Persuading Him: A Modern Persuasion Retelling (Pemberley Estates Book 1) Read online

  "I don't care how good Penny is about anything. You're the one doing all the work; you should get some recognition."

  "Russelle, please, I'm quite happy staying at home."

  Russelle paused, then sank into the chair with a sigh. "Anne, I don't like how you continue to hide away like this."

  "I'm not hiding." Like her family, Russelle had a hard time understanding Anne's disinterest in meeting new people.

  "Then tell me when was the last time you went out to dinner with clients? Or worked in your father’s office downtown? Or gone anywhere nice recently? It's not healthy always being cooped up in this house all the time."

  "I like this house."

  "But you need to be seen. That's how you make progress in life. You network and move up the ladder. There's no ladder for you here, Anne."

  Anne gave no response. She never had a good comeback to that argument. Though she knew Russelle only wanted the best for her, Anne had lately lost interest in the so-called ladder. Or rather, lately she'd realized she had never had any desire for it. But how to articulate that notion to her godmother? The ladder meant everything to Russelle. She lived and breathed it. To declare she had no care for it was like saying she had no need for water. Russelle would never understand.

  "You know," Russelle began, breaking the awkward silence, "Now that your father is doing so well, I think it's time you went back to law school."

  Anne curled her fingers into fists. She hated law school. Hated all the fake friendships in the never-ending quest of networking. No one acted themselves or showed any true emotion. Every word was weighed and judged before passing any lips. The atmosphere there was worse than in her own home and Anne had no desire to live a lifetime moving amongst people who only thought of potential networking opportunities and who could be offended at the tiniest unintended slight.

  However, it was Russelle's utmost dream for Anne to come and work for her; a dream her own mother had shared. They had spoken about that path ever since she was old enough to remember it and Anne had blindly followed that path until she found herself a lamb amongst wolves in law school, completely out of her element. No, she had no desire to resume that path. Unfortunately, the path she dreamed about was ruined eight years ago.

  "Dad isn't completely himself yet," Anne said. It was the excuse she'd been using for the past several months, even to herself, in order to stave off having to figure out what she should now do with her life. "He needs me to make sure he takes his pills on time."

  "Anne, he's a grown man. He can fend for himself. But you're twenty-five with your whole life in front of you! I don't want to see you waste it caring for someone. You're too smart to be a simple caregiver."

  "Or a wife?" Anne asked quietly, eyes on her clasped hands. It was the closest she dared to expressing her true desire.

  Russelle paused, apparently understanding the reference very well. She leaned forward. "Anne, remember your mother."

  Anne winced. It was Russelle's greatest asset in the old argument. Her mother had married young, believing to be madly in love. But that love grew cold and Russelle had to watch, helplessly, as her best friend wasted away in an unhappy marriage, sticking with it only for the sake of her daughters.

  "He wasn't like my father—"

  "You don't know that. You only knew that boy for four months. Four months! Your mother knew your father for a year and still failed to grasp your father's more unpleasant qualities. And he wanted you to give up high school and college, all of your dreams, leaving you destitute when he left you—

  "He wouldn't have done that—

  "You don't know that. He failed to graduate from high school—"

  "It wasn't his fault—"

  "That's what he claims—"

  "But he achieved everything he said he would. He proved you and Dad wrong. He did become successful."

  "Then why didn't he come back for you?"

  Anne fell quiet. This was how the argument always ended. She could never explain why he hadn't returned. Deep in her heart, when she had closed the door on him that fateful day, she had believed his love would bring him back when she was eighteen, graduated, and ready. Then they could run away together like they had initially planned. She had so badly wanted to do it beforehand, but her mother's failure of a marriage held her back. Not because she feared she would be unhappy, but that he might. Life had held him back for so long, she feared she might have ended up as another weight, so she had given him up so he could fly as high as he wanted, believing he'd come back. But he never did. Neither did he respond to any of the emails she'd sent. She had tried to follow his career, grabbing any listings or news to verify him moving up the military ranks, but when he had exited the navy two years ago, she had failed to find any more news on him. Where he was now, she had no idea. All she knew was that he wasn't here, by her side. The love he had professed for her apparently hadn't been strong enough.

