1. Life is nothing without passion. Live yours, whatever it may be. Live your passion.

  2. Love is a necessity. You deserve someone who makes you feel like you’ve been struck by lightning. Stop rolling your eyes. Find a man who admires your spirit, who lets you make decisions for yourself, and who fights standing beside you, not in front of you.

  3. Assess. Adjust. Adapt. Kick ass. You know that was my motto in life. Make it yours.

  4. Make waves. Don’t ever settle.

  5. Sometimes you have to do what seems wrong, in order to get to what’s right. There’s a reason I married my first husband. It was so I could appreciate your grandpop even more.

  6. Give back. Not just with money, but with time. And not to the Westmore community. Find one that really needs it and can benefit from whatever you can bring to them.

  7. Eat the sugar. Drink the wine. Laugh when it’s inappropriate.

  Enough of my Hallmark card wisdom. Now to the good stuff.

  I have set up a trust for you, to be set into motion upon my death and take effect on your thirtieth birthday.

  You know I hate rules, so this will seem odd that I’m attaching parameters to your inheritance. I have my reasons. I’ll explain below.

  My precious Row, I leave you thirty million dollars—but there’s a catch.

  I know you. You’ll get so lost in work, in your drive to succeed, that you’ll forget to fall in love. So, listen closely. Thirty million—a lump sum payment—will be yours two years after you marry.

  Yes. That means you’d better get on it, because you’re not getting any younger, now, are you?

  Because you are like me, I’m sure that rule just pissed you off—because no one tells you what to do. Am I right? If that’s the case and you choose to overlook the finding love and getting married part, you’ll receive one million a year for the next thirty years.

  Not bad by any means, but not the same. The lump sum will give you more possibilities.

  My opinion? Choose option number one. First, see number two above. And second, that lump sum payment might be enough for you to buy some votes of those on the board. You can outright buy a percentage of the ownership or you can persuade a board member and buy their vote at the table. The more clout you have as a board member or owner, the more pull you’ll have in one day getting a no-confidence vote of Rhett as the CEO.

  (My lawyer has my notes on which members might be for sale, and the dirt I have on them to convince them. Did you expect any less?)

  Already thinking of how to get around this? Marry someone, get the money, then divorce them? See? I know you well. That’s where my recent addendum to my will comes in: you must remain married for two years before receiving the totality of the inheritance.

  In addition, my company, Mirium LLC, is yours. What’s that, you ask? It’s a company your grandpop set up for me so that I can have a say in my family’s business. Your new company nets you a 5 percent stake in TinSpirits, which is a big enough percentage to warrant a board seat. Congratulations, you now have a vote.

  It’s up to you whether you keep this company’s ownership private and vote by proxy or make it known and vote yourself. Private gives you more leverage.

  Why am I giving this to you? To give you options and freedom. A chance to use these options to level the playing field if need be. Allow you to work your magic and sell whatever agenda it is you want, just like I know you can.

  I love you, Rowan. You have always owned my heart in a way neither Rhett nor Cassie did. I was truly blessed to be your grandmother. Go conquer the world. I’ll be watching.

  Forever and always,

  Gran

  It was quintessential Eleanor Rothschild. Quirky, humorous, blunt, and loaded with the tough love I’d come to expect from her.

  Not to mention a huge holy shit in regards to the trust.

  The holy shit that prompted me to open the most expensive bottle of wine and down it myself.

  The flap of the envelope flutters with the ocean breeze. I stare at it until my eyes blur and my head spins even more than it already has.

  I loved it at first. An unexpected treat to hear her voice again.

  Then I hated it. I read it the one time, followed by all the legal attachments that came with it. Then I tossed it on the table where it sits, mad at it.

  At Gran for leaving me.

  At the inheritance I’m flabbergasted by but that I don’t want all the same.

  At the parameters she set on me when she knows that falling in love is the last thing on my mind.

  It’s like my world has been tipped upside down twice—first with her death and then with the buyout—and she’s giving me an unexpected way to try to right it.

  But right it at a personal cost I don’t exactly want to pay.

  Marry and receive an astronomical lump sum that I can possibly use to move mountains. Don’t marry and receive a million a year for thirty years.

  Net a seat on the board either way.

  The clichéd rich kid in me says receive the million a year for thirty years. That’s more than anyone needs by far. Gran was crazy if she thought I’d strap my love life to a ticking clock.

  Sure, a few dates and some great sex are on my radar—but not falling in love and getting married. Especially the definition of marriage and the role of being a wife here in Westmore.

  Will it come in time? Later in life when I’m established, have smashed my goals, and have a more prominent role in the company? Maybe. Maybe not.

  All I know is the thought of having to put me on hold for the collective of an us just doesn’t hit me as something I want right now.

  My mom calls it selfish. I don’t really care.

  The lump sum would go a long way to trying to fix the current situation.

  Are you out of your mind, Rowan? Who are you going to just pick up and marry? Why would you fuck up your life like that?

