“My house may not be up to Kincaid standards, but it’s safe and childproofed and full of love. I have a huge fenced backyard.” She hated that she sounded defensive. She had nothing to prove to this jerk.
“What does a physical therapist make these days? Sixty, seventy grand a year?”
He knew what she did and how much she made. The knowledge sent a prickle of apprehension over her. How did he know? “None of your busin—”
“That’s nothing compared to the roughly one point two-five billion Rhett will inherit if he comes with me.”
“Billion?” she squeaked.
“Not in cash. Most of the assets aren’t liquid,” he clarified. “Either he moves in with me or he gets nothing.”
Light-headed and growing queasier by the second, Carly sank into a chair. How could she deprive her nephew of the inheritance he so rightly deserved, one that would set him up so that he’d never want for anything?
But how could she let him go?
She couldn’t. Carly had promised Marlene that if anything happened to her, she’d raise Rhett and love him—love him the way she’d never been allowed to love her own daughter.
Mitch Kincaid wasn’t offering love. Other than that first searching glance, he’d barely looked at Rhett and had yet to touch him.
She took a deep breath and tried to think logically. Marlene had yearned for Everett to acknowledge his son, and now, better late than never, he had. Maybe there was a way to make this work. “I need to speak to my attorney. And I’ll need a copy of the will.”
Kincaid’s mouth tightened with impatience. “We have a limited amount of time to implement my father’s terms, Ms. Corbin. What will it take? Five hundred thousand for your trouble?”
At first she thought he was joking, then realized from the hard glint in his eyes and the harsh angle of his jaw that he was serious. Carly gaped at him. He honestly wanted to buy her nephew. Worse, he thought she’d sell Rhett. The idea infuriated her.
No wonder Marlene had called Everett’s son a dirty, conniving rat bastard.
“You’re out of your mind. You can’t buy and sell people.”
“A million?” He ignored her comment and extracted a checkbook and pen from the jacket draped over his arm as if writing a million-dollar check was no big deal.
She rose on shaky legs. “Rhett isn’t for sale, Mr. Kincaid. You need to leave.”
Rhett chose that moment to cackle with glee and squish bananas through his fingers. And then the little urchin clutched fistfuls of his hair, moussing the silky strands with the banana mush. “Unless you’d like to help with cleanup.”
Kincaid backed away as if a sewage spill threatened his polished shoes. He reached into his coat pocket again and this time withdrew a business card that he laid on the counter next to his unopened water. “I’ll have a copy of the will couriered over immediately. Talk to your lawyer tomorrow and call me.”
He turned on his heel. Brisk footsteps retreated, then the front door opened and closed.
Carly looked at her adorable nephew and her chest ached. “Oh, Rhett. What are we going to do? I can’t lose you.”
She dampened a washcloth and attacked his messy hands and face. “But you deserve a share of your daddy’s estate. And I’m going to see that you get it.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Marie, Mitch’s personal assistant, said from the boardroom entrance, “but there’s a Carly Corbin downstairs insisting on seeing you. She doesn’t have an appointment.”
About time.
“Show her to my office.” After Marie left, Mitch stood and looked down the table at his brother. “Three days. It took her three days to cave. The question is how much is this little bastard going to cost us? I’ll be back.”
Rand waved him on. “Take your time. I’ll handle the next applicant for Nadia’s position and then grab lunch.”
The damned will had left Mitch with an interminable number of complications. His sister had been banished to Dallas to house-sit as required by her inheritance clause. Her sudden absence only increased his workload. He had to find her temporary replacement, and he had his brother’s help whether he wanted it or not, thanks to dear ol’ dad making Rand CEO instead of Mitch. That irritated Mitch like a sliver of glass stuck in his foot.
Rand had abandoned the business. Hell, his brother hadn’t even spoken to anyone in the family in five years. Five years during which Mitch had busted his ass to prove he was worthy of taking the reins of KCL when his father retired.
But Dad had wanted Rand back and in charge.
Mitch entered his office through the connecting door to the boardroom. Before he could sit down Marie showed in his guest.
Carly barely acknowledged his presence with a brief nod before her wide brown eyes gazed past him to scan the thirty-foot wall of windows and the view of Biscayne Bay behind him.
He stiffened. Women didn’t overlook him. It wasn’t conceit to admit that his wealth wasn’t his only asset. But Carly didn’t seem interested in his face or body. Ignoring the jab to his pride, he took advantage of her inattention to assess her.
Her features weren’t classically beautiful. But close enough. Her breasts were decent. Neither too big nor too small. Probably real. She wore a bubble gum-pink tracksuit with black stripes down the length of her legs. Killer legs, he recalled from their last meeting. Too bad she’d covered them today. Getting another look would have been a nice bonus to closing the deal.
Overall, Carly was nice-looking. Not traffic-stopping. But interesting. Until she smiled. That smile of hers could melt bricks. She wasn’t smiling today.
Since she was an identical twin, he could see why his father had been attracted to her sister. But damnation, couldn’t the man have practiced safe sex after preaching about it for decades? Or had Marlene Corbin had something to do with the birth control failure? Mitch would bet money on it. His father had made a number of mistakes, but he hadn’t been stupid.
Carly’s gaze finally returned to Mitch. A weird paralysis seized his lungs. He fought it off. “Do we have a deal, Ms. Corbin?”
“Rhett can move into Kincaid Manor,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Victory surged through him. He pulled his checkbook from his interior coat pocket. “Excell—”
“But only if I come with him.”
His fingers contracted around his pen. “Excuse me?”
“You exude about as much warmth as dry ice, Kincaid. Children need more than that.”
His spine went rigid at the insult. “I know how to handle kids.”
“Really? Because I didn’t see evidence of that the other day. You didn’t even try to make a connection with your