  Russelle reached over and squeezed her clasped hands again. "I know it hurt, but it's been so many years. You should have moved on by now."

  Anne sighed. "I haven't found anyone better than him."

  "Anne, you don't need to find anyone better. You, yourself, are better than him. You are good, and kind, and very observant. Excellent qualities for a lawyer."

  Anne's sigh deepened. Back to the lawyer dream.

  "Now, enough of this depressing topic." Russelle stood up. "You need to be spoiled and since your family fails to do it, I shall. I'm taking you out to dinner tonight."

  Anne forced a smile while inwardly she groaned. She had been hoping to play the piano while everyone was out. But to protest would be useless. Russelle wouldn't understand. It was a common plight in her life, apparently.

  Chapter 3

  Despite the threat of financial disaster, a month plodded along and found Anne working in the office as usual. Technically, she could go to the corporate’s office and work there, but that required interacting with people and maybe even forced into polite conversation--not a favorite activity of Anne’s. She much preferred the quiet of her own house, especially when her father and sister were gone, like today.

  Unfortunately, the two had departed citing an emergency meeting at the local office of the corporation. Anne, like usual, had not been included, but this time, she wished she had. Emergency meetings had been common when her father, in his own firm with a cousin, was going under and while she highly doubted his current job was near such doom, it didn't bode well that an emergency meeting had been called.

  She drummed her fingers on the table, the anxiety making her restless. She checked her phone. Nearly two o’clock. With a sigh, she woke the computer screen, revealing a long to-do list. At least there was plenty of things to do while she waited.

  A door abruptly slammed, the sound echoing throughout the house like a gong of doom. Anne gripped the top of the desk, her fingers turning white from the pressure. They had returned home, but who had slammed the door? If it had been her sister, then she'd be on the hunt for a scapegoat to rain down her wrath. And since Eliza never lashed out at her father, Anne was the only other option. At the same time, if it had been her father, he would also need a scapegoat, but his wrath would only be a long-winded rant, an activity that went considerably faster when he had tea to go with it.

  Hoping it was her father, she hurried out of the office and into the kitchen, flipping on the instant water heater and grabbing a teacup. Alas, sharp clacks of high heels clattered down the hallway like marching soldiers. Anne sunk against the cabinets. She should have guessed it was her sister. Now she had nowhere to hide.

  Eliza's sharp brown eyes alighted on Anne the instant she entered the kitchen. Cheeks flushed with anger, she jabbed a manicured finger at her. "You have ruined us!"

  Anne studied her sister's heated face and body stance, trying to determine the level of wrath fuming inside. Sometimes, pleading guilty to whatever serious offense Eliza believed had been done could appease her, resulting in a short verbal tirade bef
ore a haughty walk off. However, if the offense was real and Anne pleaded guilty, then Eliza could present that as proof to their father and, since their father always sided with Eliza, she would have to deal with their combined wrath.

  Considering the meeting they had returned from, it was possible Anne was at fault. She did do most of the research, after all.

  "What, exactly, has been ruined?"

  "You messed up and Dad was blamed! He's been fired! Because of you!"

  Anne slumped against the cabinet, her lungs robbed of breath. Fired? Her father? She turned to the countertop, fumbling with the tea bags, trying to comprehend what had happened. "What was messed up?"

  "The Darcy vs. Wickham case. You didn't send the needed documents! I checked my calendar and it clearly stated when it was supposed to be sent, but you utterly failed at something so simple, even after you knew how important this case—"

  Anne faced her sister. "I sent those a month ago, days before the deadline. You were there that day; you saw the envelope. In fact, Penny delivered it to the post office. She gave me the receipt after she had mailed it."

  Eliza scoffed. "You may have mailed something, but it wasn't the right documents. You messed up. On a case that the CEOs were watching like a hawk, just waiting for any excuse to get rid of Dad. How could you have been so stupid!"