  I groan and finish the last of my wine.

  Leave it to Gran to blackmail me. To make me question everything about myself because of it.

  I promised her I’d keep the company in Rothschild hands.

  Don’t look now, Row, but you’re failing at both.

  Winnie comes my way when I whistle, and I absently pet the top of her head as she drinks water from the bowl beside me. My mind wanders.

  How can I fix this?

  How can I stop this?

  How can I keep my promise when things are spiraling out of control?

  I lift my glass to my lips only to realize it’s empty. Shit. What would Gran do if she knew what was happening right now?

  Assess. Adjust. Adapt. Kick ass.

  Does that motto include bending some rules to reach the end game I promised?

  I’m beginning to think that’s the only way I can.

  SEVENTEEN

  Holden

  I lean back and stare at the console of screens set up in front of me. There are six in all, curved in an arc around my desk. Each one holds a treasure trove of information I’ve been coveting for some time.

  On Chadwick Williams and the price he’s paid and people he’s crossed to be where he is.

  On Rhett Rothschild, the hasty decisions and all-encompassing greed his last name gave him carte blanche to but that I plan to use to fuck him over.

  Both families enabled their sons and wielded their corruption for their own benefit. To keep their power at the cost of so many others.

  I’m here to stop it. To harness it. To use it against them as it was once used against me.

  The Rothschilds’ baby? TinSpirits and its subsidiary products? I’ll own it. Then I’ll destroy and dismantle it so as to cause maximum collateral damage.

  The information is laid out in front of me. I can recite the facts and figures and details without looking at the screens.

  But it’s the added information I’ve amassed over the past few days that holds my attention the most. Rowan is an overachiever in all aspects. Graduated magna cum laude from college. A prestigious internship with one of the top entrepreneur programs in the country while getting her master’s degree. A rise through the ranks at TinSpirits.

  Interesting.

  Daddy didn’t hand her the VP of marketing position right off the bat like he did for Rhett and his position straight out of school. She had to work for it. Surely she was moved up the ladder faster than most, but she was in fact on the ladder.

  And she volunteers at the Sanctuary.

  I’m not sure why that one sticks with me the most.

  It’s also such a major contrast to the pictures I found when I slid past her firewall and into her hard drive. The carefree, wild woman in those images is nothing like the reserved and defiant one who stands outside my office debating what to spar with me over.

  The pictures of her in barely there bikinis don’t hurt either.

  Christ almighty. Brains and beauty are a lethal combination, and she has both.

  I startle when my cell rings. A glance at the clock tells me it’s late and I’ve been staring at this for way too long.

  “Knight,” I say when I pick up.

  “Leave Rowan the fuck alone.”

  The slurred words hit my ear.

  “Chad? Hello to you too.” I rise from my seat and move to the window of my penthouse so I can look out to the city beyond. To the river that separates who he is and who I used to be.

  “You heard me.”

  “Mm-hmm. I did. I heard ‘fuck’ and ‘Rowan.’ Thanks for the approval on what I plan to do. Not that I needed it.”

  “You motherfucker,” he grits out.

  My chuckle is a taunt. The closest I’m going to get to plowing a fist in his face. At this point, it’ll have to do. Unsatisfying but better than nothing. “Been called worse by better.”

  “You think this is funny, don’t you? Well, don’t. It’s not.” He sniffs. “Leave her alone.”

  “Now, do you care to tell me what that’s supposed to mean?” I can’t help my smile. I know exactly what the fuck he means.

  The looks I level him as I stand partly in Rowan’s office as I talk to her. The purposely placed comments about her as I walk past his office. Anything to fuck with his head.

  And … it seems to be working.

  “You’re … you’re toying with her and I’m not sure why.”

  “You know why,” I bait him but am met with his silence.

  “She has nothing to do with it,” he says, but I let the comment float and die. It? Does he mean the company being run into the ground? The poor financial decisions he and his best buddy have made? The slow demise of their coffers?

  Because we all know he’s not referring to the real reason I’m here. I was invisible to him then and it seems because I was, he can’t see through me now.

  “Did you hear me?” he demands on pretty fucking shaky legs.

  I don’t know what he’s referring to and I don’t care. But clearly my not answering fucks with his head even more.

  “Are you there, Knight?”

  “Desperate doesn’t sound good on you, Williams.”

  “I’m warning you.”

  “I don’t have to listen to shit from some drunk wannabe asshole who couldn’t find a backbone to save his life.”

  “Fuck you.”

  This is more than pathetic.

  “That all you got, Chadwick?”

  “Monarch.”

  “Monarch?” I ask.

  “The reason behind it all.”

  “Behind what all?”

  “Rhett. His carte blanche.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand, confused as fuck.

  “Nothing.” There’s a clink in the background—the neck of a bottle on his glass I presume.

  “What’s Monarch?” I repeat.

  “Rhett. He thinks he’s the king of the castle.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Ignore me. I’m just drunk.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have picked up the phone.” Keep talking, asshole.

