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Forbidden [MM/FF]

Merry Midnight

Merry Midnight

Coffee Slut
Joined
Aug 6, 2020
The death of Belinda Carlisle-Carrow was a sudden and unpleasant event for her many friends, relations in good favor, and caretakers. The former ballerina had just celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday and was considered to be in excellent health, with an active lifestyle and the enviable diet that comes from having a James Beard awarded chef on retainer. The official statement released to the news sources and posted on her social media was that the cause of death was a heart attack. This was not entirely false, though it certainly obfuscated the truth out of courtesy for the highly respected widow and also out of mere bewilderment by the medical examiner’s office as they reviewed the autopsy. Discreet inquiries all around the world were made, but no one could give any reason why the lesions on the older woman’s heart had looked so much like human bite marks.

She had been discovered lying face-up on the floor in her bedroom, still in her evening dressing gown with a half-drunk glass of Palo Cortado sherry on her nightstand, and The Artist paused at thirty percent on the wall-mounted tv across from the bed. Lysette, the maid, was the one to find her, having come upstairs to summon her to breakfast. She would claim until the day that she would cut her own throat out in her room at Patton State Psychiatric Hospital that the madame’s eyes had opened and followed her as she moved about the room, and that a beastly shadow had run across the vanity mirror.

The funeral was arranged for the following Saturday and was set to be well-attended by the entire congregation of the High as Hope Baptist Church, the women’s tennis league from the Los Angeles Country Club, students from the dance studio, friends, former colleagues, staff, and reporters from a variety of news agencies, some more legitimate than others. By 9 a.m. the road leading up to and through the Forest Lawn Cemetery was packed with vehicles dropping off mourning passengers. A pavilion had been erected near the grave site and enough padded and flower-garlanded chairs supplied that the place resembled a large Southern wedding more than a funeral.

Belinda was survived by her younger brother, Caleb, who was dressed in a suit of somber gray and stood by the minister’s side to receive the hugs and well-wishing and occasional gifts, as well as a single daughter she had birthed late in life. Helene had yet to make an appearance, though rumors were circulating of sightings of the young woman about town. No one could claim to have actually spoken with her, and the more cynical in the crowd whispered of the unlikelihood that she would show her face, given the scandal that had caused her mother to dispossess her three years ago.

@Father Figure
 
Why was he even here?

The thought entered his mind for another countless time as he stood in his simple well-made suit at the funeral. It was not as if he had not known Mrs. Carlisle-Carrow, but he certainly did not fit in with the rest of the crowd that had gathered at the church. He was nothing but a house staff, a handyman and caretaker brought on by the family to take care of any home repairs and tasks that the elderly woman might have had of him. He had understood when first hired that discretion had been a requirement of his employment, something he had no problem with. It made sense in a family so powerful, so well known, that there would be no wish for wagging tongues, and he was more than pleased to be left to his own affairs. Whatever he might have seen in the time of working for her, whatever oddities of behavior or strange sounds that went bump in the night…these were things that he would take to his grave. Much like his employer had.

No, Franklin Harker had no reason to be there other than a profound sense of duty. The job was done, the final paycheck and bonus salary deposited, and he had no particular purpose in being here. A more social man would have sought it as a means for networking and finding a new job, a more considerate man might have actually been compassionate and expressed his sorrow to the family, but Franklin was not necessarily social or considerate. He was responsible, that was a word that could be applied to his personality, and responsibility entailed seeing something through to the end. He had worked for her while she was living, now he went to the bitter end until she was interred and once that was done, he could go about his life as he wanted.

That lack of sociability instilled itself in the severe expression he gave others as they moved around. Funerals were part and parcel a facade. Oh, there was always someone that was actually suffering, but beyond that there were a bunch of hanger ons just desperate to wallow in the others sorrow. It sickened him, it was like vultures waiting to feast on your soul, and he watched as it played out over and over. Borrowing the pain of another human being. It kept away most of the younger ladies that might have been attracted to the imposing figure of the “butler”. That was perfectly fine, he was more than willing to take his seat and listen to the sermon. Endings were just as important as beginnings and Franklin had no idea what was beginning in his life today.
 
Her entrance was preceded by whispers that traveled like a wave on the sea; and like a certain sea, the people parted to allow her to walk through the crowd down the center aisle to where her mother lay in the open coffin on the dais by the minister. He had been speaking - a sermon intended to remind them all that Judgment Day was fast approaching, but stuttered to a stop as the young woman mounted the stairs to peer down into the mahogany wood casket. She was outfitted in a simple slim-fitting black sheath dress with a veiled hat atop pinned back blonde curls, a pair of red lips curled in a small half-smile. Without looking up, she waved a hand to indicate for him to continue, but he was swiftly interrupted yet again by Caleb’s outraged advance on his niece.

“Helene! Show some goddamn fucking manners for once! Sit down and stop making a goddamn spectacle of yourself!” The man’s voice was a furious grumbling, his jaw tight as he spit the words between clenched teeth, loud enough for several rows of seated observers to hear his invectives. Helene’s response was a quiet murmur intended for his ears only, and whatever it was, it made his neck flush red as he grabbed her by the arm to pull her bodily from the dais.

