With her sisters gone and no message from Brock, she wasn’t really sure what to do with herself. Dishes were stacked high in the kitchen and a weird odor was coming from the fridge. Everywhere she looked was absolute chaos.
So she did what she knew best.
She cleaned.
Not because she was reverting back to what was familiar, though it looked that way, but because it soothed her, helped her think. And no matter what her sisters did, it was still her house; she was still proud of it and wanted it to look good.
Besides, the only other option was to cry some more and open up a tub of ice cream.
Why hadn’t he called?
She was just getting ready to start on the dishes when a knock sounded at the door. Jane jumped half a foot and then ran to the door like her life depended on it.
But when the door swung open it wasn’t Brock.
The man standing there, however, looked like an older version of him.
Jane took a cautious step back. “Can I help you?”
The man narrowed his eyes into tiny slits; the moon glistened off his thick silver hair. “I think that’s my line.”
“I’m sorry; what did you say your name was?” She probably looked horrible, with mascara strained cheeks and red puffy eyes. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to deal with some psycho news reporter getting a picture of her and splashing it all over the Internet. Not that it would matter.
Because Brock still had to do the auction.
To save his company.
To save his family name.
Ugh. This was such a mess.
Part of her didn’t blame him for not calling, but another part was heartbroken he hadn’t at least sent her a text or called her and let her know he was fixing things.
“I didn’t.” The man peered around her. “Mind if I come in? I’m a bit chilled.”
Yeah, she wasn’t buying that. It was at least eighty degrees outside even though it was starting to get dark.
“Sorry.” She started to close the door. “I don’t know you so—”
“Ah, but you know my grandson.”
“Grandson?” She countered, crossing her arms. After all, she’d never seen this man before, though his voice did sound vaguely familiar. And there was definitely a family resemblance.
The man’s mouth twitched before it broke out in a wide smile. “You are well acquainted with…the arrogant one.”
“You just described every man I know.”
“Yes, well.” He rocked back on his heels and glanced down the street before looking back at her. “Some things can’t be helped, I imagine.”
“Look, sir, I don’t care if you’re the President of the United States. I don’t just let strange men into my house and—” He shoved past her and closed the door.
“Hey wait a second!” She ran by him to grab her phone, just in case she needed to call the police to give them a play by-play-of her murder, but the elderly gentleman pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on her kitchen table.
“I believe,” he nodded, “this was the agreed-upon amount.”
Frowning, she glanced down.
It was a check.
Written out to her.
From Wellington, Inc.
Signed by Brock’s grandfather.
Suddenly everything fell into place.
Except for the amount on the check: One million dollars.
She shook her head.
“No.” Jane suddenly felt faint. “I’m pretty sure there weren’t that many zeros in the amount we agreed upon.” She’d never seen so much money in her entire life.
And it was made out to her.
She could do anything.
Start over.
Kick her sisters out of the house.
Put money in her business!
Hire employees!
The possibilities were endless.
But a million dollars?
Something wasn’t right.
“As much as I want to jump up and down right now that you’ve given me a check with that many zeroes, I’m going to have to ask what the catch is.” She sat down in a nearby chair and put her head in her hands. “What are you really doing here?”
He seemed to assess her from head to toe. His perusal, almost mocking in the way his eyes slowly took her in, so very clearly seemed to find her wanting—from the way her cheeks were streaked with makeup, to the plain clothes she was wearing—then his gaze fell to the kitchen and the surrounding mess.
Tears blurred her vision.
Yeah, she was making an awesome first impression, wasn’t she?