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“Of course. He basically barked crap at me and kept saying I didn’t need to be mixed up with his dad.”
“Odd. It’s almost like he’s trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“Did you Google?”
“Ugh, not yet. It’s been a marathon since we set this up, and now I’m almost afraid to go down that hole. It might have sharp teeth.”
She shrugs. “It’s probably nothing, just a messy divorce or something. I bet he was a deadbeat or Ward’s too deep in the drama to set his own head straight. Mag broke up with me twice to ‘protect my reputation.’ He also thinks he’s way more of a bad boy billionaire than he actually is. For a while, he thought he was shielding me from family crap too.”
I grin. “He was so stupid.”
“And now he’s a sweetheart. I think I’m starting to love happy endings even more than Mom,” she says with a saucy smile. “Why would Ward and his dad have such a rotten relationship, though?”
I pick up a couch pillow and hug it.
“You tell me. He’s a doting grandson and still bosses his little brother around like they’re kids. It’s kind of adorable.”
Brina nods. “So, he cares about his family. If he’s not cool with his dad, there has to be a reason.”
I hadn’t thought about that.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t put it off. I should just pull those skeletons out of the closet and be glad they’re not mine.”
Brina pulls her phone out. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
I laugh, pick up my phone, and join her in pulling up Beatrice’s bio. I’ve probably read it ten times, but always glossed over the family stuff.
She has one son. Victor Brandt. That’s a good place to start.
Brina rocks her heels, giddy with excitement. “Feels like the good old days with you and I living together. I miss them sometimes. But I wouldn’t trade it for my husband.”
I’m sure she wouldn’t. I’m jealous, but I can’t think of anyone who deserves to be happy more than Sabrina Heron.
I type Victor Brandt into the search engine. A picture of a scruffy middle-aged man with Ward’s stormy eyes pops up on the screen and the results are...long.
Jesus. This guy was plastered all over the news.
“He was married to a woman named Giselle,” Brina says. “Simms is her name now, but she was a Brandt for a while.”
“I hope his parents’ divorce wasn’t the trauma. So many people have divorced parents and aren’t monsters. If that’s his excuse...”
“I don’t think so.” Brina doesn’t look up from her tablet, pursing her lips. “His parents seem—adventurous.”
“Adventurous?” I echo.
Brina gives a pained snicker.
“Scandalous. I was trying to be polite.”
“His dad filed for bankruptcy a few years ago,” I say, reading over the article.
Is that what Ward’s so worried about? I could see how a past stained with financial ruin could give pause to someone entering a massive business deal, but it’s his dad’s beef, not his. And Victor apparently separated from Brandt Ideas long before the bankruptcy occurred.
“Looks like his mom’s been engaged to two multimillionaires and a billionaire in the past five years. Whoa,” Brina hisses. “She’s currently single again and seems to be on the prowl. So says The Chicago Tea.”
“Oh, man, Ward hates that blog so much.” I laugh. “Rich cougar, huh?”
“Well, she’s strutting her stuff pretty hard on the ’gram. Of course, she only flirts with a certain profile of guys...” Brina meets my eyes and bites her lip, seeing something on the screen that hurts. “I sometimes can’t blame men for being such swinging dicks when women like this exist.”
I shake my head with a sigh.
“But it’s not okay. We don’t get to assume that every man we come into contact with is a crap sandwich just because some guys are.”
“I think we do assume. We’re just not allowed to say it.”
I go through the search links. Victor has a thing for rich and famous women. “Seems Daddy Brandt likes a certain type too. He changes girlfriends every six months, but the last lady he set his sights on accused him of harassing her. She said he wouldn’t leave her alone when it was over. Looks like it was a sugar arrangement.”
“Creep,” Brina spits. “I hate men like that.”
Don’t we all.
But the second page of hits is completely different. Everything becomes all about the Brandt-Parnell incident or the Parnell-Brandt incident. The third headline down catches my eye.
“Victor and Giselle Brandt Suspected in Dylan Parnell’s Death!”
Parnell? I’ve heard that name before but I don’t know where.
“Any clue who Dylan Parnell is? Was, I mean?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah! He was dreamy. When I was growing up, he was in some big movies with all the hot guys like Ridge Barnet. My mom always had a thing for him too, but when I asked her why he wasn’t making new movies, she told me he died in the nineties. Freaked me out. He was so young!”
