Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Work her for an inheritance,” Aubrey tosses in her two cents.
“As if I’d want th–”
“Don’t let pride get in the way. She fucking owes you. She owes your mom. Demand your due.”
I smile. Aubrey is always in my corner. “I have to go. Will you be home tonight?”
“I will be home. Want to watch 80’s movies?”
“Definitely. See you soon.” I end the call.
The driver points toward a man in a suit standing in the doorway of the hospital. “That’s Mr. Lewis. He will take you to Ms. Harrington’s room.”
“Oh.” A personal escort. I dust off my imaginary princess crown. “Okay, thank you.”
I follow Mr. Lewis through the maze of hallways on the fifth floor of the hospital until we get to a large private room with two walls of windows and at least two dozen giant flower arrangements sitting on every surface.
On the bed, Eleanor Harrington wears a full face of makeup, her dyed blonde hair in perfect order. Despite the effort put into her appearance, she appears frail and small in the bed. An IV runs to a port on the back of her hand, and an oxygen tube is plugged into her nostrils.
“Madison, darling.” She holds out a knotted hand.
Three men in expensive shirts and ties turn and stare at me.
My heart stops when I realize they must be her sons. One of them–Brett Harrington–is my dad.
“Who is this?” One of the men demands.
“Leave us.” Eleanor may look like a small gust of wind could carry her away, but her voice is as regal and commanding as any queen’s.
“Mother, what’s going on?” another of the men asks.
“Your mother has some legal affairs to see to,” Mr. Lewis says. “Please step out of the room, so we can conduct business.”
All three of the men eye me suspiciously. I don’t flinch. Not for one fucking second. Here I am–your bastard daughter or niece. Look your fill, gentlemen. I am just as worthy of occupying space and breathing oxygen as you are.
“But what is this about?” the first man presses.
“Get. Out!” Ms. Harrington snaps, and all three men scurry to obey her. “Madison, my dear. Please come closer,” she says after they’ve gone.
I step closer to her, conscious of remaining poised. Not to please her, but to prove to myself that no one in this family will make me feel less-than. I spent my lifetime feeling that way thanks to them. I’m done.
She peers at me. “You don’t seem confused about why you are here.”
I nod coolly. “I have unraveled the secret of my parentage.”
“So you know that you are my granddaughter.”
“Yes. My mother told me what you did.”
The old woman winces. “I am sorry for what I did to her. Back then, I thought there’s nothing I couldn’t arrange or rearrange–including the life of my only grandchild.”
“Only?”
She nods. “Thank God your mother didn’t do my bidding. She did a marvelous job raising you. So much better than I did with my sons.” She waves a gnarled hand toward the door. “They are all buffoons. Spoiled, self-absorbed idiots incapable of finding their way out of a paper bag.”
I don’t answer. One of those idiots is my father. The asshole who didn’t even acknowledge me.
As if she’s reading my mind, she says, “Brett never knew.”
My lips fall open. “Never knew…”
“Never knew you existed. He thought your mother miscarried. I know, I should have told him, but…” she trails off, her mouth tight. “I was wrong. I kept him from you. I didn’t want him to marry your mother. I’m sorry.”
It’s hard to breathe. My chest feels like a steel plate is pressing down on it.
I don’t want to forgive her. She doesn’t deserve it.
But something about the precariousness of my entire existence right now, something about sending Brick away and breaking my own heart yet again, about realizing how fucking complicated and not very black and white life is gives me a sliver of compassion.
She’s a dying woman. If she needs to get this off her chest, I will allow it.
“My mother suffered.”
“I know, my dear. I’m sorry. Edgar has already cut a check for her.” She flaps her hand in the direction of the lawyer, who holds up an envelope.
I narrow my eyes. “What are the conditions this time?”
“Ah, so bright and savvy. No conditions. I’m trying to make amends to you and her.”
I keep my face blank. Money doesn’t fix twenty-two years of spurning us, but I’m not about to refuse it, either. My mom needs that money.
“I want you to run Torrent Cosmetics.”
My eyes fly wider, and I suck in a shocked breath. “What?”
“You’re bright. Motivated. The child I always wanted to have. You’re capable of great things, Madison.”
I rub my lips together. They suddenly feel so dry. “I prefer Madi,” I find myself saying.
“Madi.”
“You—” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “You rejected me. You didn’t think I was good enough to be in your family. Now that I have a Princeton education and a job on Wall Street, I’ve proven I’m good enough?”