by Lynn Kurland
Nathaniel had accepted his fate, signed the damned papers at twenty-six, and taken over the trust.
He supposed the enormous amounts he’d added to the funds didn’t interest his grandfather. He had already pulled his personal share out, so what was left he simply managed for his siblings, which his grandfather damned well knew. If Dexter had had any sense, he would have walked away. If he himself had possessed any sense, he would have let his grandfather win.
But he kept at it for his own father’s memory, and for Gavin, who didn’t like numbers, and for Sorcha, who came to lunch with him in London on occasion when she wasn’t off training for this competition or that. He kept at it because his grandfather was bored, had too much money, and needed to be told no on occasion. It was expensive, but the alternative was worse.
He stopped in front of his attorney and smiled. “You rang?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Nice of you to make time for this.” He looked at Emma and straightened. “Hello, who do we have here?”
“My assistant—”
“Of course she isn’t. Why would she want to spend any time with a loser like you?”
Emma laughed a little. “I’m here as moral support.”
Peter blinked. “You’re American.”
“She is,” Nathaniel said with a warning look. “She’s also done the slog through law school, so I wouldn’t push her too far. She’ll sue.”
Peter smiled and shook Emma’s hand. “I annoy him because I can.” He turned to Nathaniel. “Lord P. is already in a temper. He had a meeting with some venture cap guy from Seattle who really rubbed him the wrong way.”
“Frank Baxter?”
Peter looked surprised, which Nathaniel supposed was a new sensation for him. “Actually, yes. Know him?”
“My father,” Emma said with a sigh. “We ran away from him downstairs.”
Peter studied them both. “This is a story I would like to hear, but maybe later. We might as well get in there and get this over with. Nat, just so you know, Gavin’s here.”
“Why the hell for?” Nathaniel asked, wondering if it just might be the day for surprises.
Peter shrugged. “He’s got on a suit, no doubt in deference to your grandfather, but he looks gloomy. He’s glaring at Gerald, if that makes you feel any better.”
What would make him feel better would be dropping his cousin off on a deserted island with a handful of other annoying cousins, but he didn’t suppose that was going to happen any time soon. He nodded, then followed Peter inside the boardroom.
All the players were already there, which he expected. Poindexter MacLeod liked to have the battlefield set before the enemy arrived. He realized he tended to prefer things that way himself, but decided that wasn’t a very useful realization to linger over at the moment.
“Who is that with you?” a posh, upper-crusty sort of voice asked.
Nathaniel looked at his grandfather mildly. “My new assistant.”
His grandfather frowned. “I don’t like employees at my negotiations who haven’t been vetted by my staff.”
“Given that she’s not your employee, Grandfather, I think we can proceed.”
He made sure Emma was seated, sat down himself, then let loose the Peter of War. His attorney, he had to admit, was the sort of paragon all good attorneys should wish to emulate. His ability to slip daggers between ribs whilst smiling pleasantly was something Nathaniel had never failed to admire. There was also Peter’s willingness to slap his hands on the table and shout furiously in a way that left everyone in the room shrinking back into their chairs. Heartwarming, truly, and money well spent.
He sat back and studied the playing field. His grandfather’s clutch of lawyers was large but not necessarily impressive given that it was headed up by his own cousin, Gerald. That Gerald happened to be his uncle John’s eldest son was something Nathaniel didn’t let himself think about very often.
After John’s disappearance and subsequent funeral—something Nathaniel had nudged along behind the scenes per his uncle’s request—Gerald had rolled over and let Lord Poindexter take over John’s trust because he had very stupidly believed that getting along was the way to go. Nathaniel supposed his cousin might never see all his money until Poindexter died.
He wondered if his grandfather slept with one eye open. He knew he would have in his shoes.
He looked at his brother and raised an eyebrow. Gavin pulled out his cell phone and typed. Nathaniel felt the text hit his phone but he waited what he thought was an acceptable amount of time before he pulled up what he’d gotten.
Moral support only.
He smiled, glanced at his brother, then decided that perhaps having family about wasn’t such a bad thing. His older brother might just have earned a dinner invitation.
He looked up at the ceiling and thought fondly of lochs and forests and the pleasures of no mobile phone signals. He realized that when he began to consider the beauties of a medieval battlefield with a piper piping in the distance, he had perhaps gone too far—
“Nathaniel!”
Nathaniel dragged himself back to the matter at hand and realized his grandfather was shouting at him. “Aye?”
His grandfather looked as if he were going to have a stroke. “Yes is the proper response, quickly followed by, Forgive me, Grandfather, I was distracted by all the money my never being available has cost you.”
Nathaniel didn’t bother to answer. He simply let Peter step in front of him, figuratively, and take over. He suppressed a yawn, then went back to ignoring what was going on. In fact, he was doing a damned fine job ignoring most everything that had gone on for . . . He looked at his watch. Good lord, it had already been two hours and he couldn’t remember a damned thing that had been said. He glanced at Emma.
She met his eyes, then shifted aside the file folder she’d been using to shield her notepad from prying eyes.
