Chapter 4
DARCY
T urns out Warren Porter harbors a lifelong grudge and the body mass to stab me in the chest with next to no effort. So why I’m parked out the front of his house, practically sweating through my suit, is anyone’s guess.
Executor of the will … thanks, Dad .
Even knowing everything Warren—or Wren, as he goes by online—is set to inherit doesn’t make this any easier. A small, tiny, barely there part of me wishes he’d disappear again. Go about his life and never resurrect the branch of our family tree we’d all rather ignore.
Father’s been ready for this moment though, and while Mom says she’s fine and knew it would have to come out at some point, I can tell that this, on top of losing her husband, is too much.
It’s already hitting the tabloids—the ones MediaCorp doesn’t control. How could it not? The illegitimate son of the Ritcherson fortune showing up at the wake.
Which means it’s all on me. Head of the Ritcherson family.
Urg, my stomach feels terrible.
After the funeral, I know that I can’t walk into that house showing my nerves, so I remind myself this is business, and he can throw a tantrum all he likes, but it doesn’t change the fine print. I only need a few details, a few signatures, and then I can leave.
His house is small, set amongst equally tiny houses, and for some reason, that makes this whole thing more intimidating. I keep my hands loose at my sides instead of giving in to the need to clench them over and over. This will be fine. It’s only a conversation.
Then again, I had the home field advantage last time, and he handed me my ass. Maybe this time, he’ll throw something at me? Drown me in the tub? Does a house this small even have a bathtub? I’ll add that to the list of questions I will not be asking him.
I knock, then hold my breath like any man with an ounce of self-preservation would.
And the thing is, I don’t even know if my nerves stem from the fact he so clearly didn’t like us last time or the fact I’m about to face him again for only the second time in my life.
He said he didn’t know a thing about us, which is so hard to wrap my head around when I know probably too much about him.
Warren Porter has been my shadow since I found out about him.
Always there. Lurking in the corners of my mind, looming up behind me whenever something good happens in my life.
The door opens, and my gut turns over, but the man who answers isn’t Warren. He’s much smaller, but there’s something similar about his eyes.
“I’m looking for Warren. Is he home?”
The guy tilts his head. “ Warren ?”
“Ah … Wren?” The name doesn’t feel right coming from me. Too personal. Too intimate.
“No, but he should be back from work soon. Come in.” The man steps aside, letting a complete stranger into his home.
He closes the door behind me, and I follow him down the hall, eyes skimming his slim back and landing on his round ass.
I don’t have much of a type when it comes to men, though my preference tends to skew toward bigger, but this guy is cute.
And judging by the familiar way he’s moving around the house, taken.
I use the term “house” loosely though. It’s basically one room. Kitchen to one side looking out over a living room that can only accommodate two small couches and a TV, and then a dining table shoved in by a hallway that looks like it leads to the bedrooms.
I clear my throat and sit on the stool offered to me at the breakfast bar, setting the envelope I brought with me on the counter.
“So … are you his boyfriend?” I ask bluntly. Warren doesn’t have anything about him up online, but some people are private like that. Still, I don’t like being blindsided.
Only, the man’s face contorts. “What? No. We’re cousins.”
Huh. I guess, in the loosest sense of the word, that makes us family. How would cutie feel to know he’s being checked out by his cousin’s estranged brother?
I silently curse my parents for the mess they’ve gotten me into.
“I’m Remy,” he says, moving around the kitchen. “And you look kinda familiar.”
“I’m Darcy.”
At my name, Remy drops the mug he’s holding. “Wait. You’re Darcy Ritcherson .”
I laugh because Warren’s cousin is all right, even if my face is heating at the recognition. “Yes. But please call me Darcy. Only Darcy. It weirds me out when people do the two-names thing constantly.”
“I can’t make any promises, man.” He watches me through wide eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I’m getting the suspicious feeling that Warren hasn’t told anyone about his father, which works well with my whole “wish he’d disappear off the face of the Earth” thing but not so much with my hopes for this conversation. “That’s probably a question for you to ask him.”
“Did he fuck with something of yours? Because if you’re planning to sue or whatever …” Remy holds his hands out to the side. “Good luck.”
“It’s not that.”
He gasps. “You hooked up, didn’t you? Wow, cuz got the moves.”
Heat washes over me, embarrassed by that question for the both of us. I’m saved from answering by the front door opening and Remy perking up like a pup whose owner has just walked in.
“Wren!” he shouts. “Do you have any clue who the hell you slept with?”
Oh dear god.
“Oh wow,” Remy whispers. “This is a Cinderella moment, isn’t it?”
“What the hell are you—” Warren cuts off the second he sees me. “Get out.”
I almost feel the way Remy’s excitement crashes.
“Not possible. We have things to discuss.”
He snorts, kicking off his heavy work boots, tossing his dirty hat onto the table, and pulling his sweaty T-shirt over his head. My eyes drop to his cut abs and?—
Fuck. Shit. No.
I yank my gaze away and grab the envelope, holding it out in his direction and refusing to look back his way. The second I’m out that front door, I’m calling Carlisle, and we’re going out. Elle was right. Not hooking up for a really long time isn’t good for your health.
“Nah.” Warren heads for the hall and calls back, “I’m having a shower. Remy, make sure he’s gone by the time I’m done.”
A door slams behind him, and Remy turns to me. “Umm … you heard him. Off you go.”
