Faced by life-altering choices...
Bryde Watkins, former playgirl and heiress to a billion-dollar empire, prefers a simpler life, living under the radar...until her family's business is threatened by one powerful man--Bryant Osgoode. When Bryde finds...
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"There's news." Holden's deep voice pulled me out of my trance. His first stop was the liquor cabinet hidden amongst the dark mahogany panels of his study. He poured amber liquid in two tumblers, and filled another with ice. He handed me one glass and clinked it with his.
"Good or bad?" I asked, sniffing the contents of the crystal glass. Cognac. Some things never change.
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Holden dropped an ice cube into his glass and swirled his drink around. "It depends on what you think." The bastard loved dramatics, grinning before taking a sip of his drink.
"Out with it."
"The matriarch suffered hemorrhagic stroke this morning."
"This morning?" I looked away, gazing out the window, past the expanse of Central Park and to the lively lights of the city that never sleeps. I let my mind wander, welcoming any possible good use out of this news. Hell, who was I kidding? Any bad news from that family bode well for me. Knocking back the entire content of my glass, the burn of the alcohol slid down my throat. I grimaced, then let out a heavy exhale. "This is good."
Holden swept hair off his forehead and grinned once again, raising his glass. "That's what I thought. What's your next step?" His eyes shone with mischief.
I steepled my fingers under my nose, tapping the tips together. Ideas began to form. "Use it. With Adelaide Watkins out of the way, the family will start to crumble. It's the ammunition I've been waiting for."
A rapt at the door came, and Nyla entered, strutting toward me and Holden, in her signature denim shorts that showed off legs that went on for miles and a bikini top in flag-colors. God bless America indeed. She was a knock out, but having met her outside Holden's exclusive club, what I found more attractive with Nyla was her brilliant, diabolical mind.
"My source at the TSA told me that the oldest granddaughter just arrived in town," she stated, extending a folder my way.
I flipped through photographs taken in the airport and outside Mt. Sinai Hospital. I squinted at the black and white images. She couldn't be the same woman. Where was the over made-up, designer-label-wearing harlot who had always been the talk of the town?
