Harlequin Romance March 2021 Box Set Cara Colter (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📖

if they couldn’t tell her about the falling-out that had obviously occurred between Frances and Callie’s mother, at least they’d be able to paint a picture of Frances for her.

‘There were no other bequests—except to your mother.’

Her heart sank.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses. ‘Your grandmother left the rest of her money, along with the family estate in upstate New York, to your mother, Donna Susan Nicholls.’

There was a family estate? She straightened. That wasn’t just a breadcrumb. That was an entire loaf of bread!

* * *

Callie Nicholls’s face lit up at the mention of the family estate and a gargantuan weight slammed down on Owen’s shoulders. It took all his strength not to bow under its force. He didn’t even have the energy to swear. Clearly twenty million dollars wasn’t enough for Frances’s granddaughter—she wanted the family estate too. He was glad his godmother wasn’t here to witness such a travesty.

‘What happens if my mother refuses the bequest?’ asked Callie.

It was a circumstance Frances had foreseen. She’d placed a twelve-month timeframe on her daughter’s acceptance of her inheritance, with instructions to her lawyer to ignore any letters from Donna refusing the bequest during that time.

Mr Dunkley relayed that information, and then removed his glasses. ‘If after that time your mother still refuses her inheritance, it will go to a cats’ home.’

Callie turned to Owen. ‘You said she didn’t like cats.’

It made no sense to him either. He squared his shoulders. ‘Nevertheless, I can assure you that the likelihood of winning, if you were to contest the will and seek to have your mother’s share of the estate settled on you instead, is extremely unlikely.’

She waved his words away and he had a disturbing impression that she’d barely been listening to him.

‘Mr Dunkley, how much money are we talking, here?’

‘Five to six times what your grandmother left you. So, somewhere in the region of one hundred to one hundred and twenty million dollars.’

She sagged. ‘That’s an obscene amount of money… How could I not know my grandmother was one of the richest women in New York?’

‘She wasn’t. Not by any means,’ said the ever-pedantic Mr Dunkley. ‘The richest woman in New York is worth a hundred times that.’

Owen didn’t blame Callie for the look she sent the older man. He watched with a detached but fascinated interest as she straightened, wondering what game she planned to play now.

‘Mr Dunkley, do you know what it was my mother and grandmother fell out about?’

Owen’s eyebrows rose. Was she hoping to heal that breach and inherit that ‘obscene amount of money’ in turn when her mother died?

Mr Dunkley pursed his lips into a prim line. ‘Your grandmother never took me into her confidence.’

She turned to Owen and raised an eyebrow, and for a disconcerting moment he wondered if he’d misjudged her. All he could see in her face was bafflement. There wasn’t an ounce of guile, and no—

Don’t be an idiot. It was simply part of an act. The same kind of charade Fiona had played.

‘What about you, Mr Perry? Do you have any idea?’

Owen shook his head. He had no idea what had happened between Frances and her family.

Mr Dunkley shuffled some papers. ‘Let’s get this paperwork done, shall we?’

It took a ridiculously short amount of time to dispose of a fifth of Frances’s estate. A few signatures, Callie’s bank account details, and the key to Frances’s apartment promised in the next day or two. A fifth of Frances’s life—gone, just like that.

A fist reached into Owen’s chest and squeezed hard. It should be more difficult. It should take longer. Callie Nicholls should be forced to jump through hoops and prove her worth. There should be…

There should be more than this clinical practicality!

Callie Nicholls should be damn well grateful to her grandmother. And she should’ve given Frances the time of day when her grandmother had been alive. She could’ve answered at least one measly letter. Was it too much to ask in exchange for twenty million dollars?

They left the lawyer’s office together. As they took the elevator to the ground floor his conscience chafed him. Damn it all to hell! He was supposed to be fulfilling his promise to Frances.

When they reached the foyer he pulled his business card from his pocket and handed it to her. She raised a dubious eyebrow, and for some reason that set his teeth on edge.

‘My card,’ he said. ‘If you need anything while you’re in New York, I hope you’ll contact me. I’ll help in whatever way I can.’

Very slowly, she reached out and plucked it from his fingers, careful not to touch him. ‘That’s surprisingly kind of you.’

He deserved that.

Her lips pursed and her eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘You say you were my grandmother’s godson?’

He lifted what he knew was a crushingly supercilious eyebrow, but he couldn’t help it. ‘Would you like to see my baptism certificate?’

Just for a moment humour made her eyes sparkle. ‘You’ve no idea how tempted I am to say yes to that.’

When her lips curved up like that, they looked suddenly and irresistibly kissable. Her humour, and the direction of his thoughts, took him entirely by surprise. He had to bite back a smile—totally inappropriate. He had no intention of falling for this woman’s charm. A charm no doubt honed and practised to take in gullible fools like him.

She slipped his card into her handbag. ‘If you’re Frances’s godson,’ she said slowly, ‘and the only bequests she left in her will were for my mother and me…’

He frowned. Where was she going with this?

‘Do I need to make you some kind of monetary reparation? If you were expecting something and didn’t receive it…’ She shrugged. ‘That would explain it.’

He clenched his hands so hard he started to shake. Was money all this woman could think about?

‘Explain what?’ he managed to ask in a credibly even tone. He, for one, would do Frances proud.

‘The distinct impression I get that you don’t like me.’

He dragged in a breath. Evidently he’d have to work