Fated Love (The Soul Sisters Series Book 3)

by Victoria Johns

  “No fee sweetheart. You call me whenever you need something. Just pick up the phone and call me.”

  “Thanks Tommy.” I climb out of the cab and head into the legal offices on Main Street. If I’ve got to live my own life and move on then it’s about time I started taking care of my family’s affairs and estate too.

  Neely, who was seated behind her desk, launches herself to come and greet me. As a team member and gifted paralegal it wouldn’t have passed her by that I had a scheduled appointment with my father’s legal man, Oli’s uncle Davis Hart, one of the senior partners at the firm. “How are you feeling today? You were on fire last night,” she winks at me.

  “I am...looking for goodness and things to make me smile every day. This is going to be my new life mantra.”

  “And how is that bucket of crap working out for you?”

  I giggle, “It would appear that a bucket of crap still stands in the way of goodness and smiling, but I am determined to get there.”

  “You seem... different and I can’t put my finger on how or why?”

  “I’ve made some decisions, time for this woman to man the fuck up and play the hand of cards that she’s been dealt.”

  “OK, sounds like a plan, I’ll let you get to your appointment, hope it goes OK in there with Davis. I’m here if you need me.” I try and turn the supportive hug she gives me into a friendly one. I am sick of the pity party that is following me round, I want that to be over so I can move on.

  Taking my seat in Davis’s office is a nerve racking experience. It feels so formal, like you’re in trouble even though you know you’re not. It’s a lot like being back in the Principles office. “Miss Groves, these things are always difficult and not a part of the job I look forward to. Is there someone else you’d like me to call for support?”

  “No, unless you believe I need it?” I joke back, but he doesn’t smile at me in return.

  “We tend to find out things at these times that raise questions about those who are no longer around to answer them. Sometimes a friendly face can help.”

  “Well, shit Davis, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “Shall we begin?” he says, but I notice that he doesn’t confirm nor deny the last comment I made. “Your parents had fairly standard wills for a long time, although a number of alterations were made some years ago. Three wills were written, one by your mother, one by your father and one in the event of them both passing at the same time. I shall take you through the one that is applicable to your current situation. Before we begin I must inform you that the Executor of the joint will is Oliver Hart. My nephew has been listed as the impartial party that will be responsible for ensuring that their wishes are carried out as directed. Would you like me to reschedule this meeting and ask him to join us?”

  “No, let’s proceed, you’ll be able to fill Oli in when he’s next in the office.” I just want this shit over with, enough already. It’s like a bad form of ironic humor, just as I make the decision to move on, people from beyond the grave continue conspiring to keep us together.

  “As you wish. In the event of both your parents passing together, the following details of this will became legally enforceable. Miss Charlotte Groves is to inherit all entities owned in their entirety by Mrs Laura Groves including all businesses and buildings registered under her name. Miss Charlotte Groves is to inherit a seventy five percent share of all companies, finances and buildings owned by Mr Paul Groves, apart from 5652 West Avenue, Thornton Gate. That property along with the remaining twenty five percent of Mr Paul Groves’s companies, finances and buildings are to be inherited by Mr Carter Groves. The estate of Mr Carter Groves will be held in trust and managed by myself until he becomes aged twenty one. This is the last will and testament of Mr Paul Groves Esquire and Mrs Laura Groves. Now Charlotte, there are a number of questions I can see you have, but I've been left instructions to hand some documents to Oliver as executor, for final completion.”

  Even I can hear my own mind whirring. “Who is Carter Groves?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that for you at this juncture.”

  “Well who the fuck can?”

  “I’m sorry Charlotte. I can’t imagine the confusion you must be feeling but as I said there are certain documents that your father left in trust to the executor. As soon as I’ve spoken with Oliver, I’ll be in touch. Is there someone I can call for you?”

  “Yes, Carter fucking Groves!” I shout.

  “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Or won’t,” I challenge.

  “No Charlotte, can’t. I may be responsible for Carter Groves’ estate but I do not know who he is or how to contact him. I’m hoping they’re in the documents your father has left in trust with Oliver. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Clearly not,” I snap and stand to leave.

  “Charlotte if there is anything I can do for you please let me know. I was your father’s legal council, an acquaintance, not his friend. That spot was reserved for my brother. I’d be happy to work with you in the future, my legal brain could be of use to you, your business horizon has just expanded considerably,” he smiles.

  “OK. Thank you.”

  I leave his office and wander straight past Neely’s desk and fortunately it’s empty, there will be no attempting to explain any of the shit I’ve just learned, that I actually can’t explain.

  Tommy Sevens takes me home, and by that I mean, my place. I need my space, my familiar surrounding and my car. I’ve got a huge task on my hands now. I need to track this Carter Groves down and I want to do it for me, by myself, without Oli’s help.

  My first step is the internet, a random google search gives me nothing. The address also doesn’t bring back anything useful, it’s just an apartment block in a street and any company information listed is my father’s.

  One small flicker of hope in it all is that the street it’s on is in the same town as the spa.

  Rick. He’s going to be my next port of call.

  It can’t be a co-incidence that the address is in the same locale as the spa my parents frequented nearly as much as Hawkstown’s country club.

