Chapter 19
Nineteen
Dare
I grit my teeth and glare at my twin, my legs spread wide, and my fingers itching to do him harm.
He leans against one corner of Remy’s desk, glowering at me.
Remy watches both of us from his broad desk, rocking back in his chair.
My uncle Felix and my father are like a set of stone gargoyles, each perched in their corners of the office and watching our fight passively.
Burn slaps a hand down on the desk, drawing my attention.
"It’s obvious I’ve already won. I think that because I am so much closer to being married and having a child, I should be rewarded by being named the next CEO after Remy."
I roll my eyes and look at Remy, pleading my case. "He doesn’t even have either of the qualifications that are necessary to win the race. He’s having a hard time making Daisy move the wedding date up. That’s why he is pulling this stunt."
Burn stands up, shooting me a glare, and then waving around the room. "I think we all agree on the facts. Simply put, Dare is getting nowhere with his desperate search to find a bride. He isn’t going to win. So, I think that it is only fair to go ahead and name me the successor now."
He turns, directing his speech to Remy himself. "I pretty much have it in the bag. And despite what Dare says, I am persuading Daisy to move the wedding up."
I give a sharp, cold laugh. "I doubt that. I also doubt that she is ready to be a mother. When we were dating, she was not even sure that she would have a single child, much less an heir and a spare."
My brother frowns at me, crosses his arms, and taps his foot. "When you were engaged, she was a different person. She met me and decided to change. She says that with me by her side as a partner, she can do anything. Including having ten kids, if that’s what I want."
"You know what? You fucking suck. And you're an asshole. But that doesn’t even matter. Because I have a plan that is already in motion. And shortly, you’ll all see just what it is. Trust me, it’s great. At least, it is for me.”
Burn’s body tenses, his hands balling into fists. He narrows his eyes toward my face. I can tell that he’s ready for violence.
Do I smirk at him? Or do I give him the same blank face that I have worked so hard to perfect?
"Fuck you!" Burn snarls. "I’ll fucking destroy you."
"I don’t see how, when I am going to win this competition and take over the family business."
Remy stands up with a suddenness that I wasn’t expecting.
He scowls at everyone in the room, then slowly turns to Burn.
"Burn, I’m not going to declare you the de facto winner just yet.
I can’t be certain that you will give me a great-grandchild until you put that baby in my arms. And no, before you ask, adopting a child is not an option.
It must be Morgan blood coursing through the veins of whatever child you bring in here. "
My Uncle Felix stirs from the corner, rising from his chair and almost languidly walking over to the three of us.
"No one is asking the important question.
What if one or both are impotent?" He flashes a vicious smile.
"I think you should include me in the race too. Let me do what your grandsons obviously can’t do.
I can lock down a wife this week and be trying to get her pregnant as soon as tonight. "
Remy straightens his back, the movement appearing to be excruciating.
He peers at my uncle, his lips curling. "Absolutely not. You had your chance, Felix. You blew it. And as for the twins being impotent? He swings his gaze around to us, making me straighten my spine with a single, cold look. “You’ll see. You’ll all see.
These boys are my flesh and blood. They’ll prove themselves virile. "
"But Remy…" Burn tries to cut in.
Slicing his hand through the air decisively, Remy is done listening to us bicker. "That’s enough. Now get moving. I have better things to do than to listen to you whine. And boys? I expect to hear big news from you very soon. Don’t disappoint me."
Reflexively, the idea of what disappointing Remy looks like chills my veins.
"Dad, I was wondering if I could get a minute to talk to you about a new business venture." My father stands up, straightening the cuff of his wrinkled blue Oxford shirt.
"I don’t think so. Fuck off now. I have actual business to do."
Remy waves his hand dismissively and turns his back on us.
I shake my head, because Remy was right. This was an immense waste of my time.
As I am leaving Remy’s study, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, scanning the text messages that I have received in the last thirty minutes with a bored, slightly annoyed eye. Then I see it.
A text from Talia Chance. Licking my lips, I open the message. It only says one word:
yes.
I stop in place, looking up thankfully and pumping my fist with a low hiss. "Yes."
Burn walks by me, purposefully slamming his shoulder into mine and sneering at me as he stalks past. But I hardly notice him.
