Chapter 5
WREN
“M aybe we should contemplate murder after all,” Remy mutters to me, but not quietly enough.
Darcy laughs.
I turn to Remy. “Can you please go do something while I get rid of him?”
“To be clear, you mean make him leave, right? Because I may joke about murder, but cousins don’t let each other murder people. We’re too pretty for prison, and we already have enough money from your inheritance to live in a mansion.”
He’s too pretty for prison, maybe, but I sure as shit am not. My brain gets caught on the other thing though.
“ We have enough money?” I ask.
“Yeah. You let me live with you because you love me like a brother—” He turns to Darcy. “No offense. And I needed a place. If you move, I move. Especially if it’s going to be into a mansion.”
“No mansion. No money. I’m not taking it.”
Darcy turns to Remy. “Has he always been this stubborn?”
I say no at the same time Remy says yes. Traitor.
Darcy stands. “Look, I’m not going to force you to keep the money.
When it all clears, you’re free to do whatever you want with it.
Donate it, set it on fire … buy your cousin a mansion and refuse to live in it yourself.
But you have an opportunity here to get what you’re entitled to. The Ritcherson fortune could be?—”
“Hush money? My mom might have taken a handout from necessity, but I like my life. I love my job. Or I did until photographers started showing up asking who I am and how I’m tied up with the Ritchersons.
Do you know how much shit I’m getting at work for even going to that stupid funeral and all the public speculation about who I am?
Who my mother is? I don’t need fancy things or to run some big-ass greedy company.
What I want is to be left alone.” Especially by the man who is the alternate reality version of me.
If things had been different, would I be here, trying to talk Darcy into taking the money?
The harder I think about it, the more I realize I probably would.
“Being left alone isn’t as easy as taking the money and then setting it all on fire. If you want to forfeit your inheritance, there’s a mountain of paperwork to file. Please don’t add to my workload.”
I fold my arms, contemplating telling him that making his life inconvenient wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Tit for tat and all that shit.
“All you have to do is sign this document on the tabbed pages for the lawyers involved in Father’s will that says you’ve been informed of your inheritance.
Then you can do whatever you want when the money clears.
You should also maybe pray I don’t die so you’re not stuck with a company you don’t know what to do with. ”
“Oh, I’d know what to do. I’d strip every small business, every asset the company owns, and sell it for parts. So yeah, maybe you better hope you don’t die because I know without a doubt that would be the worst thing I could do to Daddy Dearest.”
Darcy’s lips quirk. “I think you might be right about that.”
I glance at the papers on the table. “I’m not signing anything without reading it over.”
“You can have a courier deliver them to MediaCorp’s Seattle office when they’re signed.”
“I’ll drop them off myself. If I sign at all.”
“Believe me, if you’re looking for the easiest way out of this, sign the paper.
Get the money. Flush it down the toilet or blow it all in Vegas.
Your call. Otherwise, you’ll be seeing me for months as we go back and forth with lawyers, legal disclaimers, and a nonstop paperwork headache.
Please, just take the money.” Darcy turns, confident and casual, and heads for the door.
I hate him.
No, I hate that I’m jealous of him.
I hate that I want to know more about him. About what my life could have been. Which is ridiculous and irrational because I wasn’t lying. I do love my life and what I do. I’m not a materialistic person.
But … who would I have grown into had things been different?
With Darcy, I could find out that answer.
“You should do it,” Remy says softly. “Not only take the money, but you should work at the company. What better way to get to know your family?”
I’m still staring at the door where Darcy left. With him gone, the fight leaves me. My shoulders sag in defeat. “You’re my family. Not him.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me who your father was?” Remy doesn’t sound hurt exactly, but there’s guilt all the same.
“Because he abandoned me. Abandoned Mom. And I never planned on having anything to do with the guy. I don’t even know why he left me anything.”
“Guilt, maybe?”
“That’s a cop-out. He puts it on my conscience so he can clear his? See? He’s an asshole.” I pause. “ Was an asshole. And each of his kids, my so-called brothers, inherited that same asshole trait. You should’ve seen the way they all looked down on me at the wake.”
Remy shrugs. “Darcy didn’t seem so bad to me, but if you learn how to take over the business, you could show them that you’re capable without their money or education.”
“Sounds like a totally smart idea if not for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I have no fucking clue how to run a conglomerate, and if I went there to show them I’m as good as they are, I would never measure up.”
And isn’t that the kicker? After all these years of resentment held toward my father and the Ritcherson family, it isn’t about the money.
I never grew up wanting. Sure, we weren’t rich by any means—Mom still worked even though, apparently, she didn’t need to—but I can’t say she didn’t give me everything I could ever want or need.
So it’s not the money. It’s not that they grew up all over the world and live in mansions and are richer than God.
It’s that no matter what I do, no matter how I live my life, I will always be not good enough for them.
I wasn’t good enough for my father.
And I’m not good enough for them.
“I’m not doing it.”
End of discussion.
* * *
“I can’t believe you made me do it,” I complain as I stand outside MediaCorp’s office building in Downtown Seattle. “Or that you came with me. That’s weird. Don’t be weird, Remy.”
“I’m not going to go in there with you. I just want to make sure you actually go through with it so you don’t come home and lie about doing it.”
He knows me too well.
“It’s bad enough I signed this thing.” I hold up the legal documents. “Now I have to go in there and ask for a job? A job I don’t even want?”
“I think deep down you do. And you won’t have to ask. I get the impression if Darcy Ritcherson wants something, he’s going to keep chasing it until it’s his. He’ll be the one to ask.”
“I hope you’re right because asking these people for anything makes my skin crawl.”