  Anne turned around, busy finishing the tea, while her mind scrambled to recall that fateful day. She could have sworn she had put the right documents into the envelope. She had never messed up before—why would she have done so on that one?

  The memory of that triumphant smile of Penny's resurfaced. Had she had anything to do with this mess? But why would she tamper with the sealed envelope? Or wish to have their father fired? Penny had been mooching off their wealth for years, not to mention her own father worked for them. It wouldn't make sense for her to slit the deep pockets she subsisted on.

  Anne poured tea into a teacup. "Where's Dad?"

  "In the car." Eliza's heels clattered closer to Anne and she tensed, not sure how her sister's wrath would manifest itself. Physical violence wasn't normally her thing, but she had resorted to it once or twice when they were younger.

  To Anne's relief, her sister only swiped the freshly filled teacup out of Anne's hands. "He couldn't even drive home," she continued with a haughty glare. "I had to do that." She said it as if she'd carried him home on her back, trudging uphill in snow the whole way. She leaned against the counter as if needing serious respite and sipped from the steaming cup.

  Anne grabbed another teacup and filled it before hurrying to the garage. Her father sat slumped in the passenger seat, eyes unfocused as though he faced an abyss and had no way to cross it. Kneeling beside him, she held the teacup in front of his face. His eyes gradually focused on the rising steam, then descended onto the teacup. A weak smile flitted over his lips and he grasped the cup like it was a lifeline. He took a slow sip. "Ten years." He took another sip. "Ten years of hard work and they let me go. No understanding. No kindness. Nothing."

  "Not even a severance package?"

  "Three months. That's it." He swept a defeated gaze around the two expensive cars and the boxes cluttering the stuffed garage. "We're going to lose everything."

  She patted his shoulder. "We won't lose everything. You beat cancer; you can overcome this. I'll call Mr. Clay. He should have some ideas."

  He nodded absentmindedly, his gaze losing its focus. He sipped more of his tea.

  "Come, Dad," she prodded him out of the car and he followed like a dazed prisoner. She led him into the house and to his favorite chair in the living room where he settled into it with a weary sigh.

  "I have a way to fix this," Eliza announced, making her way from the kitchen toward the couch, hands on her hips and nose raised like a queen about to declare a grave proclamation.

  Anne pulled out her phone and quickly dialed Mr. Clay's number, having no interest in Eliza's grand plan. Eliza's usual way of fixing something was to blame someone else and have them fix it all.

  "Anne should get a job and support us since it's her fault we lost everything."

  Anne resisted rolling her eyes, not at all surprised by the decree.

  "Anne?" Her father asked as if he'd come out of a stupor. "Get a job?" He stared at her as if such a possibility was like asking for her to sprout wings.

  "We could all get new jobs," Anne countered, wishing Mr. Clay would pick up his phone faster.

  "Me?" Her father continued in that shocked tone. "I'm fifty-three. You don't get a new job at fifty-three. You retire, not start a new career."

  "That's right." Eliza bestowed a loving smile to her father, then shot a haughty, self-righteous one at Anne. "I could easily get a new job. My old agency in Boston would take me back like that." She snapped her fingers. "But Anne should still pay for the loss she caused us."

  Anne's phone went to Mr. Clay’s voicemail. Frustrated, she switched to writing a text.

  "But, the house," her dad argued. "It's mortgaged twice."

  "Anne has savings," Eliza countered.

  "Not that much," Anne retorted. The concept of savings had never gone over well with her father and sister. They hadn't seen the point in not spending money the instant they had access to it, for there would always be money coming in. No need to save when they were rich. But Anne, more cautious than any of her family, and apt to listen to the more money-wise advice of her godmother, had steadily saved a tidy sum. Ironic that her sister would finally appreciate the concept of savings when she could usurp someone else's savings to save the day.

