Seeing her standing by the large window, looking out over the Vegas strip, he knew he was right. The way the light hit her face and the look in her eyes when she turned toward him—he realized his brother was right. He was a fool, because he was in love.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A few hours later, when they walked into the waiting room of the lawyer’s office, Zoey gritted her teeth when she saw Bridgette standing next to the water fountain. She had hoped to avoid the woman again today but knew it was probably inevitable.
“Don’t flip out,” Dylan warned her quietly.
“I wondered if she’d be around.” She turned to him. “Don’t worry—she’s just trying to get her hands on some more of my father’s money. You know I don’t care if my father left anything for me or my mom or Scarlett, but I hope to god he didn’t leave her another penny.” It was true. At this point, the woman was a leech, and Zoey was no longer willing to feed her needs.
“Ms. Rowlett,” the receptionist said.
“Yes?” Zoey started to say, but Bridgette jumped in.
“Yes, that’s me.” Bridgette rushed forward as if her name had just been called for winning concert tickets.
“Miss Rowlett,” the receptionist said more clearly. “Zoey Rowlett.” She raised an eyebrow at Bridgette. “You’ll have to wait here, Mrs. Rowlett.”
Dylan followed Zoey into the office, where the lawyer from yesterday was sitting behind a large desk.
“Welcome.” He waved them both in. “Can Sherri get you anything? Water? Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Zoey answered as she took a seat across from the man, while Dylan took the chair next to her. “Why is Bridgette here?” Could the woman actually have some official business here?
“I ran into her yesterday, and she demanded to be present during your father’s reading of the will today, but since she isn’t included in the will, she’ll have to—”
Just then the door burst open.
“I demand you let me in there.” Bridgette pushed past the secretary. “He was my husband. My husband!” she screamed.
The lawyer looked to Zoey. “It’s up to you. I can have her removed.”
Zoey was curious now. If Bridgette didn’t have any legal grounds to be there, it might be a good thing that she hear it from the lawyer that her father had changed his will and left her nothing more.
“I don’t mind.” Zoey’s grip on her bag relaxed.
“Mrs. Rowlett, please come in.” The lawyer motioned to an empty chair.
Dylan stood up, gave her his chair, and stood behind her as the lawyer started going over the will.
Since Zoey had talked to her father, she knew that he had said that he’d left all his assets to her and Scarlett. But as she heard the lawyer confirm it all, for the first time, it really sank in.
Of course, she wasn’t given much time to think about it since, hearing this news, Bridgette sat up slightly. “I object.”
“You . . .” John Jackson sighed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rowlett, this is a reading of Jean Rowlett’s will. We’re not in court. There is nothing to object to.”
“Yes, there is. I object to the will. It’s a lie. Jean would never leave anything to his two . . . ‘brats,’ as he always liked to call them.” Bridgette shifted, and Zoey realized that no matter what the woman said, she was determined to keep her cool. “So, I’d like to know what you can do to make this right.”
To the lawyer’s credit, the man didn’t burst into laughter. Zoey was having a tough time not laughing herself. Dylan placed a hand on her shoulder when a giggle escaped her. The sound caused Bridgette to glare in her direction.
“I don’t think you understand . . .” the lawyer started but was once again interrupted.
“No, I don’t think you understand. I’m here to collect my husband’s—” Bridgette began, but Zoey just couldn’t let that rest.
“Ex,” she added easily, which earned her another glare from Bridgette. “Ex-husband. You divorced him shortly after he found out that he was sick, or so he told me on the phone the other day, before he died.”
The other woman ignored her and continued to address John Jackson. “I’m sure you see this all the time, so I’ll want you to fill out whatever paperwork I need so I can turn his will back to the way it was before he changed it.” She smiled brightly at the man as if she were used to using her looks to get her way.
“My god,” Zoey started. “Does she actually think that’s how things work?” Dylan just shrugged.
“Missus . . .” the lawyer started again. “I’m afraid that’s illegal. Jean Rowlett changed his will after your divorce, when he was of sound mind and body. There’s nothing—”
At this point Bridgette stood up. “No, I’m right.” She leaned on the edge of the desk, her long manicured bright-pink nails almost scraping the wood. “Either you disregard this will, or you’ll have a legal fight on your hands.”
“Okay.” The lawyer shifted. “You’re well within your rights to contest the will. However, after a divorce, my advice is—”
“I don’t care what your advice is. I want to contest the will.” She straightened up. “So, get to contesting.”
A burst of laughter escaped Zoey, which she tried to cover quickly by coughing.
“Um . . .” Mr. Jackson started, his eyes darting between Zoey and Bridgette. “That’s not really how it works. I’m not your—”
“Do whatever it takes. I won’t have her”—Bridgette pointed in Zoey’s direction—“getting a dime of mine.”
“Yours?” Zoey started. Again the woman narrowed her eyes in her direction. Then she turned toward her; Zoey was still sitting down, trying to remain calm and relaxed.
“You think this is a joke? Your father told me all about you two brats—how you ruined his life. How your bitch mother . . .”
