Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Then he blanked his expression and rose from his chair behind the desk.
“Miss Ryan.”
“Daphne,” I corrected. “Where’s my car?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Where’s my car?”
“In the garage, where else would it be?”
“I’d like my fob back and to be shown where the garage is.”
“You can have both of these by calling Stevenson. He’ll have Sam or Jack show you.”
In other words, Why are you bothering me with this?
“We need to talk,” I told him, coming farther into the room.
Inexplicably, he appeared panicked for a moment, before he schooled his features and queried, “And why would we need to do that?”
“Because I’m concerned about your son’s intentions, and his true affections, and I have control of my sister’s money. I figure you know this, but I’ll tell you anyway. My father didn’t come from money. He turned a dying local hardware store into a multinational company, and he didn’t do it by being an idiot.”
“No one said he did.”
“And so,” I carried on like he hadn’t spoken, “when he carved his fortune up to give to the three women he loved in his life, he did it carefully, with forethought and planning.”
Richard’s eyes flicked behind me in a manner I twisted at the waist to look that way.
Ian was lounging in the doorjamb.
He looked good enough to eat.
Eat.
“Touché,” I said.
He grinned at our inside joke about me eavesdropping last night, and him sneaking into this conversation now.
“Good morning,” he replied.
It would be when I had coffee.
“Don’t mind me,” he prompted.
I returned my attention to Richard.
“I can’t, for undue reasons, withhold Portia’s money,” I informed him. “Though, for due reasons…”
I let that lie.
“And what would those due reasons be in regard to my son?” Richard asked between gritted teeth.
“Well, I did mention not too long ago my concerns about his intentions and affections,” I reminded him.
“Daniel is besotted with Portia,” Richard declared.
Besotted.
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and started tapping on it.
“Miss Ryan…Daphne—” Richard began impatiently.
I lifted a finger but kept looking at my phone. “A second. There we go. ‘Besotted. Strongly infatuated. Archaic: Intoxicated. Drunk. From late sixteenth century, make foolishly affectionate.’” I raised my head, skimmed a glance through Richard and then twisted back to Ian. “You’re right. It’s not what it seems to be.”
“I know I’m right, darling,” Ian purred.
I felt that purr in my mouth.
And other places.
Jesus.
This guy.
I felt a wave of emotion, not the good kind, come tumbling at me from Richard’s direction when he heard Ian’s endearment.
I turned again to him.
Indeed, he didn’t like Ian calling me darling.
I fought smiling and kept speaking.
“I’m going to need to be certain about Daniel’s true feelings and his commitment to my sister. And I’m going to need this not only because I love my sister, but because my father did, and he trusted this to me. Now, in full disclosure, if she messes things up for a long haul, say, marrying someone who wants her for her money, then she doesn’t get that money. Ever. It’s absorbed into mine and Lou’s trusts. She doesn’t even get a stipend. She’s cut off. Completely.”
Richard blanched.
“Thus, this bullshit play that’s happening,”—I whirled a finger in the air—“I’m not having it. Someone needs to tell Daniel to get his ass home and bring my sister with him. It’s beyond rude they dragged Lou and I here then took off to regroup when things started off rocky. I have a life. I have a business. I have people who count on me. They’re talented. Beyond competent, they can carry on without me. However, I love my work, and when I decide it’s one of those rare times I’m going to leave it, I don’t want to be jacked around like I’m a fool. I’m not a fool, Richard. I’m my father’s daughter. And for more than one reason, it’s time your son, the second one, stopped treating me like one.”
On that, with Richard’s face red with fury, I turned on my heel and walked to Ian.
“Are you coming to breakfast?” I asked when I stopped.
He took my hand. “Absolutely.” We walked down the hall, and he didn’t bother waiting until we were completely out of earshot before he said, “Well done.”
“It was bitchy,” I replied, beginning to feel bad I’d been so frank, and done it being so curt.
I probably should have found Richard after I had coffee.
“He would have disregarded you entirely if you’d been polite,” Ian shared. “As he has been for the most part since you arrived. Disregarding you. He agreed to you being here. You’re our guest. I’ve seen how he’s been acting toward you. It’s beyond rude. You have no responsibility to be nice to someone who’s being rude.”
Well, if you completely disregarded the most important rule of all, the Golden Rule, he was right.
But I made a note not to confront my host again, or at least not for the rest of that day.