Chapter 1
“Thomas darling, I wish you would stop pacing, you're making me dizzy,” Rosalee Hoffman said mildly as she nodded at the maid to leave the tea service on the table.
“He's late,” Thomas muttered as he walked over to the window to look out over the immaculate grounds. Fall was just making its appearance and the trees were a riot of dazzling orange russet and brown, the colors vying for supremacy. They'd just buried the patriarch of the family, Thomas Grant Jefferson the Second. The employees of the vast Hoffman’s diversified company had shed their quiet tears and had left after the repast and now only the immediate family members were gathered around in the book-lined study where the departed man had spent most of his last days.
“He said he had a stop to make before he came,” Talia Hoffman drawled as she crossed long, silken legs and leaned back in her chair. She shook back her thick coffee brown hair and ran her fingers over the chic black pants she'd chosen to wear for the funeral. “I don’t understand why Clint couldn't wait a couple of days for the reading of the will. It isn't like there will be any surprise there.” Her large emerald green eyes swung to her brother’s. “You're next in line for the throne, darling.”
“There are a few cousins, and there's the staff as well,” Thomas murmured distractedly. Clint had been avoiding him for the past few days, since the death of his father, and he had a sneaky suspicion that the will wasn't as clear-cut as he would like it to be. His father had promised that he would be running the billion-dollar company when he retired and had hinted that it would have been very soon. None of them had counted on the stroke that had taken his life so suddenly. Now the board of directors were up in the air about the running of the company and as much as he was grieving, they had to get back to business as usual. There was going to be an emergency board meeting bright and early Monday morning and he would like to stride into that conference room and rub it into those stick-in-the-mud members of the board that he was now running the show.
“Just like I said, standard.” Talia got to her feet and walked over to her brother, wrapping her arm around his waist and placing her head onto one broad shoulder. She was five years his junior but the two had been close ever since Thomas had discovered that he'd had a baby sister. Talia was fiercely protective of her handsome big brother and admired his acute business sense and the streak of ruthlessness that he showed when he was dealing with their competitors. “I miss him.”
Thomas pressed a kiss to the top of her head and closed his eyes briefly. “I know.” They both looked to the doorway as the butler came to announce that Mr. Clint Morgan was on his way up with a guest.
“A guest?” Rosalee frowned as soon as the man left and closed the doors behind him.
“Probably a legal clerk,” Thomas said absently as he moved away from his sister. The doors swung open and Clint came in first, followed by a woman they were all very familiar with. “Ms. Nichols? I thought you'd left after the funeral?”
“I asked her to stay behind.” Clint glanced at the occupants of the room and walking over to the table, put his briefcase down. “I know you want to get this out of the way as soon as possible.”
“What is she doing here? Isn’t this a private matter?” Rosalee demanded. “She's an employee of the corporation.”
“Believe me, this is very last place I want to be,” Donna told them coolly as she stood near to the door, as if waiting for the chance to take her leave.
“Can we please have a seat?” Clint glanced over at the tall, imposing man with the coffee brown hair and dark green eyes and looked away quickly. He wasn't just the family’s attorney, but he and Thomas had gone to school together and were friends.
He waited until they'd taken their seats before he brought the papers out. The first part of the will was pretty standard, with generous amounts left for the faithful staff, some of whom had been with the family for more than ten years.
“Rosalee, you retain control of the apartment buildings on Lexington Street and the home in Malibu, as well as a sum of ten million dollars.” He looked at Talia, who was looking at Donna as if she was about to take off with the family silver. “Talia you will continue to run the charity foundations as well as the PR department of the company and you get twenty percent of the company. You will inherit fifteen million dollars when you turn thirty and will get your usual allowance every two weeks.”
Talia inclined her head regally. “Daddy is dead and suddenly none of that matters.”
“I understand.” Clint shuffled the papers nervously before looking at Thomas, whose steady green eyes were trained on him. “I want you to know that I had nothing to do with this and never knew about it until a few days ago.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Clint took a deep breath and then dove straight into it. “You get the bulk of the company and get to be CEO but there is a catch.”
“What catch?”
Clint turned his head to look at Donna for a moment before continuing. “In order for you to be the head of the company, your father left a proviso in his will.”
Thomas’ fingers curled into fists as he stared at his friend. “Go on.” His voice had gone deathly quiet, making Clint wish that he was anywhere but inside the lofty study of the quietly elegant mansion just now. “You have to get married.”
Thomas relaxed a little bit and leaned back in the chair. “I've been seeing Caroline and it's getting serious.”
“He has someone in mind, and it isn't Caroline Schaeffer.”
“Who might that be?”
Clint turned his head to look at the woman seated across from Thomas and didn't respond for a moment. The silence lengthened as all three family members turned to look at the outsider in their midst.
“You must be out of your god-dammed mind!” The words exploded in the otherwise silent room and caused the rest of them to jump in reaction.
“You have to marry Donna Nichols in order for the company to be fully yours. If you allow three months to pass without the wedding taking place, you forfeit the title of CEO and Byron Carmichael—the youngest board member—becomes CEO.”
The silence in the room was rife with tension, so much so that the air was thick with it.
Donna sat rigid in the stiff-backed chair and couldn't believe what she was hearing. All eyes turned to her as she got to her feet. “I'll see myself out,” she said through stiff lips as she endured the anger of the looks leveled at her.
“Where the hell do you think you're going?” Thomas asked, his tone menacing.
Donna bristled at his tone and opened her mouth to say something, but Clint intervened desperately. “Now then, there is no need for animosity—”
“Are you serious?” Talia burst out, her green eyes flashing as she looked from the lawyer to the woman who was still standing by her chair. “You came in here and dropped this bombshell on my brother and expect that we should be civilized?”
“I had nothing to do with it—”
“Mother and Talia, could you please give us the room?” Thomas asked softly, his green eyes leveled on Donna, making her feel as if the simple black dress was cutting off her circulation.