Page 34 of The Unplanned Wedding

I glance up in time to see Arthur amble into my office. He draws abreast with her, locks his hands behind his back, and rocks back on his heels.

“To be fair, I hinted that if she didn’t let me through, it might affect her paycheck and yours,” Gramps snipes.

“I... I’m sorry, Sir.” My assistant’s features are contrite. There’s disappointment lurking in her eyes. She knows she didn’t follow my orders. But I don’t blame her for that.

My grandfather clears his throat. When I glance at him, it’s to find he’s looking between me and her with interest.

Canny bastard. No doubt, he senses the chemistry between me and my assistant. I need to defuse the situation in a way that removes that idea from his mind.

"Thank you for seeing my grandfather in, Ms. Donnelly," I murmur in a laid-back tone. I called her by her real surname, a gesture not lost on her, for she blinks in surprise. And when I jerk my chin in the direction of the doorway, she spins around and stomps out of my office.

I allow my lips to pull back on one side.She deserves to be punished for that. Only, I told myself I wasn’t going to touch her. Damn!I channel my anger intothe look I throw in the direction of my grandfather. "Why are you here?" I scowl by way of greeting.

He has the gall to look hurt. "Can’t I come to check how my favorite grandson is doing?"

I snort, "Is that the line you used with my brothers and my uncle before springing the condition about them having to get married?"

Arthur doesn’t look surprised by my outburst. "May I?" He gestures to the chair opposite mine. Without waiting for an answer, he drops into it, then sighs. "At my age, and given my condition?—"

"The doc said you’re responding well to treatment and that the disease is in remission," I point out. My grandfather was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer a few months ago, but his condition has improved dramatically since he started treatment to keep it in check.

He waves his hand, "I’m fine. Let’s talk about something else."

"If it’s my wedding, you should know, I’m not going to agree to a rushed marriage, like my brothers and uncle." I’m referring to Edward and Nathan, who’re technically my half-brothers but whom I’ve come to regard as siblings, and my uncle Quentin. Arthur had a hand in marrying them off. "And if it’s about my inheritance, you can keep it. And I don’t care much for the CEO title, either. Nothing’s stopping me from leaving here and starting my own company from the money my mother left behind.”

He blinks slowly.

While the Davenport legacy brings with it billions, my mother was rich, in her own right. She left each of her sons a small inheritance—enough to give me the seed money for starting a midsized enterprise of my own—and he knows it. I can tell he’s surprised, for he lowers his chin to his chest, then nods slowly.

"You’re smarter than them when it comes to steering your future," he finally says. "And I should have known that I couldn’t hold your title or your trust fund against you, to make you agree to a wedding."

I place the tips of my fingers together. "But you’re here, which leads me to think you believe you have something else to negotiate with."

Again, he doesn’t look surprised. The chair creaks as he leans back. My brothers and I get our height and our broad build from him. Our looks, on the other hand, come from the women—my grandmother and my mother were both bona fide beauty queens.

My mother won the Miss Universe title before marrying my father and settling down. The looks I inherited had stood me in good stead with the ladies—until shrapnel ripped through my face and showed me just how shallow most of them were. Not her, though. My assistant never seems to find me repulsive. She also isn’t put off by my detached demeanor. I shove that out of my mind, once again, focusing on my grandfather.

"Of all your brothers, you’re the one who carries the most hurt,” he muses.

I scowl, "But Ryot?—"

"Is yet to recover from the death of his wife, I’m aware. You, however, carry the hurt on your body. He chooses not to forget his past. You, on the other hand"—he tilts his head—"are reminded of it every time you look at yourself in the mirror."

I’m not sure how to react. I didn’t expect the old man to make such an astute observation.

He must notice the surprise on my features, for his eyes gleam. "Imelda’s been pushing me to get in touch with my feelings. Guess it shows, huh?"

Imelda’s his Harley-driving girlfriend who takes no shit from him. And the old man seems to genuinely be invested in the relationship, too. It's the first time I’ve seen him forge an authentic connection with anyone, my grandmother included.

"I still don’t trust you," I drawl.

"I wouldn’t either, given my track record in how I got your brothers and your uncle to obey my wishes. Although, it has worked out well for all of them."

He’s right. Theyarehappily married. Disgustingly so. All of them weighed down by the ol’ ball and chain, and seemingly willingly. I don’t plan on making myself another statistic on that list.

Once more, he seems to read my thoughts, for he holds up his hands, "I’m not here to force you into any kind of marriage. However?—"

And here it comes.

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