made you a proper breakfast. You go in the dinin’ room and sit down while I make you somethin’ to tide you over until the others come down.”
Grant had a swift vision of the gargantuan breakfasts still laid out on the sideboard every morning, despite the fact that neither he, his brothers, nor Kyra ever put a dent in them.
“No,” he said quickly, “thank you very much, Stella, but I’m afraid I haven’t the time. I’ve an appointment in—” he frowned at his watch “—in less than an hour. But I will take a cup of coffee upstairs with me.” He smiled and looped his arm lightly over her shoulders. “Did I ever tell you that you make the best coffee in the entire world?”
Color bloomed in her cheeks. “Go on,” she said, but she smiled. “You just wait here, Mr. Grant, and I’ll get you some.”
“Don’t be silly.” Grant began walking slowly down the hall. “I know how to find the kitchen.”
“Yes, but it’s not right. Your father says—”
“My father’s not master of this house anymore.” He knew he’d spoken more sharply than he’d intended, and he softened the words with a quick smile. “Tell you what. I’ll walk you to the kitchen and we’ll get that cup of coffee together.”
How long would it take everybody to get used to the change? he wondered moments later as he set his mug of coffee on the nightstand in his old bedroom.
Charles Landon wasn’t master here anymore. The old man wasn’t master of anything, he thought as he stripped off his shorts and shirt. The grim proof of that lay in what had happened yesterday, after the formal reading of the will.
Nothing in it had been a surprise. Charles had left his private fortune to Kyra, along with the house and its enormous land holdings, and he had left Landon Enterprises, the vast, multimillion-dollar conglomerate he had built, to his three sons.
The sun, streaming through the windows, felt good on Grant’s naked body. He stretched his arms, flexing the muscles that bunched beneath his taut, tanned skin. Purposefully, he made his way into his private bathroom and turned the shower on to full.
The old man would have exploded if he’d seen what had happened once the reading of the will had ended. The lawyers had barely been out the door before Zach had spoken.
“Man, what a gift,” he’d said sarcastically. “Just what I’ve always wanted—a piece of Landon Enterprises.”
Cade had wasted no time. “I’ll pass,” he’d said. “You guys can keep my share.”
Grant had bared his teeth in what he’d hoped was a smile. “Hell,” he’d said, “don’t be so generous, pal!” He’d gone to the cherry-wood bar, uncapped a bottle of Jack Daniel’s bourbon, poured generous shots into heavy Waterford tumblers and said what he’d always known in his heart. “I’d steal hubcaps for a living before I had anything to do with Landon Enterprises.”
Zach and Cade had both laughed, and Zach had raised his glass of bourbon high in the air.
“Okay,” he’d said, “it’s unanimous. The new directors of Landon Enterprises met and made their first, last, and only decision.”
“Yeah,” Grant had said, as the three tumblers clinked against each other. “By unanimous vote, the directors agreed to divest themselves of the company.”
Within minutes, they’d agreed to put Landon’s on the market and give the proceeds to charity. Then they’d raised their glasses again, this time in bittersweet celebration of finally admitting what they’d all always known.
Charles Landon’s sons had, over the years, ignored their father, argued with him, feared him and despised him—but they had never loved him.
Grant stepped from the shower, toweled himself dry, then strolled naked into the bedroom. And so it was all over. Within hours, he’d be in New York, Zach would be in Boston, and Cade would be in London. Kyra, of course, would remain here, where she belonged and where she was happy.
Hell, he couldn’t wait to get back to his own world, and his own life. There were the loose ends of that contract to tie up—and there were other loose ends, too. He smiled a little as he drew his shirt over his broad shoulders. He’d certainly been abrupt with Kimberly—Kimberly and that red teddy. But he’d been abrupt with women before, when the demands of the law had gotten in the way of his private life. A couple of dozen long-stemmed red roses, a box of Godiva chocolates…
Grant’s smile tilted. Kimberly would come around.
And then there was the Madigan woman and that tantalizing glimpse of black lace she’d flashed each time she’d crossed those long legs.
He grinned as he stepped into his trousers. What a dilemma, to have to choose between the two—or not to choose. There were lots of women in New York. Beautiful women. A man could spend his life sipping nectar from all those sweet flowers. Not that he didn’t believe in fidelity.
Grant looped his tie under his collar and knotted it. He was always faithful, he thought, smiling again—for as long as an affair lasted.
He looked into the mirror as he put on his jacket. The runner in shorts and sweatshirt was gone, replaced by a meticulously groomed man in a Savile Row suit, but then, that was who he was. The man who’d come into this bedroom with an unshaven face, grungy shorts, and a sweatshirt was just a leftover from a life he’d long ago put behind him.
Why he even kept his old running clothes was beyond him; they were so beat up that they should have been tossed out years ago.
With a grimace, Grant stuffed the shirt and shorts into a pocket of his weekend bag. This was not the time for philosophical musings. He had an appointment to keep—a breakfast meeting requested by Victor Bayliss, who’d been Charles’s number one yesman.
“You meet with the guy,” his brothers had said with unseemly haste. “It takes a lawyer to talk to a lawyer.”
Heartless bastards, Grant thought with a fond smile as he closed the bedroom door after him. Not that he minded. Bayliss undoubtedly wanted this meeting so he could cozy up to the new Landon management.
Grant could hardly wait to see the man’s face when he heard the news.
A couple of hours later, Grant threw open the massive front door to the Landon mansion, slammed it shut behind him, and strode down the hall to the dining room. They were all gathered there, just as he’d expected. Cade and Zach were horsing around as if they hadn’t a care in the world while a smiling Kyra looked on.
Hell, Grant thought angrily, why did he have to be the one to drop the bombshell?
“Dammit,” he snapped, “what’s going on here? We’re not kids anymore, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Cade and Zach swung toward him, their faces registering surprise.
“Grant?” Kyra said. “Are you okay?”
He dropped the manila folder filled with bad news on the table, walked to the sideboard, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“I’m fine,” he said, but he knew, from
