Aaron's Will

by DawnMarie Richards

So Morgan avoided the frivolous or inconsequential, diverting her energies into her education. She’d substituted requests for extra work and accelerated classes for locker-side flirtations and dances. Her unyielding focus had made it easy for other students to avoid her, choosing to whisper to each other as she’d rushed past them in the halls. And before she was able to grasp the intricate consequences of the precedent she was setting, the pattern was fixed.

  It made the brief time Dylan had been in her life even more remarkable. She had been different with him, more like the girl she used to be. She remembered she had left for college with a growing confidence and an awareness something was shifting within her. Then he had withdrawn.

  He had just been made a named partner providing an easy explanation for his unease and restlessness whenever they were together. Of course his focus would be on his work. It had been much harder to rationalize the haphazard excuses, unreturned phone calls and unanswered emails. Then it had become painfully obvious he was deliberately extricating himself from her life. Logic had deserted her, and in a state of hurt confusion she’d returned to what gave her the most comfort, being alone.

  That summer, she had gotten some clarity on the situation. Aaron had offhandedly pointed out Dylan had made the society page. Morgan had picked up the paper expecting to see his name on a guest list for some charity dinner or another. Instead, she’d seen a picture. The grainy black and white photo had told her all she needed.

  An evening gown clad Lillian was bending down to kiss the top of the tuxedoed and wheelchair bound Mr. Bennett’s bald head. Behind them, Dylan leaned casually against the wall apparently waiting for the Bennetts to precede him into the ballroom.

  The image had been indelibly printed in Morgan’s mind. She closed her eyes now and saw it clearly. He had been breathtaking in his double-breasted tuxedo. It had showcased his impressive body from the cut of the jacket, which emphasized the powerful spread of his shoulders, to the sharp pleat of the pants, which accentuated the lean length of his legs. His dark brown hair was tussled disarmingly and was the perfect foil to his angular, clean-shaven jaw. Laugh lines cut deeply into the skin at either side of the crooked smile he wore.

  But it had been the way he’d looked at Lillian. Morgan had known instantly. All of her lofty rationalizations for Dylan’s change in attitude were brought to ground like dry autumn leaves in a heavy winter snowfall. It hadn’t been the distraction of new challenges and responsibilities. It hadn’t been a change in focus or a lack of time. It had been boredom. Dylan had tired of the company of a girl. He’d tired of her. And he’d found someone on his level, someone with so much more to offer, a real woman.

  Morgan had returned to school shielded by an aura of aloofness born of too much loss and sadness in too short a time. She’d thrown herself into her course work with a vigor bordering on manic. And she’d avoided any and all personal relationships. It hadn’t taken long before she had earned the dual reputation of exceptional student and impervious ice queen.

  Tyler and Linda Shore would have been heartbroken to know their daughter had buried the sensual parts of herself. Even still, Morgan couldn’t bear the thought of exposing herself to any more heartache. After close to five years of self-imposed privation, Morgan had begun to fear she might have suffocated her most primal urges out of existence.

  “At least I don’t have to worry about that,” she chided herself.

  No, she was most definitely capable of lust. Even now—her pulse back to normal, her breathing regular, and her stomach settled—Morgan felt an ache between her thighs. Her body yearned for a release she knew she could never provide. With a heavy heart, she acknowledged there was quite possibly only one person who could.

  She checked her watch and discovered it was ten past nine.

  “Time’s up.” She sighed and reluctantly rose to her feet.

  Crossing the room she cracked the door she had come in and peeked into the hall. The way was clear. Taking one final, wistful look around the room behind her, Morgan slipped into the hallway and continued to the conference room.

  She paused at the door, her fingers going to the scarf around her neck to check its folds. Once assured it was in place, she tamped her hair and tugged down on the hem of her jacket for good measure. Satisfied she was presentable, she plastered a smile on her face and entered the room.