She teetered a moment on her high heels; a moment of indecision whether she was going to allow him to pull her along, or fight to stay standing where she was. Finally, she laughed - a brilliant, melodiously pleasant laugh that seemed so incongruous in the current atmosphere. With one hand firmly on her wrist, and the other pressed to the small of her back, Caleb led the pariah daughter down the steps and over to where the family had been seated. The minister cleared his throat, frowning at the pair until he was quite certain that it was settled enough to continue. Helene, for her part, only crossed her legs primly and leaned back to listen, ignoring her uncle who continued to stare indignantly at her.
 
Franklin’s body tightened in slight anger of its own, but it was hardly enough for others to recognize. He was not the kind of man who wore many expressions beyond serious, at least not in public, and so when he saw the young lady treated so poorly there was an intention to intervene. Yet, he was nowhere nearby and just a bygone thought in a sea of many mourners there that day. Maybe he would privately be having a word or two with the older man once this was over, Caleb seemed like he needed a course correction in life. Yet, once again, a bit of practicality sat in as he saw them pass to where the family was seated. By the time they had made it there Franklin Harker had disabused himself of the notion of being a savior. That was not in his job portfolio today.

Still, if there was someone, he would not mind saving it would have been Helene. She was exquisitely beautiful, hearkening back to some classy era where a woman could be both amazingly dignified and absolutely sensual with every breath she took. The red lips, the perfect hair, the slim form drew in the eyes and he was more than willing to be drawn in to admire the way she moved poised even in the presence of the asshole who dragged her along. He was in no position to see her properly once she sat several rows ahead of where he found himself, but he admired the arch of her throat and shoulders as best he could.

He shook his head slightly.

This was silly and he gave a small self-deprecating smirk as he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. He might have had any paramour here searching for affection during the service, but he was not the kind of man who cared nor should he try to become one himself. Someone like Helene was far beyond his reach and he had long ago given up the dreams of changing his own stars. He had his work, he was proud of his work, and even if he could rake Caleb through the mud with the secrets of family…he just wanted it to be over. So, he settled in, vaguely listening to the ceremony, and wondering what his hand would have felt like wrapped just as tightly on Helene’s wrist as Caleb’s had been.
 
The minister’s sermon continued in the expected format - hell and brimstone, peppered with little tidbits of her mother’s life. All around her, mourners sniffled and dabbed at their eyes and murmured their “amens” and the man on the podium pranced all puffed up with the self-righteousness of his own words. The woman sitting to Helene’s right passed her a tissue, the corners of which were already moistened by the tears she had wiped with her fingers before retrieving the little travel-sized package of Kleenex from her over-sized purse. She accepted it and proffered a small, if insincere smile in return to the woman that she only vaguely recognized. What was her name again? Caroline, perhaps. Sitting this close to the family, she should have known who this woman was, but was finding it difficult to care. Her red painted nails drummed impatiently on her knee. A stray hair tangled in her long eyelashes and she reached under the veil to flick it back. Her uncle noticed the movement, noted the tissue in her hand, and reached over to pat in what he no doubt intended to be soothingly on her arm.

The service concluded and the minister invited them all to stand for prayer, which he led in a bombastic voice, his arms raised high and fingers reaching for heaven. It was not an extremely hot day, only in the high 80’s, but there were a lot of people packed into the small space and less air flow under the pavilion, and the man was wearing a heavier-weight suit coat. Probably his nicest suit, just for the occasion. Helene stared at him as he continued to pray and sway on the dais, his face and neck flushed from the heat. She imagined him having a heart attack right there; tripping and falling into the casket with her mother, who would no doubt be sulking up in heaven at her last big hurrah being upstaged and disrupted. It made her smile.

Finally, it was over. “God rest her beautiful soul,” her uncle murmured. He looked to Helene, who stared right back. She wanted to ask if he planned to move into her childhood home immediately, or if he intended to sell it instead to further fund his cocaine and prostitute vices. He was expecting her to say something, but she gave him silence until he became uncomfortable with the situation and continued. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Clearly,” Brows arched, Helene held up the little embossed placard she had noticed on the floor by her chair, with the name “Margaret Johannsen” printed in neat, swooping calligraphy on its face. “How is Margaret? Shame she couldn’t attend.”

Caleb grumbled and took the card from her hand. “She’s in the hospital. Gall bladder infection or something. I don’t know what you expected. Haven’t heard from you in years.”

“This is more or less what I expected, so don’t bother yourself on my account. Now, we’re both adults here, so there’s no reason to drag this out any further. I’m going to give my last good-byes and be on my way.”

Side-stepping the minister, who had abandoned his coat and was flapping a small stack of funeral programs at his face for some air, Helene slipped through the crowd to once again approach the coffin. A few people stopped to speak to her, but not many.
 
Franklin ignored most of the ceremony that followed, something in his features growing still as the minister continued his adulation of a woman he had barely known. Truth was most of these people had barely known her. While others grew teary eyed at the thought of loss, at the thought of having to live without someone they had lived without already, Franklin Harker instead found himself remembering the last few months in service to the older woman. How strange it had been, the eerie silences of night which had him locking the door to his room. The odd way she had of looking at him as he passed by. Oh, it always disappeared and she would smile and give the kindest of gestures, but every so often Franklin thought his employer meant him ill will…and no matter how he tried to accept it in the light of day, he could not forget those cold stares.

