Rebel (Wolfes of Manhattan 1)

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The bastard was going to rub my nose in it from the grave. All his billions…and I’d get nothing.

Not that I cared.

Much, anyway.

“Sorry,” Reid said. “But it’ll be good to see you, bro. I’ve…missed you.”

Truthfully, I’d missed him as well. He was my youngest brother, and he and I had been close once. Roy, who fell between us, was a classic introvert who’d spent most of his childhood in his room painting or reading. That left Reid to be my primary playmate, even though he was five years younger. Riley hadn’t come around until I was eight and Reid was three.

“All right. I’ll get a flight.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. I’m emailing you your confirmation. Pack a bag. Your flight leaves out of Helena in three hours.”2LaceyThe estate of Derek Paul Wolfe…

I’d drafted the last updates to his last will and testament just three weeks earlier. He’d made some changes that puzzled me, but I was an attorney. My job was to do what the client wanted as long as the law allowed it.

And the law allowed a person to bequeath whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted with whatever contingencies he wanted.

I fiddled with my hair. I was about to meet Derek Wolfe’s ex-wife and children. His longtime live-in lover, ex-supermodel Fonda Burke, would probably show up as well.

I’d never met any of them, but I’d seen plenty of photos. They were all spectacular, as anyone descended from or associated with Derek Wolfe was bound to be.

He had a reputation as a wolf—no pun intended—in the boardroom and the bedroom. Not that I’d know, though he’d tried to lure me to his bed more than once. Admittedly, I’d considered it, even though he was thirty years my senior. The man was gorgeous.

His sons were even more gorgeous. At least the two younger ones were. I’d never seen so much as a photo of his oldest son, Rock. His daughter, Riley, was quickly replacing Fonda Burke as the most successful supermodel of all time—a fact I was sure perturbed the latter more than a lot.

I needed caffeine. Actually, I needed a shot of tequila, but coffee would have to suffice. I couldn’t meet the children of Derek Wolfe with alcohol on my breath.

Today I’d deliver some news that none of them could possibly be expecting.I sat at the head of the table in the conference room. I’d only been made a partner during the last year, so when my mentor, Robert Mayes, had given me the Derek Wolfe estate file, presumably at the client’s request, I’d been more than a little flabbergasted, but large estates were my specialty, so I’d dived right in.

To my right sat Constance Larson Wolfe, blond and beautiful and botoxed, perfect “first wife” material. She and Derek had been divorced for the last five years, and she’d been living the high life on her spousal maintenance. She wouldn’t like what was in the document I held before me, but nothing could be done about that.

Next to her was Riley Wolfe, supermodel extraordinaire, and Derek’s only daughter. Dark hair and eyes, definitely a winter type, though she modeled during all the seasons. She was in demand and was fast accumulating her own fortune.

To Riley’s right was Roy Wolfe, the middle brother. He was an artist—though not a starving one—by trade, living off his hefty trust fund. He had the most perfect face of all the brothers, a male version of his baby sister. His long hair was as silky and shiny as hers was, though it was pulled back in a low ponytail. He was known as somewhat of a recluse.

Next to him was Reid Wolfe, the youngest brother, who sported the signature Derek Wolfe dark hair—all of the children did—but instead of brown eyes, his were a searing blue that held a seductive look, even when he was sitting and waiting for his father’s will to be read. Small wonder he was so popular with the ladies. He was a playboy of the first order, always with a new woman on his arm.

Fonda Burke sat on my left. Still a beautiful woman at forty-two with flaming orange hair and striking green eyes, she had much to look forward to. She wouldn’t be happy with the reading of the will.

None of them would be.

We sat quietly, waiting for the missing person.

Rock Wolfe—the oldest child of Derek and Connie Wolfe.

The rebel.

Rock had a troubled past, though no one actually knew the facts other than his family, and I wasn’t sure they even knew. Derek had made no secret of his animosity toward his firstborn son.

We sat, no one speaking. Until Reid said, “He should be here by now. His flight got in an hour and a half ago, and I told him to come straight here.”