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Or, if none were deemed worthy in such a test, only then would the property be donated to a charity chosen by his own heirs. A charity which could do as it wished with the entire estate. The exact details of such “proof” were up to me to devise and the executors of his will and trust to accept or deny.
He was a pain in the ass and every part of his will only made that more apparent. It took nearly three years of fighting with the executors to come up with an acceptable proof of ‘worthiness’. There was no other way to break up the land and the house the way I wanted. I needed to get my hands on it without all the conditions and red tape. The only other option was to just let it continue on as it was, as a fixture in the community, kept up by the hefty trust fund and meticulous list of detailed upkeep. I would never be able to do anything with it except live in it, and believe me neither I nor my sister wanted that.
I need that land, so option A it was. I have a shell charity set up and waiting to sell the property back to me, mercifully free of conditions. The charity will get a good price for it, I’m not a monster. The money will go to feed the homeless or some such thing.
In short, it’s a complicated mess but everyone benefits.
Watching her now as she stands in front of my great-grandfather’s portrait, one of probably fifty that still hang on the walls of the estate, another of the eccentric details of the old narcissist’s will. None of his portraits were to be removed. Not one. The painting in that room is him when he was approximately my age and everyone in my family tells me we could have been twins, born three generations apart.
Only, as I watch her now, she eases forward, and I press a button to switch camera angles so I can see her face. Her eyes are wide, her mouth open, frozen in mid-sentence.
Then I see it, something moves her hair, a breeze, a draft, something, and she spins, wide eyes turning fearful, and for a moment I regret this whole set up. She feels something and I want to go to her, tell her the truth about the house, that there is nothing to fear here, it’s all just horseshit made up by superstitious staff members.
I want to take her with me and keep her locked away and safe.
Then, in the next moment, her face softens, she closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep inhale through her nose. All the fear is gone, replaced with what looks like…desire.
Fuck.
As I watch and listen, whoever she’s talking to on the phone convinces her to stay, thank God, because Dalton has just retrieved her and they leave the ballroom, appearing on the next monitor, back with the other three contestants sitting around a table. They’ve all signed their consent and contracts already. Greed is in their eyes as they look around the room, waiting for what’s next.
Sizing up their competition.
They have no idea what’s in store for them.
Watching her take her seat, her hands slip down under her ass, smoothing her loose ivory-colored skirt under her legs, and I feel things I’ve never felt before. There’s a hitch in my chest, like my heart is being jump started.
She’s strong, taking the pen from Dalton and signing where indicated, pushing a long, loose strand of her cocoa-colored hair behind her perfect ear.
I move the mouse, clicking on her face and zooming in to get a better look.
Her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth, her cheeks a perfect pink that matches her lips, and my cock jumps at the thought of the perfect pink that I know lies between her legs.
There’s something familiar about her eyes, too. That flood of a memory catching me off guard again as a tsunami of protectiveness I’ve never felt wells inside of me.
I want to keep her. Next to me. Under me. I’ve never considered what it would be like to want to give a woman my everything, but in the span of minutes, this vision on the screen has me questioning all my life choices.
She has me rearranging my future plans with the flutter of dark lashes around fearful, yet determined, eyes.
Dalton collects her paperwork as she sits up straight in the chair, looking at the other three invitees, and rage begins to boil inside of me. All three are men, they are all close to her, they are all looking at her, smelling her, and I want to kill every single one.
She looks back at each of them with an uncomfortable glance before Dalton speaks from the head of the table.