His grandfather had been rendered there, wearing a duck costume.
He had to rub his face to stop himself from belly laughing. He gave her a stern look on principle, then reached over and wrote on the edge of her pad.
You’re marvelous.
She considered, then answered in the same spot.
I know.
He almost asked her to marry him there on the spot, but he supposed there might be a more romantic time and place. Perhaps after he’d gotten them out of quite possibly the most boring meeting ever held and made certain they both would remain in their proper place in time.
The only thing he could say was even mildly interesting was watching Peter and knowing the man was fighting the urge to leap over the table and plunge a pen into Poindexter MacLeod’s eye. It was almost a pity 1387 wasn’t calling at the moment. Nathaniel suspected Peter would have had a delightful time there.
Emma passed him a note. He found that curious given that her file folder had seemingly been guarantee of enough privacy before. He unfolded it, then frowned thoughtfully at what was written there.
That’s your brother, right?
He didn’t look up. Gavin was sitting next to Gerald, who was sitting, rather uncomfortably it had to be acknowledged, next to the old duck himself. He only slid her a slight nod.
She wrote something else, then passed it to him.
Next to him?
He supposed she might want to know so she could label her drawings properly.
Cousin Gerald.
Her hand shook as she wrote.
I’ve seen him before.
He felt a hush fall over the room, and it wasn’t because Gerald had stopped bloviating long enough to take a drink. He doodled a little sword on Emma’s note, then wrote down a single word.
Where?
She only looked at him. The truth was, she didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t even bother to ask her if she was sure or not.
Emma had seen Gerald in the past?
He reread the note, then saw the letters begin to swim before his eyes. He’d never felt anything like it before. If she reached over and clutched his knee hard enough to make him wince, well, he supposed that was better than a sharp slap. He reached for water, managed to get some of it down without pouring most of it on himself, then set the bottle aside.
He looked at Emma and made a production of smiling at her as if they’d just shared a private joke, then he turned back to studying his grandfather’s minions sitting around the table. He looked at his grandfather for a bit, watching his mouth move but hearing nothing, then he glanced at his cousin Gerald.
Gerald was staring at him with soulless eyes.
“Grandfather,” Gerald said suddenly, “perhaps a bit of a break. I want to talk to Nathaniel for a minute or two. Help him see sense.”
Dexter MacLeod drew himself up. “An excellent idea. Mirna, where’s my coffee? Straight up, black. None of that dessert garbage kids drink these days.”
“Right away, Mr. MacLeod.”
Nathaniel looked at his cousin. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
Nathaniel supposed it was a good thing he didn’t have a sword handy, because he would have drawn it and used it on the fool sitting across from him. He looked at Peter. “I’m finished here,” he said. “Let’s wrap this up with what you brought.”
“But billable hours,” Peter protested.
Nathaniel mouthed a suggestion about what Peter DiSalvio could do with his billable hours. Peter and his brother Tony had made enough over the years never to need to work another day in their lives, something Nathaniel had contributed to handsomely. They would both survive.
Peter sighed the sigh of a martyr who was going to have to work an extra hour to manage the mortgage payment on his second home in the Hamptons, then slid a folder across the table not to Dexter, who was looking highly displeased that things were continuing on without him, but to Gerald. Nathaniel smiled at his cousin.
“Don’t know that you’ve seen this lately.”
“What is that?” Dexter demanded.
“Just a second, Grandfather,” Gerald said soothingly. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure,” Nathaniel agreed. He looked at his grandfather and wondered how it was possible they were related. “I wouldn’t have a clue what it is, not having your cracking legal team to tell me what I’m reading, of course.”
“I gave you a job,” Dexter spat.
“And I worked hundred-hour weeks for you for years,” Nathaniel said sharply. “I made you more profit and took away far less than the cadre of leeches sitting on your side of the table has.”
“You mean lawyers,” Emma murmured.
He looked at her. “Why, thank you, Miss Baxter. Indeed, I did. I must have misspoken.”
She looked at his grandfather’s henchmen, then back at him. “I can let that stand in the notes, if you like.”
“You decide,” he said. He turned back to watch as Gerald read what he’d been given.
His cousin rolled his eyes. “It’s Archie’s will. Nothing we haven’t seen before.”
“You’ve seen it, but perhaps you haven’t read it carefully enough,” Nathaniel said pointedly. “There is specific language in there that states that the trust does not revert to Grandfather upon my father’s death.” He pushed back from the conference table and looked at his grandfather. “I have humored you, Grandfather, because I knew it was your grief over your son that drove you, but I am finished. I have made the trust substantial sums of money, so trying to oust me because of mismanagement will go nowhere. I will tell you here and now that if you come after me again, I will crush you.”
“He threatened me,” Dexter said, looking around for potential witnesses. “Someone write that down!”
Nathaniel held out Emma’s chair for her, then put his hand on Peter’s shoulder briefly before he walked around the table. He leaned in close to his grandfather.
“I know where all the bodies are buried,” he murmured, “and if you think I won’t go to the press, think again.”
