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“Again, Ms. Bradshaw, you did not inherit twenty-thousand dollars. You inherited Beckett King, Aston Lane, and Keaton Reed.”
“Well… can I sell them? If this great aunt of mine took the trouble to leave me three guys in her will, they must be worth something, right?
“You cannot sell them, Ms. Bradshaw, no.” He looked at her with a truly flabbergasted expression, as if she were the deranged one in the equation. He had just read out a will in which she inherited three whole people.
Hello.
“Well, then I can just refuse to accept this inheritance,” she said, air-quoting the wordinheritance.
“Good luck with that.” He ignored her for a moment, pressed a button, and spoke into the device. “Mary, please send them in. Thank you.”
Rayne held her breath as she turned toward the door.
Seconds later, it swung open, and Monty’s secretary popped her head in, smiled all flushed and giggling, then pressed herself against the door as three men entered the office.
If it weren’t for the chair behind her knees, Rayne would have probably fallen flat on her ass.
She hadn’t paid much attention to the room she was in before. It was a typical office with a huge desk and chairs, but also big enough to grace two slim sofas enclosed around a coffee table to the left, and another table and four chairs occupied the right side of the office. There was also a minibar fridge and a long table set against one of the walls, displaying artifacts of some kind.
She could see the rest of the city and another bustling day in Manhattan from the glass windows that wrapped around the tenth-floor building. Her whole apartment could neatly fit inside the office in which she stood.
But suddenly, there wasn’t enough air for her to breathe. Enough room for her to move despite the fact that she was fairly certain she was properly glued to the spot where she stood.
Dressed in clearly bespoke black suits that did nothing to hide their thoroughly muscular though utterly sleek physiques, they towered over everything and everyone, including her and the solicitor, in the office with their neck-craning over six feet two heights.
Their hair color got progressively darker from one to the other, and their eyes were stoic shades of blues, grays, and greens.
Square-cut jaws in male structural perfection made it hard for her to look away from all three of them. The sight of their mouths drawn into unsmiling lines only added to the spectacular handsomeness of their faces. Thick black watches adorned their wrists, and she gulped as her gaze layered over the valley of veins that covered each of their hands. They were entirely too gorgeous for her pulse.
And her heart pounded as if a dray of squirrels were having a drunken party in her chest. But she also had to contend with a scorching-hot blush that settled over her entire body, penetrated her pores, and heated her blood.
If that wasn’t bad enough, her usually placid nipples were yanked awake and strained the thin silk of her top. And while she couldn’t be 100% sure until she checked for herself, there was at least an 80% chance she had suddenly, then all at once, become drenchingly wet. The pulse in her clit seemed to reverberate throughout her entire body, making every part of her ache with strange, reckless impatience for something she couldn’t put into words.
Which was absolutely the most absurd thing to ever happen to her since she didn’t have the time to properly overthink the uncanny, salacious, lubricious, but altogether peculiar party between her legs.
Right now, she needed to figure out what the freaking hell was going on with the dead aunt business, the will business, and her business. It all had to be a big mistake. Or was she simply being made the butt of all jokes?
Chapter Two
Right. It was as clear as day that the joke was indeed on her. An elaborate one nonetheless, but still a joke.
Plastering a smile on her face, she shifted her attention off the three obscenely gorgeous men in the room and leveled her focus on good ol’ Monty.
“They’re actors, aren’t they?” she said, nodding her head.
“No.” Mr. Montgomery sighed.
“Okay, fine. Then models, whatever.”
“No.”
“No?” she asked incredulously. How could they look like that and not be actors or models? She snuck another glance at them. They hadn’t moved from their position and hadn’t said anything either. They just stood side-by-side, hands clasped in front of them, their powerful legs braced apart, their eyes only on her. Yes, she had to get rid of them as soon as possible.
“Not even underwear models?”
“Ms. Bradshaw.”
After less than half an hour of talking with William Lester Montgomery, she already knew the tone he took when she was being chastised. But that wasn’t going to stop her.
