Page 8 of Inevitable Inheritance

If she said no, they lost a company, an empire, and generations of her family’s work.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the people who depended on Preston Corp., people who were employees and consumers, people who had always known that Preston Corp. was a company that could be trusted and had been around forever and would continue to be around.

How could this happen? Why was this happening? What the hell was she going to do?

Taylor stood and leaned over the sink, splashed her face with cold water, rubbed it in her eyes, drank some down, and then reached for a towel, which probably cost more than her weekly paycheck from the coffee shop. She dried her face hard, trying to rub herself into this awful reality.

Taylor took in her reflection: long blond hair, brown eyes. But that wasn’t the real her either. If she was going to try and set herself straight, she might as well go all out. She plucked the colored contacts from her eyes and met her aquamarine stare. It had been a long time since she had looked at herself this way in the mirror. Usually she just did a check to make sure all the blond was hidden under the wig and that her eyes were a generic brown, but now here she was: the real Taylor Preston.

She was a Preston through and through: the heart-shaped face, full mouth, blond hair, blue eyes, and porcelain complexion were all Preston. Her mother used to joke that if she hadn’t been there she wouldn’t have believed she was hers. The wig, contacts, and glasses covered all those defining features, and made her unrecognizable to everyone. But now she saw herself again. It was clear now who she was, who she had been running from being.

And now she had a responsibility. A huge responsibility.

Taylor closed her eyes and thought back. She could hear her grandfather’s voice in her ear as she sat on his knee at the office, looking out the window at the hustle and bustle all around on the streets below. “You see the people, Taylor,” he had asked her, and she nodded. “They are our responsibility. We are a big, big business, and many people count on us to make sure we take care of them. It’s our job as Prestons to make sure we take care of them,” he told her, and she watched him, taking every word in. “Will you help them when it’s your turn, Taylor?”

“Yes, Poppy,” she had promised fiercely.

They had pinky sworn on it, making it official.

Then her mind flashed forward a few years in time. She was thirteen, and she went on a factory tour with him. She was slowly learning the importance and burden it was to be responsible for so many, to be the one they depended on. Taylor nervously admitted, “I don’t think I have a mind for business, Poppy.”

She was terrified he would be mad or disappointed. He stopped right where he was, in the middle of a factory floor, knelt down, and looked into her eyes. “Good,” he said, totally surprising her, “because you don’t need your mind, what you need is your heart. And you, my princess, are all heart.”

He believed in her; he had always believed in her.

She could do this, she realized. She had to do this. She had promised Poppy. People depended on her and this company. She refused to be the Preston who let it all die.

Time to grow up, time to stop acting like a spoiled heiress.

Because right now, the attitude she was pulling was just on the border of stamping her feet and pouting. She wanted reality but had been living for the last five years behind a façade: glasses, eye color, hair color, clothes. All to escape her reality. She had a loyalty to what her family had made. She had no choice.

“Grow up,” she whispered to herself in the mirror. “You can do this.”You don’t have a choice,she added silently.

She combed her fingers through her long blond hair and fought back the nausea making its way up her throat. During the years of her disguise, she hadn’t been able to cut the blond strands. She would get the scissors up to the ends and panic. Same thing with dye, she had wasted time and money but never could apply the mixture to her head. And forget about going somewhere for her to have it cut or colored, she would have been recognized instantly. The wig had been perfect. Even if she could have cut and colored her hair, she never would have been able to style it to cover her features like the wig had.

Taylor suddenly smelled coffee. She looked down to see she was still wearing her black Roasted Bean T-shirt. She ripped it off, revealing a white tank underneath. She pulled on the light-blue cardigan still tied around her hips and finger-combed her hair again. Then she absorbed her reflection. After reorienting herself with her appearance for another minute, she gave herself a nod and walked out.

When Taylor opened the door, she saw that all the men were huddled together, probably working on how to extract her from the bathroom. They all turned to look at her, and every man sucked in a loud breath. Taylor wasn’t sure what had caused their reaction, until she realized she wasn’t the only one who needed to get reoriented to her appearance. She had gone in a dark-haired barista and had come out a golden-blond heiress.

Well, let’s get this done.

“I’ll do it. I’ll play ball,” she said and saw all their shoulders relax a bit. “But,” she added quickly and saw the tension return, “I have terms of my own.”

Chapter Two

When Taylor cameout of the bathroom, Derrick was fairly certain there was something he was supposed to be doing. Then he realized it was breathe.

A scared and angry girl had gone into that bathroom, hiding from her past, hiding from her responsibilities, hiding from herself under an array of disguises. Taylor Preston, CEO of Preston Corp. had come out. One of the richest, or assumed richest, people in the world. And it was clear she was going to control this situation.

And she was stunning, just an absolute vision. Taylor didn’t know it, but she was a work of art. It wasn’t just her looks; Taylor was smart and thoughtful too. The only thing she lacked was confidence. Especially about business.

But it seemed to Derrick that she was ready to take charge, and it was about damn time.

“What are your terms, Taylor?” his father asked, severing the silence that Taylor’s reappearance had created.

After she’d dropped her bombshell, Taylor had gone to a hidden panel on the side of the plane, slid it open, and poured herself two fingers from the brandy decanter that was concealed there. She threw it back. Not even flinching.

“First, I will agree to be engaged, but I am not marrying anyone—at least not yet,” she said, looking at each of the men as she spoke.

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