Zoey stood suddenly for the first time as anger washed over her. The fact that, through the red haze of pure rage, it registered that Bridgette’s smile had grown had her taking a few deep breaths.
“Easy,” Dylan whispered as he moved next to her. “She’s trying to rile you up, remember. It’s a game to her.” He nudged her back a few steps.
“You won’t get a dime of Jean’s. He wanted me to have it all—he told me so all of the time. That’s why he left you and your bitch mother with nothing.” The woman’s smile was almost too much for her to take at this point.
“My assistant has called security,” John broke in.
“Good.” Bridgette turned back to the lawyer. “Have her removed. She’s totally out of control. Look, she has to be held back to keep from attacking me.”
Zoey relaxed even more when she realized it was true. Even though the place on her cheek still stung from Bridgette’s slap yesterday, she knew it wouldn’t do any good to let the woman win. Especially not in front of so many witnesses, and especially a lawyer.
“I don’t think you understand,” the lawyer said. “Miss Rowlett is here on legal matters. You are not. You’ll need to leave the premises.” He rose as two security guards stepped into the room.
“I’m not leaving. Jean was my husband.”
“Was!” Zoey shouted as the two guards flanked Bridgette’s sides and took her arms.
“You’ll regret this.” Bridgette turned toward her.
“I doubt it.” Zoey felt her smile stretch her cheeks.
Bridgette didn’t have a chance to respond as guards hustled her out of the room.
“That was fun,” Dylan whispered to her.
It took a few minutes for things to settle down. Dylan fixed the club chair she’d knocked over when she’d stood up.
She took the bottled water that was offered to her and listened to the rest of her father’s estate plans. In the end, she was thankful that he hadn’t insisted she take over the family business; instead, he’d made arrangements for Mr. Jackson to oversee the liquidation of everything, including the home and cars her father had just outside of Vegas.
As they
made their way out of the lawyer’s building, Zoey was still running over everything in her mind and was fully prepared to encounter Bridgette again. However, when she slid into the passenger seat of the rental car without so much as a glimpse of the woman, she relaxed back in the seat.
“Damn.” She rubbed her forehead. “I was really hoping to see her again.”
Dylan smothered a laugh. “I think security made sure she was off the premises.” He pulled out of the parking garage. “I bet she’s pissed.”
“You think?” She smiled. “God, I really hope so.”
“Where to?” he asked, turning toward the Strip.
“I don’t know.” She tilted her head. “I’ll want to call my sister and Mom, but”—she paused for a moment—“what’s around Vegas? I’ve only ever been to the Strip.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Have you been to the Hoover Dam?”
“No. I’ve seen it on TV and in pictures but haven’t made the trip. Actually, I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon before.”
“What?” He reversed direction and started heading out of town. “I hope it’s okay if we spend the next two hours in the car.”
She shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere else to be. I’ll use the time to call everyone and fill them in.”
“Go ahead, and I’ll head out of town. Once we get in the canyon, you might lose the signal.”
“Thanks”—she touched his hand—“for being there. I don’t think I could have handled that by myself.”
He reached up to cup her chin. “Anytime.” He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her face.
She couldn’t explain the emotions that rushed through her, so instead of focusing on them, she pulled out her cell phone and punched her sister’s number first.
Deciding to keep most of the story to herself, she filled her sister in just on what their father had left them. Scar seemed only interested in the fact that they could then turn the money back into the camp.
“We’re running low, according to Elle. Since we have the other two cabins being built, we may have to hold off on building the next two until spring.”
“Things are that bad?” she asked as she adjusted her headrest. “What about everything we put into the place?”
“Elle says that out of our initial investment, only a few thousand dollars remain. And that’s salary for employees.”
Zoey knew that the initial repairs and improvements had taken the majority of the funds the five of them had invested.
“It sounds like Dad did us a favor in the end. You always tell me to look at the bright side of things.”
“I know, but . . .” Her sister paused.
“What?” she asked finally.
“I just hate that it’s coming from him. You know? After what he did to us, how he hurt us and Mom.”
“I know,” she agreed. “We’ll talk about it more when I get back.”
“How long are you staying?” Scar asked.
“I was thinking we’d head back tomorrow,” she answered.
“Make sure you take some time to enjoy. These were supposed to be your days off, remember?”
She smiled. “I know. Thanks. I’m going to call Mom.”
“No, don’t. I’m heading over there to have lunch with her. I can fill her in. Go, enjoy yourself.” Her sister paused. “Zoey? We did a little more background digging into Dylan and his brothers.”
She watched Dylan, who was busy driving, but she knew he’d heard her side of the conversation.
“And?” she asked.
“From what we can tell, it looks like they are searching for their father. Hannah pulled some strings, and, well, there are rumored reports among the employees of the family business that the company’s been in trouble since his disappearance.”
“Thanks—we can talk when I get back,” she said when Dylan glanced in her direction. “Bye.” Scar hung up, and Zoey laid her phone in her lap.
