Chapter Thirty-Five. Rowan
THIRTY-FIVE
Rowan
“You left the office early. Is everything okay?” Holden asks through the speaker in my car.
I turn in to the parking lot with the signage for HENRY WILLIAMS, ESQ., and look around. It’s empty save for a few cars at the far side of the lot. I haven’t been here since the reading of Gran’s will and Rhett’s subsequent tantrum, so it feels a bit bittersweet to be here right now.
“Everything’s fine, why?”
“We seem to be having these same two questions asked a lot lately. That’s why I planned on tonight for us,” he says. “Don’t tell me you’re going to cancel on me.”
“No. I’m looking forward to it.” And I am. The early-morning text telling me we were meeting up tonight—no excuses, was the first time in a few days that all felt a little more right with the world. “More than you know.”
“It’s been days. We have a lot to make up for.” Suggestion laces his tone and has my body aching.
“Promise?”
“Mmm.” He pauses. “I saw you exchanging words with Chad in the parking lot.”
Ah. Yes. The argument over how out of hand this whole wedding thing has gotten and my request for him to help me rein in our moms and keep it simple.
“Yes?”
“How’d he take you breaking off the engagement?”
“Funny.”
“I can help you along with that,” he offers.
“Holden,” I warn.
“Can’t fault a man for trying.”
“Hm. Well, I had a hot date later and left early for some extra prep time to make sure I’m waxed from head to toe for him, but if he’s going to act like this, then…”
“Head to toe?” he murmurs. I know that look he has on his face right now. The one that reflects how desperate he is for me. And just the memory of that look mainlines the sweetest burn to the apex of my thighs. “You know that means I get to be the judge of that later.”
“You’re going to inspect every inch of me?” I ask, glad I was successful in changing the subject.
“No, Rowan. I’m going to pleasure every inch of you. With my tongue. With my fingers. With my lips. With my cock. Be prepared to be deliriously satisfied for hours on end.”
“Mmm.” I’m instantly wet. There’s something about the tone he uses when talking like that, that’s seduction in and of itself.
“I’m not going to complain.” I park the car and stare at the front of the nondescript building, preparing myself for that miserable feeling to hit me that I associate with this place.
“We could change things up. Meet at your place,” I suggest.
“You know we can’t do that. We’ve flown under the radar so far.
You show up there, and we’ll be all over the Westmore proper gossip chain.
You cheating and ruining your engagement to poor ol’ Chad?
” He chuckles. “Never mind I said that. Come to my place. Then we can end this charade once and for all.”
“My place it is. I’ll pick up some wine and stuff to make dinner.”
“You? Make dinner?”
“Goodbye, smart-ass.”
“Goodbye, Sunshine.”
Within seconds, I’m walking through the front door of Henry Williams’s office. I don’t know why I expected there to be a waiting room full of people and a staff harried with stress, but that is definitely not what I’m greeted with.
The place is a ghost town. A sign at the front desk has a QR code to get in touch with the virtual secretary that manages the office.
That unsettled feeling I’ve had ever since talking to Henry the first time returns.
Without caring about boundaries, I walk past the front desk and into the back. Each office I glance into is empty.
“Henry?” I call out as I reach his back office and see him.
He startles and a yelp escapes his lips when he hears my voice. “Oh, my goodness. Rowan Rothschild.” He adjusts his glasses on his nose and runs his hands over his hair that fell out of place with his jump. “What are you doing here? I have meetings? I have—”
“So I’m told regularly by your apparently virtual staff and yet I took a chance that you might have a few minutes for me, and look at that, your office is vacant. Great timing, I guess.”
“Yes. Well.” He fidgets and touches the items on his desk, straightening them a tiny fraction at a time as if he’s nervous by my presence. “Great timing. I, uh, had a cancellation.”
“Either that or for some reason you don’t want to talk to me.”
“No. It’s not that at all.” I help myself to the chair in front of his desk. “I just don’t think a prenup is the best course of action at this point. In fact, I’d advise against one.”
“Really?” What a load of shit.
“Really. Nothing puts tension in a new relationship like thinking your spouse already doesn’t trust you.”
“Huh. That goes against everything I have ever been told by legal counsel.”
He shrugs in response.
“And here I thought you were avoiding me in regards to Gran’s will, but rather you’re avoiding me asking you to write up a prenup that would exclude your nephew from taking me to the cleaners.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” He grimaces.
“Fine. Maybe I am. In that case, let’s talk about Gran.” I fold my hands in my lap like a priss who’s about to get down to business. “Or rather, let’s talk about Gran’s will.”
“What about it?”
“I’d like to see her original signature on the addendum pertaining to my portion of the inheritance. The one adding the two-year stipulation for me.”
“It was signed electronically under her Miriam LLC for confidentiality. I’d be happy to provide the signature custody chain to you. We signed it right here in our office. The IP address on the custody chain will reflect that.”
“Please do, but … Gran was anti-electronic anything. She would have signed it with a pen as she’s always done. She was old-school.”
He goes to say something and stops. “Yes, well, this time around she had to sign it electronically.”
“That doesn’t sound like her.”
He straightens the corners on another stack of folders. “Well, that’s what happened.”
“Why do my questions make you nervous, Henry?”
“They don’t.” Another adjustment of his glasses.
“Huh. Because it would have been highly unethical for you to e-sign the addendum to the will for Gran. In fact, it would make it null and void. What I can’t wrap my head around is—what exactly was in it for you to sign that contract for her?”
“I did no such thing.” He rolls his eyes and waves a hand my way. “You’re letting all this wedding business mess with your head. The question is, why are you asking me to go around your grandmother’s wishes? Why are you having Chad ask and push me to break the law for you?”
It’s my turn to clench my jaw and stare at him.
“Because that is what you’re asking, right? To invalidate your Gran’s wishes which in turn would mean that I risk losing my license to practice?” He adjusts his glasses again. “Now, if I wouldn’t do that, why do you think that I’d falsify Eleanor’s signature?”
“I don’t know. You tell me, because something isn’t sitting right with me,” I challenge.
He chuckles and it drips with the same condescension every other male in this town’s does.
“Miss Rothschild, grief can be a strong emotion. It can make you act out and say inaccurate things that are based solely on emotion. While I appreciate you stopping by, your accusations are unfounded and, frankly, bullshit. Unless you find paperwork proving otherwise, your gran’s will and addendum stand as they are. ”
“Of course they do.”