Weird that she’s living under the same roof, but I know nothing about her. Weird but not of my doing. I was all set to get to know her and make her feel comfortable. I understood the awkwardness of the situation, not only because we’re effectively strangers but also because of the history between our families.
Dad thinks we don’t know, but we have ears, and he’s not the most discreet of people. He was telling Uncle Morris that Cora is the daughter of Dom Horton, the man who owned a business Dad managed to squash over a decade ago.
I totally get why Cora is walking around like she has a poisoned cucumber stuffed up her butt. If I was forced to live with a family who’d destroyed my dad’s business, I wouldn’t exactly be desperate to get to know them. But we’re not guilty of the actions of our father after our mom died. We were kids and teens when he was conducting his dastardly corporate moves, too engrossed in our own grief-stricken lives, homework, and extracurricular sports to even notice.
Cora never gave us a chance to tell her that we didn’t approve of our dad’s way of operating. He might be a shark when it comes to the world, but my brothers and I definitely aren’t. Mom managed to leave her mark on us before she passed away, and it’s a mark that Randolph Carlton can’t erase.
I’m less bothered about Cora’s abrupt and rude snubbing of us than Danny, Tobias, and River. We might be brothers, but we don’t all have the same way of going about things. Still, I get where they’re coming from. This is our house, and fuck anyone who wants to walk in and treat us like shit under our own roof.
I’m more of a live-and-let-live kind of person. If Cora doesn’t want to hang out with us, then I’d be more inclined just to let her get on with it. I don’t need to force anyone to be my friend, and I like people who are upfront more than people who lie to cover their true feelings.
What you see is what you get with Cora.
Scowling face, check. Narrowed eyes, check. Flared nostrils, check. Hands-on hips, check. Pissed-off angry woman, definite check!
But I won’t go against my brothers for someone I don’t even know and doesn’t want to know me. Blood is thicker than water. That’s one thing that Randolph has managed to impart during our upbringing. My brothers and I are tight. We may have the odd disagreement, but nothing ever comes between us for more than half an hour.
“Hey, Mark!” a voice yells as I climb into my BMW. Looking up, I find Tobias standing in the doorway, wearing only his underwear.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t forget we’re meeting at Dougie’s later.”
The thought of more alcohol makes my stomach roil, but it’s Tobias’s birthday, so there’s no getting out of it.
“I’ll be there,” I say. “And put on some pants. What the fuck will the neighbors say?”
My younger brother grins, revealing his almost perfect white teeth. A little chip on the corner of his front tooth gives him a rough edge that I know he loves but would make Mom turn in her grave. It’s the result of one too many scuffles, but that’s Toby. There’s no changing him.
As he disappears back inside, I close the door quietly and rub my temple before running the belt across me. The car purrs to life, and I slide it into drive and begin the journey to the office that I could probably do with my eyes closed.
The office is heaving by the time I arrive. Daliah, my PA, places a cup of coffee on my desk before I’ve even had the chance to shrug off my jacket. “I thought you might need this,” she says, giving me a pitying look. She was at the party last night but, unlike me, only had one drink and left at a respectable hour. I think, after fending off the third linebacker, she’d had enough. I’m not going to hold it against her.
“I do need it,” I whisper. “You are an ethereal being sent from the skies.”
“An angel?” She cocks an eyebrow.
“Definitely.”
The first warm mouthful of double-shot Americano is like heaven in my mouth, and I sink into my black leather office chair, contemplating how I’m going to be a productive team member when I feel as though a herd of bison has used my gray matter as a trampoline.
Thankfully, when I click into my calendar, I find that I don’t have a meeting until after lunch. That means I can pretend to bury my head in a spreadsheet and coast until I have to appear to be a competent accountant.
At least, that’s what I plan until my mind wanders.
Who is Cora Horton? What really happened with her father’s business?