Page 3 of Hate the One You're With
Unless . . .
This is just a joke. I have to call Percival and ask how to fix this. He has to know a way out, right? He could do it in the name of the love he had for my grandmother. If not, I guess I could let him sell the company. It’ll go to a nonprofit thatneeds it. I can start from scratch, and this time, I won’t lethermanipulate me.
I fold the letter, and just when I’m placing it back in the envelope, I find a small note tucked.
P.S. If you decide not to go through with this and the company is sold, just know it’ll go to people who’ll probably fire your employees and sell off the assets. So, think long and hard before you do something that’ll turn your legacy into a cautionary tale. Just saying.
“Ugh, you conniving b— loving shrew. I hope you’re burning in hell, but safe with Grandpa.”
How am I supposed to get out of this mess?
Chapter Two
Emmersyn
I’ve been grippingmy phone for so long that my hand has gone numb, my thumb hovering over the call button like it’s a detonator. This is it—the moment I try to untangle myself from my grandmother’s latest scheme from beyond the grave.
With a sigh that feels more like surrender, I tap the button and lean back in my chair, closing my eyes as I brace for theinevitable.
“Percival Harrington III speaking,” comes the smooth, slightly condescending voice in my ear.
Of course, he would answer like that. He knows it’s me—my name definitely popped up on his caller ID—so why the need for the full formal introduction? It’s infuriating. I can practically see him sitting behind a mahogany desk, wearing a three-piece suit and a smirk, probably savoring every second of this.
This man is the one who helped Grandma orchestrate her little posthumous surprise. He’s probably ready to play his part in her final act. Why do I think he might help me? Maybe, just maybe, he’s in so much pain after losing the woman he loved that he’ll take some pity on me.
Doubtful, but I can always try to persuade him.
“Percy, it’s Emmersyn Langley,” I say, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. I don’t add anything snarky like ‘the granddaughter of the woman you were doing.’ No, I won’t be petty—at least not right now. It’s all about the right amount of honey to attract flies, or so they say. Maybe I should’ve sent him a fruit basket first. Nothing says ‘please undo this ridiculous stipulation’ like a pineapple. “So, I received my grandmother’s letter.”
“You mean the one I dropped off this morning?” he asks, his tone dripping with faux surprise. “It’s been hours. I’m glad you finally read it.”
“Yes, some of us have work to do.” I clear my throat, forcing a sugary sweetness into my tone. “This is just a letter, there’s no will with this absurd?—”
“The will is in the big manila envelope, Emmersyn. Trudywas right. You don’t pay much attention to detail unless it’s something pertaining to the company.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, the sting grounding me just enough to keep me from snapping. My hand clenches into a fist, but I force myself to take a deep breath and loosen my grip. Losing my cool with him won’t help. Not yet, anyway.
I tear open the manila envelope, pulling out the stack of papers inside. The crisp, typed text is a relief compared to my grandmother’s near-illegible cursive. I start scanning through the legal jargon, my eyes quickly moving over the familiar terms. It’s easier than deciphering her letter, which had been filled with her signature flair and emotional manipulation.
Is it sad that I understand the terms in the will better than I did her letter? Probably. But that’s because I was using my heart—and my anger—when I read her letter, not my brain like I am now.
As I flip through the pages, everything is laid out as she said: the same terms, just wrapped in lawyer-speak. I take a deep breath and let the papers fall back onto the desk with a soft thud.
“All is clear,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral, though the frustration simmers just beneath the surface. “But I need to know if there’s any way to undo the will. You know, like a loophole or something?”
There’s a pause, followed by the sound of papers shuffling on his end. “Two out of three,” he says with a smirk I can practically hear. “You’re pretty predictable.”
“Excuse me?” My irritation spikes, but I keep my voice even.
“Trudy said you’d call me to see how you could wiggle your way out—even though she left you a note with a clear warning,” he replies smoothly, his tone grating on my last nerve.
“If it was you, wouldn’t you try to figure out if you can get out of some legal mumbo jumbo your crazy grandmother set you up for? I mean, the woman emotionally scammed me my entire life.” Okay that’s probably not a thing but applicable when we’re talking about Gertrude. “I’d call her eccentric, but honestly, I think she was certifiable. Trudy, as you call her, just faked it so well that no one ever thought about sending her to the loony bin where she belonged.”
“She was a smart, perfectly capable woman, Ms. Langley.” His voice is maddeningly calm, like he’s discussing the weather. “And I’m afraid there’s no way to undo the will. Your grandmother was very thorough.”
“Obviously, she was brilliant. Sociopaths like her usually have a high IQ and love to have the last laugh. Hence my current predicament.” I shoot a glare at her portrait on the wall, where she’s still smirking as if enjoying the latest mayhem she’s caused. I squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the impending headache. “You’re telling me that I have no other choice and I’m stuck with this?”
“Indeed,” he replies with all the enthusiasm of someone describing a dull afternoon. “And you have two weeks to figure out how you’ll fulfill her wishes. If not, I’ll be forced to split the company and sell it off in parts to the highest bidders with no regard for the employees.”