If Darcy were to offer, I’ve already spoken to my boss, Jake.
He’s an amazing guy to work with, and because I’m technically a subcontractor, I can put in unavailability for jobs.
After hearing about my situation, he said he’d take me back whenever I’m ready because I’m reliable, and that’s hard to find in my industry.
The only thing is, I’m not sure this is a paying position with MediaCorp. Or if it’s even a real position at all.
The papers feel hot in my hands, reminding me that if I truly need money, my inheritance will be there, and it has more zeros than I can count.
But I’m adamant I’m not going to use any of it. Would accepting a paying position at the company be any different than touching the money that will be wired into my account as soon as this document is lodged?
Somehow Remy talked me into coming here despite me knowing this will blow up in my face. It’s obvious Junior and Tobias already look down on me. This is going to give them more ammunition.
Remy slaps my shoulder. “Go do your thing. You’ve got this.”
I so don’t have this.
I’m not even sure I know what this is.
I don’t know what I’m doing here.
As if hearing my thoughts, Remy says, “Nuh-uh. No turning back.”
I force my feet forward, grumbling all the way about how supportive family is sometimes even worse than a dismissive one.
Inside the lobby, there’s an elevator bank and a security desk.
People in office attire bustle their way onto elevators, but I don’t even know which floor to go to, and the security guys are staring at me, no doubt wondering what a guy in jeans is doing here.
Hey, I wore a button-down shirt for this and left my high-vis vest at home. This is me being classy.
I approach the desk. “I’m here to see Darcy Ritcherson.” My voice cracks. Damn it.
“Do you have an appointment?”
Nope. “He’s expecting me. Can you tell him Wren Porter is here to see him?”
He looks down at a list of names. “You’re not on the list.”
Is this a fucking nightclub?
I hate that inferiority grips me and my first instinct in response is to amend my name. “Sorry, let me speak more clearly. I’m Warren Ritcherson-Porter. My brother Darcy will want to speak to me.”
The guy’s eyes widen, and he scrambles to pick up the phone and hit a number. “Hello, sir. I have a Warren Ritcherson-Porter here to—oh. Okay. Yes. I’ll send him on up.” When he hangs up, I narrow my gaze at his name tag.
“Thanks, Chris.” I go to walk away when I realize I have no idea where I’m going. “Uh, what floor am I going to again?”
“F-orty-two. Sir.”
I don’t want to be that dick , and I’m not going to go up there and tattle to Darcy how Chris refused to give me the time of day until I dropped the Ritcherson name and then demand he should be fired, but if Chris sweats for a while, I’m okay with that.
It’s already started. Being looked down upon, and that was just to try to get my foot in the goddamn door. As soon as I dropped that name though—bam, I’m on my way up to …
I get in the elevator and see that forty-two is the highest the building goes. Of course it is.
The elevator opens to a reception area with plush couches and even a barista bar to order coffee. The view of all the other high-rises surrounds the foyer with panoramic windows that span the entire building.
I’m almost too intimidated to step off the elevator, but then I see Darcy standing next to the receptionist and staring at me with a cocky smile on his face.
I clear my throat and step forward, shuffling my way over to him.
I’m suddenly cut off by some guy in a suit, sideswiping me from the right.
“Mr. Ritcherson, while you’re free, I really need a signature on these business proposals for the new property agreement?—”
“I’ll be with you in one second,” Darcy says to me and takes the paper out of the guy’s hand. He skims the document, hums, and then says, “This is the best deal they offered? And it was agreed upon?”
“Yes, but it includes?—”
He shakes his head. “Go back to them and say we’ve changed our minds.”
“But—”
“Trust me. They can do better than that. If they don’t offer something better, I’ll eat my hat.”
Could he sound any more pretentious? Even eat my hat sounds posh coming from his mouth.
Darcy turns to me. “Right this way, Mr. Warren Ritcherson-Porter .”
I grunt. “That was a necessity so I’d actually get listened to around here.”
I follow him to the massive office, the only office on the left-hand side of the reception.
“Aww, so I can’t say welcome to the family, officially?” Even when he’s being snarky, he’s so put together.
“No,” I grumble.
“Those for me?” He gestures toward the documents in my hand.
As I stare down at them, I have second thoughts. If I get this money and I don’t donate it immediately, it’s going to be too tempting to spend it. I know it will be.
But at the same time, taking a chunk away from the Ritcherson brothers warms my cold, dead heart a little.
I hand the documents over before I change my mind.
“Thank you.” He moves behind his desk and takes a seat. “Now, are we going to discuss the inevitable, or are you still throwing your temper tantrum over having to learn the business?”
This is where I should tell him to fuck off and walk away. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue too, but this is what I was wanting. For him to bring it up again.
“What are the chances of you leaving me alone if I don’t relent?”
He pretends to think. “Slim to none. If you’re going to be part of this business, you’re going to learn really fast that Ritchersons get what they want.”
I fold my arms. “Considering I’m technically one of you, I’m going to call bullshit because I didn’t want any of this.”
“Yet you’re here.”
Yes. I am. “Not going to lie, I kind of want to see how my life would’ve turned out had you not existed.”
Something like guilt flashes across his face before he schools it. “Funny thing is I often used to think the same about you. Or, at least, what my life would have been like had I been you.”
My demeanor softens toward him. Slightly. The rational part of my brain knows Darcy had no say in the choices our parents made back then, but that doesn’t stop the irrational part that asks why him and not me.
“Look at that. Maybe we have something in common after all.” I take a seat in the chair opposite him. “Okay. Teach me how to run this bitch.”