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)
“Oh yeah, the funeral. How’s that coming along?” I ask cautiously.
“There wasn’t one. Gramps insisted he didn’t want any big goodbyes and made sure he let us know it through his lawyer. My parents were relieved at the savings. But you know what they’re like.”
I do.
Let’s just say Leonidas Blackthorn’s business genius skipped a generation. Margot’s folks like to call themselves entrepreneurs, but what they really are is pampered, living off the family trust.
Without it, they’d go broke before you could blink.
At least, the rich-people version of broke where they need to downsize to two mansions to keep eating at Michelin star restaurants.
“Then there’s Ethan.” Margot throws her hands up.
My heart sputters.
I clear my throat, aiming for cool, and totally sophisticated.
“Ethan.” My voice cracks slightly on his name.
Ethan.
Ethan!
Margot’s older brother. Also, the biggest savage ever born.
“You mean Ethan-Ethan?” I clarify, just in case she’s randomly sprouted another brother named Ethan in the last few years.
Like, a nicer one who isn’t moody, despicably attractive, and who didn’t tease me remorselessly growing up—when he noticed me at all.
It didn’t happen often, not unless he wanted a laugh at my expense.
That’s how it is with older brothers and their kid sister’s friends, though. Especially when they’re born with a chip on their shoulder the size of a two-by-four.
He’s only about four years older than me.
Just old enough to be around during our formative years and treat us like dirt.
When he wasn’t raising hell and getting locked up by Leo’s bodyguard, he bullied us mercilessly.
I’m not sure it ever dragged Margot down much.
She gave back as good as she got.
But me, I was—let’s just say I wasn’t a very confident teenager.
When Ethan came in with cruel jokes, they had teeth.
“The one and only,” Margot answers, not noticing I’m in stage Ethan of heart failure.
It shouldn’t shock me so much.
He’s family and I knew he’d come up at some point.
“And what about your cousin, Cleo? She’s so sweet.”
“She’s crashing out.” Margot shakes her head. “She’s taking it crazy hard. I don’t know if she’ll even come back to meet with the lawyer anytime soon.”
“Sad.”
“I wish it was someone else ghosting, but meh.” She sips her latte.
“I don’t know, he should be here, right?” I rasp. My throat feels like a desert despite the coffee. Caffeine isn’t strong enough to erase Ethan’s harsh laugh and malicious blue eyes.
Actually, their eyes are almost the same.
But his are empty. So much colder.
“He’s been back in Maine for a while, you know.” Margot flicks her wrist like this information won’t bowl me over. “He came back a few months ago to help PopPop and the team with some new acquisitions.”
“He did? Oh, wow,” I say weakly.
“I should’ve told you sooner, but the bonehead swore me to secrecy. Portland’s just a place to crash for him.” She rolls her eyes. “Leave it to Ethan to treat a job most guys would kill for like a death sentence.”
“Yeah, that’s him. Spoiled rotten.” I force a smile as more sugar hits my system.
“But since we’re on the subject”—she stops and smiles—“actually, he’s the reason I had to see you today.”
“Why, does he want you on the team? You hate real estate.” I frown.
“No, not that. Thank God.” Margot’s phone buzzes and she glances at the screen, nodding. “Oh, good, she’s on time.”
She?
I am so confused.
“…is someone else coming?”
“Kinda. I honestly didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you, so I brought in backup.” She smiles shakily and turns, just as the bell trills and a woman walks in.
I watch her through a break in the bookshelves.
She looks like she was born in a business meeting, or maybe a catwalk. Maybe a business meeting on a modeling runway.
Everything about her is neat, from the small gold necklace around her neck to the perfectly starched collar of her blouse that contrasts with her light-brown skin.
Formal, but elegant. Her cream blouse is tucked into the kind of waist you usually only see on Instagram, so effortlessly trim and perfect I start wishing I’d thought to dress up a little.
“Miss Sage.” She gives me a brusque nod and an impassive smile once she reaches our table. Then she takes the seat Margot pulls out for her. “I’m Jackie Wilkes, Leonidas Earl Blackthorn’s estate lawyer.”
Did I hear that right? Estate lawyer?
“Um,” I say. Insightful. “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand, which is pitched to be the right level of firm without gripping too hard.
Obviously.
I bet that’s something they teach you in law school, along with impeccable fashion sense and how to scare the average person in under five words.
“This is Harriet,” Margot says, making the introduction with a slightly wide-eyed grin.
“Just call me Hattie,” I say. “Everyone does.”
“Hattie,” Jackie repeats with another walled-off smile. “Very well. You can call me Jackie.”
I don’t know if I’m supposed to be honored or if it’s common courtesy. What else are you supposed to say when you’re suddenly meeting a strange lawyer, though?