As they all stood, he buttoned his suit coat, giving it a brush over before beginning to make his own way towards the casket. There was little need for him to address others, little need for him to care in the slightest about how they felt, and he made no effort to pretend otherwise. As he walked though, meandering through the crowd, he found himself absolutely captivated by the way Helen did as well. It was a sickening feeling honestly, not because he was some panting paramour desperate for her attention. No, but because he knew he was unworthy of such attentions in the first place. He knew his lot in life, he accepted it.

But a man could dream.

Whether it was intentional of subconscious, his movement towards the coffin was timed near perfection. The strong and austere features gave the smallest of glances at Helene as he nearly cut her off from approaching before he paused and let her move in front of him. It was not an ostentatious gesture, nothing overt, it was merely courteous. There was no reason to say anything, to express condolences, he had no wish to indulge in platitudes and he merely said simply.

“Pardon me.”
 
It was his quiet courtesy as much as his handsome features and youth (at least in this particular crowd) that stood out as he smoothly hesitated to allow Helene to approach the casket first. She did so, but made room so that he could step up beside her if he wished. As she gazed down at the corpse on the ivory silk, she commented lightly, “You’re not from the women’s tennis league, and you’re not old enough to be in the Bridge Club. I’m curious how you knew my mother, Mr…” Canting her head slightly, she glanced over his way, her voice lilting questioningly as she invited him to introduce himself. Helene had been long gone from her mother’s house by the time that Franklin had been hired, and so the two had never had the occasion to meet before. No doubt it was possible he would recognize her from pictures stashed here and there in the grand estate where Belinda Carlisle-Carrow had lived. Even after she had renounced her only daughter she had, whether consciously or not, continued to allow little mementos to remain.

The crowd was beginning to filter out behind them, following her uncle who had the minister on one side and his lawyer on the other. He touched hands as he passed, accepted murmurs of sympathy and good wishes, and like rats following the piper, the people trailed after the tune of inherited money right out of the pavilion. The two relations were quite willing to go their separate ways and neither he nor Helene bothered to say goodbye.
 
He gave the smallest of ironic smiles. The fact that he was not known was no surprise to him and she definitely hit all the high points of the potential community movers and shakers that surrounded them. Of course, they would be the kind of people she would expect to find, not someone like him, and he gave the smallest shrug of one of those broad shoulders. As he stepped up beside her, he looked down at the older woman, something in his features troubled as his brow furrowed, and those lips pressed together to cut off whatever he was immediately going to say. He knew of course, deep down, that he had been about to initiate a conversation as if he was some kind of paramour or suitor. An attempt to impress the young lady next to him.

Instead he just found himself staring at someone who he had known for the last few years, someone who had kept her own secrets, and someone who had been frightening when he genuinely thought of it. His hand came out to touch the casket, a small motion, brushing over the lacquered wood as he realized that part of him might not be so upset that she was dead. Perhaps some secrets could stay buried and once she was interred, he might never have to wonder what the night would bring again. He had not realized it yet, but it was a relief.

A slow shaky breath left his mouth.

He found his voice again though, words slowly forming as he whispered. “Harker. Franklin Harker, ma’am. I was…uh…,” he paused as if looking for the right words before shrugging. “I was the custodian for your mother’s home and land. Her…go to guy I guess you could say. She was…,” he hesitated as if trying to decide what to say, if he should just go with some kind of platitude or actually say something worthwhile and he finally finished with.

“…a very complicated woman.”
 
"Complicated." Helene's voice was a mixture of wry amusement and contempt, though the latter was not directed at him. "That's kinder than she deserves, but I'll allow it as it's your sentiment to express, not mine." She canted her head in his direction as she gave her mother a final glance. "I believe I'm finished here. I've said my goodbyes and given the vultures something to grunt about over tea, so no reason to torment myself any further."

Adjusting the veil of black lace, she turned her body fully toward him, her dark blue eyes considering as she gave him a rather candid and thorough examination. "One thing that could be said for her however is that she typically could be relied on to have good judgment in those she hired. I imagine her death may have caused you some inconvenience when it comes to employment? I have inherited my father's estate in the Willamette Valley, and could use another hand around the place." That perfectly lipsticked mouth lifted in a small smirk. "If you're at all interested in hearing my offer, then why don't you treat me to lunch and we can discuss it?"
 
Meeting those eyes was like a punch in the gut.

Those eyes were the same as her mother’s had been, the intelligence something you could have swam in. Swam in and then drowned. It was breathtaking to look at her, to meet that gaze, his own hazel eyes seeming almost vulnerable in the moment of candid consideration. She had disarmed him completely and when that thought reached the surface of his conscious mind the shudders slammed down into place. The handsome features which had been considerate grew stony by comparison, the protection of a man who had no need to be so openly understood by the young lady standing before him. It was an uncanny reaction though, almost unique. Numerous people would have thrown themselves into companionship to further some kind of need they might have with her, some kind of agenda. This man grew reserved, closing all the emotional doors between them.