  She was glad she had made the effort to compose herself as four men vaulted out of their seats at her arrival. She focused on Nathan Wurst, who was at the head of the imposing mahogany table taking up most of the space in the room. An undoubtedly well-organized, but daunting series of piles of paper was spread before him. Ken Stile and Charlie Howe stood to Nathan’s left. It seemed all the named partners would be in attendance. And at the foot of the table, at the ready with a stenotype and sympathetic smile was the indispensable Adam Long.

  Philip remained in his seat to Nathan’s right. He didn’t spare her a glance.

  “Morgan.” She turned toward her name and Nathan nodded his greeting. “Please. Sit here.” He indicated the chair next to Philip. “And Mr. Drumlin is?” Nathan turned to Adam as everyone took their places.

  “Right here,” Dylan announced his arrival. “Sorry, had to go back for my portfolio.”

  Morgan forced herself to watch him as he held up the black leather folder. He managed to take his seat on Nathan’s immediate left without meeting her gaze.

  “Of course,” Philip muttered under his breath. “His portfolio.”

  Morgan looked at Philip, wondering at his cryptic comment. He gave nothing away, intently inspecting his fingers while the room settled to quiet.

  “Very good then. We can get started. There is a great deal of paperwork for us to get through today, as you can see.” Nathan placed his hand on the tallest stack in front of him. “Morgan and Philip, if it is all right with the two of you, we thought it best to give an overview of the will and then get your signatures where necessary. Afterward, the two of you will be free to leave.”

  Morgan smiled and nodded then looked expectantly at Philip. He was slouched down in his chair with his chin tucked against his chest.

  “Philip?” she prodded.

  The look of disgust on his face made her suck in an unsteady breath. Without taking his eyes off her, Philip insolently waved his hand in Nathan’s general direction before returning to his former posture.

  “Very good. I’m sure it will come as no surprise to anyone in this room to learn Aaron was particularly thorough in preparing his will. I have been named executor and, as such, am responsible for seeing all terms are implemented as proposed. To begin the process, Aaron left us a letter, the contents of which I will read in its entirety at this time.

  “To my colleagues, dear friends and family and my son, Philip,

  Nathan, Ken, Charles, and Dylan, I leave in your capable hands the result of my life’s work. All I ask is you maintain the same level of integrity and damn good legal services which define Field, Wurst, Howe, Stile & Drumlin.

  “The proceeds from the transfer of the firm shall be added to the rest of my working capital and divided equally into two trusts.

  “The first trust is to be used for the maintenance of Seascape including the salary of Mr. and Mrs. Tibbe, until such time as they see fit to retire.”

  Morgan was certain everyone could hear the chalk against chalkboard grinding of Philip’s teeth. Keeping her eyes down, she discreetly slid her hand over the table until her pinkie finger was aligned with Philip’s. After what had happened between them on the ride over, she half expected him to shrink from the contact. After a moment though, his fingers relaxed next to hers and nudged closer. He straightened beside her, drawing her gaze to his face. But Philip wasn’t looking at her. He was staring straight ahead. Morgan turned to see what, or who, had so completely captured his attention.

  It was Dylan. Morgan saw he was unaware of Philip’s scrutiny because he was entirely focused on the point where her hand met Philip’s.

&
nbsp; “The second will be added to the endowment of The Field Foundation. Further, Morgan Shore shall be named Executive Director of The Field Foundation and will draw a salary from said endowment. I entrust this to you, my dear.”

  Morgan gasped and turned to look at Nathan. The strange dynamic unfolding before her was crowded from her mind by the implications of what Nathan had stated. She was going to leave the room the head of a multimillion dollar charitable organization.

  Wide-eyed, she scanned the faces around the table. She tried to return the smiles of approval she saw, but her lips trembled with emotion. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of Aaron’s generosity and faith in her, she realized, with horror, she was on the verge of tears. She hated the thought of crying here, in front of all of these men, in front of Philip, in front of Dylan.

  Then she felt Philip’s hand cover hers and give a reassuring squeeze. She looked into his face and saw his encouraging expression. Her bewilderment quickly turned to gratitude. She smiled warmly at him before turning to Nathan and indicating with a nod he should continue.

  “Very good,” he approved. “Moving on.”