  Anne dialed Russelle's number but to her surprise, heard her godmother's phone go off in the hallway. They all looked up in time to see Russelle enter the living room, her soft shoes not making a sound on the wood floor.

  "No need to call me." She waved her phone at Anne and silenced it. "I've already heard the news."

  Eliza raised her nose. "And how did you hear?"

  "News travels fast through clients, dear," Russelle said. "The instant I heard, I hurried over here. Walter, you poor dear!" She headed to Anne's father and clasped his hand. "They were far too quick to render their judgment. Didn't even give you a fighting chance."

  "Yes." He sat up a bit straighter. "That's exactly what I thought. No kindness. Not even an investigation of what went wrong."

  "Anne is what went wrong," Eliza said.

  "It was an honest mistake," Russelle countered and gave Anne a warm smile. Anne smiled back, thankful someone had her back. But, knowing her sister would continue the attacks, she gathered the empty teacup and headed for the kitchen. Getting out of sight sometimes helped to cool Eliza's anger.

  "But, none of you need to fret," Russelle continued, taking a seat next to Anne's father. "There is already a solution on the horizon and it's all because of Anne and her incredible foresight."

  Anne turned around in shock. "Me?"

  Her family employed the same shock. "Anne?"

  "Yes, she gave your accountant, Mr. Clay, some sound advice about finding a renter for your home in case such a situation as this fell upon us and, the smart man has found an eligible renter!"

  "Rent our home?" Eliza cried, gripping the back of the sofa as if that was the head of the renter who dared to invade her home.

  "Nonsense!" Her father stood up, suddenly reinvigorated like a leader rallying his troops. "I shall not be kicked out of my own home."

  "It will only be for a few short years," Russelle said in her no-nonsense voice, the voice Anne was sure she used in court. "And this way, you have an option of keeping the house instead of having the bank claim it."

  Eliza marched around the couch to face Russelle. "And where will we live during these few short years? In the street?"

  "I have a condo in Boston," Russelle said in a much calmer voice than Eliza, "that has been unused for too long. You can stay there until you are able to get back on your feet."

  Anne fumbled with the teacup and caught it before it clattered to the fl
oor, avoiding bringing everyone's attention to her. Boston. Filled with distracted people who only wanted to climb social and economic ladders. She had no interest in returning to that town.

  "You've always loved Boston, right, Walter?" Russelle continued, facing Anne's father. "There are so many more activities going on over there! And with the excellent public transportation, you won't need your cars—"

  "Now we're losing our cars?" Eliza asked as though Russelle was asking for her right arm.

  "You've lived in Boston, dear. You know how little you need a car there."

  "But you have to stand and wait for public transportation! And sometimes, it rains!" Eliza declared as though rain could create widespread panic.

  Russelle hesitated, apparently not prepared for that argument. Luckily, the doorbell abruptly rang, saving her the need to counter the silly argument. "That must be Mr. Clay."

  Her father's attention snapped to Anne in the kitchen. "You already called him?"

  "No, I did," Russelle said, rising to her feet. "I took the liberty of assuming you'd need him so I alerted him to the situation."

  "Of course you would," Eliza snapped while Anne hurried to the front door to let the accountant in. Unlike Russelle, Mr. Clay hadn't been graced with a key from her father. Then again, Mr. Clay hadn't been regarded as someone vital to raising his three daughters when Anne's mother had died. Russelle had tried her best to fill their mother's role, but only Anne had welcomed her presence. Eliza had resented the move, seeing no need for a mother at seventeen, and that animosity had never lessened.

  Mr. Clay gave Anne an apologetic smile as she ushered him in, a large folder in his hands, but Anne froze when his daughter, Penny, followed behind him. Anne couldn't help remembering that triumphant smile Penny had momentarily displayed, but no such smile donned her lips now. Penny's pale skin was paler than usual and she grasped Anne's hands with warmth, her eyes full of anxious concern. "I'm so sorry to hear what happened!"

  Anne returned her squeeze, feeling bad for having distrusted her. Penny then hurried after her father and Anne followed them.