The action caused him to straighten just slightly, no attempt to charm or woo her. It was a genuinely interesting proposition she was offering but it was one that required thought. He had no wish to jump back into the frightening moments that had existed in his life these last few years. His shoulders tightened as the remembered fear found its way up his spine, a slight shiver not able to be avoided, and for a second his eyes flickered away to glance towards the crowd she had mentioned. All those vultures, seedy little fucks that they were, hovering about and hoping for the one thing she had offered him just by her recognizing his very nature…and her trust in her Mother’s judgement.

Those eyes turned back to those perfect lips.

He took a moment, breathing deeply, trying to ignore the idiocy of being smitten already before giving a slight nod of his head and his smooth voice sidestepped the tremble within his gut as he offered to escort her out. “I would be honored.”
 
Her expression remained pleasant and poised, always aware that she was under scrutiny by anyone who remained. No doubt wondering what she could possibly be doing chatting with this unknown man; or worse, if they of knew him, with the hired help. It was a blind spot in the absurdly rich that remained, generation to generation, categorizing people by dollar signs first rather than by skill. But it was skill that Helene required, the most important being discretion. Her mother knew at least that much, and so she was fairly confident in her assessment that he might be exactly what she had been looking for.

She saw the ripples; the disturbance under his cool, stoic facade. The sudden reservation brought her some pause; clearly he was not as immediately enamored with her, or her proposal as she would have liked. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but the smile remained. Helene never minded a challenge, as long as the prize proved worthwhile in the end.

"Excellent," Perfect white teeth flashed behind the scarlet lips as she turned to walk alongside him, dropping her eyes away to navigate the short steps in her high heels. "I'll ride with you then, Mr. Harker. And you should choose the restaurant." A small laugh and a glance cut swiftly in his direction. "Don't worry, I'm not terribly picky." It was true, and yet, she was curious what he would do. The first of many little tests to evaluate the essence of Franklin Harker and how she might be able to use him.
 
Tests.

They were part and parcel of what it meant to be a human being, people always nudging you around to find out what your reactions would be. Most did it on a subconscious level, practically never realizing their intentions and more than that they did it damned poorly. Even someone like Franklin would never have been considered a natural manipulator, but he was a natural survivalist. Given towards defensive postures, protecting himself, and keeping his own mind to himself. That latent talent had grown in his years serving underneath Lady Carlisle-Carrow, honing a skill that if Franklin had died at this very moment his tombstone would have simply read – Stoic. Yet, he was intrigued by her just as much as she was him it seemed, and if he could stomach the strange uncertain nights in her mother’s home then he could stomach getting to admire a young woman who wanted to use him as a plaything.

Her request was a simple one and while it did not really seem strange in the circumstances. He paused to look back at family members as they passed, knowing that there might be disapproval at her choice of companion in a sea of so many well to dos. It also hinted that if he was engaged in this manner, if he was being told what to do even if politely, then he very well might be considered on the clock and already working for Helene. His words next were calm and simple as he spoke with that deep voice, following her.

“Yes ma’am.”

The large chest took a deep breath and held it before slowly letting it out, an unconscious motion of a man who was about to take a plunge and as they walked, he casually pulled out his phone. He knew the kind of places her mother had liked to frequent, but he had a feeling that the young woman had no interest in eating where her mother had dined. Those places might also be where some of her relatives would be going after the funeral and he doubted she wanted to run into them either. Yet, she was not some low-class slob like him and taking her to McDonald’s would have been imbecilic. Finally, he settled on a nearby café, practically a hole in the wall, but it had good atmosphere. His head came up as he casually continued his pace.

Leading her over to a red pickup-truck, his hand coming to touch the door and open it for her. Of course, it made sense that this was the kind of vehicle he drove personally.
 
Helene followed him out into the parking lot, her expression serene and unruffled despite the stares and whispers prompted by the sight of the disfavored daughter with the unknown man. Of course, he was likely at the very least recognized by a few in the crowd as having been in the employment of the late Madame Carrow-Carlisle, and those people would ensure that the others of their circle would become aware of it in short order as well, rendering their association into the type of salacious gossip that they craved. Before she even made it into the pickup truck, speculation was rampant on the nature of their relationship.

Stepping around him as he opened the door, she put a hand on the seat as she lifted a leg to climb into the truck. The slim-fitting style of her skirt was not intended to stretch in that manner, so it was necessary for her to hike it up quite high up her thighs. She managed it with an easy grace and uncomplicated efficiency despite the stiletto heels, slipping onto the seat and unpinning the veil and hat from her blonde curled hair first before primly tugging the dress hem back down into its proper length.

Her face fully revealed was attractive by most standards - heart-shaped, with high cheekbones, wide, clear blue eyes slanting up just a touch at the edge to give a natural cat-eye appearance that was exaggerated by the application of black liner that swept out toward her temples. Peaked cupid's bow lips, painted startling red against pale skin, deep black lashes, and eyebrows a slight shade of gold darker than the rest of her hair. Diamond earrings on her lobes caught the light and sparkled as she turned her head to look at him before he closed the door. Without the veil obscuring her features, the resemblance to her mother was quite apparent, in looks as well as the coolly assessing way in which she regarded everything around her.
 
Tantalizing.

