Page 18 of Inevitable Inheritance

But it didn’t send her running to him like they had promised; she was just patient and understanding. And when she tried to talk or call, he just told her he didn’t have time. And she let him be for a long time. “Mom said you need to sew something,” she told him once. “Oats, wild oats,” she had laughed when he brushed her off for the millionth time. “Who sews oats?” she laughed as she walked away.

Push her away. That was his friends’ final advice. She wouldn’t be able to resist the guy who didn’t want her.

But they were wrong again.

“Taylor, we can’t be friends anymore.”

Time stopped when he had said those words. He remembered everything after they left his mouth in crazy detail: Taylor’s lips quivering, the way her skin paled, and the tears that filled her gorgeous eyes.

“Why?” she whispered.

Play it cool, he told himself, and he did. “We just can’t.”

“But we are best friends, how can—”

“You just don’t get me, Taylor,” he told her, and watched her jaw drop open with the slow comprehension that he was killing their friendship.

And then she was gone, and the pain was immediate.

Now here she was, back in his life. But she was holed up behind the guest room door she had slammed, and he was gripping the knob. She would kill him if he went in, but he wanted to talk to her, to explain. Time supposedly healed all wounds, but since she had thrown all his childhood words back at him moments ago, it would seem that didn’t apply in this situation.

Derrick let go of the knob. He backed up and hit the wall opposite the door, sliding down to a crouching position. He would wait. It was really his only option. He had fucked up a lot, and now he needed to wait for her.

He’d been waiting for years. What was a little more time?

* * *

Taylor had combedand dried her hair, taken all the clothes out of the bag and refolded them, put them back in, flipped through a thousand stations on the TV, and now she was sitting on the bed and stewing in anger.

And she had killed maybe two hours at most.

Her plan was to sit and think this whole situation through, really get a strategy together to handle everything, but now her stomach was growling. She was going to have to give in on this one. Despite how much she wanted to sit and be mad and formulate a perfectly fantastic plan on how to save Preston Corp. and not marry Derrick, the fact was she hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. She couldn’t fix the world on an empty stomach; there had to be a kitchen somewhere in this place, and she was going to have to find it.

When Taylor opened the door, she jumped back about four feet. Derrick was slumped on the floor across from the door, elbows braced across his knees, his head hanging low.

He looked up, and they stared at each other for a second. Taylor’s stomach growled crazy loud, and Derrick’s eyes went to her abdomen, his eyebrows raised.

“Where’s the kitchen?” Taylor demanded.

Derrick sighed and stood up. He took a step toward Taylor, and it took everything in her power to stand still. She wanted to maintain distance from him, but stepping back showed fear, and she was not afraid of Derrick. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. Taking a breath, he did it again. It seemed he wanted to say something, but he couldn’t get it out. Finally he shook his head and turned away, leaving whatever he wanted to say unspoken.

“This way,” he said, leading Taylor down the hallway with a wave.

Taylor followed behind, looking at her feet as they plodded down the hardwood hall. When they got to stairs, she looked up and stopped in shock.

They were one floor up, and the level they were on overlooked an open floor plan below. There were floor-to-ceiling two-story windows all around the space looking out over the L.A. skyline. Beyond the windows was an outdoor balcony that appeared to wrap around the entire apartment. The interior was bright, thanks to the natural light from the windows, enhanced with rich hardwoods and warm neutral paint tones.

Derrick stopped on the stairs to look at her, “What?”

“This place is gorgeous,” Taylor whispered to him.

He smiled slightly before turning back. “I like it,” he said, continuing down the stairs.

Taylor broke from her trance and followed him downstairs to a kitchen that was just as warm and beautiful as the rest of the apartment.

Derrick opened the fridge and pulled out a tray of fruit and cheese then set it on the granite island.

Taylor slid into one of the high-back distressed leather stools and plucked some grapes from the platter. “Thanks.”

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