  “We’re talking about Rowan here,” he asserts. Clearly the fucker is drunk and talking gibberish with his dick in his hand, looking for a contest to prove his is bigger.

  He’ll lose.

  He’ll most definitely lose.

  “We’re not talking about shit here, Williams, but please, be my guest and keep going.”

  I glance over to my computer screens. To one where emails are populating. To another where an image of Rowan stares back at me.

  “You’re fucking it all up.”

  “And yet my money was so enticing to start with.”

  “Yes. No. I mean Rowan.”

  “What about her? The part where she’s way out of your league and doesn’t want you, or the part where you and Rhett disregard everything about her?”

  “You’re wrong.” A slurp of what I assume is his drink. “And I don’t disregard her.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.” I pause on purpose. “The question is why, though. You say I’m to leave her alone, and yet you want more from her than any of us.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Note to self: alcohol turns Chad into a pussified tough guy.

  “It must be hard to want to marry a woman who doesn’t want you back.”

  “You don’t know shit.”

  I chuckle into the phone. That’s the only answer I need to give to further the poor man’s paranoia.

  And he takes the bait. “Like you know what Rowan wants.”

  No, but after this conversation I have every intention of finding out.

  You’ve made her a pawn in this game, Chad. A piece to position and maneuver and take advantage of in order to use to my advantage.

  I’d thought about it.

  I’d contemplated it.

  I swirled the thought around on my tongue like a nice sip of scotch.

  Now you just fucking cemented it.

  Thanks for that. Not that I owe you anything.

  “It’s probably best if you hang up the phone, Chadwick.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re threading a very thin needle. You don’t want to be on my bad side.” More than you already are, at least.

  “Empty threats don’t scare me. I’ve lived in this town my whole life—do you actually think you can walk in here, throw your money around, and people will respect you over me? We protect what’s ours around here. It’s best you remember that.”

  I’m aware. More than you’ll ever know, I’m fucking aware.

  “You do, until you no longer can. Pretty sure that day is coming sooner than you think.”

  I end the call before he can respond.

  The funny thing about secrets in small towns is once they’re out, they not only ruin you, but everything else around you.

  That’s what I’m banking on. The butterfly effect.

  My cell rings again, his name on the screen, and I deny the call.

  The fucker saw me hours ago at the office but didn’t have the guts to confront me face-to-face.

  I expect nothing less from a man like him.

  A man who clearly doesn’t deserve shit, let alone a woman like Rowan.

  A woman like Rowan? Tight sweaters and defiance don’t mean you know shit about her, so what the fuck does that mean, Knight?

  But I do, don’t I? I glance at the computer again. At Rowan’s life narrowed down to text on a screen. Emails, texts, social media accounts.

  I should feel guilty for invading her privacy. I don’t. Knowing everything about each player in this game is a requirement. A necessity. Something I can and will use to my advantage if needed.

  And I have no qualms about it. Especially after Chad’s call.

  Time to kick this game plan into high gear. To adjust it as needed for maximum effect.

  Chadwick Williams.

  The fucker once took what was mine.

  Now it’s time to do the same to him.

  The end game at all costs, right?

  EIGHTEEN

  Rowan

  There is a low hum that carries up from the floor below the catwalk we are standing on.

  The machinery—row upon row that make up the Greatland production line—work in a series of synchronized sequences that Porter explains in excruciating detail.

  Almost as if he’s trying too hard.

  “And from there, the printed aluminum sheets are moved to the press where they are then stamped and molded,” Porter says, his chest puffed out like a proud papa.

  Either that or Rhett has told him about Holden’s plans to diversify suppliers and he’s trying to make a point.

  By the unamused look on his face, I’d say Holden’s thinking the latter.

  “And what part of this manufacturing process includes kickback checks to Rhett Rothschild?”

  Porter all but chokes on air. He coughs out a laugh as his round belly bounces with the movement and his unshaven face turns red and then pales. “I was warned you were to the point,” he says when he regains his composure. And I have to hand it to him, he didn’t cower at Holden’s question like everyone else that I’ve seen.

  “Subtlety isn’t my forte.” He lifts his brows. “And you’re not answering my question.”

  “I think it was more of an accusation than a question,” Porter says, not backing down.

  The smile Holden offers him sends chills down my spine and only reinforces the new information I’m struggling to process and dying to confront him over.

  Holden steps closer and lowers his voice, his gaze a laser of distrust. “I’m not from around here, Porter. I don’t have to play by whatever fucked-up rules everyone else does. You have one of two choices. Keep going how you’re going and see how that ends up. Or step the fuck back and realize you’re skating on thin ice.” Holden sniffs and his smile turns more than mocking but I think Porter is too busy not pissing his pants to notice. “Either way, it seems you’re kind of fucked, so I’d proceed accordingly.”

  Warning given, Holden nods and then walks off the catwalk toward the exit.

  Porter looks at me with wide eyes and a bead of sweat dripping down his temple.