2. All The Technicalities （Ethan） #2
“When he added his condition, I questioned it. I did my best to understand why, and I was very thorough. However, he was set on it. He didn’t care to elaborate. After the ink was on paper, I had no reason to press him before the end.”
I curse under my breath.
Gramps and his damn secrets.
He hid his illness from everyone until the day he died.
Not wanting us to worry or some shit.
Who knows.
There were never any limits to his pride.
Only his security head, Holden, knew about his condition before he slipped unconscious.
I wasn’t even there to see him off.
Everyone back at the office thought it was a stomach flu.
If I’d only known, I never would’ve let him die alone.
Neither would Margot or Cleo.
He had to know I’d drop everything and come.
Yes, we were in the middle of serious negotiations with Thompson over some new oceanfront property in Massachusetts, and the deal might have fallen through if I’d left abruptly.
But fuck it, that would have been worth it to be by his side when he passed, instead of getting a call from Mom to tell me he was dead.
Cancer.
Fast-moving, relentless, and secret. There was barely any time to diagnose it, and it was way past the treatment window.
He died like he lived his life, always in motion.
And damn if that’s not what I would’ve done, too.
Still, I would have told someone so they could mentally prepare.
Not this.
Not this fuckery.
My hands ball into fists and I force them to loosen. He made his decisions and he’s gone.
There’s nothing I can do.
Just like this atrocious conditional inheritance.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” Miss Wilkes says gently. “I understand the whole situation is a shock.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I mutter.
“You’re welcome to consult as many lawyers as you’d like, though I fear it won’t change the outcome.”
I wave away the thought.
Of course, she doesn’t think it will, and of course I’m going to hire them anyway. And of course, knowing my luck, they won’t find a goddamned mouse turd worth anything.
“There’s some good news,” she says softly.
Exhaling, I turn to face her. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“The will specifies the marriage only needs to last six months.”
Huh?
Only six months?
And that’s the good news?
Fucking peachy.
Six months of maintaining an unwanted bizarro marriage to a girl I tormented, and that’s not considering everything else associated with it, like a big showy wedding.
At least there’s an out, I suppose.
If the inheritance passes to me, I’ll be an extremely rich man and a public figure to boot.
You don’t just throw together a wedding with a complete stranger on a whim when you’re a Blackthorn.
Although, hell, maybe that’s what I should do.
We can jet off to Vegas and find the tackiest neon chapel, Elvis impersonator and all.
If Gramps wants a spectacle, I’ll give him one.
Public image be damned.
“And I don’t get my inheritance until I’ve tied the knot?” I ask.
“That’s also a bit more positive. As soon as you officially agree to marry Miss Sage and announce it publicly, you can assume your place as head of Blackthorn Holdings.
Once the marriage hits its six-month mark from the wedding date, the estate passes to you.
You’ll be clear to proceed as you see fit. ”
I grit my teeth. “And if I decide not to marry her?”
“Then Blackthorn Holdings cannot pass to you. The terms are very clear about that.”
Yes, I knew the answer, but it still pisses me off.
This company will only be mine if I play along. A stupid damn game designed for a reason no one seems to know and no one cares about except me.
“Does Hattie know yet?” I ask.
“She does. I briefed her this morning, per your sister’s advice. She practically insisted when she saw the will yesterday.”
“And?”
“And what?”
For a moment, I try to picture little Hattie like I remember, her curly blonde hair that never stayed in a bun and timid green eyes. Round spectacles, pale white skin, this baby fat she could never seem to lose well into her teens.
The girl always looked at me like she was petrified.
At the time, I loved it.
“How did she take it?”
Wilkes takes a moment to answer. “I’d say she was a little rattled.”
I snort loudly.
If Hattie feels anything like I do, she’s more than just rattled .
But that’s just it—I don’t know the first thing about Hattie now.
I don’t know if she still hates me.
I don’t know what she’s thinking at all.
“No surprise,” I say. “It’s not every day you get pushed into a marriage you never asked for. What girl dreams of that? But will she agree if—if, for some unearthly reason—there’s no way out of it?”
Miss Wilkes does another disapproving lip press. It’s impressive how she can convey so much irritation with such slight expressions.
“Miss Sage required a cool compress to revive her,” she says. “I believe your sister took her home immediately.”
“She fainted?” I frown.
“The shock was rather intense.”
Holy fuck.
My gut churns, but I push the feeling aside.
“I need to see her,” I growl.
Wilkes stands.
“If I may, Mr. Blackthorn, I advise you to take a few days to think about this. Consult a few outside attorneys to look into this matter, if you wish. But please treat it seriously.”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I snap. “This is my whole future. I don’t appreciate the implication that I won’t give it due diligence.”
“I just mean this is an unusual and stressful predicament for everyone involved.” Miss Wilkes rises to her feet. “My hope is, after you’ve given Miss Sage ample time to process, you’ll approach her with empathy. For her sake and yours.”
Empathy?
I almost laugh in her face.
Sure, Jackie Wilkes is concerned about Hattie because she apparently has the constitution of a hummingbird or some shit. But I’m the guy being asked to marry my sister’s second shadow.
Hattie damn Sage.
What does she even look like now?
Is she still a book nerd who won’t wear anything less revealing than a full grandma bathing suit?
Is she more than a fragment from a nightmare I vowed to forget?
Oh, I’ll give her empathy, all right.
But first I need to see her face-to-face.