* * *
I was soout of it when we drove up that I realized I didn’t even get a look at the outside of the house or should I say mansion, but if the foyer is anything to go by then the outside has to be beautiful.
The door was opened by this cute older woman with peppered gray hair. I’ll have to remember to get her name again later. My nerves won’t let me absorb anything but what is at the forefront, and at the moment and that’s figuring out how this rustic modern-looking mansion is mine.
“Right this way Miss Bishop. The attorneys from Grant & Asher are waiting for you in the sitting room.”
Damn, I’m an asshole for not remembering her name. Five seconds in this house and I’m turning into a snob who thinks the staff’s names aren’t important enough to remember. Way to go, Karen! I refocus and follow her down the hall.
“Ah, there she is. Thank you, Tabitha, I’ll escort Miss Bishop the rest of the way.”
Tabitha, that’s her name. The mystery woman saves me the embarrassment of having to ask Tabitha her name later.
I walk towards the petite woman who’s the embodiment of what type A personality is. I bite the inside of my cheek to hold in my snort. I’m not sure we’ll get along very well. She doesn’t say hello or introduce herself. She just keeps teetering on her sky-high jewel embellished black satin Manolos, which are about the only thing on her with any character. She’s wearing a black pencil skirt with a matching jacket and a slate gray blouse underneath, all of which look like they’ve been starched within an inch of the poor fabrics’ life. How can she even walk? It all looks so stiff.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so judgy, she might actually be nice. I mean sure almost everyone in this town stalks around like they haven’t bust a nut in decades and could seriously benefit from some self-love, but she could be different.
We’re about halfway down the hall when she turns, a Cruella de Vil smarmy smile painting her face. Her blood red lips part to give directives, “Hello Ariah, is it okay to call you Ariah? Great, Ariah it is.” The rigid twat answers before I can register the damn question. So much for being wrong.
“Please follow me. Mr. Grant and Mr. Asher are waiting and we are already behind schedule. I am Lydia, but you can call me Miss Givens.”
Lydia rambles on and yes Lydia is what I’m going to call her. She didn’t earn my respect with her immediate dismissal. Whatever anxiousness I was experiencing earlier has quickly abated, nothing kills my anxiety faster than a bitch trying me.
“Ly-di-a,” I say, purposely enunciating every syllable in her name, so she can understand that I didn’t miss her earlier slight. “I don’t see how we can be behind schedule when I am thirty minutes early. Thomas here,” I pause, pointing over to where my annoyed-looking hulking shadow follows, “made sure we would be early in case something came up. So please, do tell me how I’m the cause of you being behind time?” I arch a brow at her, in challenge. She’s silent and I take her nonresponse and twitch in her aqua blue left eye as her knowing I’m not a pushover.
We step into a room, designed in warm colors with a landscape glass-paned window. The sun shines in on the tiled floor, but it’s the extremely large man standing by that window that makes my steps falter.
Holy shit this man looks like what Wyatt will look like in another twenty or thirty years. The only difference is where Wyatt has a head full of auburn hair, this man has begun to gray at the sides, and Wyatt’s eyes are a mixture of blues, greens, and browns while Mr. Grant’s are more green than hazel. Well, I’m assuming this man is Mr. Grant. If he’s not, Wyatt’s mom might have some explaining to do. The man in question strides in my direction, and I do mean strides because the way his steps command respect could not be classified as just walking.
“Miss Bishop, my name is Alexander Grant and this,” he points to a man I didn’t notice sitting on a cream colored leather couch, “is my partner, Jeremy Asher.”
“Good afternoon Mr. Grant and Mr. Asher,” I reply, nodding a greeting to both of them and reaching out to shake Mr. Grant’s hand. Mr. Asher stands and approaches while Thomas takes his position by the main entryway to the sitting room.
“Please, please, no need to be so formal, we will be your counsel throughout this process. So, call us Alex and Jeremy, as we hope, in time, to become good friends,” Jeremy states in his final approach, stretching out to shake my hand, as well.
Jeremy is a tall and stocky man with alabaster skin, appearing even paler in contrast to his white blonde hair. He’s giving off very many Santa vibes, all jolly with a boisterous laugh. He’s definitely got that warm grandpa feel to him. Not that I would know what that’s like. My grandparents, on both sides, passed before I was born.
“Here’s to hoping that’s the case, Jeremy,” I say to him with a genuine smile.
“Let’s head to your office and then we can go over the finer details outlined in the will and guardianship documents,” Alex says, already heading towards the door.
I’m not even going to address the fact that he saidmyoffice, this whole situation is already too much to process. We all follow behind Alex until we reach a door a short distance down the hallway. He pulls out a key, my eyes catching a quick glimpse and I see what looks to be a skull before he has the office door open and the key is returned to his pants pocket.
“Before we leave, you will get the keys for the house and the one for this office. I would suggest that you always leave this door locked, as this will be where some of the documents for the house will be kept,” Alex says, stepping over the threshold and heading toward the meeting room table. The mahogany monstrosity seats eight people comfortably. Why on earth would I ever need to have a meeting with that many people? This is some seriously rich people shit. We could’ve had this meeting in the kitchen or in the living room.
In my periphery I notice Thomas, once again, positions himself by the entrance of the room, while the remainder of us take seats in plush black leather office chairs. The snooty Lydia takes a seat next to Jeremy and Alex takes a seat next to me.
Reaching into her bag, Lydia pulls out file folders filled with stacks of paper and places them before Alex.
“Okay Ariah,” Alex begins, opening the first folder, “let’s begin with the trust first. I believe that will help better explain how the guardianship will work.”
My stomach knots at the thought of what all these legal words will spell out for all of us. I just can’t let myself think about it too much, I can’t afford to lose it in this meeting.
“Sure.” My voice is unsteady. I pause, taking a minute to get my bearings, “What should I know first?”
Alex places the first pile of documents in front of me and I almost faint when I read the first few lines of the document. As I continue taking each line, I have to fight the nausea and dizziness in order to remain upright. I will not appear weak.
* * *