Poindexter MacLeod felt his way down into a chair and looked up at him. “You wouldn’t,” he blustered. “I mean, there are no bodies—”
“Metaphorically speaking,” Nathaniel said smoothly.
He straightened and left his grandfather to wheeze, his cousin to swear, and his brother to watch him with a half smile on his face. Then again, that one there knew which side his bread was buttered on, as the saying went. Nathaniel looked at his brother.
“Dinner later?” he mouthed.
Gavin gave him a little salute, then leaned back and propped his feet up against the edge of the conference table.
“Gavin, get your feet off the furniture!” Dexter shouted.
Nathaniel smiled and looked at his attorney. “They’re all yours, Pete.”
“This might take a while,” Peter said, frowning thoughtfully. “A long while.”
Nathaniel imagined it would, and that it would be damned expensive, but if he didn’t have to deal with it, he didn’t care how much it cost. He escorted Emma from the conference room, then pulled the door shut behind them. It was only then that he allowed himself to give thought to what she’d said. He leaned against the wall, because he wasn’t sure he could stand up much longer.
“Are you sure?” he managed.
She nodded slowly. “I’m afraid so.”
He rubbed his hands over his face briefly, then shook his head and looked at her. “I think it’s time to go home.”
“I’ll be interested to see who follows us there.”
“Hopefully just my cousin and not your father.”
She smiled briefly. “I suppose things could be worse.”
They could indeed, which he didn’t think he needed to say. He pushed away from the wall and walked away. There wasn’t anything else to do.
He had seen to one piece of madness.
It was past time to see to the other.
Chapter 21
Emma knew she should have felt safe and grounded where she was. After all, she was far from anywhere with paranormal elements like ghosts, she was fairly sure she wasn’t going to run into any medieval Highlanders lingering in Times Square, and she thought she was fairly well acquainted with any modern-day guys who might or might not have visited the past while masquerading as medieval Highlanders.
Or she had been until she’d looked across that very elegant conference table at Nathaniel’s cousin.
It had been yet another thing to add to her list of odd things that had happened to her in the past couple of weeks. She had looked at Gerald and seen him not as he was, dressed in a very nice suit and holding on to a pen, but as she’d seen him, dressed in a ratty kilt with a sword in his hand.
Or at least she thought she’d seen him. To be honest, she wasn’t entirely sure, because if he was the one she’d seen, he’d been hiding behind a tree near the other man who had leaped out at her and wound up on the end of Nathaniel’s sword. She would be the first to admit that the situation hadn’t exactly been conducive to keen observation. All the more reason to perhaps consider a brief trip back to 1387 where she did less participating and more spying. Now that she had some idea of what to expect, she might manage to slip in and out without being noticed.
She came back to herself to find that she was in the elevator and Nathaniel was watching her. She attempted a smile. “Hi.”
“Oh, nay,” he said, “none of that. And you can stop with the subversive thoughts as well.”
“I wasn’t thinking subversive thoughts.”
“You were thinking investigative thoughts,” he said pointedly. “Those are worse, I’m sure, though they might be an improvement on mine at the moment.”
She leaned back against the wall and looked at him. “What does your grandfather ever accomplish with all that drama?”
“Absolutely nothing,” he said. “Nothing changes because there’s nothing to change. He’ll never manage to throw me off the trust because I’m just so damned responsible and ethical.”
“He must hate that about you.”
He smiled a quick little smile at her. “You have no idea, love.”
She felt some of the tension ease out of her. “So what now?”
He shrugged. “A day of liberty and an enormous apple to enjoy. What do you want to do? See a show later? Have dinner with my brother, the vexer of dodgy cousins and grandsires?”
“I’d like that. As for anything else, why don’t you take me to your favorite place? Somewhere besides the service entrance to your grandfather’s building.”
He laughed a little. “I think I’ll avoid that for both of us. Here’s our stop. Perhaps I’ll take you touring and you can draw my grandfather for me again in various states of duck.”
She exited the elevator in front of him, then came to a halt so suddenly that he ran into the back of her. He steadied them both with his hands on her shoulders, which she appreciated, then he stepped beside her and drew her hand into the crook of his elbow. Emma decided it was too late to yank him back into the elevator and pick a different exit besides the ground floor.
She looked at the men standing there. “Dad,” she said politely. She looked at the man standing next to him and decided perhaps Sheldon Cook didn’t need any greeting.
Her father was looking at Nathaniel. “You’re Poindexter MacLeod’s grandson,” he said without preamble.
“Bribed his secretary for the information?” Nathaniel asked.
“I had forgotten my newspaper in your grandfather’s waiting room,” he said stiffly. “She was good enough to tell me who you were when I went back up to get it.”
Emma refrained from snorting only because she was so practiced at it. Her father read his phone, not the newspaper, and he was almost as compulsive a snoop as she was. For all she knew, he had originally hired Bertie the Spy to get inside places he couldn’t and scout out sordid details to use in his negotiations. She and Nathaniel had been the only ones in the elevator; he’d likely made note of where the elevator had stopped, then he’d hassled secretaries until he’d found the right one to divulge the details. Standard fare for him.