Enchanted: (Billionaire Venture Capitalist #8): A Fake Fiancée Romance Page 11

  “Thank you. I appreciate that, and I thank you for the heads-up of what’s to come today.” Turning to me, he continues, “This is Quinn Faraday.”

  Henry turns to me. “Quinn, it’s great to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

  I extend my hand, and he grasps it. “Very nice to meet you too, Mr. Gray.”

  “Please, call me Henry.”

  “All right.”

  Henry looks questionably at William, obviously wondering whether or not to proceed with me standing there, knowing that we really aren’t together.

  “No, she needs to stay,” William declares.

  Henry motions for us to sit, and William reaches for my hand as we listen while Henry talks a little bit about William’s mother. Apparently, she was an heiress, and he explains that the home William grew up in was her family home. Therefore, the house isn’t part of his father’s estate. Under her original trust, his father was to manage the estate until William’s 25th birthday, at which time it was to revert to William.

  “I had no idea that I had a trust. I thought it all rolled to my father and would eventually roll to me. I was so young, I never thought about it. We didn’t really talk about that in my family,” William muses. “That would mean I inherited it almost eight years ago. I didn’t know that. I assume there are some tax implications.”

  “You never withdrew anything from the trust, and the trust has been managed by my office, so we’ve filed the appropriate taxes.”

  “Well, that’s good.” All of a sudden, William looks up at Henry. “So, I actually have the right to kick Lillian out if I want to?”

  “Yes, absolutely. You should know that there’s been an inventory of every item in that house, outside of her personal items, and so she could stay there, and anything that is removed, she would be responsible for paying for.”

  “Well, that’s very interesting. I’m not planning on moving back to Philadelphia—well, at least not anytime soon, and so the idea of her staying in the house doesn’t necessarily bother me if you think I can trust her.”

  “I can’t make that estimation, but I would suggest you consider your options very carefully. Now we have to talk about the money that your mother left you because it doesn’t sound like your father walked you through any of that.”

  “No, he didn’t,” William tells him.

  I’m feeling really uncomfortable with all of this information, but thankfully my phone starts to ring, saving me. I look at William, and he nods. “Excuse me.” I don’t need to know the details of the money in his estate, and, in fact, I’d rather not know.

  Stepping out of the room, I answer the phone. “Quinn Faraday.”

  “So sorry to bother you, Quinn, but we have a small emergency. Do you have a moment?” Francie from the SketchIt office calls.

  “Hold on a moment, and let me see if I can get somewhere private.” The receptionist overhears me saying this, and he kindly escorts me to a small conference room off the reception area. Taking a seat at the table, I resume the call. Thankfully, it’s only a minor issue with SketchIt and doesn’t take long to resolve.

  As I hang up, a loud, nasally voice can be heard right outside the door. I’ve only heard that voice once before, but it’s easily recognizable. Lillian.

  “I’ve already hired a PI to look into his girlfriend. No need to worry about that. He’ll never marry her. I’ve already learned they are staying in different rooms at the Rittenhouse.”

  I shrink back. I’ve already let him down.

  “I have an appraiser from an auction house going through all the crap in the house and preparing to sell it. I hate antiques.”

  “But, Mom, what if—”

  “Today, we’re just here to listen. Don’t react. Don’t do anything other than listen and know that it will all be ours in a few months. Tahiti here we come.”

  I’m stunned to hear what was just said. I quickly text William.

  Me: I just overheard Lillian tell her sons they have a PI on me and an appraiser going through the house to sell the antiques.

  The voices fade away, and I cautiously step into the hallway, stalling so as not to run into Lillian and her boys. An older woman stops me and asks, “Are you looking for the ladies’ room?”

  “Yes, I am. Can you direct me?”

  “Follow me, I’m headed to the same place.” She wanders through the back of the office and out a back door. “When you’re ready to return, walk the other way into reception, and they’ll get you back into your conference room.”

  “Thank you.”

  I stall as long as I can, but there’s no word from William. I see it’s almost time for the next meeting, so I wash my hands and wander back to reception just as Henry walks out to greet Lillian.

  When we walk into the conference room, Lillian sees William sitting there with a few files in front of him. “I demand to know what’s going on here,” she fumes.

  “Lillian, we’re just going through William’s mother’s estate. Nothing to worry about. Please have a seat,” Henry directs her.

  She sits down with her two boys on each side of her. Another gentleman slithers in behind them.

  Turning to the man, Henry asks, “Excuse me. Are you supposed to be here?”

  “Yes, I represent Lillian Bettencourt,” he says smugly. He’s smarmy in a television advertising lawyer way.

  Lillian smirks. “This is Arnold Smithers. He’s my personal attorney, and he’s here to look out for me and my children and our interests.”

  “Okay, very good.” Henry goes through and begins to read the will.

  “To my stepsons, Brett and Jason, I leave each five thousand dollars.” They sit back, looking rather arrogant.

  “To my wife of sixteen years, I leave half of my assets. The assets will be placed in trust, and you’ll be paid a flat wage each month of twenty thousand dollars for the remainder of your life.” Lillian smiles, waiting for Henry to drop the bomb about the marriage clause.