  “Seascape is to be transferred into dual ownership. Philip Field and Morgan Shore will own equal shares of their childhood home.”

  “No!” Philip exploded beside her.

  Before Morgan could react, he flew out of his chair and grabbed Nathan Wurst by the lapels, pulling the older man up out of his seat.

  “The house is mine!” Philip shouted at Nathan, his formerly benign expression erased by rage.

  Nathan still held Aaron’s letter between his hands. He fixed Philip with a chilling stare and spoke through gritted teeth. “Mr. Field, I suggest you let go of me, immediately, and sit down.”

  “Not until we’re clear, this is not happening! I don’t care what the manipulative son of a bitch thought was best.”

  “Sit down, Philip.” Morgan hadn’t noticed Dylan crossing the room to stand behind Philip. He now gripped the younger man by the shoulder.

  Philip winced at the pressure and released Mr. Wurst. He turned toward Dylan and Morgan recoiled from the venom in his eyes. The two men stood nose to nose. Where Dylan was broad and well-muscled, Philip was trim and powerfully lean. Dylan had control on his side, but Philip was fueled by anger and liquid courage. Morgan was horrified to consider the damage they could do to one another if it came to it.

  Against her better judgment, Morgan reached out and grasped Philip by the forearm. He looked down at her hand on his arm and then focused his hate filled gaze on her. Morgan felt her stomach drop and considered releasing him, but he had already turned away from her and back toward Dylan. She watched with amazement as a smile spread slowly across Philip’s face. She felt him relax beneath her hold as he looked back at her with a softened expression. He placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned down toward her.

  “I apologize,” he said hardly above a whisper.

  “It’s all right.” Morgan gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I know this must be difficult for you.”

  “I apologize for my outburst, Mr. Wurst.” Philip dropped down into his chair. “Nathan, as Morgan said, my father’s sudden death has been difficult for me. I didn’t…it was unexpected. But please…” He picked up the pen on the table in front of him and gestured with it. “Please continue.”

  There was an awkward pause as everyone tried to adjust to Philip’s change in attitude. Morgan made sure to keep her hand firmly clasped to his arm.

  “Philip,” Nathan Wurst broke into the uneasy silence, “I understand, and you have my sympathies. But I also want to be clear. Your father was extremely thorough in preparing these documents and left no room for contention. It would be a colossal waste of your time and money to contest his will.”

  Philip dipped his head for a moment, giving Morgan the impression he was considering arguing Nathan’s point. But when Philip finally looked up he had an innocuous smile on his face.

  “I assure you, I am well aware of my father’s thoroughness.” He scanned the table. “I wouldn’t dream of fighting his wishes. Please, let’s move on.”

  Apparently satisfied with Philip’s capitulation, Nathan tugged down his suit front before taking his seat and resuming.

  “Both trusts shall be overseen by Dylan Drumlin, his responsibilities outlined by the documents creating each trust. Drumlin, I am certain you will fulfill your duties wisely and fairly.”

  “What?”

  Morgan turned her head to see Dylan sitting back in his chair, shock apparent on his face.

  “Do you have an issue with this provision, Mr. Drumlin?” Nathan was obviously annoyed by yet another interruption.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Dylan’s words were halting. “Why would Aaron put me in charge of the trusts?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Nathan answered dryly.

  “You wouldn’t know? He didn’t discuss this with you? Didn’t the two of you consult on this, on all of this?” Dylan leaned forward.

  “No.”

  “Of course not,” Philip muttered next to her, not quite quietly enough to escape notice.

  “Do you know something about this, Philip?” Dylan challenged, his eyes flashing at them from across the table.

  Philip laughed. “I don’t know anything about what my father was thinking. But I do know he wasn’t one to take advice from anyone. He always knew best. Why would it be any different with his final decree?”

  Morgan placed her other hand on Philip’s arm, hoping it would be enough to stop him from saying anything more.

  “But Nathan…” Dylan turned away from Philip. “I have no experience, never mind expertise, in this area. Wouldn’t you be better suited, I mean, shouldn’t this be your responsibility as executor?”

