Page 169 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
This time Chance scoffs, raking his fingers through his auburn hair. “I lived with him my entire life. If he had a good side, I’d love to know about it.”
“He gave a lot to charity.”
“Right.” Austin lets out a sarcastic huff. “It took a lot out of him to write all those fat checks. Maybe he should have floated a little cash to my mother over the years. To Miles’s mom, too.”
“I don’t have any information on his relationships with any of your mothers,” Shankle says. “But he didn’t have to support charities the way he did. He gave millions of dollars to childrens’ hospitals.”
“You think he did it because he was altruistic?” Chance holds up his empty glass and stares at the ice in the bottom. “He did it for tax deductions. Or for virtue signaling. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t for charity.”
Silence reigns, and I guess it’s up to me to break it.
“So there’s no way to know, until tomorrow, whether Joey was working with EPA?” I ask.
“Nope. I can either be on the horn trying to find out that information, or I can be with you all in Peterson’s office.”
“Get one of your associates to look into Gene Chubb and the EPA,” Austin says. “You do have associates, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do. But your father didn’t like for me to use them. I’m the only one he trusted.”
I stop myself from raising an eyebrow. Jonathan Bridger trusted this guy and no one else? Big red flag. One I’ll make sure Miles doesn’t overlook.
“We are not our father,” Chance says. “We are your clients now. I want this looked into first thing in the morning.”
“You got it.” Mr. Shyster—er…Shankle—makes a note in his phone.
I take another sip of the sweet lemonade. It soothes my throat, which still aches from the sobs I gulped down.
Louisa enters from the kitchen. “Lunch is ready. I set a place for Mr. Shankle and Ms. Hopkins.”
The lawyer stands. “Thank you, Louisa, but I can’t stay. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, nine a.m. in town at the station.”
Chance stands and sees Mr. Shankle to the door.
“You’re staying for lunch.” Miles says to me, not asking. Commanding.
“I’m not sure I can eat,” I admit.
He reaches out, strokes my hair. “You have to keep your strength. This’ll drive you crazy if you don’t.”
“It’s already doing that, Miles.”
He leans over and kisses my lips. “You’re not alone. Do you hear me, Sadie? You’re not fucking alone.”
21
MILES
I watch over Sadie like a hawk and make sure she eats at least one taco. I down five myself. This whole thing–our father, Joey’s body, the mystery surrounding all of it–is such a clusterfuck, and I’m feeling every morsel of pain that Sadie is, but I never lose my appetite. Once lunch is over, I’m tempted to take her to my room and help her forget everything, but instead, I want to focus on her. On her needs. Not mine.
Perhaps they coincide. But if they don’t? Her needs are going to come first.
These feelings I’m having for her are…disturbing. So unlike me. I’m totally focused on a person besides myself.
I’ve never been a selfish lover—any woman who goes to bed with Miles Bridger is always satisfied—but after that, I rarely think of the woman again. What she may need, what she may want. They knew the score going in. But this, with Sadie? Neither of us were keeping score.
“Would you like to go on a walk?” I ask her. Getting her to forget with orgasms is an option, but I have to offer up others.
She shrugs. “I don’t think I can. There’s something I need to do.”
