“Good,” she echoes sharply.
“I’ll have my lawyers draw up a contract and send it over for your review this week. If you have any additional requirements, requests, or concessions, put them in writing and I’ll have them incorporated.”
Margot leans in, her eyes still on me. “Ask for more, Hattie. He’s bilking you.”
Another delicate blush braises Hattie’s cheeks, and she swats Margot away.
“It’s cool. I don’t need more,” she says. “But I do want to know what sort of appearances you’re expecting me to make.”
“Hang on and I’ll tell you.”
I check my schedule on my phone even though I have the next week memorized.
“There’s a Developer’s Guild charity dinner later this week in Kennebunkport,” I say. “I was planning to attend, standing in for Gramps since he made a point to appear every year. This would be a perfect opportunity to make our introduction.”
Hattie’s throat moves as she swallows. “Our introduction. Like… as a couple?”
“Obviously. If it’s too much, you could just stay here and”—I look around at the piles of books—“read, I suppose.”
“Hold up. We need some ground rules first,” Hattie says, inhaling. “If I’m going there as your”—she chokes on the word—“your fiancée, you can’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I snort.
“Like you hate me. I don’t want people thinking I’m…”
She leaves the thought unfinished, but it’s clear what she means.
She wants to avoid the gossip mill.
And she has a point. Any hint that this marriage is some weird gold digger arrangement or something similarly scandalous.
“Yeah, that’s my point. The less reason they have to think we’re anything different from another boring couple, the better.”
Makes sense. Assumptions and whispers only cause more grief down the line, especially if we’re trying to make this look authentic.
That’s a damn struggle, guaranteed.
Gramps, I hope you’re laughing, wherever you are.
“All right.” I stand up to go, leaving the check on top of one of her books on the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow to hash this out. Don’t be late. I’ll have my assistant send you more details.”
She nods numbly, and I march out the door, leaving the two women to the frantic conversation they’re clearly holding in.
The plush leathersofa gives under me as I sink into it, a drink on a coaster by my side.
Irish whiskey, and no, I don’t give a fuck what Margot would say about indulging an old favorite today.
I know my demons.
I know I’ve conquered them.
On my lap, there’s a collection of photo albums I found from Gramps’ house. The thick books smell old, and I have to brush dust from the edges.
Ares stares at me like a stuffed animal from the rug. The basset hound’s big droopy eyes are all judgment, his ears trapped under his paws.
“Better get used to it, pal. You’re stuck with me now.”
He’s another unexpected part of this inheritance. Unlike the company, there was no wedding clause assigned to him.
