Always getting nicked and scraped by those machines. And then you have to come home and be a single mother. It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. So much responsibility on your tiny shoulders.”

Tears prick the back of my eyes. It’s appalling that I’m on the verge of crying right now. I’ve endured far worse than a kind pep talk from my friend’s mother.

Toughen up, Dawn.

I blink rapidly and suck the tears back as best as I can. “Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. Just show up with an appetite later this evening.”

I hang up and turn my attention back to my car. Warmth is rushing through my body and I don’t lift a finger, letting my mind wander.

Every time Sunny complains about how nosy her mom is, I’ve always felt this little twitch in my chest, but I’ve never been able to place it before.

Now I can.

It’s jealousy.

Sunny can complain about her mom because she has one. For someone like me, who grew up with a father who barely knew how to comb my hair, dress me in frills and bows or soothe me when puberty hit with all kinds of emotions, it’s different.

Just talking to Mama Moira made a weight lift off my chest. Made the skies clear and the world feel a little brighter.

I smile when I reach for my scanner and read the wavelengths. Smile when I tinker around with the pressure sensor and smile even harder when it gives me the results I want.

By the time I’ve tweaked my engine to give me the best readings, the noose Max Stinton put around my neck doesn’t seem as tight. Hope builds in my chest, tingling from my fingers all the way to the top of my head.

I can keep myself from drowning in those choppy blue eyes of his. I can keep from choking on the grip he has on me.

I’ll be his puppet, but I won’t give in all the way.

I’m going to fight him.

Every.

Step.

Because Stinton Group might have been able to back me into a corner, but they will never own me.

I don’t care what that contract says—I am not for sale.

And Max Stinton is going to regret ever messing with Dawn Banner.

The war against Max Stinton starts today.

I just have to take a little detour to my daughter’s bedroom to wake her up for school first.

“Beth.”

“Mom.” My daughter moans. “Five more minutes. I’m stuffed from taco night.”

“Five more minutes? That’s not going to work today, honey. I have an appointment.”

She cracks one eye open. “So you’re not taking me to school?”

“So I’m taking you to school early.” I shake her shoulders. The gold-toned bonnet on her hair shimmers in the sunlight. “Elizabeth.”

“No. I’d rather stay home.” She throws a scrawny arm over her face. The hem of her blue pajamas rides up to show off her outie bellybutton.

“I thought you liked school?”

“It’s boring. And I hate homework.”

I laugh. “Now you sound like Bailey.” Her best friend constantly bemoans the amount of homework he’s assigned. “Get up, turbo.”

“Mfff.” She burrows deeper under the covers.

“Elizabeth.”

“Five more minutes, mom.”

“I—”

The doorbell rings.

I jump and whip my head around. Who could that be? I check my watch. Stinton said he would send a car, but he wouldn’t show up this early, would he? I know he’s a terror, but expecting me to crawl into work-mode this early in the morning is next-level evil overlord behavior.

I push off my daughter’s bed and pat her foot. “You better be out of this bed by the time I get back in here.”

She moans and kicks her legs like a diver fluttering up to the surface.

With a roll of my eyes, I leave Elizabeth’s bedroom and trod to the front door. The knock sounds again. I check the peephole. Stinton isn’t standing on the other side. Which is good for him because I would probably karate chop him in the chest for daring to step foot in my home.

However, I don’t recognize the man on the other side either.

I also don’t understand why he’s wearing a chef’s hat.

And why he’s carrying a trolley burdened with stainless steel pans. Or why the smell of the food inside those pans is delicious enough to pass through walls and tickle my nose like a feather.

Blinking rapidly, I yell through the door. “Sir, you have the wrong apartment. I think you meant to deliver that to someone on the north side. Just keep going until you start seeing the mansions and hundred-thousand dollar condos.”

Pulling my robe tighter, I start to walk away from the door when the mysterious old chef croaks, “Ms. Banner?”

I freeze.

“Ms. Banner, I have a delivery for you.”

“Delivery?” My daughter prances through the hallway. Her hazel eyes fix on me and then the door. In fluid movements, she hops on the arm of the couch and pulls one pajama-clad leg under the other. “Since when did you have breakfast delivered?”

“I…”

“Ms. Banner?”

Puzzled, I yank the door open and gasp when the chef zips past me, dragging the trolley behind him. I’d scream and try to fight him out, but that smell… oh, it’s glorious.

“Good day,” he says in a crisp voice, “I’m Chef Aimsley.”

“What are you doing in my house?” I fold my arms over my chest. “What is all this?”

“You’ve won a lifetime supply of…” He pauses and rolls his eyes up as he tries to recall whatever script was fed to him, “a lifetime supply of meals from my catering company.”

“Whoa!” Beth hops off the couch and patters over. “We actually won something.”

“No, we didn’t.” This ridiculous attempt at an olive branch has the Stinton stink all over it. “This must be some mistake.”

Beth bounces on her feet. “Mom, we never win anything. We’re, like, the unluckiest people ever. I can’t believe we won a lifetime supply of catering.”

“I told you, Beth, this has to be a mistake.” I’m going to pop Stinton in the nose for this.

“How can it be a mistake?” My daughter gives me an are you insane look. “The chef’s right here.”

“Precisely. I—”

“You. Shush.” I stick a finger at him and then grab my daughter’s shoulders. I can’t have her getting dazzled by Stinton Group’s underhanded tactics. If Max Stinton thinks I’ll forget he put chains on me just because those chains are pretty and stylish, he has another thing coming.

“Beth, get ready for school. I’ll deal with this.”

“But… mom.”

“Go.” I use my no-nonsense voice.

Shoulders slumped, my daughter plods down the hall.

Chef Aimsley juts a finger to his chest. “I won’t always be the one making deliveries; however, I’ve come to make introductions and to receive a list of allergies, food preferences. Things like that.”

“Look, I’m sure you’re a great chef and your food is amazing.” My belly growls, underlining the truth of that statement. “But we don’t accept anything from—” I lower my voice, “Stinton Group in this family. So I’d like you to see yourself and your little trolley out.”

“Ah, but…” He squirms when I plant my hands on his back and push him to the door.

“Goodbye.”

“Before I go, Mr. Stinton said to give you this.” He hands me a card. It’s one of those fancy ones that look like wedding invitations. Some words are scribbled in the ugliest handwriting I’ve ever seen and it takes me a minute to make it out.

Accepting breakfast is a part of your contract. Any violation of the terms will result in your secrets getting out.

I grit my teeth.

Stinton.

“Is there still a problem, Ms. Banner?”

“No.” I grab the food. “We’ll keep it.”

“Yay!” My daughter, who should have been in her bedroom but was actually hiding out in the hallway like a little eavesdropper, skids toward me. “Whoa.” She pulls the lid on the pans back and smoke comes billowing out. “This looks delicious!”

Chef Aimsley beams.

I scowl.

My fingers tighten on the note.

Stinton came out with guns blazing. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I get the feeling that he intends to take on his brother’s responsibilities. All of them.

Now that he knows Beth exists, he’s going to treat her like a Stinton.

Whether I like it or not.