  “To my son, I leave my seat on the board of Bettencourt Industries.”

  Lillian erupts. “That is supposed to go to me. That’s my seat.”

  “I’m just reading his will. We really don’t have much say at this point,” Henry offers. “May I continue?”

  She smiles at him. “Of course.”

  “The other half of my estate is left to my son. In order to collect the funds, he must be married within one year of my death, or the funds revert to a trust that will be evenly distributed among these six charities.” Henry proceeds to list six engineering-based charities.

  Lillian jumps to her feet. “Wait! That is not what he told me. He told me he was going to take care of my boys. If his loser of a son doesn’t get the money, it should go to my boys.” She leans across the table and sneers at William. “You were a terrible son. And this sham of a fiancée is just a further testament to how low you’ll go to get your father’s money.”

  Henry speaks up. “Lillian, the estate is valued at forty million dollars—”

  “Forty million? It’s much more than that. The house alone is worth over twenty million.”

  “I think you’re probably right, but that is part of Reginald’s first wife’s estate, and William inherited his mother’s estate and several of her other assets when he turned twenty-five. It already belongs to William.”

  “What?” Lillian screams. “I will fight this. That’s my money. I earned it by taking care of your father.”

  Henry says, “Well, Lillian, you are getting twenty million dollars. I think his thoughts were that, all told, the money doesn’t revert back to William upon your death. It remains with you and your heirs, so twenty million dollars should take care of all of you for a very long time.”

  Lillian can’t be reasoned with. “There’s more money than that. The house, that’s not an asset that I’m willing to split. That and all the contents should be 100 percent mine. I live there, and what about possession is nine-tenths of the law?”

  Henry looks at her pu
zzled. “Didn’t your husband tell you that he didn’t own the house?”

  Lillian stands up. “I’m fighting for that house. That house is mine. I put a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into that house, and I want all of the contents.”

  William had been sitting here watching her make a spectacle of herself, but finally spoke up at this point. “I appreciate that, Lillian, but the house belonged to my mother and has been in my family for several generations. My mother was born in that house; her father was born in that house. My family lived in that house when the Declaration of Independence was signed here in Philadelphia. That house is mine and belongs to me and my bloodline. I have no problems with you remaining in the house until I’m ready to move back to Philadelphia, but let me be very clear, Lillian. There is an inventory of every item in the house.”

  William opens the file in his lap and pulls out a list of each item and the condition of every single piece of art and antique in the house, down to the number of silver forks, spoons, and knives.

  William passes her the list, which is over an inch thick. Thumping on the paper for emphasis, he says, “Lillian, this is the inventory that says what’s in the house, so when you decide to vacate the home, everything that is on this inventory must be accounted for, or it will be billed to you and deducted from your allowance.”

  “This is my house. They’re my things. I’m not leaving,” Lillian insists.

  “Lillian, I suggest you consult with your attorney. You will be very disappointed if you choose to chase the path of suing for an estate that you have no claim to, and sitting in a house does not give you any claim,” William advises.

  “Lillian, William’s not asking you to leave. In fact, quite the opposite. He’s asking you to remain in the house and is allowing you to stay there as long as you need. You will continue to receive your monthly allowance. You’ll be just fine,” Henry reasons with her.

  “That’s not acceptable. I want a payout of it all. I want to be done with William.”

  Henry looks through the papers. “I’m not sure I can make it happen. You need to talk to your accountant. I don’t think that’s what you want to do. You’ll lose over half of your money to inheritance taxes if you do it that way. By giving it to you as an allowance, the taxes are less extreme. Plus, what could you need all that money for today?”

  “It’s none of your business on how I choose to spend my money,” Lillian snaps.

  Henry holds his hands up in mock surrender. I realize my mouth is hanging open.

  It’s interesting to see this spectacle happen up front and center. It’s like watching a bad soap opera playing out in front of me—overplayed, too much plastic surgery, and dramatic. I wonder if her eyes can actually shut when she sleeps at night. Can she actually even close her eyes? Does her hairline actually move each time she blinks? Does it hurt to have that much collagen injected into your lips? Can she even close her lips? They don’t quite meet in the middle, they’re so puffy. It’s kind of gross actually. And she’s making an idiot of herself, and her poor lawyer is just sitting there beside himself.

  Her two sons are just sprawled in their chairs expressionless. They aren’t upset. They aren’t happy. They’re just there, staring at the walls. Then I notice what they are doing—they’re each clenching the muscles in their right arm and holding it. I count to ten and watch them move to the left arm and do the same. Then they go back to the right again. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. No wonder William calls them Dumb and Stupid.

  Lillian stands up and storms out of the room with her lawyer and twin sons trailing behind her. That’s fine. She can head back to wherever she came from.

  “I think we’re going to have a problem,” William suggests to Henry.

  “Oh, I’m positive we’re going to have a problem, but I’ve already started preparing with some of my team because I figured this might be coming.” The three of us sit here quietly, each of us replaying the fiasco that just unfolded in front of us.

