Page 6 of Ms. Fortune

I didn’t know they would go together to buy the cars. Shit, I didn’t know much of anything about their relationship at all. A pang of jealousy sparks in my chest, knowing they had a special connection I didn’t have. The only thing remotely special my dad did with me was play cards. Though, in Vegas, that’s not all that special. He taught me how to play poker and how to play it well. He’d have me sit for a few hands during his bi-weekly card games with his friends, and I would usually win.

“Okay, well, that could be extremely helpful. Do you know much about the newer models? Or just the classics? How would you like to be in charge of the fleet inventory?”

“Both.” There’s a confidence back in her demeanor and a new sparkle in her eye I love seeing. This could be good for both of us. “I think I’d be pretty good at that, actually.”

“Perfect. Once we’re back open for business next week, you’ll need to review everything and see what we can liquidate. If we can sell even a few, it’ll help a lot.”

She smiles, but it’s bittersweet. I can tell she has mixed feelings about selling any of the inventory. Chelsie isn’t usually so sentimental. Ever since she graduated from high school, she’s become a sort of badass with little to no emotion. When it comes to our dad or these cars, that’s different.

“Every one of those cars has a story,” she sighs.

“Well, you can tell them to me as you hand over their sales checks.” I grin at her, a genuine smile this time, and she rolls her eyes at me. She’ll soon learn there isn’t any room for sentimentality when it comes to this business. That was our father’s downfall, and it won’t be mine. If I can, I learn from mistakes, mine and everyone else’s. And I’ll do everything in my power not to repeat them.

The morning of the funeral is nothing but chaos as I’ve become the go-to person for absolutely everything now relating to my dad and his business, not to mention the funeral. None of his ex-wives are willing to help with the service, and my own mother, who was my dad’s first wife, won’t even be coming for the funeral. None of them are. They all wanted to avoid running into each other. My mother never remarried, and I think she held a torch for him. News of his death hit her harder than I thought it would. A lot harder. She moved to Utah when I turned eighteen and went off to college, saying that Vegas had too many sad memories for her. I understand all of it, but it’s still frustrating that everything surrounding my dad has now seemingly dropped into my lap.

When Chelsie and I arrive at the funeral home, we’re shocked at the number of cars waiting to join the procession to the cemetery. We have difficulty getting through them all to reach the main funeral home building.

Chelsie started crying before we left the house and hasn’t stopped, but I can’t shed a single tear for some reason. I can sense the tears bottled up inside, but releasing them isn’t an option. I need to be strong for Chelsie and everyone else attending. That will be my job today, being a rock for everybody. I’ll break down in private later.

Once we park and make our way into the funeral home, I can’t help but notice what seems to be a large contingent of security guards hanging around. Is that part of the funeral? I don’t remember that being on the list of services offered, but I guess I understand it. There are a few famous people attending today. Maybe they brought their own security.

“I don’t care who your boss is, there’s a set order for the car procession, and I’m not about to change it for anyone,” a loud female voice says from just inside the doors. I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s Bianca Torino, the Lead Driver at Mischief Motors, who doesn’t take shit from anybody. From her tone, I can tell she’s about to break into Italian, and I’d hate to be the guy she’s arguing with when that happens. The tall brick wall of a man she’s arguing with has gone pale and looks like he wants to hide under a rock somewhere. I need to intervene. We can’t have fights breaking out at my dad’s funeral.

“What’s the problem here, Bianca?” The guy she was talking to gives me a withering but grateful look for interceding.

She tears her glare away from him to face me. “This guy’s asshat boss thinks he’s special and wants to move up behind your car. I told him the order is set, and I am not changing it.”

I hadn’t even thought about the order of the cars because who gives a shit? We’re all going to the same place.

“Who is your asshat boss?” I ask the gentleman, who now shrinks under my focused attention. He wasn’t expecting a tag team, but this seems very important to Bianca, and I’ll back her up no matter what. “And does he not know we’re all going to the same cemetery? It’s not a race.”

“I’m the asshat,” a recently familiar voice says from behind me. I can’t help it, but goosebumps rise on my skin as I hear him. The billionaire himself. Of course, he’d want special treatment.

“Oh, Mr. Carmichael. I didn’t realize it was you,” Bianca starts, but I hold up a hand to silence her as I turn to face him. I don’t care how rich he is, he can’t change everything for his own convenience.

I am not at all prepared for the sight of him in person. I’ve seen pictures of him, everyone in the world has, but they don’t do him justice. Tall, dark hair, impeccably styled, intelligent dark eyes, but they seem to spark with humor, squared jaw, and hints of dimples if he were to smile. And, he fills out a suit like nobody’s business. Up close, he’s almost too perfect for words.

You’re mad at him right now, don’t forget.

“Mr. Carmichael, unfortunately, there is a pre-set order for the procession I’m not comfortable with changing last minute. I’m sorry if this inconveniences you.” It’s evident in my voice I’m not sorry at all. I hate guys like him who throw their clout around like confetti. I grew up hating bullies, and sickening amounts of money are just another form of it.

“No, you’re quite right. I understand. It was a request from my security detail, but I’m fine wherever I am in line. Don’t worry.” He’s contrite, but there’s still that spark in his eyes I can’t read.

I examine him closer, making sure he’s not patronizing me. It doesn’t appear he is, which is one measly point for him, but I’m still not won over.

“Is there a security issue we should be concerned about with you here?” His mention of the request being from his security now brings everyone’s safety into question for me. The last thing I need is some crazy person crashing the funeral.

He puts his hands up. “No, not at all. It’s… an insurance thing. Nothing for anyone to worry about.”

“You’re insured? Like, your body is insured?” Bianca is incredulous, and I’m right there with her. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but what do I know about billionaires? Nada.

His embarrassed smile in response nearly breaks through my dislike of him.

“Well, I know it sounds nuts and extremely egotistical, but if something happened to me, world markets would kind of go crazy.” He shrugs his shoulders with a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Well, there goes that idea….” I mutter under my breath, turning away briefly, but Bianca hears me and chokes out a laugh, covering it with a forced coughing fit. I give her a sideways glance, encouraging her to keep her shit together. It doesn’t look as though Brandon heard me, however, thank God.

“I’m Brandon Carmichael, by the way. You must be Normandy.” He steps closer and holds out a hand for me to shake, his eyes now full of compassion. “My sincere condolences on your family’s loss. Your father was one-of-a-kind.” He nods at Chelsie to include her as well.

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