Chapter Fifteen

Michaela

 

“Harry Blackwell is your uncle?”

Was.

Lincoln had blurted out his question almost at the same time as mine.

“Do you two know each other?” Abby asked. Her gaze bounced between us.

I’d never asked for her last name. Uncle Harry called her Abby, so I did, too. With mother and son in the same room, I saw the resemblance. OMG.

“Michaela sang at my friend’s wedding on Christmas,” Lincoln said to her, but his eyes were on me. Two green laser beams of intensity.

Guess a few days hadn’t lessened his feelings about me, whatever they were today.

Abby smiled, though. “What a small world! Lincoln, you should show Michaela around town while she’s here, keep her mind off the…you know.”

His attention moved to her. “Mom, I’m sure Michaela has plenty on her plate.”

“I do, and I don’t want to get in the way of your family time.”

“Hello? Where is everyone?” a voice called.

Why did Mr. Howell think he could enter the house any time he wished?

The kitchen door opened. “Ah. There you are. The Thompsons have invited you to a get-together tonight. Everyone in the neighborhood wants to meet Harry’s niece. I hope you brought a nice cocktail dress.”

“Why, exactly, would I want to meet with a bunch of stuffy rich people?” Brow arched, my arms crossed over my chest as I glared at the impertinent lawyer.

“Miss Simon, Harry and the Thompsons were friendly. Mr. Thompson extended the invitation on his wife’s behalf after our meeting this morning. It would be quite rude to refuse.”

“Give me one good reason I should attend any society parties this week. Everybody knows Harry disliked them.” While his clients for custom woodwork were well-to-do, he’d preferred the company of blue collar folks.

Like Grandpa.

“Miss Simon, who do you think is going to buy your uncle’s possessions? Do you know anyone who could afford this house, the cars, the boat, or the memberships? These are people who could make it very easy, or very difficult, to do business here.”

Lips pursed, I stared at him, considering, then sighed, making a decision. “Fine. I’ll make an appearance but I’m not staying long. I hate these things.”

“Excellent. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said.

“I never said I’d go with you. Why the hell would I do that?”

Peering down his nose at me, he replied, “Because, princess, I know all the players. Go shopping. You don’t want to look…less than your best.”

He smiled at Abby and left.

“Arrogant, presumptuous, son of a bitch! As soon as I get the paperwork back, he is sooo fired!” I grabbed a soda, slammed the refrigerator door, and stomped out of the kitchen.

It was true I hadn’t brought anything besides a respectable black dress for the funeral, but I hadn’t planned on going anywhere that required it.

I grabbed my purse and headed out the door, then picked the keys for the Mustang. Turned the key and revved the engine, pleased with its purr, then carefully backed it out of the garage, turned the car around, and sped down the driveway.

Took a right after passing through the gates.

The air was cold, but the rain had stopped. The breeze whipped through the tendrils of hair that escaped my clip. Tempting to let my hair down, but it would obscure my vision. The last thing I wanted to do was wreck this beautiful car.

I passed by other custom mansions, several of them many, many years old. A few people waved, recognizing the vehicle.

My thoughts turned to the lawyer as I drove through the quiet neighborhood. If he insulted me at the house one more time, I was going to boot him out on his ass—personally! If I learned anything from Mother, it was never let a man treat you like anything less than an equal.