Chapter 1 #3
That’s almost certainly a reference to the old days. Back when he was babysitting me, he had to tell more than one guy to go home.
How many times did he catch me trying to sneak out to hook up with a local boy or two during my high school visits here?
“Yeah, but…” My voice trails off. “We all have our secrets, I guess. Even PopPop. Isn’t that why we’re here?”
His frown deepens. “Kit was never a secret.”
“Dad, it’s fine,” the little girl whispers.
I fold my arms as I glare back at his smug face, noting all the wear that seems new.
He must be pushing forty now. There are tiny, faint lines around his eyes and the subtle hint of grey around his temples.
I don’t remember that from the times when I had him tearing his hair out.
Worse, the grey adds something to his appearance, giving him this distinguished look he totally doesn’t deserve. The newer lines highlight the deep darkness in his eyes.
He’s on his way to silver fox. The man could clean up in any big city dating market, and I hate it.
If the little girl is really about ten, I would’ve been around twelve or thirteen when he had her.
It shouldn’t rub me so raw.
It’s not like I expected to know anything about his life, but he basically lived with us. I never even had a hint that he might have a family, a life beyond serving as PopPop’s intimidating guard dog.
I never once considered it.
His personal life just didn’t matter in the slightest. He turned up, made my life miserable, and then I went back home to Dad and that was the end of it.
“Hi,” Kit says shyly. She offers me her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Oh? Did this brute actually mention me?
She’s pretty. I noticed before, but as I step forward to shake her hand, I see it more clearly.
She shares her father’s looks, but it’s a friendlier version. She doesn’t look like she was born to frown.
“It’s cool to meet you,” I say. “I’m Cleopatra. Cleo for short.”
“That’s a great name!” She giggles and turns away.
Holden glowers at me from his impressive height. I’m annoyed that he’s still taller than anyone else I’ve ever met.
Taller than any man missing a personality has any right to be.
It’s just as surprising he isn’t in his James Bond suit today, which was practically his uniform. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so dressed down in a sweater and jeans.
There must be a reason behind it, or maybe he’s managed to mellow out with age.
But when he’s this close, sculpted muscles under that painted-on black sweater, it’s a little much.
The whole package is too much.
I step back as a muscle twitches in his jaw. His gaze flicks to the bleached white stripe in my hair and then down to the hem of my shirt.
His scowl sharpens like a knife.
I bet he’s disgusted that I’m decked out in black but it’s still not formal enough for the big meeting in this mausoleum of a house. Or else he’s just sick that he has to lay eyes on me again. He thought it would never happen, I’m sure.
Same, dude. Same.
“Well, I’m glad we’re all acquainted.” Wilkes comes to our rescue in that sleek, professional way.
She must smell the tension. Her face shows no sign.
I half wonder if she served overseas with Holden himself in some war zone before Gramps hired him. She’s the one person on his old payroll who might hold her own with this ogre.
“I appreciate you both accommodating this meeting today. Especially on such short notice in your case, Mr. Verity.”
I step back, mostly to get some more space from Holden. He’s so big he feels stifling from ten feet away.
Holden nods curtly. “You said this concerns Miss Blackthorn’s inheritance?”
Miss Blackthorn. I wince internally.
That’s also new. I don’t like it.
Even when we were on the worst terms, he’d rip on my name.
Nile Queen. Later shortened to just Nile.
Ohhh, I hated it. I half expect him to hit me in the face with it now.
But perhaps he’s trying to show me a sliver of respect. Or else he just doesn’t know what to do with a grown-up Nile Queen who still looks like she’s about to be a very royal pain in his very tight ass.
Miss Blackthorn or not, he sees me as that kid, the spoiled little queen.
Not that I blame him, either. I don’t feel much like a Miss Blackthorn now. Not the kind of Blackthorn who’d fit neatly in PopPop’s larger than life world, and not the disgraced black sheep identity Dad created.
I feel like a Cleo.
“Yes, correct,” Wilkes says. “I’ve already debriefed Miss Blackthorn about her inheritance, so we’re free to move downstairs to view the final piece. This is the one that pertains to you, Mr. Verity.”
Oh yeah, the artwork. I almost forgot with his dramatic entrance.
But why is he here again?
What’s he got to do with some old treasure my grandfather left me?
Nothing makes sense.
Jackie Wilkes glances at me when I don’t move. “Are you coming, Miss Blackthorn? You’ll want to see this. It won’t disappoint.”
There’s a firmness to her tone that tells me it’s not a question.
“Sure, sure. I’m coming.”
“Good. Shall we?”
Even Holden, who looks like he’s brought small countries to their knees, nods. There’s a hard edge in his face I can’t decipher.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s get this over with.”