Page 37 of Winter's End

I’d never been so tempted to dive into a corner and snort my brains out. My phone’s reminder chime snapped me back to existence.

I had to get to my next appointment or Stanley would blow a gasket. I shoved the baggie into my pocket and hurried out of the building.

I’d get rid of it later, I promised myself. I fucking hoped it was a promise I could keep.

“I don’t see what the fucking issue is,” Stan-the-Man Eccles grumbled as Hillary walked through the paperwork one more time.

We were sitting in her office in a luxurious Carlisle high-rise. This room was very similar to our apartment in Cascade Falls. White and cream furniture, glass tables, a thick white shag rug with metal modern lamps, and a single garish pink fuzzy pillow on the sofa behind her.

Her ‘Power Pillow’, she called it. This woman.

We were reviewing a simple real estate sale of a piece of property just outside town she’d been holding in her back pocket for this moment.

It was her genius idea to distract Camden and Stan from all the wedding bullshit and our current cloak and dagger routines, by dangling this 30-hectare carrot in front of them.

It was worthless, by all accounts. But she’d had a guy falsify documents stating it had shown promise for mineral deposits—specifically, silver.

She was playing her cards close, acting like this was a massive sacrifice on her part to sell it to them, but she was willing to part with it as a peace-offering once she and I had finalized our divorce, which was still a point of argument for both blowhards.

“Stan, I’m not having this argument with you again,” Hill snapped viciously, her blue eyes flashing with heated annoyance. “You were told long before the wedding that Logan and I would not keep up the charade. It’s happening, get over it.

“The trust money will release into my account any day. And”—she fixed a withering stare on both men—“in the event of my death, or should anything happen to me that law enforcement can even find a suggestion of suspicious activity, every single penny is going to an overseas charity.”

Camden sputtered in his seat. “I can’t believe you’re even suggesting such a thing.”

“Stranger things have happened, Daddy,” she replied.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. Yet, he stared back at her unflinchingly. She gestured to me.

“Since we are no longer your puppets, you’ll have to settle for this generous good faith offer. I’m also considering selling all of my shares in the family’s properties to pursue other opportunities. I assume you’ll want first crack at those, no? Or should I go to Uncle Benson instead?”

Camden shook his head, put in his place like the old dog he was.

Fucking twat. I’d always hated the man—not nearly as much as Stanley, but I didn’t hateanyoneas much as I hated Stanley.

“Take the deal,” I offered brusquely, fighting the urge to wink at Hill in triumph. “Or I will. I’ve had my eye on that land for ages, and if Derek says there’s mining potential, I want in.”

That sped things up. Nothing clamors to greed like the threat of someone taking that sweet fucking carrot away.

Once we signed the paperwork to be sent to their legal counsel, Hill changed to a more diplomatic tune.

“Thank you. I trust this offer will allow us all to move forward in peace. Logan and I are excited about our new ventures, and so should you be!”

She took out a bottle of champagne from the mini-fridge behind her and handed it to me to pop the cork. Four of the engraved crystal flutes from our wedding followed, and she had me fill them.

“A toast!” She smiled sweetly, as if we hadn’t just manipulated our fathers into buying the equivalent of sheep pasture, and raised her glass as I passed one each to Camden and Stanley.

“Congratulations to Eccles on the partnership with WAQ and being awarded the tender on the largest project in our state’s history. Quite a feat, gentlemen.”

She tilted back her head and drained the glass in one go. I took a polite sip of mine before setting it back down. Both men looked like they’d rather drink fucking battery acid than celebratory champagne with their children, but they found it in themselves to suck it back, anyway.

“We expect you at the Gold Gala, as a couple.” Stanley broke the uncomfortable silence after guzzling his second glass of champagne, his addiction bolstering his words.

“Well, yes,” Hillary said impatiently, collecting his glass before he could try to pour a third. “We’ll still be married in a month, Stanley, so we’ll make the public appearance together.”

“You can’t justmake an appearance,” Stanley spoke through gritted teeth. The alcohol noticeably brought his barely buried anger to the surface. “You’ll be representing both families and the businesses of this project.”

“Yes, yes, and my own businesses, and Logan’s businesses—what’s the problem here?”

---