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“A thousand dollars a month,” he says. “But remember, you’re not paying for food or shelter.”
Right. For billionaires, we aren’t even breaking the poverty line.
“Here on the ranch,” I say, thinking of the mortgage on Mom’s house. I moved all my things into a storage unit and canceled the lease on my place, but there are still bills.
Miles laughs. “Yeah. I’m sure as shit paying for shelter in New York.”
A thousand dollars a month. I actually make more piloting a seaplane.
My life in a nutshell—
The woman who makes my dick throb is taken.
My mother is ill and alone back in Seattle.
My littlest brother already hates me.
And I’m the poorest fucking billionaire on the planet.
Great. Just great.
All Chance has to do is keep right on living his life, foaling calves or mending fences or whatever he does around here to get his billion. Miles and I have to uproot our whole lives.
Chance finishes his beer. This time, when he goes to the fridge, he grabs three by the long necks. He turns and tosses one to me and the other to Miles.
I consider it an olive branch as I catch it. “Thanks.”
“Tell us, Shankle, the one thing I’m sure all three of us are wondering,” Chance says. “Why?”
“Why?” Shankle repeats.
Chance nods. “Yeah, why? Why would my old man leave his fortune to kids he doesn’t care about? Sure, they’re his blood, but why give them something now when he didn’t give them shit before?”
It’s a great question, one I’ve wanted the answer to since Shankle climbed on my plane.
“Well, I can’t—”
“And why force them to stay here? It does no one any fucking good. Austin has seaplanes to fly. And Miles… well, whatever the fuck he does, I’m sure it’s not here either.”
“I do custom builds. Motorcycles and cars. A fancy mechanic.” Miles pulls out a stool at the bar and sits. “I’m curious, as well. Why would Daddy dearest do this to us?”
I nod. “I’m interested to know, too.”
We look to Shankle.
“I don’t know the answer,” he says, scratching his head. “It’s my job to ensure the will is legal and holds. I had no say in what Jonathan put in it.”
Chance frowns. “You’re no fucking help.”
“I have no intention of getting in your way,” Miles says to Chance. “I might be able to repair your tractors and ATVs, but I’ll happily steer clear of the stables and…all of it.”
“I’m going to be pretty bored unless you’ve got a plane,” I add.
Chance laughs. “Oh, we’ve got a plane. Or two. Since you fly seaplanes, you might need some training wheels.”
“I can fly whatever you put in front of me,” I reply.
Shankle makes a funny choking sound, but I ignore him.
