One Autumn Night

Chapter Thirteen

"What if someone else deposited that money into your account?"

"What? Who else would do that?" She sniffed as she stared at him, her mind reeling. "You mean you? You're telling me you deposited forty-five thousand dollars into my bank account? Why?"

He said nothing amid the blare of brassy trumpets and heavy-handed bass.

Wiping at the tear trails that stained her cheeks, Abigail watched Declan who held very still then finally leaned against the windowsill, crossing his arms.

"You stopped talking to me because my mother told you to? That's why we broke up and you avoided me? Because you thought my mom paid you off?"

Thoughts, memories, conversations from the past all crowded in her head as she stared blankly.

"Answer me, dammit." He stood tall, lifting from his lean. "I loved you and you threw it all away for money? You took what you thought was payment in exchange for me? For my heart? You didn't even think, did you, of coming to me and asking me for help, asking what I wanted. Instead you made that decision for both of us, sold our relationship to what you thought was the highest bidder."

"It wasn't like that." She gasped for air as her lungs clenched tightly.

"For someone who looks down on people for having money, you sure are shallow."

"I did what I had to do for my family," she shouted, finding her breath, releasing the roar. "And I don't look down on people with money, only people who control others with it."

"You mean control you with it. You're the one who let yourself be controlled, Abigail. Don't play the victim, it doesn't become you."

Empty of words, stunned, she simply stood still.

"You have work. You should get to it." His words were a swift cut.

"Excuse me?"

The icy blue of his eyes stabbed her straight in the heart. "You're not the woman I thought you were."

She breathed hard, fanning the flames that had flickered back to life. "Really? Because you've become exactly the man you were destined to become. You're really fulfilling your duty as a Fitzgerald aren't you? Your mother must be proud."

He stepped close to her and she didn't back down. Setting her chin, she ordered herself not to flinch.

"You have work," he told her, taking an envelope out of the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket and dropping it on the bed. "And I have guests."

He swiped past her without looking at her, a cool gaze fixed forward.

After listening to his stern steps descend down the stairs, through the foyer then, she imagined, out the door, she lifted the envelope with her name on it that had a check inside made out to the Plumber's Pub. Payment for her services.

Money, she thought, wiping the remaining wet from under her eyes. It may not be the root of all evil, but it sure as hell made a mess of things.