Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Did you ever tell Eve what happened with Lu?” Matt cants his head.
I shake my head. “I used her own reluctance against her, her own pretense of not giving a fuck, because I couldn’t bring myself to admit what happened.” Lucy was truly devastated, heartbroken over that . . . waste of skin and bone. Atherton used her, then discarded her—he didn’t even have the kindness to lie about why. She was a means to an end, and when she confessed that to me, I blew up. Said things I shouldn’t have. Made her leave. If I’d had even a hint of how fragile her mental state was, I would’ve tied her to a chair. Locked her in a room. Gotten her to see a doctor before . . .
“It wasn’t your fault,” Fin says softly.
“I failed her.” Like I failed Eve in so many ways.
“That’s so not true,” he says wearily, rubbing his cheek with his hand. “You were angry, that’s all.”
“I told her I never wanted to see her again.” Anger blinded me. Lucy was more than my PA. More than my sister. I trusted her judgment, her business acumen. I withheld nothing from her. She knew about the tender, knew my bid would blow the others out of the water. She had no idea of the ramifications of sharing this with Atherton. But that didn’t matter to me, not in that moment. “Because I’m a bastard who couldn’t see beyond the money I was about to make.”
“You’re just a hothead,” Matt puts in. “Lu knew that. She would’ve realized you didn’t mean it if she hadn’t been in the middle of a mental health crisis.”
“It’s depression that kills, not idiot brothers,” Fin adds.
“But I should’ve realized she was on the edge—I should’ve known way before she’d gotten to that point.”
“She didn’t even tell her doctor,” Fin says, throwing up his hands. “You and Lucy are so alike, it’s fucking scary. Never show weakness. Never admit you might need help. You didn’t break Lucy or drive her to hurt herself, asshole.”
“I wasn’t there for her.” My words bleed. I bleed. Hurt and anguish and anger spill from me. “Don’t you understand? I wasn’t there to stop her from swallowing those pills.”
“This is old fuckin’ ground. If Lucy was here, she’d slap you for being such an idiot.”
“Was there anything in Mortimer’s note?” Matt demands. “About the house? The animals? Anything?”
I shake my head. She took the time to write him a note, scribbled on a piece of hotel note paper.
I’m sorry.
Oliver was never going to keep the animals. Please forgive me for my part in this. I have no excuses. I wish I could stay to tell you myself.
Take care, Mandy.
“There was nothing in it for me.”
“Well,” Fin says, “I suppose she wasn’t pissed off at him.”
“The animals weren’t supposed to be part of the plan. Northaby was meant to be made into a high-end country hotel. The luxury crowd expects a pillow menu, spa days, swimming pools. Cocktails on the terrace and long walks through lush woodlands that don’t involve outrunning Sumatran tigers.”
“But then you changed your mind.” He holds out a hand, palm to the ceiling, like his words are a comfort oh-so reasonable.
I changed my plans for her—to have her look at me with something like admiration, maybe. And now . . . “Now I own a monstrous great house with fucking safari park in the back garden. Do you have any idea how much their food bill is?”
“You need something to spend your billions on,” Fin says with a laugh.
“I don’t fucking want the place!” Not without her. “I didn’t want it in the beginning—I just wanted Atherton’s miserable head on a plate!”
“Ah, sure, but you might enjoy it,” Matt says tugging his ear.
“He could get a ringmaster’s hat and a red tailcoat,” interjects Fin.
“That’s a circus, not a zoo, thick arse.”
“It’s a fucking safari park!” I yell, my sanity hanging on the thinnest of threads.
“But it wasn’t the house, was it?” Fin says casually, curling his finger to flick invisible lint from his pants leg. “I know we call you the devil, but I really didn’t have you pegged as the type to sneak property out from under a senior citizen.”
Mandy? I frown, not sure what he’s talking about. But then I do understand. Did I leave the paperwork on my desk? “What do you know about this?”
“More than I want to,” he mutters. “Especially given the crowd outside.”
“What crowd?” But I’m already on my feet, moving toward the window. It’s hard to see what’s going on down there, but someone seems to be waving something white with red lettering. “Is that a placard?”
“Multiple,” Fin says. “Some of them even have the correct spelling.”
I take the stairs two at a time, my employees scattering like beetles exposed from under a rock as I reach the marble floor of the foyer. Almost skidding across it.