  Looking at William, Henry says, “It may not make a difference if you two don’t marry. The money from your mother's estate and the house will always belong to you. What’s at stake is the half of your father’s estate and the seat on the board of your dad’s company.

  “I understand,” William says. “I’m positive that my dad didn’t want her or her kids to take that seat. The money, as far as I’m concerned, can go to the charities that my mother requested. The house I need to think about what to do with.”

  “Philadelphia isn’t such a bad place to raise your kids. You turned out pretty well.”

  William stands. “Henry, I appreciate your help. Let’s figure out how to manage the house. Quinn overheard them talking about hiring private investigators, which I couldn’t care less about. However, they also have plans for an auction house to come in and clear out my mother's things.”

  “We’ll send an injunction over today and make sure she knows that isn’t to happen.”

  William extends his hand. “Again, thank you for your help today. We’ll be at the Rittenhouse for the remainder of our stay. Although, I’m thinking of taunting her and going over to the house today. I’d like to make sure to talk to the housekeeper. She’ll be a good inside person for us, and I’ll make sure she doesn’t fire Harriett.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad idea, but just so you know, Harriett and Marcus are employees of the estate, not of hers. Make sure to take your bodyguard, and don’t let her escalate it.”

  “I understand.”

  Chapter fifteen

  William

  I can’t say that the reading of the will went any differently than I expected. I saw Quinn recognize what Dumb and Stupid were busy doing with their clinching muscles shit. I’m surprised she actually caught on as quickly as she did. It took me a couple of times of sitting with them to realize what they did. They seem to zone out when their mother freaks, or just talks really. Not that I blame them, she doesn’t have much to say.

  “I want to go by the house this afternoon and spend some time with Harriett. I’d love for you to join me, but please don’t feel obligated if you’re not comfortable or you have things to do at the office,” I explain to Quinn.

  “I do have a few things to do for work,” she says carefully, “but are you kidding? This is better than anything I’ve ever seen on television. I definitely want to go to the house. Plus, Gerald will be with us, so I feel pretty safe.”

  “Gerald, are you up for running by the house?”

  “Anything you want, sir,” he says.

  Looking over at Quinn, I notice how nice she looks. “Do you think we should change and go more casual or go as we are?”

  “I think I should go put on some jeans, and we can go act like we’re going to really settle in. Too bad we can’t bring an overnight bag or something and really freak her out.” Her giggle is the sweetest sound.

  “You’ve really nailed it right on the head. Let’s just put some casual clothes on and go rattle her cage a bit.”

  We arrive at the Rittenhouse, and she quickly goes to her room. I look out at the late afternoon sun setting behind the capital building and pour myself a glass of scotch. Maybe a little bit of liquid courage will help me prepare for what I’m sure is going to be World War III. Part of me is excited; the other part of me dreads this. I’m determined to be nice about all of this, but we know she’s just a bitch.

  When Quinn walks back into the living room, I’m stunned. She looks positively beautiful. She’s wearing skintight jeans that show off every delicious curve and a sweater that fits just right in all the right places, along with a pair of ballet flats. She looks dignified yet casual. I know she was worried about being outside of Lillian’s sphere, but Quinn has more class than most of the women I grew up with.

  “You look great. Are you ready?”

  She blushes and bites her lip—that delicious lip I’d like to be the one biting. “May I have a glass of what you’re drinking?”

  �
��Absolutely.” I stand and pour her two fingers of scotch. “With or without ice?”

  “Without is fine.”

  I hand her the glass of tawny liquid. “Sit with me. We’re not in any hurry.”

  We sit down together, and she fits well in the crook of my arm. I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo.

  “I’m sorry about today,” she says just above a whisper.

  “What do you have to be sorry about?”

  “I just wish it was easier, but at least it was entertaining.”

  I laugh. “Yes, Lillian has always been entertaining. She wasn’t always so plastic and over the top.”

  “I can’t imagine that she was. Your dad had to have fallen in love with her to marry her.”

  “Maybe. We weren’t that close after my mom died.”

  “Well, hopefully, this afternoon will be a little entertaining.” She giggles and puts her fingers over her mouth. “Does that make me a bad person?”

  I chuckle. “Not after what she pulled this afternoon. But I’d much rather pick up where we left off this morning.” I rub her shoulder.

  She leans in, and her kiss takes my breath away. Reaching for her perfect mound, I’m hard already. As I play with her nipples, she moans and it’s the most exquisite sound. My phone rings, interrupting us.

  “We have all night,” she whispers.

  I begrudgingly reach for my phone. The caller ID tells me it’s Henry. “Hello?”

  “I’ve set up the auditor to go through the house and take an inventory and compare it to the one we have from a few years ago. If we find anything amiss, we’ll take it from her inheritance. I’ve discussed your father’s will with one of my colleagues, and we believe that if she takes her inheritance in a lump sum, then she will need to vacate the house. Are you okay with that? We just feel it’s the only way to protect your assets.”

  “I’ll defer to you on that. If that’s your recommendation, I’m fine with that.”

  “Would you like me to tell her or would you like to let her know?” Henry asks.