What other word could be used for a woman like Helene? All thoughts flew away concerning the societal implications of the two of them riding together as she moved up into the truck. His breathing halted, baited and stilled, his eyes opening just the tiniest of bits as they broke ranks with her beautiful face to slowly move down her accentuated form. Eyes covetously captured the hint of her inner thigh, quickly turning away to hungrily capture every inch of her graceful leg. To say that his engines had been revved before ever getting into this vehicle was to put it mildly. His head came back up so he could gaze almost longingly at her, but the spell was broken in the moment of realization of what he was doing, and he gave a self-deprecating smile as he walked around the vehicle.

It gave her a moment to appreciate the man that moved, just the tiniest bit, should she be so inclined to do so. His hand moved to unbutton his suit coat, slipping it off to fold over one of his arms as he rounded the front bumper. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the hint of tan on his neck from long hours working outside, and the tightening of his biceps imperceptibly beneath his dress shirt. Those arms were powerfully built, the product of years of hard labor. Steady strides carried him, the certainness of each step something that was occasionally very lacking in the endeavors of other men. Yet, that was not the only thing that might be appealing.

It was the fact that he did not quite care. He did not care who was looking at him, did not give a damn about the snooty crowd that stood outside the church gawking like a bunch of idiots. He did not show one hint or iota of concern over Helene’s uncle and the daggers being glared at him. No, they all rolled off Franklin’s shoulders as if they never existed in the first place. Truth was, for Franklin, they did not exist at all. He had his goal in mind, his task at hand, and the only thing that was intruding was the smallest curiosity in the back of his mind about what Helene had worn beneath her dress to the funeral.

He sat that aside too.

A quick motion had him in the cab with her, rough hands taking hold of the wheel as the engine sputtered to life. He paused to look around, his eyes alert, before backing out and taking them out of the parking lot. He suspected Helene had maybe ruffled a few feathers in leaving with him, but had that been her intention? Or just a consequence? Unlike other people, Franklin actually asked.

“So…why me?”
 
There was a glint in her eyes; something quite out of place in the genteel and elegant mien that was usually expected in a woman of her standing. She had noticed him looking at her, of course. Men had been eyeing her lustfully for as long as she could remember, and she had learned how to cultivate and encourage those base emotions for almost as long, especially when it suited her purpose. And it suited her purpose now, to have him enthralled by a glimpse of her thighs and daydreaming of what lay between. There were many kinds of currencies she could offer to achieve her goals here, and this was rather one of the most simple, with a high rate of success.

He glanced away, looking almost guilty at doing the very thing she had intended him to do. The door closed and he rounded the front of the vehicle, giving her that chance, whether done consciously or not, to admire him in turn. If his gaze had been covetous, hers was downright predatory. Attractive and well-built, confident but also modest. Seduction as a game was oh so much more fun to play, after all, when the target was worth the effort. An entirely unexpected boon for having to attend the funeral if she could secure him for her own. Too bad her mother wasn't still alive; it would have given the entire thing just that extra delicious edge if she had stolen him right out from under her.

She wondered what he would look like in private, with all that humble chivalry torn away. She wondered if she could make him shiver with desire and fear.

The truck pulled out of the parking lot and she watched the pale, judging faces shrink and then disappear as they rounded a corner and drove toward the cemetery exit. From her purse, she retrieved a small mirror that she used to check her hair and her lipstick, his question acknowledged by a slightly raised brow before she spoke. "Clearly, you have skills that I need, both in actual labor and also discretion, which I can only assume you can manage as my mother would never have hired you otherwise. And it's convenient - her death has left you without a position, and I am requiring a man of your talents."

An artful glance cut his way from beneath those thick, dark lashes. "Maybe it's fate. Do you believe in fate, Mr. Harker?"
 
Harkover would like to think he was his own man.

That was what had endeared him so much to Helene’s mother, the fact that he had been the kind of man capable of maintaining her secrets and her affairs without ever having to worry about broaching the subject of why he did so. Perhaps it was a work ethic that was as old and traditional as the elder stateswoman herself, but the truth was that Franklin had kept himself from becoming involved in things he knew would get him in over his head. He knew his addictions deep down, his deep-seated hunger for women and the sins of the flesh, and it had caused him a bit of heartache in the past. Working for Belinda Carlisle-Carrow had been something of a blessing in that regard. A way of keeping his nose clean, avoiding the booze and the womanizing, and not finding himself waking up with a bleary head and a woman he barely knew lying next to him. Finding yourself the victor and enjoying the spoils was sometimes more trouble than it was worth.

If he noticed the way she looked at him then it did not show in his actions, the man in question having been a bit more concerned about those who watched them. It was not fear of repercussion for himself, but almost a protective action done as if it were instinctual. He was a bit too much of a throwback towards chivalry and woman’s place and while it might be endearing it was certainly something that would cause him heartache if he were targeted by a woman like Helene. She had been right though, that was certain, he had been daydreaming of what lay between those thighs and it took a monumental effort for him not to look at her when he slid into the truck next to her and begin driving off. That and ignoring the growing arousal he already felt in her presence.

What might he be like unleashed?

Her words caught him a bit by surprise and his face was almost contemplative for a moment before he gave her a rueful smile. Almost sheepish to be talking about something like that. “Oh, I don’t much go in for fate, ma’am. You could say I prefer to keep it simple and leave that kind of talk to philosophers and psychics.”
 
