Book Preview - The Inheritance

Chapter One

“You expect me to what?” Allegra Saint-Germaine S.J.D., equity partner in Loftquist, Myers, and Saint-Germaine Law Firm, sat on Brendan Loftquist’s leather sofa and glared daggers at him.

“Now, Allegra, he asked for you specifically. In fact, he said he refused to speak to anyone else, and since we represent him—have represented him for the last thirty years—we’re obligated to do as he says. He’s on his deathbed and intends to change the conditions of his trust.”

“That deathbed took much, much longer than it should have to arrive. In fact, someone should have put it on wheels and rolled it into one of his penthouse suites years ago.”

Brendan, a sixty-four-year-old perpetual bachelor, sipped from his Double-Deuce Iced Caramel Macchiato to hide his amusement.

“And why me? The old bastard hasn’t spoken to me since I bought the entire Rearden Complex out from under him seventeen years ago.”

The macchiato rested on Brendan’s tongue for a moment. He looked forward to this drink every morning. In fact, he’d fired his last assistant for not having the drink on his desk when he walked off the private elevator that opened onto his office suite.

“Would you stop orgasming with that blasted drink and answer me?”

Sighing, Brandon set the drink on the coaster and patiently folded his hands on the desk. “It might have something to do with the fact that you’re only one of two businesswomen to ever outmaneuver him during his thirty-year reign as one of the country’s wealthiest businessmen. And of the two, you’re the only attorney and the only one working for this law firm.”

His face hardened into the look that had propelled him to Managing Partner of the largest and most lucrative law firm in the country. “I’m not asking you to do this, Allegra. I’m telling you. You will drop whatever plans you have for the morning and go meet with him. I understand his penthouse has been converted to his own private hospice. Here’s the address.”

Seething now, Allegra stood and glared at the card Brendan was holding out. “I know the address, Brendan.”

As she turned to leave, Brendan cleared his throat. When she spun on the toe of her Aquazzura heels to face him, he indicated a leather-embossed portfolio his assistant had precisely aligned with the corner of his desk. “You might want to take the current trust document with you, don’t you think?”

Allegra studied the valise as though it was a disgusting piece of gutter trash. Her lips twisted only slightly before she composed her features. She’d turned sixty-five the previous week and had immediately booked an appointment with her plastic surgeon to discuss the slight lines she imagined had appeared in her upper lip in the twenty-four hours between being sixty-four and turning sixty-five. She had no intention of adding to them simply because Harcourt Langdon needed to make changes to a perfectly good trust.

She should know. She was the one whom Langdon had insisted prepare it nearly twenty years ago. She grabbed the valise and strode purposefully into the elevator, punching the button for her floor and seething as the doors closed much too slowly on the only man in the company who could and would make her life a living hell if she lost the Langdon account.

Her heels clicked decisively on the marble floor as she stepped out of the private elevator onto the floor immediately below his. This was her domain, where everyone stood as she walked in and stared at their desks or their shoes as though she would bite their heads off if they made eye contact. As she passed her assistant on the way to her office, the woman—she couldn’t remember her name since the chit had only just begun the job the week before—fell in behind her. She held up a finger. “Stay.”

The woman immediately stopped and whispered, “Yes, Ms. Saint-Germain.”

“And tell Jon to have the limo ready in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Ms. Saint-Germain.”

Honestly, Allegra didn’t think she’d heard the woman utter any other words than, “Yes, Ms. Saint-Germain.” It wasn’t as though Allegra was a monster like Harcourt Langdon. That thought bothered her for precisely one second before she banished it from her mind. “And change that awful-looking sweater before I leave. Heaven forbid I have to walk past it twice in one day.”

Allegra rolled her eyes as her door shut on the woman’s “Yes, Ms. Saint-Germain.”