  I decide in an instant that I am going there tonight, my curiosity will kill me enough that nothing will stop me getting on that highway. I throw some fresh clothes into the holdall and hit the road, I’ve already text Rick to check his whereabouts and he’s on a shift at the spa but has asked me to go and wait for him at Solo’s with his mom.

  After what feels like fifty hours and with blurry eyes from concentrating, I park in the street opposite the address I engraved in my brain ever since it left Davis Hart’s lips. The idea hit me on the journey, a quick drive by could jolt some memory or give me some clue as to its significance in my dad’s life. I can feel disappointment swell when nothing I see triggers any bright revelation, it’s a bland building, in a normal community. It’s approaching early evening and although I know I’ll get my answer if I knock on the door, I know the smarter move is to be content to sit and observe.

  Observe is also Lottie code for avoid, because I’m nervous and my sensible side tells me there is only so much a person can really take before they crumble under the strain of events and emotions. Whatever lies behind that door is a whole side of my parent’s life that I know nothing about and that feels intentional on their part.

  I see people come and go, but no one sparks off any interest. It’s just a residential block, filled with people who appear to fit into all walks of life and it’s getting me nowhere apart from frustrated. My cell phone rings and I see Flo’s number in the display, “Hey Flo, how are you?”

  “I’m good, but how are you? Neely mentioned you’d been in for the will reading and were gone when she’d finished a client meeting.”

  “Yeah, things went... as expected.”

  “Oh, OK, is Oli helping you get things sorted?”

  “Oli, no, we’re... I’m not with Oli. I’m just tying up some loose ends and going through some legal s
hit. I should get back to it, I’ll call you later.” I hang up a little too quickly, I’m not prepared to get into stuff I just can’t answer and I don’t want to lie. When I know, I’ll share with them. Starting the car’s engine I make the short drive over to Solo’s.

  “Hey Lottie,” Sally says warmly from the other side of the bar, “Rick’s not here, he’s on his shift at the spa.”

  “Hi Sally, I know, he suggested I come and wait here for him. I hope you don’t mind. Actually, I’m wondering if you can help me, before Rick gets home. I don’t want to put him on the spot.”

  “Are you in trouble girl?”

  “No but it’s been a long few days and weeks. Hell, who am I kidding a long few months and years.”

  “Hold that train of thought, in about forty minutes I’m going to shut those doors. Things are slow and you look like you could do with some undivided attention.”

  “God no, you don’t have to do that, what about your customers?”

  “Well the ones I like will understand and should probably go home anyway and the ones I don’t like... tough shit,” she smirks. In no time at all and true to her word, Sally shuts the doors and grabs a bottle of bourbon along with two glasses, before coming to perch herself on a stool beside me. “Let’s hear it.”

  “I need some information about my parents, they used to spend a lot of time at the spa and I’m hoping Rick can help me with that. I know he doesn’t like to gossip, but do you think he’ll tell me, now that they’re dead?”

  Sally spits a mouthful of liquor over the counter top at my bluntness and prompts me to back track over everything, I don’t think she was expecting as much as she got, but she gets the whole nine yards.

  Me and Oli.

  Oli’s endless parade of trampy women.

  My mom and dad, my upbringing and the stifling expectations that I live a lifestyle that befits their community stature.

  My parents’ untimely death.

  The dead woman on my doorstep.

  The will and finally, the mysterious Mr Carter Groves and the equally mysterious apartment building in Thornton Grove.

  It feels amazing and cathartic to unload this crap to a stranger, maybe there is something in therapy. Letting someone with no background knowledge of me and my life listen so that they can’t pass judgement or advise me for anyone but me.

  “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through, it’s a testament to your character that you are still standing little one, but I don’t think my son will share. He’s very honourable, not to mention he needs that job and we need him to keep that job. Client confidentiality is taken very seriously and I mean no disrespect when I say this, but he hardly knows you... yet and that won’t inspire him to tell you things he knows he absolutely shouldn’t.”

  “I knew it was a long shot. He seems a decent guy, I could tell that when he invited Flo and I here last time. I didn’t want to put him on the spot and ask him so I’m glad I checked with you first. Thanks for listening. Can you call me a cab so I can check into a hotel please? I’m wrecked and it seems that I may have to knock on that front door after all.”

  “No. I won’t call you a cab. You’ll not check into a hotel, you’ll stay here. It may not be what you’re used to but you sound like you could do with the company and being surrounded by normal is probably the best medicine for you at the moment.”

  “I couldn’t impose,” my Groves manners kick in immediately.

  “Discussion is over, Rick is expecting to see you and he’ll rip me a new ass hole if you leave before he clocks off,” she laughs, encouraging me to accept her offer.

  This type of acceptance is what rich people take for granted, the ability to trust and open your arms for strangers is all some people have to give and it’s the greatest gift in the world. It’s sad when your first instinct is to be guarded and suspicious of simple generosity.

  A few hours later, after a steady stream of alcohol and a huge plate of fried chicken wings, I feel like the new Lottie again. I’m not drunk, I’m tipsy and I’m feeling the confidence in myself return, I can do this. I can live my life as I choose it. I feel free because I don’t have to keep up the pretence of being Charlotte Groves with the outrageously rich upbringing.

