by Leslie North
She had assumed the American inheriting the castle in Glen Ridge would need no introduction.
“I’m sorry, I don’t see your name anywhere in our system,” the secretary apologized again.
“Well, is Mr. Gladstone in?” Brandy asked in exasperation. Surely the man she was supposed to meet with would be able to resolve this.
The secretary’s eyes went round. “I’m sorry, miss, but Mr. Gladstone is no longer part of the business. Arthur Sheffield is the solicitor here.”
Brandy dragged her eyes up, slowly, to take in the name plate on the inner door. This can’t be happening. “Well, then, I suppose I’ll speak to Mr. Sheffield.”
“No…! You can’t…!” The secretary stretched out her hand ineffectually, but seemed incapable of fully leaving her chair as Brandy pushed past her to the solicitor’s office.
Twenty minutes and countless offered cups of tea later, and she still hadn’t made much progress.
“Mr. Sheffield, I have no idea who this Drakar Farnsworth is, but I have the original deed on me,” Brandy said impatiently. “Right here.” She pulled it from among her files and passed it to him.
The man’s already bloodless face went sheet-white as he scanned it over. Brandy relaxed back into her chair a little. Her blood was pumping, but she kept her expression carefully schooled.
It was a misunderstanding, that was all. She had come prepared with all the paperwork, and there wasn’t an inkling in her mind that she was in the wrong. She had reviewed every detail a hundred times over from the moment she had first learned she’d inherited a castle.
“I… I need to call the other party involved,” Arthur Sheffield insisted apologetically.
Brandy lifted one shoulder in an unimpressed shrug. “Do what you have to do.”
All the while, her heart raced.
Who the hell was Drakar Farnsworth?
The sky was about to fall on Drakar Farnsworth, and Maximillian Benton’s was the godly hammer that had knocked it loose with one final master stroke.
Prepare to have everything taken from you, Drakar, Max avowed over an afternoon glass of celebratory Scotch. You only thought you had taken everything from me. Now, I'll show you what it really means to suffer.
His pocket buzzed, and Max glanced down incuriously. No doubt, his solicitor was messaging him with some mundane detail about the property. Landon Castle wasn't in the best shape, these days, owing to a long period of ever-changing, neglectful ownership, but Max couldn't give less of a damn. He wanted the castle for one reason and one reason only, and that was to watch Drakar squirm.
No. He wanted better than that. He wanted responsibility for every lingering detail in the other man's fast-destructing life.
His pocket buzzed again. Max cursed and fished out his phone. His eyes narrowed, disbelieving, as he read Arthur's text.
"What do you mean, there's a problem?" Unlike his skittish solicitor, Max didn't hesitate to put a call in, his words cold enough to ice over the phone in the other man’s hand.
"W-with the deed transfer." Arthur sounded nervous, which normally would have meant he was intimidated and likely to find a way to overcome the obstruction on his own, but Max immediately suspected he wasn't the reason for the other man's anxiety. And that irked him.
"Who's there in the office with you?" he demanded. "Put him on the phone."
"It's... it's better if you come down here yourself, Mr. Benton," Arthur persisted. All his invitation lacked was a half-stammered please.
"Lucky for you, I'm five minutes away," Max replied. He downed the rest of his drink and snatched his coat off the back of his chair. He flipped a negligible amount of money onto the counter, leaving the bartender in bug-eyed astonishment as he blew out the door. Must have overtipped was the vague thought that flitted through his mind as he crossed the street.
He was at Arthur's in record time. He swooped into the solicitor's office, his coat hanging off his shoulders like a pair of ominous black wings. The secretary didn't seem to know whether to blush or bolt for the broom closet; she settled for spilling tea on herself as Max passed her.
"Make this quick," Max stated as he shoved open the office door. "I want this resolved before..."
Before. There was his night-before, rising out of the chair across from Arthur's desk, her transfixing blue eyes startled, her hair...
God, her hair. She had obviously attempted to run a brush through it that morning, but the effort had met with mixed results. He could easily identify a spot near the nape of her scalp where she had missed disentangling those thick, chocolate locks. He remembered how he had snarled his fingers in them, how he had forced her head back and heard her sharp inhalation of pleasure as he forged a chain of kisses down her obedient neck...
"You're Max Benton?" The woman sounded as if she was experiencing the same trouble breathing now.
Max had already composed his own surprise, if it had ever shown at all. He stared down at her coldly. "And you are?"
"Mr. Benton, maybe you had better have a seat," Arthur suggested faintly from behind his desk.
"What I’d better have is a castle, Mr. Sheffield. Your tone over the phone seemed to imply otherwise."
The Night Before's eyes narrowed at this, and the surprised expression on her face collapsed into outrage. "I'm sorry, but I think there really has been a mistake," she said to the room at large. "In fact, I'm starting to suspect there may have been more than one made already."
"Do you?" Max was taken aback, not only by her veiled insult, but by the unexpected challenge he saw firing her like a forge. He stepped nearer.
Neither party now showed an interest in Arthur's reiterated offer of chairs.
