JJ completely ignores his mother and addresses Mr. Carlyle. “My brother died first. It shouldn’t be going to his widow.”
Oh crap. He’s talking about me now. My gaze snaps to Mr. Carlyle, waiting for his response.
“Well, you would be right, but…” He draws out the word. “Mr. Anderson didn’t write his will to you and your brother; he wrote it to you and Mr. DavidandMrs. Rebecca Reardon. So, you see, she is a named beneficiary.”
“He couldn’t possibly have meant that.” JJ shakes his head.
“It doesn’t matter what he meant; we have to go with what it says in this legally binding document.” He waves the stack of papers he’s been reading for the last twenty minutes.
“Honestly, James Joseph, I wish Rebecca was given the whole damn thing rather than you.”
I turn to see JJ’s jaw flex, and damn if it doesn’t turn me on. But otherwise, he has no outward reaction to what his mother just said to him.
I, on the other hand, need to get ahold of myself. I cannot be attracted to this man.
One. He’s my deceased husband’s brother.
Two. Everyone hates him, and there must be a reason why.
Three. Even the most dangerous of things come in pretty packages, and he is definitely dangerous. It practically pours off him.
Four. He is now my business partner.
I recite the list in my head again, but my eyes don’t get the message, and they trail over his body.
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. We’re just going to sell the place,” JJ claims like it’s already decided.
I snap my wandering eyes to his face. Do I want to sell? Hell no, I don’t. This is a gift that has just been dropped in my lap. I used to fantasize about owning the Christmas Tree Farm and all the things I would do. Now I can make it a reality. This is my chance to make something, to be someone separate from David’s widow. I’ll be damned if some man is going to take that away, albeit a very hot, well-built, makes you want to sin—
No. Knock it off.
“I don’t want—”
“Actually,” Mr. Carlyle cuts me off. “The will states you must maintain the property for at least one year prior to selling it.”
“You have got to be kidding.” JJ crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, so we just let the property sit and then sell.”
“I want to run the place.” I finally find my voice.
“We can’t afford to run the place.” JJ returns barely acknowledging my existence. But at least he responded to me, which is more than I can say he’s done with his mother.
“Well, you have money in the account,” Mr. Carlyle says and slides the bank statement across the desk.
“See?” I pull the statement closer.
JJ leans over me to read the amount, and my heart quickens. Then he taps his finger on a line reading the balance with an embarrassingly small number. “See?”he chirps back at me.
“Oh.” I deflate at the sight but try to pull out my optimism. “Well, it’s still more than we thought.”
“Yeah, because we thought we were starting at zero.”
“So”—I gesture to the paper—“better.”
“Barely,” he concedes.
“You cannot honestly expect them”—Janet gestures between JJ and myself—“to work together. Surely there’s something to be done.”
Mr. Carlyle scratches his chin. “Not unless either wants to revoke their claim on the property.”
