Читать книгу All He Ever Wanted - Emily McKay - Страница 11

Less than twenty-four hours later, Laney held a nearly half-inch-thick stack of papers in her hand. She ran her thumb over the edges and watched the pages flutter.

“So he really did it?” she asked. “He did everything he said he would?”

Her next-door neighbor Brandon took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. As far as I can tell. Though, I’m no expert, mind you.”

Brandon owned the duplex where she lived. The cottage, in a funky little college neighborhood, was charming, cozy and perfect for her minimalist life, since his half was bigger than hers. She’d always suspected he was gay beneath his button-down lawyer exterior, but he’d never shared so much as a millimeter of his private life with her. She didn’t mind, though, since it was his prerogative. Besides, he was the kind of neighbor one could trust with spare keys, and he’d come over to kill bugs for her on more than one occasion—even big, nasty spiders. And he seemed totally willing to offer legal advice in exchange for wine, which in her mind put him up for some sort of handiest-neighbor-of-all-time award.

Laney tossed the stack of papers onto her coffee table and reached for her glass of wine. “You’re a lawyer.”

“An intellectual-property lawyer.” Brandon leaned forward to pour more wine into his own glass.

“That’s still two years of school and a bar exam closer to being an expert than I am.”

“Do I think he intends to donate the money to Woodland Theater? Yes, I do.”

“Oh.” Laney tried to drown the sick feeling in her belly with a gulp of wine.

She hadn’t really believed he would do it. She hadn’t actually intended to take his money. She’d thought if she made it difficult enough for him to see Gran that he’d back off and leave them all in peace. She should have known better. Cains never backed down from a fight. They were in it until the end. She should have remembered that.

She groaned and dropped her chin into her palm. “I’m in over my head. I should have known better than to try to go up against a Cain.” She looked up at Brandon. “I’m going to get crushed, aren’t I?”

“You make it sound like you’re facing Dalton on the field of battle.”

“Well, in my experience, any dealings with the Cains are like war.” Brandon gave a snort. “You wouldn’t agree?”

Brandon took a long sip of his wine, rolling it on his tongue as though he was quite the connoisseur—or like he was carefully considering his next words. She’d shared enough wine with him to know he wasn’t a connoisseur.

“Come on, Brandon, you know me too well to mince words. If you have an opinion, spit it out.”

He swallowed. “Okay. I think you’re rushing this.”

“You think I’m in over my head?”

“No. It’s not that. It’s just—” He took another gulp of wine, and this time it went down fast. “You’ve got all these opinions about the Cains. Opinions that you formed when you were still a kid. And—”

“You think I don’t know the Cains?”

Brandon held up a hand to stave off her annoyance. “I think you know Hollister Cain. He’s exactly the conniving, back-stabbing bastard you say he is.”

There was a but dangling on the end of Brandon’s sentence just as loud as a shout. “But you think I’m wrong about Dalton.”

Brandon shrugged. “Ever since he took over, the company atmosphere has been different. He’s still ruthless. Still aggressive as hell when it comes to business, but he’s not sneaky and manipulative like his father was. Hollister Cain was the kind of guy who’d steal corporate secrets right out from under your nose and then if you tried to come after him, he’d sue you for infringement of his intellectual property. Then he’d buy off the judge to ensure he won the case. Then he’d take the money from the settlement to buy up your stock and bury your company.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Just what Laney needed—a reminder of how ruthlessly Hollister would go after Gran if he ever found out about the money she had stolen. True, it sounded as if Hollister was on his deathbed, but she didn’t believe for a minute that he would let something as trifling as his own mortality keep him from prosecuting someone who’d done him wrong.

“Dalton isn’t like that.”

“Well, maybe it’s just harder to buy off judges now than it was thirty years ago.”

“No. I don’t think it’s that.” But Brandon still chuckled as he shook his head. “Both times I went up against him, there was no sneakiness. No manipulation. If he wants your company, you know he’s coming for it. Everything out in the open. So honest and fair it’s almost ridiculous. It’s almost like he’s trying to redeem the company’s reputation.”

Laney could feel herself frowning. Suddenly she was aware of how closely Brandon was watching her. Disconcerted, she set her glass down. “So you think I’m wrong about Dalton Cain?”

“I can’t guarantee that he’s not trying to screw you over.” Brandon pushed the document across the table toward her. “But I’d be very surprised if he was.”

Laney nervously tapped her nail tip on the stem of her glass. If Brandon was to be believed, Dalton was not the corporate predator his father had been. In fact, he may actually be a decent human being.

What was she supposed to do with that?

If Dalton really was on the up-and-up, she couldn’t take his money. Sure, the Cains probably donated this kind of money all the time. And, sure, the Woodland Theater was a worthy cause—the kids she worked with desperately needed the extra attention. But she’d still manipulated him into donating it and that felt wrong.

Better to know all this now than after all the papers had been signed.

She lifted her glass in silent toast to Brandon. “Thank you. And thank goodness you were willing to work for cheap wine. I could never afford to hire a lawyer.”

“I’m not saying it’s ironclad or anything,” Brandon said hastily. “If the guy wanted to back out, I’m sure he could find a way. How much do you trust Dalton?”

She considered the question, but since she had no real answer, she was forced to hedge with an indecisive waggle of her hand. “Enough, I suppose.”

“I thought this guy tormented you in high school.”

Dalton had been such an arrogant ass back in school—not brash and pushy, the way jocks always were, but just ice-cold and dismissive. As if he thought the janitorial staff should have put out traps for students like her. His attitude had always pissed her off, so she’d been the brash, pushy one—the one always in his face, refusing to let him forget that even though she was poor they’d once been friends.

“Torment is sort of subjective, don’t you think?” she asked.

Brandon’s eyebrows crept up under his bangs. The silent question was clear on his face.