Page 40 of Perfect Satisfaction

Furious, I demand, “Damn it, JB, what did they ask you?”

“They started out pleasant enough. I thought it was a friendly chat until—I think it was Heythrop—dropped a bomb. She asked me if I knew the exact language used on the ownership for the majority shares for MSW. I couldn’t speak—lost my voice. After a few seconds, they hung up.”

“Oh. My. God.” I feel myself shake. “Are you saying it’s not you?”

“It is. I swear it. I think.”

“You think?” I shout. I regain my calm. “You got spooked and you didn’t say anything to me? Why?”

He rubs his head wearily. “Do you realize how much you sound like Brendan in moments like these? He asked me almost the exact same thing.”

“Do you realize what an arse you are for not mentioning this?” I spit in return, one of the few colloquialisms I picked up from living in the United Kingdom coming to the forefront.

“Because it’s my problem.”

“You know that how? How is it not related to Brendan? To MSW?”

“To you?” he probes.

“I have nothing to do with West Moore’s estate, JB. We all know that. It must be something where the shares revert to B.”

“Do you think that’s it?”

“It has to be. But then that leaves a worldwide corporation without a head.”

“Fecking hell. I’ll figure it out.”

“Do that,” I retort.

Although my brothers were granted their inheritances, only JB jumped through the requirements laid out by the solicitors solely so the employees of MSW wouldn’t be impacted. Brendan still refuses to “mourn my long-lost father and lay claim to the only part of him worth anything.” When Brendan told my father’s lead solicitor—Newham—he’d claim his billions in stock and assets when “West Moore comes back from the dead and recognizes my sister, then we’ll talk. Until then, kiss my American ass. I don’t have to do shit.” I shed a few tears.

Still, this discussion deeply disturbs me.

“Sula, I was an arse. But I have a reason.”

“What is it?”

“I was trying to protect you. I love you, little sister. Heart and soul, down to the marrow of my bones, I love you. I so didn’t want to add to a burden our father placed on you.”

Now, it’s my turn to find solace in the landscape whizzing past us as I embrace this new knowledge. Finally, I speak, “You hurt me, JB.”

“I know. Do you still love me?”

“Always.”

“I promise—swear on my bloody soul—it will never happen again.”

“I believe you.” And I do because it’s not just his own sadness in his eyes—it’s all of ours collectively as a family due to this rift he’s caused.

“Will you stay? With the company?”With me?The last part is left unspoken in the air between us.

I meet his eyes before shaking my head.

He swallows hard. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. It’s not because I’m upset.”

“Then why?”