Her stomach dropped. “Did the succession go through?”
“Odessa didn’t say, but if he’s sending over an inspector, he has to be close to putting the building on the market.”
They were running out of time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bryson spotted Evie’s gray SUV in the parking lot of the glass building in Metairie. It took him less than ten minutes to get here from the hospital, where he’d left Bella at the employee daycare while he and Evie went on what he was certain was a fool’s mission.
But Evie was convinced if they pleaded their case, face-to-face, the same man who had been cut out of his grandfather’s will would miraculously have a change of heart and do the decent thing. Bryson had known assholes like this his entire life. He had no doubt Stanley Shepard’s grandson would sooner kick a newborn puppy in the ribs than not sell The Sanctuary out from under them.
Evie’s goal was to get him to donate the building, which wouldneverhappen. Even a person whose heart wasn’t composed of sulfur and stone wouldn’t be that generous.
Bryson pulled into a parking spot two cars down from Evie’s. By the time he got out of his Jeep, she was waiting at the end of it.
“Thanks for driving over,” she greeted.
“Did you think I would let you do this alone?”
“Well, you said it was a waste of time when I texted my plan.”
“I still think it’s a waste of time. That doesn’t mean I want you facing this guy on your own.”
She peered up at him, an incredulous frown creasing her forehead. “I don’t think I’m in physical danger, Bryson. He may be a selfish SOB, but I doubt he would touch me.”
“I’m more concerned about you laying hands on him, not the other way around. Nobody’s got time to bail you out of jail.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Let’s do this,” Bryson said. He put a hand on the small of her back and guided her to the entrance of the building.
Lucas Shepard’s law office was on the fourteenth floor. Of course he was an attorney. A personal injury one at that. He probably had more money in the bank than any of them.
“Can I help you?” a receptionist greeted.
“I’m Dr. Evelina Williams and this is Dr. Bryson Mitchell. We’re here to see Mr. Shepard. I called earlier.”
Bryson’s brow shot up. Where had that starched, serious voice come from?
“Give me just a moment. Mr. Shepard is in a meeting with the other partners a floor below us, but it should be wrapping up any minute. I’ll check with him.” She shot off a message. Seconds later, she nodded. “Yes, he’ll be up in just a few minutes. He asked that I show you to his office. Can I get you coffee or water? We have both sparkling and still.”
“No thanks,” Evie said.
Bryson could use a water, but he didn’t want to contradict Dr. Evelina Williams.
The receptionist guided them into a large corner office with expansive windows that provided views of both Lake Pontchartrain and New Orleans’s downtown skyline.
Yeah, this dude definitely had more than enough money to live on. Bryson doubted the profit from the sale of The Sanctuary would have a significant effect on his lifestyle, unless he was in the market for a third vacation home and fourth speedboat.
“Ugh, this isn’t a good sign,” Evie said. She pointed to the wall, where a banner with familiar Greek insignia hung. “That’s Cameron’s fraternity.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bryson said.
If there was any question that they were dealing with a prick, he’d just gotten his answer. His hunch was confirmed a moment later when Lucas Shepard burst into the office with an air of such self-importance that it carried a stench. Or maybe it was Shepard’s cologne.
“Hello,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?”
The fact that he didn’t offer them a seat told Bryson that he didn’t plan for them to be here very long. Good, because he didn’t want to be around this asshole any longer than he had to.