  “Normally, yes, except where another agent is provided. As is the case, here.” Nathan articulated each word carefully. “You can, of course, refuse. Do you wish to refuse, Dylan?”

  “No, I…” Dylan stopped. He looked up at the ceiling as if searching for some explanation then he dropped his gaze to Morgan’s. “No.”

  He said the word with firm confidence, earning a nod of approval from Nathan and a grunt of laughter from Philip. But before he turned away from Morgan, she saw a fleeting expression contort his features. To her it looked like fear.

  * * * *

  “Coffee,” Dylan snapped at Adam as he strode past.

  He jerked his office door open then thrust it shut behind him. He made it to the center of the room before the quiet solitude froze him in place. His muscles bunched and his nerves thrummed with suppressed tension. He wanted to punch something and, unbidden, Philip’s face materialized in his mind’s eye. Dylan dispelled it with a shake of his head.

  No doubt, Philip deserved nothing less. Dylan had almost been disappointed when Philip had backed down. The disappointment had turned into burning regret when Philip had proceeded to flaunt his relationship with Morgan, manipulating her into soothing and petting him at every opportunity. Watching the two of them together had been nauseating. Dylan had been relieved when Nathan announced the pair had signed everything necessary and sent them on their way.

  “Coffee,” Adam announced in his unflappably cheerful manner, making Dylan jump.

  “Hell!” He moved toward his desk to cover his overreaction, collapsing into his chair and busying himself with the files he found there.

  “I’m sorry if I startled you,” Adam apologized as he approached, carefully placing the steaming mug in front of Dylan.

  “No.” Leaning his elbow on his desk, Dylan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes “I’m the one who should be sorry, Adam. Long morning.”

  “I bet.”

  Dylan laughed without humor. “Quite a show, wasn’t it?”

  “Mr. Field’s will did seem to create some, ah, controversy.”

  “Very diplomatic, Adam.” Grabbing the coffee cup with both hands, Dylan looked up at his assistant. “I’m going to need a
few to decompress.”

  “Of course.” Adam nodded then turned. “Have a nice nap,” he offered over his shoulder.

  Dylan considered Adam’s comment once he’d left the office. He wondered if a power nap would help his state of mind. Under most circumstances the talent he’d discovered in law school, to quickly achieve deep sleep then wake after ten minutes, left him feeling refreshed. But something told him there would be no relief in his subconscious today.

  Dylan swiveled his chair to face out the floor to ceiling window behind him. He took a tentative sip of the hot and strong brew then propped his feet against the glass, leaning back in his chair.

  The silence, rich smell of coffee, and vista of clear blue sky combined to clear Dylan’s cluttered mind. His muscles eased. As he circled his head, working the tension in his neck, he caught the reflection of the couch in the window. It snared his attention and before he could distract himself, he was assaulted by images: full red lips issuing contempt, auburn hair tumbling and curling over his forearm, unexpectedly bare flesh warm and enticing in his hands, long legs wrapping his waist.

  “Goddamn!” Dylan jerked forward from his reclined position, his feet hitting the floor with a dull thud.

  He might be able to competently manage the trusts in time, but he felt no such confidence when it came to his reaction to Morgan Shore. He got to his feet and rounded the desk. Drinking absently from the oversized cup he held, he began to pace.

  He still had no explanation for what had possessed him earlier. Morgan had been right. He’d acted like a bully, an overbearing, self-righteous bully. And she had been relatively patient with him. And her patience had driven him right over the edge.

  He knew now it had been a luxury having Morgan beyond his reach during her time in college and graduate school. She was far too close for comfort and would be for the foreseeable future. The carefully woven shroud he’d cast over his desire for her had utterly unraveled the second she’d responded to his kiss. He had nothing to protect himself from her. She was vulnerable to him. It was impossible.

  Just as impossible as avoiding her would be, Aaron’s will did not allow for it. At the very least, there would be monthly meetings the two of them would have to attend. Not to mention the fact the offices of the Field Foundation shared the floor with the law firm. They would be hard pressed to avoid each other in the halls, in the elevator. Christ! The elevator!