Page 11 of My Three Rivals

“Either we do this, or we’re stuck with a dud of an investment, Wyatt,” Atticus growled, again removing his glasses to stare intently at our friend. “What do you want to do?”

Wyatt balked and nodded. “No. We’re not losing this investment,” he concluded, just as Atticus had known he would.

None of us would ever accept a loss of that magnitude, no matter how much money we had. It was why we lived humbly for the amount in our bank accounts, taking only as much as we needed without an ostentatious waste of space and resources.

All three of us knew what it was like to have nothing, be nothing. Every penny we earned was sacred, and we weren’t going to let anyone get in the way of that.

CHAPTER5

Tegan

“You really need to calm down, Tegan,” Bizzy told me for the tenth time.

Every time she said those words, my temper flared again.

“Stop saying that to me!” I barked.

My cousin paled and sank back into the rickety kitchen chair, biting on her lower lip like she was going to snap back, but thought better of it. I couldn’t bring myself to apologize because I wasn’t sorry. I needed legal advice from her, not therapy. And when in the history of the world had anyone ever calmed down when someone asked?

Between us on Gran’s ancient kitchen table sat the offensive pages I’d taken from the boardroom, each one making me sicker than the last. It was obscene having those documents there, on the table where Gran had once fed me spaghetti and meatballs as I struggled to swirl the fork and keep the noodles in place. I could almost hear my grandmother’s voice, even now, chuckling. “You’ll get it, Tee-tee. Just stay with it, honey bunny.”

And now they wanted to violate this sacred space with what? Condos? A mall?

The one with the dimple… Atticus, was it? He hadn’t been lying. My stupid half-brother had sold part of the vineyard, and my idiot cousins apparently couldn’t wait to unload their measly shares of the property as soon as Emerson died, Vic the only one holding out until he, too, finally caved, a week ago. Now I was the only one holding half the property, our family legacy, while three strangers clung to the other with their greedy, manipulative paws.

I wasn’t going to let them have it.

“There has to be something I can do to get those shares,” I insisted. “They’re not family. They don’t belong here, Bizzy.”

“I’ve given you the options,” Bizzy said flatly. “You can buy them out, let them buy you out, or just accept that you all have shares in the vineyard. No matter how many times you bang your head against the table, the answer is always going to be the same.”

I slapped my hands on the surface, causing the pages to flutter around. “How the hell am I going to buy them out?” I asked, but I wasn’t talking to Bizzy. My mind raced as I tried to calculate how much their half of the vineyard might be worth. Could I even go to the bank and get a loan to pay them off if they were holding half the title to the house?

I asked Bizzy the question, and she scoffed lightly. “Not without them signing off on the loan.”

I bit on my lower lip and trailed toward the kitchen window, peering out into the everlasting vineyards. This year’s crop would be much better, but it wouldn’t be fast enough. Or cover all of last year’s losses.

“Maybe I can hold them off for a bit,” I mumbled, thinking of the three men again.

I hadn’t been lying—they didn’t look like businessmen, and I had a hard time accepting their position. For one, they were all just too handsome, and not in the corporate, suit-and-tie kind of way. Each one bore a shroud of darkness around him, like he was trying to be something he wasn’t.

But a quick search on the internet told me that Suncrop Corporation was a legitimate business and had been for several years. Atticus King, Wyatt Baldin, and Maverick Hardison had started it together out of college, and with the backing of some investors, had managed to find luck in the risky world of real estate development.

I’d also found some stories about the King family of New York, but I couldn’t be sure if Atticus was the same boy I saw in the blurry photos online, standing beside a gorgeous debutante mother and stern-looking father. But the headlines, I read with blinding clarity, and they churned my stomach.

If that is him, no wonder he’s such a dick.

“Yo, where did you go now?” Bizzy called out. “Do you want me to leave or—”

“No!” I said quickly, spinning around to look at her. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know what to do about any of this. I can’t believe those assholes sold their part. Gran is spinning in her grave right now.”

Bizzy frowned slightly. She grabbed her mug of hot chocolate and leaned precariously back in the chair, the wood creaking under her weight. “Your grandmother is probably wondering what the hell you’re still doing here, honestly,” she protested. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in here, but shit, Tegan, it doesn’t look anything like when Adelaide had the place.”

I scowled at her jibe at my housekeeping. “I’ve been a little busy trying to keep the vineyard afloat. Domestic chores haven’t been at the top of my list.”

“I can see that. But that’s not even what I mean.” The chair thumped as she lowered her body to the floor, her mug set back on the table. She pointed at a crack in the kitchen wall. “That can’t be good.”

I hadn’t even noticed it, but I shoved it into the pile of my never-ending problems. “First things first, please,” I moaned.

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