Chapter 2
Wesley
Choosing to move in silence and being rendered speechless were two very different things. I had barely escaped the family-slash-business meeting with my job, which was bad enough.
Yesterday, I would’ve left that meeting with an idea.
Yesterday, I would’ve formulated a plan to win Granny’s trust back before I’d even entered the elevator.
Yesterday, there would’ve already been meetings on the calendar, irons in the fire. Something to mitigate the crisis that I’d caused.
But today …
So many thoughts were running through my head, too many questions that needed answers. None of them had anything to do with Batchelor Corp. None of them had anything to do with Granny or her approval. All of them had everything to do with Albany.
Who asked her to come? That answer was obvious. Granny. Because once Albany greeted everyone except me, she’d disappeared into my grandmother’s office.
What did Granny want with her? No one showed up on that floor without an invitation. And Joyce Batchelor had never wasted time on meaningless meetings.
“This is some freakin’ bullshit.” Erica slammed my door, kicked off her shoes, stomped over to the love seat in the corner of my office, and slumped down onto the cushion.
“Who the hell makes their grandkids get married?” she shouted, frustration rolling off her in waves.
“This isn’t Bridgerton. I’m not walking around here in floor-length dresses, short-ass bangs, and long gloves up to my elbows.
I’m not some chaste maiden waiting to get deflowered and knocked up by an ugly-as-fuck man with a title. This is toxic behavior.”
Staring at my sister, I grumbled, “Stop panicking. You’re not getting auctioned off to the highest bidder.”
Erica ranted about marriage, men, and unrealistic expectations for several minutes, while my mind drifted back to Albany.
When did she get here? Not that she would’ve called me when she crossed state lines, but it was common knowledge that Albany hated Michigan.
Once she graduated, she’d high-tailed it out of Dodge and rarely looked back.
Detroit wasn’t a small city by any means, but we’d traveled in the same circles for years and I had never run into her.
Not at an event. Not at the gym. Not at a restaurant. And definitely not at work.
Where is her husband? The fact that Albany married some useless muthafucka still irritated me. I didn’t need to know where that guy was, and I didn’t really care. Is she still married, though?
Why do I even care? Because I just did. I always cared about Albany. More than I would ever admit.
Erica clapped her hands, drawing my gaze back to her. “You didn’t see the email?”
How fucked up am I? No comment. Another obvious answer. Fed up with myself and the questions in my head, I sighed and refocused my attention back to my little sister, who’d jumped up and paced the office. “Email?”
Muttering a curse, Erica gestured toward my laptop. “Where are you, brother? Granny sent us a summary. Of the meeting?”
Frowning, I scrolled through my unread messages. Other than the typical mailbox fodder, there was nothing out of the ordinary. “What are you talking about?”
“Obviously, I’ve been talking to your wall. Check your personal email.”
I opened my private account and spotted the message in question. I scanned the text quickly, then met my sister’s waiting gaze. “Shit.”
She planted a hand on her hip. “Still think I’m panicking?”
As I reread the email, I wondered what my grandmother was really going through. I thought back to the meeting, to Granny’s demeanor. Other than her obvious irritation with me, nothing signaled there was anything wrong. But this … The message was brief, but clear.
You are required to go on a date with someone of my choosing. Over the next few weeks, I’ll meet with each of you individually to discuss. I expect your full cooperation.
“Can you talk to her?” Erica asked.
I frowned. “Who?”
Erica let out a dramatic sigh. “Granny! Damn!”
The door swung open, and Hendrix entered the office. “You know this is fucked up, right? First, she tells us we need to get married before she dies. Now, she wants to play matchmaker?”
“See! We’re the Black Bridgertons.” Erica opened my small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. “I’m not getting married for a check.”
Hen glanced at Erica. “How much is it, though?”
My sister rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “I’m not doing it.”
“Enough,” I ordered. I needed time to process everything that had happened today. As much as I loved my sister, Erica’s tendency to overreact made me tired as hell. “Let me think.”
“This is your fault, Wes,” Hen announced.
“That part,” Erica agreed. “Granny was on the warpath because your ass can’t keep your dick in your pants.”
I glared at her. “Do you really think Granny pulled this wedding shit out of her ass because of some TikTokker?”
“You have a point,” Hen conceded. “She had to have come up with this months ago.” He crossed his leg over his knee. “Business deal?”
