Page 3

CHARLOTTE

“Come on, you look fine,” I snap at Kennedy as I drag her toward the gleaming building where the offices of Spalder & White are located.

Apparently, they’re bigwigs in the city, and everyone who is anyone uses these hotshot lawyers for any and all legal work. It’s like a giant shark tank plopped down right in the heart of Manhattan.

“I need to look more than fine,” she hisses, snatching her arm from my hands and fluffing up her soft waves again.

She’s dressed to kill in some red-bottomed shoes she bought with her first big paycheck, and a soft-pink pencil skirt that clings to her ample ass and hips but fits tightly to her toned legs. Her blouse is a blush pink, and she’s left a few buttons undone at the top to show off her killer rack.

“This is possibly ‘catching my future husband’ territory. Remember to be nice to all your possible future in-laws,” she says teasingly with a wink as she sashays into the building.

I stare at her as two men in thousand-dollar suits practically fight over the honor of opening the door for her before she turns around and gestures for me to follow. The smile on her face is bright, electric, and filled with more charisma than I have in my entire body.

I let my art and designs speak for themselves.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my corduroy pants and shuffle into the building after her. The two men who had been holding the doors open for her nearly let them shut on me, barely even registering my existence.

Kennedy ignores them and links arms with me, giving my shoulder a good-natured pat.

“You’re going to be fine. I’m with you. Mom and Dad are parked down the street, and we have a reservation at Gino’s for when this is all over.

What better way to celebrate an unexpected inheritance than with too much pasta and breadsticks? ”

I snort, laughter rumbling out of me. “OK, OK, let’s go and find out what the person—who couldn’t be bothered with me when they were alive—left me.”

The brightness in her expression softens, and she gives me a squeeze. “Their loss, our gain.”

A stupid grin splits my face, despite my best efforts to force it down. “Yeah, I’ve got all the family I need.”

“Damn right,” she whispers before straightening up her posture.

We walk to the elevator and take it all the way up. The whole thing is made of glass and is extraordinarily terrifying, but the view at the top takes my breath away. The sun rising up over New York has never been so beautiful, and I’m seeing it all.

We’re greeted by a much younger man than I’d imagined. He’s startlingly handsome. His neat black suit and perfectly coiffed dark hair make him look like he should be the one on Kennedy’s arm. Possible future in-laws indeed. Even his subtle professional smile accentuates his sharp bone structure.

“You must be Ms. Ryan and Ms. Blackburn. I’m Michael Anderson. It’s wonderful to see you both.”

“That we are,” Kennedy says, pulling me out of the elevator and more into the opulent entry way of the Spalder & White offices.

The two names are written in gold on the granite wall behind a reception desk, where a slight woman sits. Her shiny chestnut hair is a near-perfect match to the glazed oak monstrosity piled high with folders and sticky notes. Her nose is in a book, but Michael doesn’t seem to notice, or mind.

“Come right this way. My office is just through here.” He gestures to a short hallway lined with impressive doors, each with a shining golden nameplate.

His is at the end, with a window from floor to ceiling behind a massive solid wood desk that I very much hit my knee on as I go to take a seat in front of it.

“Shit,” I hiss softly, rubbing at the sore skin.

“I apologize on behalf of my offensive furniture, Ms. Ryan,” Michael says as he sits across from Kennedy and me, the smile on his lips softer but professional. “I’m sure you were devastated to hear about the loss of your aunt.”

“I didn’t know I had one. Your phone call was the first I heard of her.” I say plainly.

Mom and Dad never talked about siblings or much of anything. They were immigrants from Ireland and never liked to talk about their lives before they became American citizens. I never pried any further into it when I had the chance, and I was really starting to regret it.

“Oh, I see.” Michael nods as he pulls up something on his computer. “Well, I was Ms. Aspen McKenna’s right hand when it came to anything legal. She resided in Ireland but had many holdings in the States,” he explains before turning the screen toward me.

I sputter at the number of zeros before me.

“You’re fucking rich,” Kennedy mumbles. “I call being your accountant.”

I smack her thigh gently but nod.

“These numbers are why I asked you to bring all your documents. Do you have them?” He extends a hand toward me.

I sling my tote bag off my shoulder and pull out my birth certificate, social security card, and college transcripts. The three documents that apparently make up who I am.

“Fine arts major?” Michael questions as he takes them from me and makes a neat little pile before pressing a button on his phone. “Paisley, I need copies made of Ms. Ryan’s documents.”

“Right away, sir.”

The woman from the reception desk bustles in and quickly takes my papers from Michael’s desk before disappearing out the door again.

I should be more worried, but I can’t sense the spark of doubt that I normally get when someone is trying to fuck me over.

“Lottie’s a very talented artist. Her work is incredible!” Kennedy gushes, leaning forward and pulling her phone from her way too-tiny clutch. “Look, she made me this for my birthday last year.” She turns her phone, and I want to melt into the floor.

It’s a hyperrealistic painting of a naked Viking man on a horse, riding into battle.

Michael arches a brow, the corners of his lips tipping up. I swear his eyes flick to Kennedy’s face as she ogles the picture with a satisfied grin, but it’s over so quickly I can’t be sure.

In what seems like way too little time, Paisley comes back with two manila folders. She places them on Michael’s desk and smiles at Kennedy and me before she leaves again.

“I see the talent,” he says and then clears his throat.

“Bringing things back to the matter at hand, Ms. McKenna’s will contains a conditional bequest—that her beneficiary complete their college education before the assets can be transferred.

These documents will speed up the process immensely.

” Quickly checking both folders, he puts the copies into his desk drawer and hands me back my originals.

“There are more assets than just the cash and investments,” he says, flipping through some papers before he pulls out another folder that gives me a brief flashback to my former boss’s office.

“There are a few plots of farmland and underdeveloped property that will be transferred to you automatically, but the most interesting piece of property in the late Ms. McKenna’s portfolio is this.

” He slides an older piece of paper across the desk.

Kennedy and I lean over in sync to take in the fanciful script on the document. Parts of it are hard to read, but most bits toward the end are incredibly clear.

“I own a castle in Ireland?” I ask breathlessly.

“Indeed, you do, in County Kerry, in the town of Colbéliard.”

“Where the heck is that?” Kennedy asks, spine snapping straight. “And does that make her a princess?”

Michael suddenly laughs, the reaction seemingly startling even him.

He clears his throat, loosening his tie.

“No, that doesn’t make your sister a princess.

It’s an old castle, privately owned and in a livable state.

Your aunt had one further condition. In order to complete the transfer of deeds, you’ll be required to spend some time there.

” He pauses and looks at another document sitting on his desk.

“This is a direct quote—‘Experience the homeland of your ancestors to become your best self.’”

Kennedy smacks her hands over her mouth to keep her giggles in, and I just stare at Michael.

“I have to move to Ireland?”