"Yes. I do," she stated. "Landon Castle belongs to me. It was bequeathed to me, entirely legally, by my grandmother. I'm sorry for any inconvenience this might cause you, but I think you'll find the law is on my side."
"And what does an American know about British law?" Max demanded. "And what business does she have running around a historic English castle?"
"My business is no business of yours!"
Max smiled cruelly. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."
The woman flushed scarlet, whether with rage or humiliation, he couldn't guess. He wasn't sure which he hoped for. What he did hope was that she was finding that memories of their entangled bodies and shared, gasping passion were making it as hard for her to breathe in this room as he was. He had no doubt he could weaponize their night together now, make her tremble and buckle to his will—if he didn't let the feverish visions get the better of him first...
“Mr. Benton?” Arthur queried. Max blinked, realizing belatedly that he was being spoken to. Both Arthur and the woman were staring at him.
“Well, I find this completely unacceptable,” Max said. He figured that response just about covered any question that had been asked.
The Night Before scoffed and crossed her arms as she turned back to Arthur. “That’s one thing we agree on!”
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” Max made sure to stress the plural, certain that this American woman couldn’t have more than one at her disposal. Whoever she had to represent her, they definitely weren’t as well-paid as his own legal team.
“My apologies. We’ll get this all sorted, I… I swear to you.” The solicitor was clearly in a hurry to evict them from the room so that he could start making the necessary phone calls.
Before Max could turn to go, or even put in a scathing final word, the woman rose, knocking against him with her purse on her way out. She didn’t turn to apologize or so much as glance his way.
It infuriated him.
The Night Before had a name. Brandy Jackson.
"Want me to look her up?" Gavin asked. Max had put in the call to his friend immediately after calling his attorney about the disputed property. “Wait, why am I offering? You’re the one in the business of developing superspy programs.”
“Security programs,” Max corrected ne
edlessly. “And she’s an author. Writing under various pen names. That’s all I know, and frankly, I’m uninterested in delving further.”
“Sounds like you weren’t uninterested last night,” Gavin pointed out.
Max gritted his teeth as he got into his car. “That’s ancient history.”
“Sounds like the very young and beautiful present.”
“I don’t care how any of this sounds!” he snapped. “What I need is a solution. The solicitor said her deed looked all too real when she flashed it at him in his office.”
"Then you’ve got to pay off the attorney. Do something," Gavin advised. "You of all people know how much trouble a woman can be.”
Max nodded thoughtfully to himself.
Time to make little Miss Brandy Jackson go away.
3
“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Lucy, her best friend from back home, soothed as Brandy walked double-time toward the courthouse. “Sounds like he’s used to getting his way.”
“Yeah, well, turns out he’s a billionaire,” Brandy stressed into her phone. “I’d say you’re damn right he’s used to getting his way. At the very least, he has every possible option for somewhere to live other than Landon Castle.”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t back down now,” Lucy replied, “or ever. If he’s as rich as you say—and I know he is, because I’ve googled him already—then he can afford to take this loss. You can’t. Not unless you want to be a twenty-eight-year-old woman crashing on my couch for the indefinite future.”
Brandy winced, but she knew Lucy was right; that was why she had called her friend to gas her up before the hearing in front of the judge. “All of this would be a lot easier if we hadn’t slept together,” she admitted. “God, it figures that the one time I let myself get carried away…”
“Babe, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to cut you off there.” In the background of the call, Brandy could hear someone knocking on Lucy’s office door. Being a wedding planner this time of year left Lucy with practically zero free time, which made their call today a rarity to begin with.
Brandy smiled despite herself. “Convenient.”
“Oh, you know I still want to hear every detail of your steamy encounter!” Lucy replied with a delighted laugh. “Forgive me for saying, but this just gets better and better.”
Brandy grimaced. “Thanks, Lu. Glad my personal life amuses you so much.”
“You know it does. But seriously now, get what’s yours, girl,” was Lucy’s parting advice to her. “Get that castle. And as soon as the summer wedding season ends, I’ll take time off work and fly out to visit you.”
“Deal,” Brandy promised. She hung up the call, heart pumping in her chest, her present nervousness about the whole ordeal a stark contrast to the confidence she had tried to project over the phone with Lucy.
Well, she didn’t have to worry about one thing: falling back into bed with Max Benton. The man had made it excruciatingly clear during their last encounter how little their night together meant to him. She was determined to make it matter to herself even less.
She had to keep up appearances, now more than ever. Max could throw around as much money as he wanted, but she was walking into the judge’s chambers with the deed to Landon Castle, meaning there was nothing to dispute. She was confident that justice would prevail in her favor.
“So it appears I have been presented with two deeds to Landon Castle,” the judge remarked.
Max white-knuckled his chair in an effort to keep himself in place. It was all he could do to keep from leaping up and shouting, and he wasn’t a man who raised his voice. Ever. He had gotten very little sleep the previous night, although it had little to do with anxiety about today’s hearing and all to do with thoughts of the brunette American currently sitting poised like a work of art two tables down from him. Images of her, memories, fantasies, had played out behind his eyelids well into morning. He had lost count of the number of cold showers he had treated himself to. Landon Castle had been the least of his concerns.
