Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
But Dad’s smile hammers me even lower.
“Nothing.”
I pause a beat and let that sink in. “Nothing? I don’t understand.”
“Oh, Charlotte, think for a second.” He checks his watch, smile getting bigger. “What time does my father wake up every day?”
Suddenly, horror hits me. I look at my phone. It’s a little past eight in the morning. “He didn’t know yet.”
“That’s right. I called you in here to keep you busy until your dear, beloved old grandfather had a chance to see those photos.” Dad selects a record and puts it on the turntable. “I have a feeling he’s getting quite the shock.”
“You sick bastard.”
“I’m the sick one?” He has the gall to look surprised. “You’re the one that slept with some disgusting criminal pig. Really, Charlotte, a fighter? A man so far beneath you? Ah, well, it’s better it ended this way, don’t you think?”
The opening lines of Queen’s “We Are the Champions” come on, Freddie Mercury’s voice like velvet, and I run the hell out of my father’s office, careening into the hallway.
It’s not too late.
Grandfather’s only been awake for ten minutes at most. He might not have seen the folder yet. If I can get to him first and explain, maybe I can salvage this. Somehow, I can make Grandfather understand.
As I run to his wing of the mansion, I wonder why I’m even doing this.
A part of me thinks it’s better this way. Give up the inheritance. Forget about the Westwood business empire. I’d be better off living on my trust fund for the rest of my life. I could do anything, go anywhere, be anyone I want.
I don’t need this place or any of these hateful people.
But the family is mine. Even if they think I’m a worthless shrew who doesn’t deserve to inherit, it’s still mine.
Grandfather saw something in me. He took me under his wing and taught me everything he knows. He turned me into what I am now. He made me clever and strong. And maybe I made a mistake with Stefano, but so what? Who doesn’t screw up? Grandfather’s not perfect. He’ll understand.
If I can get to him first.
I spring to his personal room. A maid’s outside the door, and she looks startled as I barrel toward her. “Is he in bed still?” I ask her, breathing hard.
She’s young, one of the newest members of the staff. It takes me a second to remember her name is Emily. “No, Miss Charlie, he’s having breakfast.”
I groan out loud. “I’m going in.”
“But he’s not expecting you, and you know we have orders—”
I slam the door open. Grandfather’s morning breakfast hour is sacrosanct. No distractions, no interruptions. But to hell with that.
I storm into his suite.
Grandfather’s apartment in the mansion is sparse and simple. Where Dad’s rooms are grand and lavishly decorated, Grandfather has always preferred to keep things as spartan as possible. He likes little memorabilia from his childhood, which is why there are a few model trains decorating the basic furniture, but otherwise there’s not much else around.
He’s sitting at his table. A small black-and-white television is playing a Western. It’s the same table he ate at as a child, back before his father made the family’s fortune by inventing new forms of plastic. He grew the Westbrook Chemical Corporation into the behemoth it is today, and he’s the one who expanded family interests into illicit fighting and gambling as a way to diversify our income portfolio.
Grandfather stares at me. He’s frowning slightly as Emily comes at my back, begging his pardon at my interruption, all but prostrating herself at his feet.
“It’s alright, it’s okay.” He dismisses the staff girl with a wave of his hand. “I’ll speak with my granddaughter just this once.”
“Of course, Mr. Westbrook, again, I am so, so sorry—” Emily shuffles backward before scurrying away and closing the door behind her.
I stare at the table. Grandfather’s got his usual breakfast. A scrambled egg. Two pieces of buttered toast. Black coffee. Orange juice.
And at his elbow is a simple manila folder like the one my father gave me downstairs.
“You saw them,” I say, meeting my grandfather’s gaze. Despite being eighty, he’s sharper than ever, with piercing gray eyes and a severe face.
“I saw them,” he confirms, wrinkling his nose. “Or at least as much as I could stomach.”
Sorrow crushes me. Everything I’ve worked for is ending right here. There’s no way in hell Grandfather is going to forgive me for this. He raised me to believe in old-fashioned family values, which definitely means I shouldn’t be out having raunchy sex with mafia criminals.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling hollow.
Grandfather lets out a soft snort. “You know what disappoints me the most? It isn’t that you stooped so low as to sleep with a man like Stefano Bianchi, although that is bad enough. I’m not a fool though, Charlie. I’m aware people have physical needs. No, it’s not that you had sex with the man. It’s that you got caught.”