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“Then I ordered a sandwich from the cafeteria downstairs, and it was so soggy it dripped lettuce juice, but that’s because the cafeteria lady has a target on my back. She set me up on a date with her nephew that didn’t go too well because he made me pay for dinner for him and his two buddies, left with the waitress, then told his aunt I was rude to him. Now my favorite sandwich will forever be a soggy mess, and then in the middle of eating that same sandwich—don't judge me, I was hungry—I got a call from you to tell me that I had a great aunt on my father’s side who I didn’t even know existed, like ever, had died, put me in her will, and left me three dogs.”
Rayne suspended her breath and then released it with a loud, unladylike whoosh, an embarrassed flush lighting up her cheeks.
“You were asking me about my mental health when you asked if I was all right,” she said sheepishly. “Not how my day went. Sorry,” she added in a small voice. For a tiny moment, she thought she detected a smile playing on the solicitor’s lips, but no, she had clearly imagined that because it disappeared from his face as quickly as it had arrived.
But it was true. William Lester Montgomery the Third—as the gold plaque on his desk said—had no idea what she was going through. Her parents had been orphans, both raised in foster care. Not a single relative on both sides of her parents ever came to visit them, not in all the fourteen years that she had known them before a tragic car accident took their lives.
Up until the age of 18, Rayne lived with her mother's best friend before having to support herself. And then, out of nowhere, she discovered her dad had a rich great-aunt who had named Rayne in her will.
She didn’t know how to react or respond. Should she be mourning the loss of someone she didn’t know existed until this morning? Should she be crying tears of grief? She had no idea how to handle it all. And now she was going to inherit three dogs.
“No, I don’t think I’m all right, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Beckett King, Aston Lane, and Keaton Reed are not houses, islands, horses, boats, or dogs. They’re men. Your late aunt Marjorie bequeathed you three men.”
“Men?” Rayne frowned. Was that French for something else? “Please, just tell me what men are, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Really, Ms. Bradshaw?” He had reached the end of his law degree with her; it was written clearly in his pinched expression.
“Wait… You mean men as in Homo sapiens?”
“There is no other kind of man, Ms. Bradshaw.”
“But—”
“Your aunt, Marjorie Malcolm Bradshaw, bequeathed to you in her will the possession of one Beckett King, one Aston Lane, and one Keaton Reed.”
“Okay, this is a joke. Right? Marjorie Malcolm Bradshaw isn’t my aunt because she doesn’t exist. This is all just for silly giggles, right? A social experiment is being recorded to capture my reaction.”
“Nice one. You got me there.” She rose from the chair, looking around for hidden cameras.
“Ms. Bradshaw, do I look like the kind of man who will clap his hands and say, ‘gotcha you, smile for the camera?’”
“I mean, you could be a really good actor. You could—”
“Before you embark on another set of outlandish reasons to validate your conjectures, since I’m familiar with the train wreck your thoughts seem to take, allow me to speed up the process for you. I am not being paid by the hour, and I’d like to conclude this business at once.”
“Right,” Rayne sank back in the chair, feeling properly chastised. But then she sprang up to her feet again.
“Oh, my god. Am I going to be their guardian? You should know Mr. Montgomery. I couldn’t even take care of them when I thought they were Chihuahuas. I absolutely can’t take care of them if they’re humans.”
“I don’t doubt that, Ms. Bradshaw,” Mr. Montgomery said sardonically. “Beckett King, Aston Lane, and Keaton Reed are actually going to take care of you.”
“I’m twenty-four years old; I might do a bang-poor job of taking care of myself, but I’m still alive, and that counts for something.”
“Shockingly, yes,” he said without missing a beat. “But those are the terms of your aunt’s final will and testament.”
“Okay, so no grownup in the history of grownups has ever inherited another grownup, let alone three grownups. So, this must really be a joke. Come on, Mr. Montgomery... Monty...”
“Ms. Bradshaw—”
“Yes, I know, you’re not in the business of clowns and comedy,” Rayne said, waving her hands around. “But you just told me I inherited three adult men. Are you sure? Also, why? Why would a woman I never knew existed until today, claiming to be my great aunt, leave me three human beings in her will? A house would have been nice. No, you know what? Twenty-thousand dollars. Twenty-thousand dollars would have literally saved my life.”
If good ole Monty thought her only problems were shoe problems, guy problems, and sandwich problems, he didn’t know half of it. She was crap deep in trouble and had no way out of it except to face that problem, which lurked around her like the freaking grim reaper.
Immediately, her heart started to pound so loudly that she thought it would shatter her eardrums. What was going to happen to her? How was it that trouble just seemed to find itself in her lap time and again?
Honestly, she had enough of her own dire consequences to add a dead relative to the pile.
