He took it with large, interesting hands and examined the small plastic card before returning it to her. “Thank you. Now,” he said, opening a manila folder on his desk, “let’s talk about this. You’ve been named in the will of Nevio Valente, and although there will be a formal reading in short order, I thought that under the circumstances, we should meet prior to that meeting.”
“Circumstances?” She couldn’t help looking at his hands again. They were beautiful—elegant and tanned, not too big and bulky, but still appeared masculine and powerful.
Now she knew what her mother meant when she said there were some hands that she couldn’t resist reading.
He cleared his throat. “Er—yes. You being the only non-family member—other than a few charities—to be named in the will, and secondly, because you claim not to know who Mr. Valente was.” His gray gaze probed her face as if to reaffirm her claim.
“I did a little research after you called, but I was hoping you might be able to clear up some more details for me. I still don’t know why he would have left me anything in his will. I’m sure I’ve never even met the man.”
H. Gideon cleared his throat again and turned to a different folder—this one green—and sifted through its contents. He pulled a photo from within and placed it on the desk in front of Fiona.
It was a better picture than the blurry images she’d seen online. The lack of good photos was surprising for a man who was supposedly one of the wealthiest men in the city; apparently, he was very nearly a hermit.
“Wait,” she said, looking at it as something niggled in the back of her mind. She narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute. I think Ihaveseen him before.” But when?
“He owns—owned—quite a few pieces of property in and around greater Grand Rapids. As you are employed by a commercial real estate firm, one might surmise that you interacted with him in a business transaction and perhaps met him that way.”
She looked up at him, fighting back a grin at his formal, precise speech. “One might indeed surmise.”
He cleared his throat as if aware that he was causing her internal hysterics, then continued, “Perhaps you took some paperwork from him at some point in time when he came into your office. You’re the office manager at Thurston & Mills, as I understand it.”
“Yes, I think that must have been it. Though, thankfully, I rarely have occasion to interact with our clients,” she said, matching her tone and formality to his, “there are times when it is necessary to do so. If I recall correctly, Mr. Valente was a very pleasant man. It seems we had an extended conversation about the weather, and he was quite charming.” Fiona still couldn’t quite remember meeting him, but if she had, it was safe to say they’d discussed the weather.
H. Gideon’s lips twisted into something that may have passed for a wry smile, but looked more like he was swallowing his tongue. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard Mr. Valente described in such complimentary terms. Even by myself. He was generally considered a…difficult man.”
Fiona smiled. “Perhaps his demeanor was merely a reflection of whatever people were around him at the time.”
The little dart struck home, and his lips tightened. She couldn’t suppress a smile, seeing his smooth, arrogant facade crack. The imp had hold of her now. For some reason, it had become a personal challenge for her to work the stick out from under the behind of H. Gideon Nath, the Third.
At the same moment, Gideon himself was wondering just what he had done to deserve getting saddled with such a flighty, unapologetic female in the midst of this mess Valente had left his firm—and, by extension, Gideon himself.
If his grandfather hadn’t decided to embark on a month-long vacation with his current lady love, leaving Gideon as the only Nath available for the clients of Nath, Nath & Powell,he’dbe the one dealing with this will. Which would likely be contested by the family once the terms came out.
But Gideon Senior could have had no inkling that the wealthiest—and most eccentric, rather sketchy—of his clients would drop dead at an age just shy of a hundred and one during the “Fall Color Tour” the elder attorney had decided to take through Lower Michigan with his girlfriend.
Not that Valente’s demise hadn’t been long overdue, Gideon thought ruefully, remembering his impression of the stooped, incredibly rude and unpleasant man he’d met only twice.
And not that Gideon actually minded that his grandfather was off with Iva Bergstrom, gallivanting around the state. She’d put a gleam in his eye and had eased the stiff, reserved edges of the elder Nath since they’d met last April. And Gideon absolutely did not begrudge his grandfather the happiness he clearly had found. He deserved it.
He just hoped Iva Bergstrom wasn’t a gold-digger. Partly because she made his grandfather—who’d been married thrice before; and for very short stints—so happy, but partly because Gideon himself had come to love her too.
And now here he was with this Fiona Murphy, who’d appeared from nowhere in the old man’s will. It had taken him some effort, including combing through social media (which he loathed) and other assistance from his admin Claire to locate the woman named in the will. Because, of course, Valente hadn’t made an attempt to identify her other than her name and a basic description. He didn’t even indicate how or when he’d met her.
From his phone conversation with Ms. Murphy, Gideon had expected someone younger—in her late teens or early twenties at most. And with a name like Fiona Murphy, she should have been a leprechaun-like creature with springy carrot-colored hair and thousands of freckles.
Instead, according to her driver’s license, she was twenty-seven. And she had disconcerted him by being strikingly beautiful, with fair, translucent skin, a faint dust of freckles over high, well-defined cheekbones, and dark, whiskey eyes. And her hair…it was long and lush and curled in large spirals that tumbledeverywhere.
Somehow her personality—flighty and giddy—didn’t fit with the sensual, flower-child figure sitting across from him, but no matter. He had to deal with her in whatever form she appeared, as per the last will and testament of Nevio Valente.
“So,” she was asking with a faint smile that implied a joke he had missed, “do I get to find out what he left me, or do I have to wait until the public reading of the will?”
The way she said “public reading of the will” with a hint of condescension in her voice made it sound like she was making fun of him, and Gideon tightened his jaw. He wished therewasn’tgoing to be a formal reading, just so he could so inform her, and wipe that sassy smirk off her face. And then he pulled his thoughts back, disconcerted by such a rash, emotional reaction.
“In fact,” he replied smoothly, “Mr. Valente did request that you attend the reading of the will. It won’t, however, be public,per se. Just for the family. He also left this for you.” He slid a heavy cream-colored envelope across the table.
She hesitated, then reached for the packet. Her fingers were long and slim, with smooth pink nails and a minimum of one ring on every finger—many had three or four of hammered or twisted metal stacked all the way to the first knuckle. Her fingers were trembling a bit, and when she looked up at him with an awkward smile, his suspicions were confirmed.
She was nervous. The beringed airy-fairy sprite wasnervous.
