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“They were, but she didn’t get a dime because they were married for less than five years.” I shake my head, wondering why the hell I’m volunteering all this information. I don’t normally offer intel to anyone outside a need to know basis. “Between you and me, that’s why Madeline sank her claws into your father. The woman is the textbook definition of a gold digger and unfortunately for her, Pierre’s will had that five-year clause. Charles and Madeline were married less than six months after Pierre passed. I’m pretty sure they were having an affair before he died, considering he lived in France while she and Peyton were in California.
“As for Peyton, she needs to marry before her nineteenth birthday, and the marriage needs to be legitimate. Then, she needs to produce an heir by twenty-one and ensure that child—and any future heirs—bears the Devereaux name as well.”
“Why so young? Was he aware we’re living in the twenty-first century?”
“No idea. He was pretty eccentric from what I can tell.” I shift my car into park in front of her house. “He was also seventy-two years old when Peyton was born. The guy had a well-documented history of being a stereotypical playboy. I guess he was feeling his mortality and finally decided he’d get married and produce an heir with his pretty young wife before he kicked the bucket.”
A crinkle forms between her brows. “Why do you know all of this?”
Here’s where I decide whether or not to trust her. The only people who know a
bout this are Charles, Madeline, Peyton, me, and the guys. And Reed and Bentley aren’t supposed to know, nor do the others know they know. In order for Peyton’s marriage to appear legitimate, she needs to keep her mouth tightly closed about our agreement and the reason behind it. But if I do give Jasmine this piece of information, I’ll make great strides in earning her trust, which I need.
I clear my throat. “If I tell you this, you cannot say a word. It’s serious shit.”
“Serious like whatever’s going on between our fathers?” I nod. “I promise to keep my mouth shut. You can trust me, Kingston.”
I blow out a big breath. “Because Peyton and I made a deal. I agreed to marry her and do whatever was necessary for her to collect her inheritance.” When Jazz’s jaw drops, I add, “But that deal’s off. I have no desire nor intention of ever being a part of her life again. I haven’t even fucked her in over six months.”
“Why? And what were you set to gain from this deal you made, because I know you didn’t agree to it out of the goodness of your heart.”
Fuck, she’s too perceptive for her own good. “That’s another one of those, I’ll tell you when the time is right things.”
She sighs heavily. “I’m holding you to that, Davenport.”
I nod toward the front door. “You should get inside.”
Jasmine unfastens her seat belt and shifts toward me. “I know I said it earlier, but thank you again for today. I mean it, Kingston. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but that was everything my soul desperately needed and I couldn’t be more grateful.”
Jazz licks her lips while staring at mine. It’d be so easy to lean over the console and close the gap between us. I bite my tongue, resisting the urge.
I nod toward the front door again. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Pick you up at the same time?”
She jumps out of the car and nods. “See you then. Goodnight.”
I watch her in my rearview as I drive away. Jazz doesn’t make a move to go inside the house until I’m practically out of sight. It’s almost as if she’s reluctant to see me leave, which is exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Now I need to convince myself that I don’t feel the same way. I don’t know why the fuck this girl gets to me as much as she does, but I’m starting to hate it less and less, and that is crossing into very dangerous territory.
“Fuck.” I press the voice command button on my phone. When it beeps, I say, “Call John P.”
“Calling John P.,” Siri replies.
“Davenport,” my PI says in greeting. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”
“Did you get any hits?”
John barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I got some hits. A lot of them, in fact.”
“Tell me about it.”
He clears his throat. “Well, first of all, I did confirm Mahalia Rivera was employed as a maid in the Callahan mansion. Everything seems legit on that end, but she was young—just turned eighteen when she started. The girl was born about six months later.”
“Where was she before that?”
“Foster system,” he says. “Abandoned as an infant. Bounced around a lot—never in the same home for more than a couple months. Was listed as a runaway for about four months before she aged out.”
I stretch my neck from side to side. Well, that confirms my suspicions on how Jasmine’s mother came into Charles Callahan’s life. She would’ve been the perfect target—young, beautiful, no one to care about her whereabouts. I have no doubt she ran away to be with a man over twice her age who made a lot of promises he had no intention of keeping.
“What else?”