“No can do.” I tap the envelope. “I’m not leaving until he has this.”
“I’ll give it to him.”
“No, I have to do it myself.” Because while I might have been nervous he was going to behave the exact way he just did, I refuse to be intimidated.
Warren read me and my brothers like a book, but I see him too.
He’s acting out like a toddler out of their comfort zone.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I intimidate him too.
“In that case, I’m going to hide in my room.”
“ Wait .”
Remy reluctantly pauses.
“I think I need you.”
“Why?”
“Because your cousin is a stubborn pain in the ass, and I get the feeling you’re going to be on my side in this, and I really, really need an ally here. Or a witness to my murder. Either way.”
“Lucky for you, I’m an EMT.”
“That is a curiously positive coincidence.”
“Unlucky for you, I’m incredibly loyal. If Wren offed you, I’d help him hide the body.”
“Well.” I straighten on the stool. “I’m suddenly feeling a whole lot more confident about this interaction.”
Remy busies himself with finally picking up the thankfully unbroken mug and offering me coffee. Which I decline.
The fewer weapons Warren has to use against me, the better.
It takes a blinding long time for the shower to shut off. What’s he doing in there, jerking off? Oops, no, don’t think about that . But when the sound of water finally stops, I remind myself that I’m the one about to hand him the world, and he can sit down and fucking listen.
Or something like that.
But the second Warren steps back into the room, only wearing a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, my false bravado scurries out the window.
“You’re still here?” he scowls, throwing a glare at Remy.
Remy leans back against the counter, coffee clutched in both hands. “I was told there could be murder. I’m curious.”
Warren fixes him with what’s supposed to be a dry stare, but a smile slips past. Until he looks back at me. “Fine.” He kicks out a chair at the small dining table and throws himself into it. “What do you want?”
I attempt to hand the envelope over again, but he only stares at it for a second and then looks back at me.
“Well, since you’re determined to be difficult, fine.” I throw the paper beside him. “That contains the details of your inheritance.”
“Don’t want it.”
“Then you get rid of it. I refuse to do it for you.”
“Wait—inheritance?” Remy perks up again. “You didn’t sleep together? What is happening?”
Warren stares at me, and I stare right back, refusing to be the one to answer. I’m curious to see what he’s going to say, and I know he’s mentally pressing tacks into my eyeballs by the way his jaw is set, so when he finally does answer, I’m surprised that he goes for the truth.
“Remember how my dad died?”
“Yes …”
“The guy was Warren Ritcherson.”
“Holy fuck. This really is a Cinderella moment.”
I snort at the same time Warren does, and our eyes ping together, then away just as fast.
Remy rounds the counter. “So that makes you two …”
And I’m glad Warren fills in that blank because after the weird blip I had earlier, even thinking the word feels wrong.
“Brothers.”
And I’d do well to remember that.
Remy’s coffee splashes over the table as he sets his mug down and scrambles for the paperwork.
“Hey, don’t—” Warren starts, but it’s too late. Remy tears it open and starts flicking through the paper, eager to see what it involves. And he must find it because his face pales faster than I’ve ever thought actually possible.
“W-Wren … You’re, umm, rich?”
Warren scowls. “That money’s not mine.”
“Sure looks like it is.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Are you having a mental break? Of course you want it.”
And look at that, I was right. Remy is on my side. It’s hard to argue with all those digits, which is why I refused to be the one to donate it on Warren’s behalf, even if he signed it all over. If he wants to get rid of that kind of money, he needs to face it first.
Warren shoves out of his chair. “That asshole couldn’t keep it in his pants, dumped Mom with a kid, and now suddenly I’m supposed to be all grateful? Fuck that.”
I completely understand why he thinks that. “Your mother had no issues with taking what he left her.”
Warren’s anger dries up. “What?”
“She’s set up for life. You are too.”
He numbly shakes his head. “No.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” Remy snaps. “At least give yourself a minute to think about it.”
“Our cousin is incredibly wise,” I say, baiting him. He knows it too. But whatever.
Father wanted us to be nice to Warren, to welcome him into the family, but he never thought to warn us that Warren might be the one who needed the warning.
For the first time since my early twenties, when Father told us he wanted to reach out to Warren, I’m questioning his decision.
Wouldn’t we all have been so much happier to go about our separate lives?
It’s too late now.
Feeling that wall of melancholy trying to settle over me, I stand and straighten my jacket.
“I’ll leave you to it and make contact in a few days.”
“It’d be better if you didn’t.”
“I trust you’ll take time to read that over. Familiarize yourself with your entitlements, and then we can make a plan on how to integrate you into the business.”
“Business?”
I’m not sure what part of that’s confusing to him. “Well, yes. Obviously, you’ll need to take an active part in it in case … you know.”
“I know what?”
And this is the part that really pissed Junior off.
In the case of death, Father’s controlling shares in MediaCorp go to the oldest living heir.
It’s a bloodline clause within the company’s bylaws.
With me being a few weeks older than Warren, that title stays with me, but with confirmation of Warren’s existence, Junior has been bumped down to third.
I have no doubts he was planning to Shakespeare my ass at some point, but plotting two murders will be much harder.
This is the part my brothers never wanted Warren to know, but it’s laid out for him in black and white.
And I know he’s going to hate what I’m about to say as much as they do.
I give Warren the cockiest, smuggest smile I can manage. “In the event that I die with no living heirs … all of my shares in MediaCorp revert directly to you.”