Page 29 of Brady

“I did and, as far as I know, your Dad was – he tried to be there for you.”

“He was busy building the company. Eleanor was a stay-at-home mother.”

“You called her Eleanor.”

“She answered to Mother, but basically, she didn’t give a crap what I called her or even if I called her at all.”

“She was a colossal bitch.” Her fierceness and choice of words had him laughing.

“Precisely.”

“I’m happy she isn’t around for the kid to have to deal with her.”

“So am I.”

She was weirdly relieved that the sadness and bitterness seemed to have dissipated. She’d heard about his crappy childhood from her mother, but she’d glossed over it somewhat. “I bet you couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

He grinned at that. “I counted the days.”

“Did she redeem herself at the end?”

“No. That would have been beneath her. I went to boarding school, something I insisted on and, when I was leaving, she came into my room and dismissed the maid who was packing my suitcase.”

Leaning forward, she placed her hands on the counter. “And? Did she offer some motherly advice?”

His smile turned grim. “She warned me not to disgrace the Randall name. I was thirteen and she told me that as a man I have certain disgusting urges and I had probably inherited those said disgusting urges from my father.

She warned me to be discreet. She didn’t want to hear that the name is being dragged through the mud because she has a reputation to maintain.”

Macayla wanted to punch the woman in the face. She was dead, which was lucky for her, but she wanted to dig up her rotting corpse and punch her in the face. Picking up the bottle she drank the wine to try and wash the anger away. “What did you say?”

She had a tight grip on her temper, but he could see it shining through her golden-brown eyes.

“I politely told her yes and asked to be excused as I was running late for the flight.”

“Was it a private jet?”

He laughed at her wrinkled brow. “That’s what you are focusing on right now?”

“Absolutely. If I focus on anything else, I’m going over to that fancy cemetery and smash that pricey headstone or slab or whatever the hell it’s called.”

“She was cremated.” He said tongue in cheek.

“Why?”

“She requested it.”

Macayla frowned at that for a minute. “I think I was in Europe when she died and you were in England.”

“I was.”

“You were at the service.”

He inclined his head. “Naturally.”

“How did you feel?”

“Are you trying to shrink me?”

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