Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
I reached down and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay to cry. Ain’t nothing wrong with it.”
Cody looked up at me, surprised, then nodded gratefully.
We kept walking and, after a while, Lorna started to speak, her voice small and lost. “He was the one who raised me, you know. My mom….”
Her voice went shaky and I rubbed the back of her hand with my thumb. “It’s okay. You don’t have to—”
She shook her head. “I want to. My mom…she was in a car crash, just after I was born. Her car skidded on the ice and went off the road, only a few hundred feet from our house. My dad found us. My mom was dead but somehow, I’d survived. He picked up this little thing, practically a newborn… He must have been in pieces, he’d just lost his wife and suddenly he had Miles and a baby to raise on his own. But he did it, he was the best dad—” She pressed her lips hard together and shook her head, unable to go on.
I nodded. “I didn’t know him long, but he seemed like a hell of a guy.”
She nodded firmly. Then she blinked and stopped dead, staring at something ahead of us.
I followed her gaze. A black Rolls Royce had pulled up and a guy in a peaked cap—a chauffeur, I realized—was opening the rear door with one hand while smoothly unfurling an umbrella with the other. A man climbed out, taking up position under the umbrella and tugging on his lapels to straighten his jacket. He wasn’t dressed for a funeral. His suit was pebble-gray and it had a silken sheen to it. The buttons on his waistcoat were trimmed with gold thread and his tie was the same violent crimson as freshly-spilled blood. Soft curls of black hair tumbled lazily onto his forehead and he had cheekbones like the model of some classy clothing brand.
The man took the umbrella from his chauffeur and marched towards us.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“Sebastian van der Meer,” said Lorna. She sounded exhausted and yet mad. “He’s an asset stripper. He’s been trying to buy our company for years so he can take it apart and sell the pieces.”
“Miss McBride,” said the man as he arrived. His accent was old money New York, so polished his family must have been rich before the Mayflower. “I was so sorry to hear your news. Are you and your brother free to talk?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Lorna told him. Then she glanced away and took a slow breath: I could tell she was trying to hold it together.
Van der Meer took a half step forward, a shark scenting blood. “It’ll only take a moment.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I’d let go of Lorna’s hand and stalked right up to Van der Meer. “The lady’s just buried her father. How about you show a little fucking respect?”
Van der Meer winced as if my Texas drawl offended his ears. Then he looked me up and down, taking in my out-of-fashion suit and cheap shoes. He frowned as if he had to think about what to say: I guess he never normally came into contact with people like me. “Get out of my way.”
I could feel the protective rage boiling up in my chest. I wasn’t going to let this vulture anywhere near Lorna. I stayed exactly where I was.
Van der Meer sighed, rolled his eyes, and tried to walk around me, which was a mistake. I took two quick steps and slammed into him, chest-to-chest. We were about the same height but I had fifty pounds on him and he bounced off me and went staggering backward, only just catching himself before he fell. I stepped forward, keeping him off balance. “I’ll give you three seconds to get back in your car,” I growled.
“Or what? You’ll hit me? Assaulting me would be a very bad idea.”
I stepped right up to him again. My voice gets real slow and quiet when I’m mad. “You try to go around me again,” I told him, “And I don’t care how many fancy lawyers you got, I will lay you out.”
He gave me a glare that probably put the fear of God into any intern who brought him the wrong coffee. But we weren’t on Wall Street and I wasn’t someone he could fire, or screw over in a deal. This was about to be a knock-down, drag-out fist fight and that’s my domain. His glare faltered, then he turned on his heel and stalked back to his car. I kept my eyes locked on his retreating back, the anger thundering through every vein, my breath coming in pants. I was shocked at how mad I was. I hadn’t felt so primally protective of anyone since…