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“I did. I had a great time. Thank you both so much.”
“Listen, I know it’s late and you’ll be heading home soon, but I need to talk to you about something.”
I look up at my dad as he speaks, his expression serious and my stomach suddenly flip-flops into a knotted mess.
“Okay,” I say, placing my nearly empty water glass on the table and standing to follow him inside. I look over my shoulder at Chantelle who offers me a supportive smile, but it does little to ease my anxiety.
“Have a seat.” He gestures as he sits down behind his desk. He spins around, opening a painting on the wall like a door to reveal a built-in safe like you see in thriller or spy movies. He types in a code, removing a single file before closing it again and sitting down.
“There’s something I’ve been waiting to tell you about until today, your twenty-fifth birthday.”
I feel like I’m on the verge of throwing up. Suddenly, I get the insane idea that he’s about to tell me his best friend is really my dad and not him. Panic seizes my chest and I’m about to freak out when he slides the folder across the desk toward me.
“Your mother and I created a trust for you that you gain full access to on your twenty-fifth birthday.”
Relief washes over me as I try to comprehend what he just said.
“A trust?”
“When you were little, I paid child support and alimony to your mother. With each year as my net worth grew, I started contributing more. She said it was way too much and with her job, she was able to provide for you for the most part. I told her back then that we should set up a trust for you so that’s what we did. We both contributed to it over the years and your mother even had her life insurance policy go into the trust for you.”
I feel tears prick my eyes. Talking about my mom still makes me emotional, especially when I realize that even in death, she was so selfless, more concerned about me than her own failing health.
“So what does that mean for me?” I ask as I pick up the folder from his desk.
“It means that you have absolute freedom to do whatever you want with your life.”
I furrow my brow and open the folder, scanning over the documents when my eyes see the trust total. I feel them bug out of my head as I audibly gasp.
This can’t be right.
“Fifty million dollars?”
Chapter 12
Beckham
“Sir, there’s a Brontë Spencer here to see you. Should I send her up?”
I smile as my doorman mentions Brontë’s name. What a lovely and unexpected surprise.
“Yes, Ritchie, send her up. Thank you.”
I half sprint to the bathroom, double-checking my hair and swishing around some mouthwash before walking back to the entryway just as the elevator opens up to my penthouse.
“How did you and my father become friends?” she asks as she walks toward me, a folder clutched against her chest just like when we first officially met in my office.
“Good evening to you too, Brontë.” I smile as I walk toward her.
Truthfully, I’ve been a scared shitless mess since her birthday party on Saturday. Being that it’s Sunday evening and I hadn’t heard from her, I fully expected to pretend once again on Monday morning that nothing happened between us.
“Sorry.” She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. “I know you weren’t expecting me, but I really need to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah, absolutely. You want a glass of wine?”
She shakes her head, then chews her bottom lip for a second. “Actually, on second thought, yes, please.”
I walk over to the bar and find a Malbec I’ve been eyeing. “Red?”
