Page 2 of My Three Rivals

“I’m not sure, but I need to set up a meeting with this lawyer right away,” Bizzy mumbled, still reading over the document, as if the summons was completely foreign to her.

That wasn’t comforting.

“If it’s another investor looking to buy the property, so help me…” I sighed. “I’ve had to deal with a flock of them, sniffing around, making me offers until Alex finally started locking the gate—even during working hours.”

I didn’t mention to Bizzy how bad that was for business, but I was kidding myself. The tours that Gran used to host on the property had dwindled to a trickle, the odd straggler wandering by in hopes of getting free samples the best I could hope for in terms of tourism.

Five Penny was flailing, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it, not without an influx of cash that I just didn’t have.

“I don’t think this is investors,” Bizzy told me, reaching for her landline phone.

I leaned forward, my head cocking to the side as I listened, strands of ebony hair falling over my cheek. Hastily, I tucked the hair back into my melting ponytail as Bizzy addressed the person on the other end. I could hear their muffled answer through the mouthpiece, her voice not nearly as loud as Bizzy’s.

“This is Beatrice Woodsley, counsel for Miss Tegan Pickett—yes, that’s right, the owner of Five Penny Estates.” Beatrice paused to listen, and I wished she’d put me on speaker. “Let me check my calendar—who am I speaking with? Great, Erin… oh, yes, the eleventh is open by some stroke of luck. I’ll book the meeting—”

Bizzy hadn’t moved to check anything, her manicured fingers wrapping around the cord of the phone, a grimace overtaking her face. “I understand. I’ll await your email, Erin… Yes, that’s right, Woodsley on Baker Street. Do you have my info? Great. The eleventh at nine a.m.”

Bizzy replaced the phone in its cradle, appearing a little flushed, and I stared at her expectantly. “Well?” I asked. “What is it?”

She met my steadfast gaze. “There’s apparently some business outstanding with your Emerson’s estate,” she informed me slowly, and I wasn’t sure I liked the way she phrased that. It felt like it was going to cost me more money. “We’ll meet with this firm—Levingston and Millar.”

I frowned, my jaw locking. “They’re like five-hundred-dollars-an-hour attorneys! I’ve seen their signs all over Sacramento!”

“They are,” Bizzy agreed wistfully.

But I was trying to make sense of the meeting. “Emerson hired them? That’s not who I dealt with for the estate before.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, babe. Maybe Emerson had more than one lawyer. Maybe this is something that has to do with your dad.”

Inadvertently, I shuddered at the mention of my father, and Bizzy’s astute eyes caught it. “He did what he had to do, Tegan,” she told me gently. “You can’t hold a grudge against Will for that. The vineyard has always gone to the oldest kid. That’s just the way it works.”

“I wonder if Will would have felt that way if Emerson were a girl,” I replied, standing. “He would have given it to my cousins, Seb or Harry, first.”

There was no way in hell that Will would have ever given the land and business to an “emotional female,” as he liked to call us. But the point was moot now.

Bizzy rolled her eyes and also rose. “Well, babe, Will and Emerson are both gone now—God rest their sullied souls—and the Five is yours. Stop dwelling on the past and move on. But keep the eleventh open. We have a date with some high-priced lawyers that day.”

She eyed my blue jeans and flannel shirt with unveiled disgust. “And make sure you dress the part, please.”

I rolled my eyes and stood. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Uncertainly, I eyed her, guilt overcoming me again. I was drowning in it this morning. “Invoice me for this,” I told her quickly. “I-I don’t have the money now, but as soon as Five Penny becomes profitable again, I’ll pay you.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Bizzy snickered, sashaying around the desk to give me a hug. “We’re family, remember? What’s the point of having family if you can’t hit them up for their services once in a while?”

I returned her embrace, but it was awkward and strange, entangled in her huge arms. Bizzy and I had never been close. She always seemed to favor Emerson over me, even though they were not related by blood, and he never gave her the time of day. Bizzy and I were cousins through our mothers, and Emerson had a different mother than me. This turn of the tides unnerved me slightly… and made me wary, my well-honed guard rising intuitively.

Bizzy released me and smiled. “See you next Thursday.”

“See you next Tuesday,” I cracked, and Bizzy whooped as I made my way out of her small, stinking inner office.

Even before I reached the stairwell, the stench of a freshly lit cigarette reached my nose.

Stifling another sigh, I headed toward the street and blinked in the blazing June sunshine. The contrast between the grime of Bizzy’s offices and the bustle of the Sacramento streets almost took me aback. I dug through my oversized purse for my sunglasses and turned right on 7thStreet, where I’d left my fifteen-year-old Mercedes, another hand-me-down from my brother’s estate, via our father.

Lola, as I called the rusting red beast, sat where I’d left her, the meter still running, and I exhaled with relief. I’d fully expected a ticket or to find the vehicle towed when I returned, the pessimist in me unwavering. When I’d been able to afford therapy, my counselor had called it “hypervigilance.”

“You’re always expecting the sky to fall, Tegan. Sometimes you just need to accept that everything is not going to fall apart around you.”

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