"And yet, I often prefer the philosophy of simple men. Too much education and worldliness in a person often creates a sense of invulnerability and foolish entitlement; the idea that they are somehow separate from mankind's destiny. On their thrones of clouds and cash in high Mount Olympus, they dissect the troubles of the world, with no intention of actually fostering any sort of meaningful change. As if they won't die the same as any other man; face-down on the carpet, alone, and smelling like shit." Her smile had turned wolfish, eyes distant as if seeing an image of her mother as she was found after death. Helene had neglected to put her seat belt on, and she swayed in her seat as the truck took one of the sharper curves on the winding road that led from the cemetery, putting a hand out to steady herself. "Fate is likely nothing more than a series of unrelated events that, when considered on their own, do not seem to have any significant consequence until you're presented with the broader picture. How did Franklin Harker end up working in my mother's home? And what will happen if he chooses to follow her daughter? Does he stay in the cave with the fire and its shadows, or does he venture out to ascend the path?"

She shook her head, causing those pale golden curls to bounce on her shoulders as her gaze refocused and she tilted her head to smile at him. "I hope this place you're taking me to has a decent wine selection, or some good coffee. Either would be acceptable right now."

The road straightened out, and she returned her hand to her lap. "Also, forgive my assumption, but is there any family that would be accompanying you if you accepted the position?"
 
There was an uncertainty in the way he greeted the words she graced him with, his eyes turning just slightly to consider her as she spoke. That might have been the philosophy of simple men but it sure as hell did not seem like it was. No, instead that seemed the ramblings of the mad and it reminded him in no uncertain terms of her mother. Who had he let into his truck this day? Part of him kicked himself internally, a mental reminder about crazy and how you should steer clear of it. It was an important life lesson that no matter how beautiful the woman, you just did not bed crazy. Or…take a job from it. That is what he really meant to think, not the other thing…

He shook his head to clear his mind, trying to find something to say in response to her and finding himself a bit flabbergasted. Oh, he understood it, he was no dullard. He just did not have it in him to really indulge in it either. Maybe though the thing that held him fast was that he felt like a fly in the ointment. That he had landed on that sticky surface, that he could still move and was still alive, but that he was not about to escape. His eyebrows furrowed at the feeling, a frown coming to his face before he jerked the wheel to avoid the sharp curve, he had not paid attention to. It sent them a little off-kilter, but it saved him from having to reply.

It also was of interest that he did not comment about her belt. She was a grown woman, he could have said all sorts of things to her, but the truth was it was her choice to protect her life. Not his. He had let her deal with whatever consequences her choices happened to bring. Almost gratefully he noticed the turn into the parking lot and as he pulled up in front of the small little café, it’s rather limited hours written in chalk on a placard outside he gave a small shake of his head.

“No family you need to concern yourself with, ma’am,” and with that, he hopped out of the truck to come round and open the door once more for her.
 
There's a certain line that madness and genius share, and perhaps at times, meld into one another so seamlessly that it is impossible for one to know what they are dealing with until it's too late. The elder Carrow had always been termed a little eccentric, an understatement to be sure, but wealth will obfuscate a multitude of sins. Very few people knew of the fits of violent rage, the bouts of insomnia, the strange habits and hobbies that she would pick up suddenly and then drop just as abruptly with no seeming rhyme or reason. No, most knew her only as the charming and generous dancer-turned-socialite that showered her favorites with gifts and threw lavish parties on her multiple estates. There were rumors as well that Helene had left to escape her mother's instability, and perhaps there was some truth there, but it was likely not the whole of the story.

The sharply swerving truck had her flinging out her hand once again to brace herself against the seat. She did not comment as she bounced along with the rapid correction of the vehicle's course; nails dug in to grip and the heels of her shoes scraping against the floor mat. Her eyes had remained on him the entire time, carefully considering. She did not seem concerned whatsoever at the effect her ranting might have, though she was very intrigued at his reaction to it. He had not attempted to engage her; had seemed somewhat disturbed, but hadn't tried to correct her or to dismiss her. She didn't believe it to be a lack of intelligence, but perhaps a singular sort of self-possession that enabled him to keep his thoughts to himself and continue to perform in the same quietly unassuming, chivalrous manner that he had exhibited since they met. No response voiced to his answer to her question, but she nodded complacently.

They arrived at the café and she watched as he exited and circled around the truck to open the door on her side. There is no exceedingly graceful way to get out of a truck like that, but she managed as well as anyone might in heels and a tight sheath dress. Reaching for his hand, she waited for him to offer it as she knew he would, using his steady presence to balance herself as she slipped forward in the seat to step down. The skirt of the black dress slid high up her thighs as she did so, legs parted for a flash of scarlet lace before her tiptoes touched the ground and she tugged the fabric back into place. "Been here before, Mr. Harker?" Leading the way, she paused briefly to read the chalked placard and then opened the door herself, holding it ajar until he caught up to her. The door had chimed softly when she opened it, and a middle-aged woman with a nametag reading 'Caroline' in block letters began to gather a pair of laminated menus and silverware bundles, greeting them as they entered.
 
