Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
He turned to me slowly. “You know about that?”
I nodded. “Your agent told my boss.”
“Levi,” he grumbled. “Certain things the man will take to his grave, others—forget it.”
“So why?”
“Bitsy’s parents weren’t going to foot the bill as they don’t want her marrying Orson.”
“Why? What’s wrong with Orson?”
“Money.”
“As in, he doesn’t have any, or he has no prospects?”
“He’s just starting out, they both are. She’s twenty-two, he’s twenty-three. They both need some time.”
“So because you believe in love, you’re paying for the wedding.”
He bumped me with his shoulder. “I’m paying for the wedding because her folks backed out at the last minute. Bitsy was getting calls from everyone saying that deposits were nonrefundable no matter what her mother wanted.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. Imagine thinking everything is set for your big day, and your parents pull the rug out from under you and demand you give them their money back.”
“So you did what?”
“I sent her folks what they were out, had Bitsy call all her vendors—the bakery, the florist, this inn, etc.—and put my billing information on everything.”
“If someone trashes their room, that’s on you, then.”
“It is not,” he informed me. “All this big-ticket stuff, like the open bar at the wedding, that’s on me. Rooms, things like the eight a.m. bridal boat ride around the bay the morning after the bachelorette party…that’s on other people’s credit cards.”
I had to take a moment. “Someone planned a boat ride at eight in the morning after the bachelorette party?”
He cackled.
“All that’s gonna be is barfing.”
His eyes were dancing as he looked at me.
“That’s evil.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what her maid of honor is thinking. I’m wondering if they’re really even friends.”
“So are Bitsy’s parents even here?”
“Oh, of course, and everyone thinks they’re footing the bill.”
“That’s not fair.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t need people to know my business. Bitsy knows, I know, Orson knows. Those are the ones who matter.”
“Okay.”
“You sound so convinced.” His snort of laughter made me smile.
More and more people got in line behind us, either not noticing him or maybe, since they weren’t watching him in a theater or on TV, had no idea who he was.
“You’re a real prick, you know that?” a man said, striding across the lobby toward us. He had to be in his late forties, early fifties, tall, handsome, looking a bit like Ash but not at all in his league.
Immediately, I stepped in front of Ash as he reached us.
“Who the hell are you?” he barked at me.
“Who are you?” I replied, my voice as sharp as his.
“It’s okay, he’s my half brother Hunter,” Ash explained as I moved aside so the two of them could face off. “And he’s always mad when we speak, normally on the phone, and this time he’s upset because I didn’t allow him to borrow money against his son Rafferty’s trust fund.”
“All you had to do was sign the—”
“It’s not what our father wanted,” Ash said flatly.
“Like you would know. You never even lived with him,” he retorted. “It’s not like he ever thought of you as a son.”
Ash nodded. “Perhaps. And yet, I’m the one in charge of the Walder estate.”
“There’s another hearing on that,” he spat at Ash. “We’ll see what happens.”
“Certainly,” Ash agreed as Hunter spun around and headed back toward the restaurant, to a table I could see from where we were standing.
Once he was gone, I saw Ash tip his neck from side to side as though releasing tension.
“Are you afraid of being removed as executor at this hearing?”
He scoffed. “There have been seventeen of these hearings, and nothing’s happened yet. The will went through probate years ago, and the board of trustees that sign off on my continued tenure, assess all my decisions, and make recommendations to the CFO, have all reported back that I should remain in position. Three years ago, when I tried to resign, I was told that as my father’s will stipulated me as executor, if I stepped down, all the trusts would come under review and be frozen during that time. That means anyone counting on money to go to school was screwed. I couldn’t have that, so I took it back.”
“So really, he’s stuck with you and should wrap his brain around that fact.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, once we’re sitting down, I want you to tell me all about this, all right?”
“Oh no, I don’t want to waste good dinner conversation on this. I’ll tell you now.”
“But”—I gestured ahead of us and then behind—“we’re not alone, yeah?”
He shook his head. “None of this is a secret. Everyone here who’s a Walder, or related to one, knows my role in the food chain. No one cares about this.”
“Okay, then, hit me.”
“My father—and you probably got this from the file my agent sent your boss—was Coleman Walder. I imagine that means nothing to you, but his family made their money in railroads and steel back in the day, and then he moved the company into oil and natural gas when he took the reins in the late fifties.”