“Want to grab some lunch on the way back?” he asked. “We can probably be back in time for you to lose some money in the casino later tonight?”
“Sure,” she agreed, wanting to ask him more about his father but unsure of how to go about it.
“What other national treasures have you missed?” he asked as he drove the winding roads through the canyons.
She thought about it. “I’ve pretty much seen them all, with the exception of the Grand Canyon.” She’d been watching the red hills fly by.
“Yellowstone?” he asked, glancing over at her.
“Family vacation when I was ten.” The one time her dad had acted like a father.
“Did you get to see the statue of Christ the Redeemer on top of Corcovado when you were over in Rio?” he asked.
“We all took the tour.”
It was strange—talking to Dylan, she realized that they’d had plenty of good times with her dad, before things had changed.
“Things started to slide downhill shortly after my twelfth birthday, when my father’s company purchased a company Bridgette had been working at in Orlando. I remember my parents talking about it.” She glanced over at him. “What about your dad?” She’d been waiting for the conversation to turn.
“Dad’s business has always been steady,” he answered, and she knew she’d have to press further.
“My father’s business had at one point been one of the biggest banking investment companies in the United States. Or so he always told us. But things changed shortly after he started seeing Bridgette,” she admitted. “With the destruction of our family, my father’s assets took a dive as well. He sold off most of his big income properties and made some terrible investments”—the local papers had had a field day—“which caused most of his investors to jump ship.”
“I’m afraid that’s what will happen to us,” Dylan confessed, causing her to turn toward him. “Dad’s been known to take a trip or two, but nothing this long and never . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Nothing this long.”
She mentally kicked herself for waiting too long and not getting enough information from him. “We’ll walk from here,” he said. He turned off the car and glanced over at her. “Whatever happens, remember that your dad tried to make it right in the end.”
“I know.” She rubbed her forehead. “I should have returned that final call sooner.” She’d been feeling guilty about it ever since she’d talked to him. “It’s not right.” She rested her head back against the seat. “I should have . . .”
Dylan’s hand on hers stopped her from finishing the sentence.
“Hindsight . . .” He lifted her hand up to his lips. “Let’s take a walk.” He got out of the car and rushed around to open her door.
They spent almost a full hour strolling around the dam; the conversation was kept light and away from family, since she’d had enough to deal with earlier and didn’t want to dig deeper with him at the moment. Instead, she wanted to enjoy her moment in the sun—time with him.
He opened her car door for her.
“Thank you, for today.” She leaned on the open door and looked at him. “I’m glad you talked me into this. I wouldn’t have known what to do by myself.”
“You would have probably ended up in prison for attacking Bridgette,” he said with a wink.
She laughed. “It would have been worth it.” She slid into the seat.
“What do you say we try our hand at the slots?” he suggested as they pulled out of the town.
“I don’t know . . .” She cocked a brow at him. “How lucky are you feeling?”
He reached for her hand. “With you by my side . . . very.”
The drive back to Vegas didn’t seem as long as the one to the dam. They pulled into the parking area of the hotel and decided to run up to the room so that she could change into more casual clothes before they hit the casino.
She took a moment to send off a text to her mom. She knew that, as much as Scar had wanted to distance herself from their father, their mother’s feelings toward the man who had emotionally t
ortured and rejected her were stronger.
Did Scar talk to you? Everything is taken care of. Dad left us everything else, which is being deposited into a new account the lawyer opened in our names. Ran into #2, story to follow when we return tomorrow. Heading out to lose some of dad’s money. XOXO
Her mom’s reply was instantaneous.
Yes, Scar and I chatted. Have fun, sweetie. I’m so proud of you.
As they stepped into the elevator together, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, and she told herself to forget about finding answers to her questions. That for now, she needed to let everything go. She wanted to take this time for herself so she could enjoy just being with Dylan. She knew that he was right; with him by her side, they were really lucky.
They stepped out into the casino, and each of them bought a hundred dollars on the casino cards.
“It’s funny—instead of getting cash, it’s all done on credit cards now.” She stuffed her card into her pocket.
“Don’t put it in your back pocket,” he said. “You’d be surprised at how easily someone could slide that from your jeans.”
“Oh?” She chuckled. “I’d like to see . . .”
He stepped closer, his dark eyes locking with hers as he wrapped his arms around her. Then he was kissing her, and she forgot everything—even that they were standing in the middle of a very loud casino with hundreds of people around them, looking on.
“See?” He held up her card.
She snatched it back and frowned at him. “Like I’d let someone else do that to distract me?”
“Put it in your front pocket,” he suggested and then took her hand as they started to stroll through the large rooms.
“What’s your game?” he asked. “Tables? Slots? Poker?”
“Let’s start with the slots. I’ve always wanted to try them.”
He stopped her from walking away by tugging on her hand. “You’ve never played before?”
She shook her head. “The last time I was in Vegas, I was twenty years old.”
“Then this calls for the big one.” She followed him through the floor. They stopped at a large slot machine. The kind that took both hands to pull down.
Summer Nights Page 16
