I remember him bragging about taking a day trip to Paris just for a haircut. For someone who's old money, he sure doesn't act like one. He is the very definition of vanity, and being in the same room as him is like listening to nails on a chalkboard.
To say that I can't stand the guy is a major understatement.
I barely have my thoughts together when Uncle Charles says, "Exactly. We need to move quickly before the board loses confidence. Announcing an engagement would stabilize the situation."
"Engagement?" The word sticks in my throat. Yikes, what the? "I can't get engaged right now, least of all to Brian."
"Don't be difficult, darling," Aunt Patricia says, patting my hand. "Brian is a catch. He runs the broadcast division of Percy Media. He understands what you're facing."
Trevor nods. "You're way too shy to run a company anyway. At least Brian has a personality."
I should argue. Should tell them this is absurd, that I won't be auctioned off to secure their positions in a company that isn't even theirs. But grief has hollowed me out, scraped me empty. The words don't come, and I slump in my seat.
Aunt Patricia takes my silence for agreement, her smile widening. "You're such a good girl, Meredith. So meek. So accommodating. That's why this will work perfectly."
Uncle Charles claps my shoulder like I'm a child. "This is such a good trait for a wife, Merry-girl, you know, being easily agreeable."
They gather their things and leave, conversation already shifting to what Dad was thinking when he left the company to me, and if they should contest it since he may not have been in a sound frame of mind when he made the decision. They don't even care that I can hear.
The door closes behind them with a soft click.
I sit frozen, trembling.
"Meredith, let's go."
Cole's deep voice snaps me out of my paralysis. He's beside me instantly, not touching but close enough that I feel his heat. Shaken, I stand and follow him into the hallway.
It's one thing I absolutely like about him. He uses silence the way other men use words. Unlike Brian, who loves the sound of his own voice.
Cole's hand hovers near the small of my back as we navigate the building. Not touching, never touching unless moving me from danger, but close enough that I could lean back and meet his palm if I wanted. If I dared.
People stare as we pass. The grieving heiress and her bodyguard. I keep my chin up, face neutral. Years of practice hiding emotions serve me well now.
The parking garage is cool and dim, the distant sound of traffic muffled. Cole's black Audi SUV waits in a reserved spot—bulletproof glass, reinforced doors, a tank disguised as a luxury vehicle. He approaches the passenger side and pauses.
"Front or back?" he asks, his voice like gravel over silk.
This is his way of asking if I need space or company. The back seat means privacy, silence, being left alone with my thoughts. The front means conversation, his presence, not being alone. Today, I can't bear solitude.
Today, I need him.
"Front."
Something flickers in his eyes—relief maybe?—before he opens the passenger door. I slide in, breathing in the smell of leather and his favorite musky cologne—a scent I've come to associate with safety. This is one place I can strip off the mask and be myself, well, aside from my apartment, of course.
Cole moves around the vehicle, folding his large frame into the driver's seat and casting me a sideways glance. He always does that, constantly checking if I'm okay, and it makes me feel seen in a way I never have before.
The engine purrs to life. He navigates out of the garage and into midday traffic, hands steady on the wheel, eyes constantly scanning for threats, body on high alert.
The silence between us isn't awkward. It never is with Cole. He doesn't fill empty space with meaningless chatter. Doesn'tdemand I process my grief on his schedule. Doesn't expect anything other than what I am. I'm more than grateful for that.
Fifteen minutes to my penthouse at Ashton Square. Fifteen minutes to find my voice.
"Did you know?" I ask. "About the will?"
Cole keeps his eyes on the road. "No. Your father kept his cards close."
I stare out the window, watching the city blur past. “He never even hinted. It never came up in our conversations, so why would he blindside me? Why would he do this to me?"
