“To be blunt, you’re not qualified to advise me on the matters ofmyestate.” I bit out, knowing Sara had to be up any minutenow. I checked the time on my vintage Patek, desperately wishing it was a time machine out of this wretched conversation.
Richard chuckled. “And you are?” The minutes were ticking down, making me even more agitated than I already was.
“Frankly, Richard, it’s really none of your business how I handle the estate. I can assure you, everything is being properly managed, and I will not be redirecting assets, regardless of my father’s history with you.” What I really wanted to say washey asshole, let me paint a picture for you. The art portfolio is thriving, and I’ve more than doubled the estate since taking it over. P.S. you’re not getting a dime. Not just because I hate your guts, but because you’re suspicious as fuck and you have a creepy obsession with my parents’ mortality.“But thank you for the offer.” I bit out sharply.
He kept a smile painted on, but I could see the facade cracking, exposing the ugliness underneath. “I know you’re a sensible man.” He squeezed my shoulder too hard, the way people with too little power do. “There was a reason your father was in business with me.” He lifted a finger, shaking it in my face. “You may have your mother’s fire, but you’ll come around eventually.” His smile was so incredibly slimy, it made my skin crawl.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I stepped away, not waiting for his response.
The more I resisted, the harder they all seemed to push, and it wasn’t just Richard. All my late father’s associates aggressively badgered me about joining the organization. It was like they desperately needed something from me, but what that was, I had no idea, because no one would come right out and say it.
I’d nearly made it backstage when a shaky old voice, akin to a dying bird, called after me. “Carter Kensington.”
My shoulders sagged as I turned, recognizing the voice.Escape effectively sabotaged.
“Come here, young man.”
“Mrs. Bishop.” It was an effort not to sigh.
Decadently dressed as usual, she reached out a wrinkled hand clad in outrageous jewels, and I grimaced, bracing for theconversation shealwayswanted to have. “Have you found yourself a wife yet?” She could hardly crane her neck up to meet my gaze.
I gently guided her over to a set of deep-seated armchairs against the wall, taking the one next to her. “No. Not yet.”
She laid her ornate walking cane across her lap, and a ruby the size of an egg sparkled, catching the flickering candlelight above us. “You must be so lonely in that big house without your parents.”
I forced a smile. “I’m doing just fine, but thank you for asking.” Except that I wasn’t. I found it harder and harder to control the anger that was always bubbling up because I was sick of talking about this. Sick of being alone. Sick of wanting what I couldn’t have. Sick of dealing with the bullshit my father left behind. Sick of playing the game that was living in this world. I blew out a long, slow breath, feeling more and more unhinged, but chewing out a little old lady wasn’t high on my priority list right now.
“If I had a granddaughter, I’d set you up.” She offered brightly, as if the idea had just popped into her head, except that she offered her nonexistent granddaughter to meevery time we spoke. “You’re too handsome to be alone, surely there must be someone?” But she didn’t wait for my response as she started listing her friends andtheirgranddaughters while I smiled politely, slowly dying inside.
By the time I escaped, it was at least ten minutes later, and I was on the verge of panic as I raced backstage. This was my only chance to talk to Sara tonight, and Ihadto talk to her.
I burst into the dressing room, and a chorus of voices and whistles immediately greeted me as I scanned the room.
“Hey Carter—hi handsome—wanna buy out my contract, Kensington? Old man Campbell bought my date.”
Sara wasn’t here.
I hurried back down the hallway towards the stage.
“You missed her.” Sloane, Sara’s best friend, chimed as I rushed past her. “She’s already gone.”
I whirled around, lowering my voice. “Eric?” I asked breathlessly, knowing I shouldn’t even act like I cared.
“It’s always Eric,” Jules, Sara’s other best friend, offered, shooting me a sympathetic look over her shoulder, and then her eyes slid past me, flashing with something as her boyfriend Douglass called after her.
Filled with defeat, I sagged against the wall in the dimly lit hallway and shuttered my eyes. A moment later, my tie was hissing against my suit as I yanked it off, and then my pearl cufflinks were jingling as I angrily stuffed them into my pocket.
Damn it, this was not a conversation to have via text message or even over the phone. I’d blown it, and Sara was going to be so hurt that I didn’t tell her myself.
“There you are,” Liam said, coming around the corner with his hard-earned prize slung over his shoulder. Gina giggled while her thick blonde hair bounced with his every step. “After party?” He asked, jaw flexing with apprehension.
“Of course.” I pushed off the wall, even though going to some debauched party with people I mostly hated was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially when I had an early morning tomorrow.
Heading towards the valet, we descended the crushed-velvet stairs of the grand ballroom, our dress shoes glinting in the fading light as we stepped into the cool night air.
When the valet pulled up with Liam’s cherry red Bugatti, Liam, so very gently,reverently,pulled Gina down and helped her into the passenger seat. When he stooped down to gather the long ends of her delicate gown into the car, her eyes heated, and I suddenly realized why—Liam’s hand was hiding somewhere under all that fabric and I suddenly found the vining flowers on the stone archway above me wildly interesting.
A moment later, I slid behind the wheel of my black McLaren, asking, “I’ll see you over there?”
