Page 11 of Inevitable Inheritance

“Derrick, you can’t—”

“Absolutely not—”

“That is ridiculous—”

Derrick watched Taylor smirk at their outbursts.

“Sounds lovely,” she said. She turned to Charlie. “I’ll go to Derrick’s.” And she turned on her heel and headed to the back of the plane, slamming the door to the bedroom as she exited.

Every pair of eyes stared at the door and then slowly turned to just stare at each other. Derrick broke off to hit the panel bar Taylor had uncovered.

“So, who else wants one?” he asked, pouring his glass. Suddenly there were three other glasses waiting to be filled, with white knuckles gripping them.

* * *

Taylor collapsedagainst the back of the door.

Holy shit. For someone who didn’t know how to run a company she had just totally taken control over that entire situation.

She had impressed even herself at how sure she had sounded. Taylor replayed the scene in her head and she realized that she was sure. When she walked out of that bathroom she had known exactly how to handle that situation and what she had wanted out of it.

And now she was going to Derrick’s house.

That part she was not as sure about, but she was sure she wasn’t going home. The mansion that should have always been her safe place had been turned into an asylum by that fuck up, Cedric, and she wasn’t going there again. Ever.

Taylor collapsed on the bed, suddenly aware of how worn out her body was, and flipped on the TV. She wanted distraction, and it was late, and who knew where the hell they were. An infomercial came on instantly. A very excited guy was talking about a blender. “But wait, there’s more …”

Why an infomercial transported her through her thoughts, she didn’t know. Maybe it was how focused she became on the blender, but she realized she had just agreed to go on vacation, with Derrick Fletcher, alone.

“But wait, there’s more ...”

She was going with him after getting off this plane, to his home. And from there they would be heading out on a rendezvous. She hated herself now for the snap decision. The idea had only appealed to her because the other men had resisted it. And the added benefit was that time away from Todd and Charlie gave her more time to try and find her way out of this marriage-clause bullshit, because she wasnotgoing to marry anyone, especially Derrick.

Taylor ignored the acid in her throat once more as she thought about what lay ahead. Instead, she focused her attention on the total gym infomercial, but it was totally not as cool as that freaking blender had been. She wished that was still on. She really liked it—maybe she would order a dozen. She was just so tired …

Taylor was overtaken by sleep before she knew it. She had felt the first pull of sleep soon after inhaling the brandy and knew that was helping her ease out. Derrick’s smile flashed in her mind again, but she was too tired to will it away. She was going to have to find a loophole out of this big fucking deal, and soon.

Chapter Three

Taylor wokeup to the feel of her hand running over the softest sheets she had touched in a long time. The thread count had to be in the millions. These were not the Target special she had at home. She kicked her legs around and felt the sheets against her bare legs too.

It had been a dream; it had all been a crazy dream.

Taylor smiled and opened her eyes, expecting to see her bedroom ceiling, the one that had a majestic mural of a white puffy clouded sky amassed all over it. It had been painted before she was born, and she loved waking up to it. This ceiling, however, was gray. Taylor looked to her right, no white bookshelves and stained-glass window. Instead there were floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire expanse of the wall overlooking a city skyline, no shades.

This isn’t home. Where the hell—

Turning left, Taylor found Derrick, iPad on his lap and coffee mug in hand, watching her.

“Damn,” Taylor croaked. The brandy must have burned everything on the way down. This was not what she had been hoping to see when she opened her eyes. She was certain that women all over the globe would love to turn their head and see Derrick Fletcher, but Taylor was not in the fan club.

Derrick was so utterly handsome, it was no wonder he frequently graced magazine covers and was constant fodder for public attention. His good looks had tabloids scrambling for his photo, like those of celebs taken during a sneeze or a sneer that always accompanied some horrible headline. But they were never able to get anything awful; even when he was making the most horrible face Derrick was still striking.

He had a beautiful skin tone—not dark enough to be called olive, not light enough to be pale, something in the middle. His beautiful face was square-shaped and complemented by a chiseled jawline. His eyes were the color of milk chocolate, and hearts seemed to melt beneath their gaze just as easily as a Hershey’s bar melted in the sun. His lips were full and usually pulled into a smile. And that smile could … wow. Some people crooked their finger and women came running—Derrick just smiled. His brown hair was short but messy still. It would never be anything but messy, though, the way he always raked his hand through it for every emotion. Mad, hand to the hair. Happy, hand to the hair. Unsure, hand to the hair. He always … well, he used to, Taylor thought, he probably didn’t—

Derrick raked his hand through his hair at that very moment, and Taylor pinched her thigh to try not to smile at him.

And then he smiled at her, and she remembered the pièce de résistance. The world was utterly unfair because in addition to all those perfect qualities, Derrick had dimples.

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