  It’s invigorating.

  Sally shows me to her guest room, I was going to try and stay up for Rick but I didn’t manage it and a few hours later my bladder starts to beg for relief. I have no idea what time it is but I stumble from room to room in the dark hallway above the bar, slowly opening doors in search of the bathroom. The first door I open quietly is a closet, closing it just as gently I head for the next door, which is the bathroom, but it’s occupied by Rick who is washing his face. I stumble back out of the door, “Oh shit sorry, I didn’t realize someone was in here.”

  “Mom text me and let me know you were staying over, sorry if I woke you. She mentioned you’ve had a rough time since you were last here, why didn’t you tell me when you called?”

  “Um, yeah... not a big sharer. Are you finished in here? I’m kind of in need here.”

  “Sure sorry,” he grabs a towel and dries his face and hands. The movement of his arms refocuses my attention and I’m drawn to the muscles on his body, lots of them. Rick is wearing a pair of navy blue fleecy sleep pants that tie in a drawstring at his waist, a waist that is full of more muscles, hard ab type muscles. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m going downstairs for a drink, you could come and join me so we can catch up?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I reply and wait for him to close the door as he leaves. Whilst attending to business I ask myself over and over again, should I do it? Should I go downstairs and have another drink? I came here to ask him for information and this is the perfect opportunity.

  By the time I get to the bar Rick is sat at a stool with a cold bottle of beer, I grab my own from the cooler and take the seat next to him.

  “So... I was wondering...”

  “You already know the answer. I can’t tell you the things you want to hear. My mom is wrong it’s not just professional courtesy, although it could be employment suicide. It’s that I rarely come across things that people want to know. It’s never good stuff Lottie.”

  “I guess that makes sense, the spa is exclusive and offers privacy. Whatever people get up to there, they at least want it to be private,” I mumble.

  “Exactly.”

  “But you’re not betraying them by telling me what you’ve seen,” I try again.

  “Apart from betraying the memory of your parents, the very people who can’t give you the answers you seek.”

  “OK, how about if I ask some questions and you decide whether you want to answer them?”

  “Are you usually this relentless? OK, I can try,” he gulps his beer, the motion of which distracts me from my mission, something that doesn’t pass him by. I know this because of the cheeky smirk that appears on his face. “Lottie...,” he prompts to regain my attention.

  “Oh, yes, um, I know my mom was a regular at the spa but was my father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alone?”

  “Clarify your question Lottie.” OK, now I understand the rules of the game.

  “Did he arrive on his own when he checked into the spa, when he wasn’t with my mom?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, he met another client at the spa?”

  “No.”

  “What? He met someone then, who? An employee?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?” It is the most important question and I’m fairly sure he won’t answer it.

  “It’s an irrelevant question Lottie, they are no longer around either.”

  “Fuck, so they don’t work at the spa anymore?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “What does that mean? I’m not following and this is frustrating.”

  “It means they’re no longer working there and in this case, it’s because they are no longer alive.”

  “What!”

  He’s lo
oking at me like I should know the answer, so I dig deeper.

  The dead doorstep girl.

  “Fuck,” I say in frustration.

  “Exactly. Like I said nothing good comes of anything I see.”

  “Can you share her name?”

  “No. Your local sheriff will be able to fill in that gap and I’m not saying anymore. She was a friend and I’m done sharing.” I believe him so I make to leave and step down from my stool but find myself manoeuvred into the gap between him and the bar. “The kind of sharing I’m interested in is far more enjoyable,” he whispers in my ear.

  I tremble, just a little, he’s so close I swear he can feel my heart beating against his chest.

  “I’ve been desperate to do this since the first time I saw you Lottie.”

  “Do what?”

  “This,” he says and gently lifts my chin, pulling my face towards his. His slow approach gives me the chance to stop it from happening, but I don’t. I am the new improved Lottie and I am living for me. He brushes his lips against mine and leans back to check all is OK.

  “Do it again,” I mumble and he leans back in. His steady actions are libido teasing and making my toes curl up, but more importantly they are sending the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy.

  “Again,” I say and this time he kisses me and requests my full participation by licking my lips with his tongue. I’m done for, he tastes of beer and toothpaste and without thinking I push deeper into the gap of his thighs and plead with him to deepen the kiss.

  “I don’t want to rush this, are you sure?” Rick says, being the perfect gentleman.

  His manners are not welcome and I want to scream that I need it hard and fast and I want him to take control of me, but I can’t, that side of Lottie rarely sees the light of day. “I need this,” I splutter and it feels like the most honest thing I’ve said in a while, because I do have needs. They are to feel wanted and desired, but mostly I desperately need to move on and forget... him.

  Our kiss becomes more passionate and besides the humming of the beer pumps and drinks cabinets all I can hear is us, breathing or gasping for air, each of us exploring a passion that I feel compelled to explore. The small nightgown that I’m wearing felt a bit too revealing for being a house guest, but with a burst of confidence I lean back and grab the hem of it, dragging it up over my head, leaving me stood only in a skimpy thong.