As she slid out of the truck, he realized exactly why he had truly shown the chivalrous attitude he had had this entire time. Oh, he would have done it regardless, but he would be absolutely ridiculous not to admit to himself that he had come around and opened that door in the vain hope of getting a good long look up between this woman’s thighs. It was an embarrassing and unbecoming thought, one that bothered him because it just simply was not his modus operandi. He was not the kind of man who shirked acknowledging that a woman was attractive, but he knew himself well enough to know he was not the kind of man to go seeking to sneak a peek. Nevertheless he could not deny the hungry clawing feeling inside of himself that this woman instilled, a want for so much more, and while the flash of scarlet was only for a small second…it was enough to addict this man. His brow furrowed as he shook his head, her question breaking him from where imagination had taken him.

“Nah, I’m a Starbucks kind of guy, myself.”

The words were off the cuff and a bit more overly familiar than he felt he had a right to, but then again he was standing inside of the place with her which was an oddity in itself. Would he give a bit more information regarding his thoughts on the subject? The reason he seemed to be so out of sorts with the situation? For once Franklin Harker actually did speak, voicing his own inner dialogue for her ears as they stood in the dimly lit café. “No, I haven’t been here really. Haven’t been much of anywhere round this town in the end. Your mother was not one who got on much and when she did socialize it certainly wasn’t for me to be involved in. Dropping her off on occasion, waiting, and enjoying some Taco Bell is pretty much the extent of my involvement in the area.”

After a moment they were easily seated, the practically empty place giving them all the privacy they might require. It was exactly the kind of niche place the upper class would enjoy, seemingly a homegrown business but catering to the tastes of those who might want to order something hoity toity. The menu was simple and understated with possibilities as chicken enchilada soup, camelitas, or scones. Drinks were various sorts of teas and coffees with appropriate little accents. Franklin gave a glance at it as the waitress took their order, asking for a simple black coffee and nothing more. No, he was not interested in the food. He was interested in the woman who was sitting across from him and this time he did not seem to shy away from the idea. His eyes calmly watching her as he leaned back and crossed his arms.

Why did he feel so defensive around her?
 
"As in most things, my mother demonstrated a reasonable amount of intelligence and instinct in selecting you, but it seems you were vastly underutilized." The comment was made in a flippant tone as they followed Caroline to the booth she directed them towards. Slipping onto the upholstered vinyl seat, Helene didn't bother to pick up the menu the waitress sat in front of her. Placing an order for a vanilla latte and chicken salad on a croissant, she waited for the woman to trot off to collect their items before continuing, "Just how did you get into this particular sort of business, Mr. Harker? And what will it take to convince you to pick up and move up north with me?"

Their coffees were delivered first, and she added a single packet of sugar to hers, stirring it in slowly as she listened and watched him. Under the table, she eased off the high heels and then kicked her legs up to perch her toes on the booth seat right beside him. Her nails were painted the same crimson color as her lips and the bit of panties she had flashed in the truck.
 
Franklin could not hide the measure of astonishment in his features at her words. Perhaps it had just never occurred to him, the idea of moving up north with her? When she had spoken, made her small offer and extended her well-manicured hand, he had genuinely thought that she meant he might continue as caretaker here locally. It caused a moment where he was completely off guard, the normal expression that kept his thoughts in check flown as he stared at her and his eyes drifted away to really consider her question. Looking down brought no reprieve however, noting the legs and remembering the brief exultation he had had in seeing what lay beneath her skirt. The reminder was one that took hold deep in his soul, rooting there, and he felt that stirring feeling once again.

That alone caused him to recognize that something was amiss. The woman had spoken of fate and he would never have given it credence, but when had he ever felt this way about a woman? It had been years since he had been led around by his lust, years since he had not had control of how he exercised his libido. Yet, with her, he felt like he was a teen boy desperate for a coupling in the back of his pickup truck. Would he deny her if she made a move towards him? Now in the slightest, not in a million years, not…no, he would sell his fucking soul he was sure of it.

He very well might be.

He took a deep slow breath to rein in the idiocy, giving a small little self-deprecating smile as he struggled to set aside those thoughts. Yet some part of his mind was reminding him that if he did move with her, if he did agree to do so, then maybe he would get to see quite a bit more given time. Sometimes you just had to acknowledge the baser parts of your personality. He looked up, meeting her eyes, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt she had read every single imbecilic thought he had been having, and a small blush touched his face.

His words were slow, chosen with care. “I guess you could say I kind of had no choice really. Went to school, was in college for a bit, but I don’t come from a family of means. Couldn’t afford to keep going. Dropped out and there wasn’t much use for a near graduate, but my Dad was always good with his hands. Seems I am too. People tend to leave you alone; people respect no questions being asked. Discretion goes far, further than you’d think as currency. Wasn’t long before I found a good job or two, then landed with your Mother for the last few years.”

His eyes were direct as he considered her. “Why would you need to convince me of anything, Helene?”
 
She watched him wrestle with his thoughts, noting with a smug little smile as his eyes flicked helplessly over her face down to the slim, bare legs she had propped up on purpose. His desires crossed his face as a ripple of hunger revealed in small moments beneath his formal staidness; appearing as a glint of avarice in the depths of his gaze when they refocused. She licked the spoon she had used to stir her coffee before setting it aside.

