Claiming Her Billion-Dollar Birthright / Falling For His Proper Mistress. Maureen Child
his children had had a chance to come to terms with his passing. And now they’d all been sucker punched.
They’d left the cemetery just an hour before and after reading through most of the will’s bequests, emotions were running high. Well, Christian thought, they were about to go even higher.
“Why are we still here, Christian?” Guy asked from his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You’ve read the will, what’s left to say?”
“There’s one more thing to cover.”
“What haven’t you covered?” Trevor asked, shifting a glance around the room at his brothers and sister. “Seems pretty clear to me. Dad’s arranged things to get us back to Jarrod Ridge. Just like he always wanted.”
“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Melissa whispered.
Gavin dropped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a supportive hug. “It’ll be okay, Mel.”
“Will it?” Blake asked. “We’ve all got lives separate from the Ridge. Now we’re supposed to walk away
from whatever we’ve built to come back home and take over?”
“I understand how you feel,” Christian said softly and waited until all eyes were on him. “I do. I told Don this wasn’t the way to handle things.”
“Let me guess,” Guy interrupted, “Dad wouldn’t listen.”
“He had his own ideas.”
“Always did,” Trevor mused.
“The point is,” Blake said, voice loud enough that everyone settled down to hear him, “Dad split the estate up equally between the five of us. So what’s left to talk about?”
There was his opening, Christian thought, bracing himself for what would come in response to his next statement. “The fact that the estate’s been split, not into five equal shares, but six.”
“Six?” Gavin repeated, glancing around at his siblings as if doing an unnecessary head count. “But there are only five of us.”
“Don’s last surprise,” Christian said quietly. “You have a sister you’ve never met.”
One
“Please send him in, Monica.” Erica Prentice checked her hair and smoothed the front of her sleeveless black dress. She turned to glance out the narrow window behind her desk and took a quick moment to enjoy the pitifully small glimpse of the ocean afforded her.
Situated firmly at the bottom of the totem pole at Brighton and Bailey, a PR firm in San Francisco, Erica didn’t exactly rate the best view. But that was okay, she told herself. She’d prove herself—both to her employers and her father, no matter how long it took.
But right now, she was meeting with an attorney who had refused to tell her what he wanted to see her about. Which accounted for the jangle of nerves in the pit of her stomach. She was enough her father’s daughter to realize that the sudden appearance of a lawyer rarely heralded good news. The Prentice Group, one of the largest clothing manufacturers in the country, were constantly dealing with attorney-led problems. Briefly, she thought about calling her father to ask him if he knew anything about a lawyer from Colorado, but then realized she didn’t have time for that.
Behind her, the office door opened and she turned to greet her visitor. But whatever she might have said died unuttered at her first look at the man standing in the doorway.
The elegantly cut dark blue business suit he wore only emphasized the muscular body beneath. His shoulders were broad, his legs were long and his dark brown eyes were narrowed on her. He had a strong, square jaw, neatly trimmed brown hair and a mouth that looked as though it didn’t smile often.
It only took seconds for Erica to get an impression of cool confidence. It took even less than that for her to feel an attraction to him that sent what felt like champagne bubbles shooting through her veins.
When she was sure she could speak without making embarrassing gulping noises, she held out her hand and said, “Mr. Hanford, I’m Erica Prentice.”
He crossed the room, shook her hand and then held on to it for just a bit too long before releasing her. “Thanks for seeing me.”
As if she’d had a choice, she mused. He’d arrived at her office ten minutes ago, unannounced, to claim to have something important to discuss with her. The fact that he hadn’t even hinted at what that might be made her wary even as her hormones continued to do a dance of appreciation.
Erica waved him to one of the two chairs opposite her desk. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Why would a lawyer from Colorado come all this way to see me?”
“It’s a long story,” he said, glancing around her office.
She knew what he was seeing and that he was probably singularly unimpressed. The beige walls of the tiny room were mostly bare but for two paintings she’d brought from home to lessen the grim atmosphere. Erica’s office was nearly claustrophobic, as befitting someone just getting started on their career. Of course, she thought, not for the first time, if she’d been offered a job in the family company, things would have been different.
Though her older brothers all ran different arms of the Prentice Group, Erica’s father had made it clear that she wouldn’t be a part of the family business. They’d never been close, she thought, but she’d hoped that she’d be given at least a chance to prove herself, as her brothers had. But her father wasn’t a man you could argue with and once his mind was made up, the decision might as well have been set in concrete.
Still, she thought, dragging her brain away from the problems of family, now wasn’t the time to be thinking about any of that. As tempting as it might be to indulge in a long meeting with a gorgeous lawyer watching her through amazingly dark chocolate eyes, she simply didn’t have time for it today. As it was, she’d only managed to squeeze out a few minutes from her already packed schedule to accommodate Christian Hanford. She couldn’t give him more.
Leaning forward, she folded her hands on her desktop and smiled. “I’m sorry, but your long story will have to wait for another time. I have another appointment in fifteen minutes, Mr. Hanford, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you just tell me what you’re doing here?”
His gaze met hers and held. Erica couldn’t have looked away if she had wanted to.
“I represent the estate of Donald Jarrod,” he said quietly.
“Jarrod.” Erica thought about the name, trying to place it, when suddenly, she made the connection. “Colorado. Jarrod. You mean the Jarrod resort in Aspen, Jarrod?”
He gave her a brief smile and inclined his head. Reaching down for the briefcase at his feet, he pulled it onto his lap, opened it and took out a legal-size, manila envelope. Sliding it across the desk to her, he said, “Yes, that Donald Jarrod.”
Confused but curious, Erica picked up the envelope and opened it. She pulled out a document and glanced at the title. “His will? Why do I have a copy of the man’s will?”
“Because, Ms. Prentice, you’re one of the beneficiaries.”
She glanced from the document to him and back again. Her stomach did a wild spin and flutter that left her feeling off balance.
“That makes no sense,” she murmured, slipping the will back into the envelope and deliberately flattening the brass clasp. “I’ve never met the man. Why would he leave me anything in his will?”
His features tightened and Erica thought she caught a glimpse of sympathy shining in his eyes before he took the envelope back from her and slid it into his briefcase. “I told you it was going to be a long story.”
“Right.” She watched him close up his black leather case and wished she had the document in her hands again. She’d like the chance to read it herself before