Chapter 3 Callie #2
Words died on my tongue as the sound of a motorcycle cut through the office from the parking lot. I turned in my seat to look past the glass door I had come through in time to see someone park right next to my car.
The man cleared the bike and removed his sunglasses. His mouth turned down into what seemed like a natural frown as he traipsed up the few steps to the door. My confusion turned to alarm, smearing my thoughts into a jumbled mess.
Wes.
I briskly straightened in my seat, facing forward, as the man made his way inside and bobbed his head at Earl.
“Mr. Ryan, so nice of you to join us. Ms. Stone just arrived, so if you want to take a seat, we’ll get started.”
My face was suddenly warm. Why was he here?
Wes made his way around the chair, and his eyes pinned me down before his body claimed the seat.
The intensity of his stare was like stepping into one of those murky lakes that went too deep, too fast. His elbows nearly touched mine with how close the chairs were placed; his knee nearly grazed my foot as he folded himself into the cushioned seat.
I quickly jerked my leg back.
I heard him scoff but didn’t pay it any mind.
“Okay, let’s get things started,” Earl said cheerfully, apparently unaware of the tension between us.
My pulse quickened as two folders were placed in front of us while Earl flipped through a few pieces of paperwork.
“This is the last will and testimony of Simon Stone. Wesley Ryan and Callie Stone are the only two living beneficiaries of his estate.”
I leaned forward, feeling heat creep up my neck.
“Sorry, I think there’s been a mistake. Wes is not family, so he wouldn’t be listed as a beneficiary.”
Earl stared at me, blinking, unbothered by my outburst. I could feel Wesley’s gaze on the side of my face, but I refused to glance over. I had no idea what his relationship was to my dad, but it didn’t change the facts. He wasn’t blood. I was.
“Right, well, that may be true, but Simon Stone named Wesley in his will. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Wes stretched in his chair, forcing his knee to take up even more of my space. I was two seconds away from standing for the rest of the meeting.
“Okay, here we go,” Earl began. “Simon’s bike was left to you, Wesley. He put here in the notes, ‘put it on your show.’” Earl looked up from his paper. “Any idea what that means?”
Wes cleared his throat and replied. “Yeah, I have a television show about restoring bikes and occasionally cars…”
His voice was still gravel deep, something that used to feel like midnight velvet against my skin.
That tenor was like a rope in the middle of a raging storm.
I wasn’t as unaware of his life as I wish I was, or as I really should have been.
I was well aware of his accomplishments with the digital streaming show.
Hell, nearly everyone on planet Earth seemed to know about his freaking series.
According to his Netflix special, he was doing custom work for Hollywood movie stars and even foreign royalty. Did it cut me deeper than a hunting knife when I saw those TV producers zoom in on his chiseled jaw or well-toned body? Fuck yes, it did.
Did I torture myself for days on end, watching all the clips where he’d taken his shirt off and the people on the internet apparently went insane, stitching, duetting, and every other type of sharing to show how drool worthy Wes was? Also yes.
I hated myself for caring. I had moved on.
I remember watching that special right after a hookup.
I was still pulling up my jeans when Wesley’s face popped into view on the television, and my heart nearly flung from my chest. The guy I was with had started telling me all about the famous Wes Ryan, and his garage, and how everyone wanted to have their cars worked on by him.
I remember just sitting there, feeling like I was having an out of body experience.
It was at that point I had kicked my hookup out and cried in the bathtub for an hour.
I didn’t even fill it with water; I just crawled into the empty basin and begged Max to follow me in so I could lean against his massive chest. He never did, but he placed his face next to mine with a worried look in his blue eyes.
“Wes, he also left you whatever remains in his savings and checking accounts and his investments, which were mostly made to your shop from the looks of it. He had a car—older model—that’s been left to you as well.”
Suddenly a swarm of insecurity fluttered behind my chest.
What was I here for? My father didn’t want me. Of course he’d leave everything he ever owned to Wes, because apparently over the past seven years, he’d become the son he never had.
If all I got was his DVD collection or an old dish set, I was going to scream.
“Okay, that seems to be it for you, Mr. Ryan. Ms. Stone, there’s a letter here for you from your father.