"Discretion is highly valuable," she agreed with a nod, "and not so easily found.' Crossing her legs at the ankles, just barely brushing against him, she sipped her coffee before continuing. "There was another man, when I was growing up. Had a job with my mother not dissimilar to what you described, but he was a ... mistake. It happens. She was less cautious then, and more willing to trust what a person told her. A foolish way to be, but only unforgiveable if one never learns from it. Fortunately, she had me to correct her error, though she has never bothered to thank me for it." A slight pause, that strange, cruel slash of a smile on her lips once again. "And I suppose now she never will."

With an airy wave of her hand, she dispelled the bizarre glee she seemed to invoke at the thought of her mother's demise. "He was paid off to co-author a tell-all. Cursed Bloodline..." She scoffed, lifting her cup again to her mouth. "A despicably fantastical name, and the book itself was not very well-written if you ask me."

The waitress returned to their table with Helene's sandwich and placed it and a small stack of napkins in front of her. Another had followed with a fresh carafe of coffee and offered to refill Franklin's cup. She thanked the ladies with a charming smile and then waited for them to leave again before nudging the plate aside and sitting up a bit straighter in the booth, her feet slipping off the seat beside him and tucked back into her heels. "Well then let me tell you what I can offer as compensation, and what I require, if you agree to work for me. Your relocation expenses will, of course, be completely covered, and I would prefer for you to move as soon as you are able to wrap up any affairs you need to here. If you have real estate you need to sell or rent, I can get you in touch with an agent I trust. You can choose to live in the main house with me, or in the Victorian on the same property that you will be assisting in renovating, but I must insist that you reside on the estate property so that I can have you when I want you. There is a chef that comes daily to make meals, and you are more than welcome to partake of those services, as well as the estate's amenities - the pools, stable, the ferry to the hunting island, and weekly massage and spa services. And of course, I will match whatever my mother was paying you."
 
That smile.

It frightened him and for a brief second, he nearly sat down his coffee cup and ghosted on the woman who was sitting across from him. There was something all together familiar in the strange expressions on her features, the horrid glee in which she seemed pleased with herself. Yet, there was some strange connection, and it did not involve companionability. It involved knowing one another and that was the scariest part of it all. She was an avid predator, a shark swimming through the waters, hidden by the placid beauty of the ocean and the sun upon the waves. She was reading him as if he were a book laid bare before her and yet he was picking up every single idea rummaging through her potentially mad brain. It should have been a turn off, it should have been something he realized was a warning, but the horrid truth was that he wanted her even more because of it.

Maybe that was why he had worked for her mother and kept her secrets. Not because he had been attracted to the older woman, but because he had been intrigued by her twisted personality. The adrenaline inducing fear in the night had been more than enough to keep him working for her and perhaps he had thought himself clear of those dangers, until Helene came into his life. His eyes were worried, concerned, and considering as they levelled upon hers. There was nothing he could say to the words she spoke regarding the past, nothing he could provide that would be of benefit to those memories, nor was he certain he genuinely wanted to know. Yet, as she laid out the groundwork for their relationship, he knew he immediately regretted the beginning.

He had almost touched her legs before she moved them back.

What might have been in the moment if he had caressed her silken skin? If he had slid his fingers up to find that scarlet red cloth? He sighed and set it aside, or tried to do so at the least, and he spoke with the air of a man who seemed resigned to his fate. As if he were signing away his soul in the moment…and he thrilled to her words just the tiniest of bits. Have him when she wanted him. He supposed he could live with that.

“It sounds like you’re paying me to live a life of luxury. I’d be a fool to turn it down, so I won’t. You haven’t much asked after my skills, I guess since your mom kept me around then you think they’re up to snuff. But, just to cover it. I’ll always play it straight with you. No guests on the property, the place isn’t mine. No boozing, drugs, or disrespect. You’re not paying me to enjoy myself. I can handle most common repair work, if I don’t know how to do it then I have Google and YouTube. I’ll always keep you apprised of any extraneous expenses required for property work. Last, I won’t…,” for a moment there was the tiniest hesitation as if even he knew he wasn’t honest on this point. “I won’t pry into your affairs.”
 
Perfect.

Helene did wonder briefly why she was so intrigued by this man, and why she was pursuing him so ardently. There were many reasons when it came down to it, and not a single one of them had anything to do with an altruistic desire to help him out with his sudden unemployment. She felt it as a slow tingle down her spine, a long, hot lick of phantom breath between her thighs; there was more to him than what he was showing, and the small glimpses she had been given fascinated her. Two predators eyed each other over steaming cups of coffee, nice and civilized in the posh little café as they discussed mundane matters that meant less than nothing to her. He could have asked for quite nearly anything at this point and she would have granted it, just to spin the web a little tighter.

She had ordered the sandwich, but hadn't touched it. It wouldn't satisfy her hunger right now, not in the least.

"As you like." she responded without indicating which part of his speech that her statement referred to. "You'll have whatever funds you need for your projects, and you are free to hire day help to assist you as long as you vet them properly, of course. And I hardly expect you to live like a hermit, though any guests should absolutely be mentioned to me first." She paused there, and her tongue touched her bottom lip as she considered. Leaning forward slightly, she extended a hand out to him, "If we are in agreement, then actually, I would like for your employment to begin now. I have a small favor. I need to make a quick visit to my mother's house to retrieve a few things that belong to me, and you might be able to help me out with that. It's been several years since I was allowed on the property, after all."
 
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