He had thought his ownership a shoo-in.
“Your Honor,” his attorney began, “this is absurd. There can’t be two deeds.”
You’re atrociously overpaid, Max thought, glaring at the man in disbelief. He wouldn’t fire his representation on the spot, but maybe it was time to call in somebody else.
“Two deeds?” Brandy Jackson demanded. “How can there be two deeds? One must have been falsified.” Evidently her own attorney was asleep at the wheel.
The judge steepled his fingers and looked at them all with consternation. This wasn’t a Hollywood courtroom drama, though—he appeared willing to keep his remonstrations to himself, willing to believe that the individuals in his chamber would be better behaved going forward. “That would seem to be the case.”
Brandy turned narrowed oceanic blue eyes on him, leaving Max with little doubt about who her suspected culprit was.
“Unfortunately, this court will need a little more time to investigate the matter,” the judge continued.
Max watched as Brandy’s determined expression crumpled on the spot. His grip on his chair eased, and he sat back, curious despite himself. Why did the castle mean so much to her? What could she, an American, have to gain here?
He had his suspicions, of course. There were plenty of opportunists who would turn right around and relist the property. Max himself intended to hold on to the castle as hard as he held on to any grudge. Only death would make him give it up.
And just like that, the unexpected answer to his question came. “Your Honor.” Brandy rose, and her attorney scrambled to do the same. The judge’s mouth thinned further, but English politeness restrained him from interrupting. “Your Honor, the truth is, I moved here because I had assurance that I would be able to live in Landon Castle,” the woman’s explanation began. “When my grandmother passed, she donated the house I had been living in to the historical society because she was assured that Landon Castle was mine. Now that my ownership is being contested, I…” She faltered, staring meditatively at the table, and pushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.
Max sat forward. Clearly Brandy was taking time to choose her words, but her situation was suddenly all too apparent to him.
She has nowhere else to go.
He had thought her wealthy, considering the cost of a night spent in the hotel where they had met; now, he could plainly see the scuffs on her heels, the cheap make of her purse. He had overlooked all such details earlier on his quest to get her into bed—what man wouldn’t overlook them? The world he inhabited was, oftentimes, a superficial one, but not even a potato sack would distract from Brandy’s striking beauty.
“Listen to this sob story,” his lawyer leaned in and whispered.
An instinctual fury rose in Max, but he said nothing. The man was probably right. Max had encountered his fair share of manufactured tragedies in his life, and this was doubtless no exception.
Still, he found it hard to look at Brandy as his lawyer turned back to the judge. “Your Honor, whatever Miss Jackson is driving at…”
“I’m not driving at anything!” Brandy protested.
“What my client is trying to say…” her lawyer attempted a quick pacification, but Max’s lawyer interrupted him.
Max massaged his temples and tried not to look at anyone in particular as the room descended into chaos. What a shit show, he thought.
“Order!” The judge’s voice rang out, and the argument died down instantly. “As far as I can see, this matter is going to take a lot more time to investigate. And considering the circumstances…” He eyed Brandy as the woman wilted back down into her chair. Max had a bad feeling about what that look meant. No, he thought. No no no. Don’t fall for it. Don’t fall for it the way I—
“I think I’ve come up with an unconventional… temporary… solution to the trouble over Landon Castle,” the judge continued. “It’s unorthodox, but it’s the best I can do given the unusu
al circumstances. Both self-proclaimed owners will live at the castle for the next ninety days. By that time, I will have finished inspecting the documents and reached a determination about who legally owns the property.”
“What?” Max wasn’t certain he had heard right. He turned to his lawyer.
The other man simply shrugged. “Judge’s ruling,” his lawyer said. “Not a lot we can do.”
“Can’t we contest it?” Max hissed at him. “What am I paying you for?”
His lawyer went beet-red, but before he could formulate an answer for Max, the judge interrupted them. “In this way,” he continued, “we will ensure that neither party is attempting to get hold of the castle to make a quick turnaround sale. I have seen this happen in other counties, and I won’t have it happen here. It is a historical property that should bear a significant meaning to its new owner.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” Max growled under his breath. He didn’t care who heard him; he could feel a headache coming on, and he was now well and truly out of patience.
Brandy turned back to the judge. “I see no problem with that,” she declared.
The little liar. Max glowered at the back of her head. There was no chance their night together didn’t haunt her, too. He refused to believe it. Sex that good didn’t just come knocking and…
“Max?” His lawyer was looking at him expectantly. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath.
He fired his lawyer on the spot. Then he called his friend Gavin the moment he left the judge’s chambers.
“Tony’s here,” Gavin said in the distorted tone that meant he’d put the call on speaker.
Max couldn’t help the tired smile that moved his stony features at this. “Anthony. How are you? Back from traveling abroad?”
“Only for a brief visit,” Tony replied. “Then I’m off again.”