Her go-to place of comfort was the rather worn, multi-colored wingback chair her grandmother had left her when she’d passed away on Allegra’s twenty-fifth birthday. When Allegra’s parents had died in a car accident on her first day of sixth grade, it had been her beloved grandmother who’d picked her up from school and taken her to a nearby park where she could give the little girl the news that her parents were dead.

Even though her Noma, as she’d always called her, was a poor woman, she was proud, and she’d told Allegra that day that together, the two of them would not only survive but thrive. And they had. The springs creaked as Allegra lowered herself into the chair, pulled the documents from the valise, and began to read.

Twenty minutes later, she closed the folder and held it on her lap. She sometimes forgot that there were wealthy people, such as herself and Brandon Loftquist, and then there were those who were a step above, those who moved into the realm of filthy, stinking rich. Harcourt Langdon belonged to the second group.

She had to give it to the man. He was a truly brilliant businessman who’d built his company from the ground up on chutzpa and raw nerve. And he’d gleefully stepped on everyone he could on the way up, including her. Taking a moment for herself, she closed her eyes, leaned her head back in the chair’s wing, and breathed deeply, allowing herself the indulgence of believing she could smell the Opium perfume her Noma had worn every day of her adult life.

She missed her solid, no-nonsense presence horribly. For the last eight years, ever since her fourth and final husband had passed away, she’d had no one else in her life and, because of her position, found it impossible to make friends without constantly wondering whether they were there for the friendship or for the benefits her own not-so-shabby portfolio could bring them.

Of course, there had been lovers, and for some reason, being confronted with the mortality of one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the country, she thought back on two of them. There had been Lana, a beautiful and brilliant neurosurgeon whom Allegra had found fucking her future wife on Allegra’s sofa when she’d come home early to surprise her. It had been a surprise, all right.

Next had come Paula, a quiet young thing who gave the most wonderful, soothing massages on the planet. It turned out she was too quiet, and Allegra’s aggressive personality drove Paula out of her home and out of her life forever.

There had been others through the years, both men and women, but she’d never found the one just right for her. Now, at sixty-five, even though her personal trainer bullied her into maintaining the body of a fifty-year-old woman, Allegra found she was no longer looking for someone in her life. She was content being alone and honestly didn’t think she could abide having someone else sharing her bed or her home, for that matter.

As she left her office, she was pleased to note that her assistant, who’d jumped up at the sound of her office door opening, was now wearing a perfectly acceptable starched white cotton blouse. Allegra rolled her eyes when one of the legal aides ducked out of sight wearing the horrible, four-year-out-of-date designer sweater her assistant had been wearing earlier.

When she stopped at the elevator, her assistant stepped up next to her. Without acknowledging either the change of attire or the woman’s presence, Allegra pressed the down button. “Did you put together the Lotzenheimer paperwork?”

“Yes, Ms. Saint-Germaine.”

“And my travel reservations?” The elevator doors opened, and the two stepped inside.

“Yes, Ms. Saint-Germaine.”

Maybe she should practice asking non-yes and no questions with this one. Smirking at the thought, she asked, “How many billable hours do we have on Lotzenheimer?” Silence filled the elevator, and when the woman blinked several times and cocked her head, Allegra wondered whether she’d broken her.

“Your consultation with the client. Two hours. Legal research and analysis. Four hours. My drafting of the legal documents. Three hours. My reviewing and responding to emails. Two hours. Your negotiations between parties. Five hours. Document review and preparation for possible litigation. Four hours for a total of sixteen billable hours.”

They’d just stepped out of the elevator, and Allegra stopped in her tracks. She turned and stared at the young woman, who pushed her glasses up on her nose and stared at Allegra’s shoes. “Name?”

The woman started and dared look her boss directly in the eyes. “Oh. Uh, Melissa.”

Allegra nodded once. “I won’t be needing you for this meeting, Melissa.”

“Yes, Ms. Saint-Germain.”

With a barely perceptible smile, Allegra got into the shiny black limo waiting at the curb and ignored the driver, who quietly shut the door behind her.