Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Without too many strings.”
That counts me out—at least under normal circumstances. I’m meticulous when it comes to managing clients’ money; even more so when it’s my own. But I get that she’s not looking for another Parker in her business. “What good would a fiancé do you? Well, unless he’s rich himself…”
“I don’t want a handout from anyone. But a fiancé would help with my grandparents’ trust.”
“They left you money, too.” Of course they did. So why isn’t she using that?
“A lot of it. Enough that I could be one of your clients if I could get my hands on it. But Parker—”
“Holds the purse strings, and he won’t give it to you?”
“You know my brother well,” she returns acidly. “The way the trust is put together, I get all the funds without requiring anyone’s approval or any other stipulations at twenty-five. But that’s three years away. If I don’t get help now, my business will be long dead by then.”
She’s right. When lightning strikes with a product, especially anything trendy, every minute counts. But something niggles at me. “Parker inherited all of his at twenty-one, no strings. Not you?”
“No. My grandparents were old-fashioned. They were convinced I wouldn’t know how to manage that kind of wealth until I was older. Or had a man’s ‘steadying influence.’” She rolls her eyes. “So I could have the money today…if I got married.”
The picture is clear now. If she’s telling the truth—big if—she must be horrifically pissed off at Parker. I would be.
Then again, Parker is a master at weaving a woe-is-me tale. He probably crafted this one and spoon-fed it to his accomplice—a.k.a. his oh-so-bangable little sister—to finish bringing me down.
So I feel compelled to poke holes in her story. “How will a fiancé help you if your grandparents’ trust stipulates that you have to be married to get your money before you turn twenty-five?”
“Well, technically, Parker is the trustee, so he could decide to give me my inheritance now. Of course, he refused.” And she doesn’t merely look pissed, but hurt, too. “He might change his mind, though, if giving me the money was the difference between me burying myself in my work and marrying you.”
“So where did you leave things?” Maxon asks that evening over the sounds of a crying baby in the background.
Must be close to his daughters’ bedtime. “With Parker’s sister? I told her I’d think about her proposal.”
But I’m not interested in becoming an investor, especially not now. My capital is tied up in buying my partnership in Bethany and Clint’s brokerage and expanding my business into real estate with Maxon and Griff. Becoming Corinne’s fake fiancé, though? That intrigues me…for a lot of reasons.
“For how long?”
“Forty-eight hours. She’s only staying on the island for a long weekend.”
But her visit raises a host of questions. If she’s sunk every dime she’s got into her business, who paid for her trip? And if she needs to be making product to keep up with the insane demand, why is she waiting even two minutes to get back to her desk?
All the answers seemingly lead back to Parker and raise the only truly important question: Why did Corinne come to see me—and not someone else—unless she’s trying to help her brother put the final nail in my coffin?
That’s the most likely scenario…but what if I’m wrong? What if she really can hand me my revenge on a silver platter?
“Do you need that long to think about what you’ll say to her?” my oldest brother asks.
“No. But I need more time to dig into her cover and see how much of it is true.”
Maxon laughs. “You may not have known you’re a Reed your whole life, but you certainly act like one. We’re all born driven, decisive, cutthroat bastards. It’s in our genes.”
“That’s a fact,” his wife, Keeley, shouts in the background.
Maxon laughs. “At least until the right someone reminds us that we have a heart. Isn’t that right, sunshine?”
“You better not forget it, mister,” she teases. “Do you have time to give Kailani her bath?”
“Sure. Come here.” His voice softens when he murmurs to his daughter, laughing at her little-girl sounds. “So you’re going to let Corinne sweat for a couple of days. I like it.”
“You would,” Keeley says with a laugh.
“What, sunshine? The enemy’s sister suddenly goes behind her brother’s back to help X get revenge? You have to admit, it’s pretty convenient.”
“Is it, but if she’s being truthful, it’s also clever. Her brother will never see it coming.”
Keeley has an interesting point. I can’t deny that if Corinne is smart enough to support herself with her craft, she might be smart enough to scam her scumbag of a sibling.
Since Maxon has his hands full and I’m nearly at my destination, we wrap up the call. Then I pull my sleek, two-seater Audi into a resort I’ve hooked up in a few times. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s hardly Motel 6. I give the valet my keys and promise him a healthy tip if he takes good care of my wheels. Then I don my sunglasses, despite the setting sun, shove my hands into the board shorts I threw on to look like a tourist, and stroll inside.