While Granny was ruthless in the boardroom, there was no doubt she loved my grandfather. She’d devoted her life to him and had never even considered remarrying after his untimely death. It seemed unlikely she’d use us as a bargaining chip for some sort of financial payoff.
I shook my head. “Nah. I don’t see it.”
Erica raked a hand through her hair. “It feels so unexpected. A provision in Grandad’s will that we don’t know about?” Erica suggested.
“I doubt it,” Hen said. “This is all her.”
I had no memories of John Batchelor Sr., only the stories told to me by my grandmother and my father.
From everything I’d heard, my grandfather valued his family above all else and he was known just as much for his kind nature as his business acumen.
And since he’d passed away before there were any grandchildren, I doubted Granddad had concocted a marriage plan for us.
“Wes!”
The sound of both shouting my name grabbed my attention again. “What?”
Erica arched a questioning brow. “Do you even care?”
“I actually don’t care.” I ducked when an ink pen whizzed past my head. Chuckling, I said, “You’re a little over the top with this, sis.” I eyed my cousin. “You, too. Our grandfather has nothing to do with this. Like Hen said, it’s all Granny.”
Erica glanced at Hen, then back at me. She nibbled on her thumbnail, something she always did when she was nervous or scared or sad. “What if she’s sick?”
The thought of life without Granny was too much to consider, especially today. “She’s not,” I assured them. And myself.
“You don’t know that,” Erica argued. “Would she even tell us?”
“Probably not,” Hen muttered.
“Even healthy people die.” Erica swallowed. “You know that. Look at Dad.”
I closed my eyes. My sister had a rose-colored view of Cedric. She believed our father hung the moon and the stars. And I’d never had the heart to ruin that image for her. Because my role as big brother had always been to protect her.
“It’s already hard enough,” Erica continued, tears filling her brown eyes. “Today is—”
“I can’t do this right now,” I interrupted. “Granny is fine. Give it a few months and she’ll turn her attention to something else.”
Hen shot me a skeptical look. “You don’t even believe that. Even you have to admit this is weird.”
Of course, I don’t believe that shit. Which was a problem because if I’d learned anything from my father it was the importance of believing my own lies.
Especially if I wanted someone else to buy in.
Shrugging, I said, “It is weird,” I confessed.
“But it doesn’t mean Granny is dying or even deathly ill. ”
“She is getting older,” Hen argued. “We all know how tragedy can strike with little warning.”
It had only been three years since Hen’s sister passed away suddenly. The entire family had been devastated because Halle had been a shining star, the only cousin that got along with everyone. Including John. Her death had thrown us all for a loop.
Erica’s expression softened. “I miss her too, cuzin.”
Hen sucked in a deep breath. “I’m just sayin’. We didn’t expect my sister to die either. But she did. We don’t know what Granny is hiding.”
“True,” I agreed. “Let’s think about what we do know then. Granny can think all of us under the table—and outrun most of us on our best day. She hasn’t shown any indication that she’s slowing down or even thinking about retiring. She’s still kicking ass—at work and at home.”
Erica shook her head. “Wes, she basically told us we had to get married before she dies to access any of our inheritance. It feels like a dying wish.” She smacked Hen on his shoulder. “Tell him.”
Hen hunched a shoulder. “It definitely sounds like a last request.”
“Don’t y’all have work to do?” I asked, opening my laptop. I didn’t have the bandwidth to commiserate with them over the whole marriage thing. I’d already wasted too much time thinking about Albany, drowning in the memories of her.
“I can’t believe you’re not worried about this.” Erica gasped. “Oh.”
My eyes flashed to hers. “What?”
She shrugged. “Of course, you’re not worried. The woman you wanted to marry just breezed back into your life.”
“Ah.” Hen smirked. “That’s right. Albany is back in town. Coincidence?”
“And she’s meeting with Granny as we speak,” Erica chimed in. “Wonder what that’s about?”
Glaring at my sister, I grumbled, “That’s their business. It has nothing to do with me.”
“Granny said all of us had to get married, brother.” Erica crossed her legs and leaned in. “That means you, too.”
The thought of marrying Albany had never crossed my mind.
At least, not since we were younger. And not until my damn sister just mentioned it.
While Granny was convincing, Albany was resolute.
She hated me. It’s my fault. She was also never one to follow orders blindly—even if it involved money. “Albany is not here for me.”
“You don’t know that.”