Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Miss Wilkes glances at the time on her computer screen. “If that would help you feel comfortable, please do.”
Comfortable?
I can’t comprehend the meaning of the word.
I grind my teeth together as I stride to the window and do my best to stop my head from throbbing.
Yes, this is frustrating, but I have options.
Even if Jackie Wilkes clearly thinks I’ll just be chasing my tail.
Outside, the bay is stained orange and purple with the slowly setting sun, and Portland looks peak lush and green. Objectively, I know it’s beautiful, but I can’t look at this scene without seeing permanent grey.
Everything that happened here when I was a kid.
I never would’ve returned to this godforsaken place if Gramps hadn’t made me promise. Now, it looks like I’ll never get away.
It’s almost tempting to let the inheritance go, to walk away and figure out plan B for the rest of my life, but I’m done running.
I told myself it was past time to grow up.
“He couldn’t have been in his right mind,” I say, snapping my attention back to Miss Wilkes, daring her to argue. “What about Margot? Or Cleo? Is their inheritance this psycho?”
“Leonidas had his own keen and unique sense of fairness.” Of course, she’d say that. “Also, he was fully mentally and physically competent until the end. None of his physicians ever raised doubts.”
“He was dying, Miss Wilkes. He never even told us. How rational is that?”
A lump hardens in my throat.
“While unusual, it doesn’t represent grounds to challenge the fully informed decisions he made and wrote into his trust well before his illness.”
Fuck.
“So, wait. You’re telling me this is a totally reasonable decision made by a mentally healthy man?”
“With respect, nothing indicates otherwise. Not a shred of proof.”
I stride back to the desk and slam my hand on the copy of the will she presented me.
“You need more proof than this? Marriage, Miss Wilkes!”
She presses her lips together, the only gesture of disapproval I’ve ever seen. “I reiterate, Mr. Blackthorn, he was well within his rights. Pounding my desk won’t change that fact.”
Fuck me.
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to find the calm she’s mastered. In the Army, discipline was paramount, but everything feels different back in the civilian world.
“You’re right. I apologize,” I say shortly.
She nods. “Apology accepted.”
“But you have to admit—this is bonkers. This screams crazy and demented. If he wasn’t, there’s no damn way he would’ve made my inheritance contingent on marrying this girl.”
I can’t bring myself to say her name.
Not when it’s my brat sister’s tagalong from half a lifetime ago and I can’t process any of this being real.
“Frankly, I met with your grandfather regularly before he died. I can assure you, he was just as sharp as ever.” Miss Wilkes taps a few keys on her keyboard. “When he realized how little time he had left, he met with several people, and all of them would agree he was mentally sound.”
“Then what the hell was he thinking?” I demand. “Marrying fucking Hattie?”
Out of everyone Gramps could have chosen, Harriet Sage makes the least sense.
I lied when I said I didn’t know her.
I do.
Barely.
In another life, I did.
Our families still know each other, certainly, and she’s still Margot’s sidekick. But we haven’t interacted in years.
I can’t even remember the last time I saw her.
Back when we were kids, she was my sister’s shadow, small and nervous and quiet.
Meek, really, totally not the type of woman that interests me.
We rarely spoke back then unless I wanted to mess with her like the bad-tempered punk I was. We definitely don’t now.
So why the fuck does Gramps want me to marry a girl I don’t know?
It would have made slightly more sense if the woman he’d specified was a mover and shaker in money. The daughter of a rival business, maybe.
Those sorts of arranged marriages still happen, though everyone pretends it’s for love for the sake of the press.
But Hattie?
Make it make sense.
If the old man wanted me married off, he could’ve had the decency to let me choose a wife.
Is this some twisted punishment?
That’s the only thing I can think of. Delayed judgment for what happened before, the way my life was held together by a thread in my grandfather’s bony fingers.
Hattie has nothing to do with me.
She never has, beyond being my sister’s friend. I can’t imagine she’ll want to change that when she remembers my attitude.
My gaze snaps back to Miss Wilkes. I heave out a sigh.
“Very well,” I say crisply. “Working under the assumption that my grandfather was mentally sound, there must be a reason. A method to his madness. An explanation.”
A hint of consternation enters Wilkes’ expression. It’s gone a second later, but it’s unnerving all the same.
“It’s not madness, Mr. Blackthorn,” she says.
“Then what would you call it? Me, married to Hattie Sage? All to get my inheritance, which should be mine by default.”