His world had been shattered.
It wasn’t worth it. It was easier to be the rich, good-looking, bored playboy who listed fucking as an actual hobby on his résumé.
He’d been called black-hearted.
A manwhore.
A woman-shaming, prostitute-loving gambler.
Hell, he’d been called it all.
And he always shrugged it off. Nothing touched him, at least not typically, but today his grandfather’s comment snaked its way around his throat and took hold.
“The VP of marketing stepped down this morning,” his grandfather said thoughtfully. “I want to hire within.”
Bentley froze; his heart hammered against his chest. On the outside, he was calm, rational, thoughtful, but on the inside, he was freaking the hell out. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Grandfather leveled him with a perceptive stare. “I don’t suppose that would be something you’d be interested in… You do realize you’ll have to take ‘fucking’ off your list of hobbies in order for me to actually process your résumé.”
Bentley smirked. “It was a joke.”
Grandfather’s eyes were granite as he narrowed them. “It wasn’t funny, nor was it professional.”
“Brant thought it was funny.”
“Your brother doesn’t count.” Grandfather’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but thought better of it. “So…what do you say?”
“Are you saying that you’ll give me an actual position within your company?”
With a heavy sigh, Grandfather nodded his head once. “The board, of course, won’t like the idea.”
“They can go to hell.” Bentley clenched his teeth.
“It might help your image”—Grandfather’s body was rigid as he spoke—“to be seen doing charity work.”
Hell. It would do more than help. But he had a life in Phoenix. One that on most days he actually enjoyed, or at least liked.
And he was a creature of habit.
“Or don’t take the job and keep sleeping with every woman who will spread her legs in hopes you’ll get her pregnant and be forced to pay child support.”
Low blow.
“I’ll go.” Bentley sighed. It wasn’t like he had a choice, not if he wanted the job, not if he wanted more purpose outside of what he already did for the company, which was basically just smile for pictures and wave when they had charity events and expensive dinners. He was a pretty face. The only work he’d ever done for Wellington, Inc. had been an internship right after college, and he had been bored out of his mind—it had been too easy, but his grandfather had refused to promote him to a position that carried any real weight. So Bentley had quit. Because that was what he did when things didn’t go his way. He quit.
“Of course you will.” Grandfather straightened. “You’re going to be late.”
“Does it matter?” Bentley snorted.
“Punctuality always matters.” Grandfather stood. His thick gray hair was swirled into one sweeping curl that fell across his forehead. Bentley and Brant might be playboys, but Grandfather had an Instagram page dedicated to that very curl. And he was pushing eighty-eight.
Grandfather lifted a brow. “Well, boy? Aren’t you going to pack?”
Bentley clenched his teeth until he felt like they were going to crack. “I’m naked.”
“Ain’t nothing I haven’t had the great displeasure of seeing before.” He unclenched his fists. “Now get your shit together before I cut you off and give your trust fund to your brothers, and hire Brant for the VP position.”
“You wouldn’t.” The words rushed out before he could stop them.
“I would.”
“You hate me.”
“I love you.” Grandfather sobered. “You’re twenty-seven, Bentley, time to stop playing around and actually take responsibility for your actions, starting with Prudence McCleery’s granddaughter.”
“Margot,” Bentley whispered without thinking.
“What was that?” Grandfather cupped his ear.
“Nothing.” A vision of red luscious hair that went on for days burned before his eyes, and bright green eyes and freckles. At sixteen she’d been breathtaking but quiet, too shy for someone like Bentley.
Hell, she’d been too good for him.
Too nice.
Too proper.
Too perfect.
And now…too sad.
Chapter Two
His eyes whispered a promise his words had failed to do,” Margot read the words out loud as the sound of her fingernails tapping against the computer keys filled the room. “‘I love you,’” he declared, tucking his beaver hat under his arm as he took a step toward her waiting arms.”
She hesitated and contemplated the computer screen. I love you? Was that it?
She had exactly forty-seven chapters of historical crap.
Crap she had to turn in within thirty days if she had any hope of meeting her deadline.