He asked that you read it privately. You’ve also been left the property on Belvin Drive.
Looks like ten acres in total and a house registered to the Stone Riders Motorcycle Club? ” Earl looked up, confused.
His beady blue eyes searched my face, and then Wesley’s.
“Do either of you know what that means?”
Wes looked nearly as confused as I felt.
I mean, on some level it made sense—it was my childhood home.
But why was it registered to the club? I dug deep for the ability to appear smug, but it didn’t come, even as I watched Wesley’s Adam’s apple bob and his square jaw tense.
This was obviously not the news he was expecting.
“That’s the clubhouse. You’re sure you didn’t mix up the paperwork? It would have made more sense that he left that to me, or someone who could continue his legacy…it doesn’t make sense he’d leave it to Callie.”
Okay, that fucking hurt.
I was my father’s legacy, and the only reason he wouldn’t have left it to me was because he chose his club over me.
Also, I hated how Wes saying my name sent butterflies erupting in my chest. Scratch that, they were moths.
After all this time, the dust was being kicked up, so they were absolutely moths.
Earl went back through the papers but shook his head.
“I verified all of this myself, ensuring Simon knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe the letter Callie has will explain things better.”
Our eyes all landed on the letter in question. I leaned forward to snag it before Wes got any ideas.
“Well, that’s it. Wes, you’ve got what you need. There’s bank passwords in here and a list of assets. Callie, within the next few weeks the title of the property will be signed over with new paperwork showing your name as the owner.”
Wes leaned forward, leveling Earl with a severe glare.
“People live in that club. They have a right to stay there. What do I need to file to stop her from selling it out from under us?”
Earl looked over at me for help, as if I would assure them that I would never kick anyone out of their home.
I had no idea what I would do, but the idea of owning something that would just be mine was so appealing, I might just kick whoever was there out to get it. When I didn’t say anything, Earl let out a long sigh.
“By the time she gets the title, and the house were to actually go up for sale, that would have been sufficient time for whoever is there to find a new place to go. Even if it wasn’t, all she would have to do is give them ninety days with a certified letter to make it official.
It would be futile fighting her over the sale of the home.
You’d be better off just coming up with an offer yourself to buy it from her. ”
I saw Wes’s jaw do that nerve-jumpy thing.
He was pissed by this news, and it thrilled me to no end that the man who once confessed to pitying me now required a little pity himself. He likely knew there was no way I’d sell to him, even if he offered me triple the worth.
I stood and held out my hand to Earl.
“Thank you for your time. What do you need me to sign? I need to get back to DC.”
Earl handed me a file, and while Wes argued with him to find some way to work around this, I began to sign on all the tabs.
Once I was finished, he handed me an envelope with a pair of golden keys inside.
Dad must have left them when he left the letter.
My heart swelled with emotion. My father was a distant and emotionally negligent jerk, but he was a generous one.
He’d left me his most prized possession, and I had no idea why he’d do that when there was a possibility I’d just burn it to the ground then parcel off the property and buy myself a place in DC.
I pushed through the glass door with the grace of a bull in a china shop and quickly scaled the three concrete steps outside of Earl’s office.
I was rounding the hood of my car when Wes barreled through the exit, his caramel eyes scanning the parking lot.
His gaze went to his bike first, then swung over to me.
Did he think I would have done something to his precious motorcycle?
Maybe I should have.
With the key fob tucked away in my purse, I gave him a sugar-sweet smile and pressed my thumb to the door handle, expecting the lock to slide up just like it always did for keyless entry. Nothing happened.
I lowered my gaze to the handle under my touch and pressed my thumb again, and nothing. Panic squeezed my chest as I began rifling through my purse.
Wes didn’t waste a second. His long legs ate up the space between Earl’s office and my car. I glanced up and saw that his face was a fuming mass of hard lines and furious edges.
“Wes. Don’t,” I warned, my hand still buried in my purse, my other clutching the letter.
But he was already in front of me. His tall stature nearly swallowed me up, his broad chest and strong hands were all I could see as he closed in. Then his right hand went to my clenched fist, and I had to withhold a gasp as his fingers tugged at mine to pry them open.
I wasn’t prepared for the contact.