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Chapter One
“To my grandniece, I bequeath the following: Beckett King, Aston Lane, and Keaton Reed.”
Rayne Bradshaw opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She leaned forward, frowned a bit, then placed her finger on her lips in what she hoped was a thoughtful gesture. Thoughtful? Who was she trying to impress? Certainly not the surly solicitor man sitting opposite her. The word she was looking for was baffled. Befuddled. Discombobulated.
What the heck was a Beckett King, an Aston Lane, and a Keaton Reed?
She had never heard of those things in her life before. But then she also hadn’t known any rich people before either. Alive or dead, as was the case now.
“Are those the names of… houses, like mansions?” She asked the stern man sitting behind his pristinely tidy mahogany desk, in his stiff black suit, with his air of impatience shimmering all around him like a cape.
“No. Ms. Bradshaw—”
“Oh wait. That’s the name of the three islands I just inherited, right? I mean, they’re strange names for islands. But what do I know, right? I can see it now. Oh, I’m going to Beckett King this summer. The beach in Aston Lane is to die for this time of year. I’ll be drinking Mai Tais in Keaton Reed to recover from my headache.”
“No, they’re not the names of the islands you inherited.”
Gosh, she didn’t think Mr. William Lester Montgomery over there could get any more curmudgeon, but he proved her wrong. She ignored him and carried on.
“Of course. They’re horses, right? Like racehorses?”
“No.”
“Okay. Then they must be the names of three private jets?”
“No.”
“Jewels?”
The solicitor shook his head.
“Passwords that would unlock a gazillion dollars?”
“No.”
“The names of three ships?”
“No.”
“Three yachts?”
He didn’t bother answering her. Maybe she should aim lower.
“Three boats?”
That earned her another tired and exasperated sigh.
“Ms. Bradshaw. I’m a busy man. I don’t have the time to partake in this trivial guessing game.”
“Okay, last time, I promise. I have to guess this right.” She had totally turned it into a game of ‘guessing what your dead great aunt left ya’and she wanted to win. “They’re three dogs, aren’t they? French poodles or Chihuahuas probably. I know I’m right this time.” She sat back in the chair, deflated. She could barely take care of herself. How was she going to take care of three dogs?
“Ms. Bradshaw, are you quite all right?”
“Actually, no. I mean, I woke up this morning and, of all days, decided to break in a new pair of shoes but then forgot to wrap my third and fourth toe in a band-aid—that trick works, tell your wife—but that was a colossal oversight on my part because, holy Louboutin, I basically limped my way to the office. But lucky for me, Kelly had some band-aids in the first aid kit, so shoe crisis promptly averted.” She drew her finger across her forehead and whistled.
“But then I spilled coffee on the new carpet... It’s beige and it's brand new, and I was probably going to get fired for it, so I had to go on my knees to scrub the stain out, but that left a big wet patch in the middle of the floor, so I had to move my desk to the middle of the floor, and then I had to explain to my boss that myZen Sensessaid I should sit there for the day. I’m a web designer, by the way.