Talia has just made my fucking day. No, she has made my whole life.
It’s stupid that all my life choices have been reduced down to this little display of who wants Remy’s love the most. But if Talia is convinced, I can move forward with my plan.
I head out of the estate, my mood shifting. I can’t seem to stop grinning like an idiot. As I climb into my Porsche, I make a phone call by pressing one of the buttons on the dashboard.
"Call my lawyers," I command. A second later, one of my lawyers picks up his phone.
"Mr. Morgan," he says. "I didn’t expect to hear from you before the deep sea drilling mineral rights were ready to be purchased. What can I help you with?"
"I need a prenuptial agreement," I say. I pull out of the driveway and head toward the town of Harwicke. "I’ll text you the nitty-gritty details, but I need an ironclad contract. I am paying two hundred and fifty thousand now and two hundred and fifty thousand when she has our first baby. I want to be certain that there is a nondisclosure agreement built in about the money, too. She can’t breathe a word about being paid or her child’s paternity to anyone. ”
"Wow, okay. Most prenuptial agreements require both partners to wait a certain amount of time, say five years, before becoming fully vested. And then, of course, at ten or twenty years, there should be some wiggle room just in case you decide to divorce."
"No. We’re not going to divorce. I want to make sure that she will never leave me. I want her to feel like she will be crushed if she decides to divorce."
My lawyer clears his throat. "I see. Well, we can talk about ways to do that."
"Great. When you have a contract for me to look at, email it to me."
"Okay," he says. But before he can speak again, I cut the call off.
I pay him a fuckton of money. I don’t need to be nice on top of that.
I quickly dictate a text to my personal assistant, asking to meet him because I have a lot of news for him.
He replies with an address, and I gun the engine, heading into Harwicke.
I pull up outside Herbsaint, the bar that Tristen introduced me to. It’s in a trendy part of town where there are tons of mixed-use buildings and warehouse lofts. I check the address and head into a building that sits across the street, five stories tall and newly refurbished.
The doorman greets me, asking me if I am Mr. Morgan. I tell him that I’m here to meet Rob, and he sends me up a newly installed stainless-steel elevator to the top floor. I step out, expecting construction or maybe an art gallery or something.
But the elevator opens into a huge, airy space with a kitchen on the left and a stylish and sleek living room to my right. Behind those rooms, there are rice paper walls dividing the rest of the spaces from my view.
Rob peeks his head out from behind the rice paper divider in the living room, his eyes full of excitement. "Isn’t this place just everything?"
He gestures to the newly refinished walls, which are matte dark blue on the bottom and slick cream on the top. I look around, taking in the luxury finishes.
There are colorful chandeliers, each one a different shade of pale blue or light yellow.
The metal finishes on every surface are chrome and bronze, and the marble floors gleam with gold accents.
The living room has white couches that are lined with soft pillows.
Overall, it looks like a lot of expense has gone into designing this apartment, if that’s what it is.
"It’s nice," I say. "What’s it for?"
“Well, it’s just been built out by a luxury design firm. You were saying that you wanted to rent or buy a place close to home that wasn’t the estate or the hotel you live in." He looks all around him, gesturing to the whole apartment. "What do you think? It’s very swanky."
I exhale, looking around. "What’s it on the market for?"
"My realtor friend says that it’s priced at five million. But since you can buy the property without any outside financing, I was thinking that you could offer four-point-four million for it."
Squinting at it I think for a second. "It could be nice to have a base of operations here instead of living out of the hotel. Plus, I have a new fiancée who would probably find the idea of having a home important."
Rob turns to me, running his thumb under his lapels. He has a look like he was just smacked in the face. "I’m sorry; I must have misheard you. Did you say you had a fiancée?"
"That’s right, I am engaged."
Saying the words out loud feels odd. I don’t think of myself as a romantic at heart, and yet there is some part of me that resists the title of fiancée.
I know that I am not actually going to be swept up in a bunch of hokey, sappy feelings for Talia or anything.
But a teeny, tiny sliver of my boyhood self struggles with my now-impending marriage.
Crushing that feeling to the ground and flinging it aside, I smile. “I’m getting married. That’s exactly what is going to happen. As soon as possible.”