Home > Books > Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)(70)

Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)(70)

Author:Lauren Landish

Elena barrels through the side door, already hollering. “Stanley! Stanley! Come here, you old coot!”

Nelda pops in first, clearly surprised and concerned. “Elena?”

“Where’s Stanley?” Nelda’s eyes widen in shock at Elena’s angry tone, and her shoulders jump to her ears quickly. Elena yells again, and Nelda disappears as quickly as she appeared with Bernard following behind her. “Staaan-leeey!”

“Ma’am?” Stanley answers, hurrying down the hall. He’s more disheveled than when Carter and I arrived. His hair is standing up as if he’s been running his fingers through it, and his tie is pulled down several inches from its proper place. His eyes jump to Claire, and he visibly shrinks away from her.

Elena whirls on Claire. “What in the Sam Hill did you tell him? He’s terrified of you!”

Claire flinches, but Elena doesn’t really want an answer anyway. She turns back to Stanley, pointing a finger at him. “You listen and listen good, Stanley Hodgins. Whatever she’s told you” —she turns her finger to Claire so that she’s crystal clear— “is a big pile of steaming dog shit and nothing more.”

“Aunt Elena, you’re hysterical,” Claire coos. “You should sit. That’ll help you calm down.”

Claire tries to prod Elena toward a chair, but Elena jerks her arm out of Claire’s grip. “Don’t talk to me like I’ve lost my marbles. I’m as clear-headed as I’ve ever been, and you’re the same overbearing meddler you’ve always been.”

Claire makes a noise of disbelief, clutching invisible pearls. I’m starting to see that reaction as a forced move she thinks makes her look innocent. She did it when Jacob said something she didn’t like, and now she’s doing it when Elena does the same thing.

Elena huffs. “Oh, save the dramatics. You aren’t Scarlett O’Hara, that’s for damn sure.”

“Ma’am?” Stanley leans between the two women. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” Elena counters. “Did Claire tell you that you owed her some sort of loyalty? Threaten you?”

Stanley looks back and forth, seeming unsure what to say or who to speak against. “I . . . uh, I . . .”

Elena shakes her head in disbelief, her eyes sad. “She really did a number on you, didn’t she?”

I burrow into Carter’s side, not liking the tension, and he takes my hand, running his thumb over the sensitive skin. Between the distraction of his touch and the support of his arm pressed along mine, I settle, but I don’t like the arguing.

“Not that you’re hysterical, but sitting down to get all this into the open might not be a bad idea.” Carter’s recommendation is much more well-received than Claire’s, mostly because it comes from a well-intended place rather than Claire’s condescension. I think he’s also suggesting it thinking it’ll help me feel more comfortable.

Elena presses her lips together and glares at Claire. “Yeah, let’s do that. First, though, Carter, call your father and have him get out here for dinner.”

Carter nods. “Sure, when?”

“Tonight. If you meant what you said.” Elena raises a brow sharply, questioning.

I squeeze Carter’s hand supportively. We talked about this last night, Carter’s feelings about his family’s company, his role there, and his dreams for the future. I listened as Carter analyzed every angle, even deep-diving into the emotions of what being a part of his family means and whether not being at Blue Lake would change that. We didn’t come here lightly, and Carter didn’t pitch himself to Elena casually.

Carter pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls while Elena herds Claire and Stanley into the front room.

“Hey, Dad, it’s a long story, but I need you to come to Elena Cartwright’s for dinner. Leave now. I’ll explain when you get here.”

He’s quiet, listening for a moment.

“No. Tonight. It’s important. Please.”

Carter sighs in relief. “Thanks. See you soon.” He hangs up and puts his phone back in his pocket. “He’s coming.”

“You’re really sure?” I ask. “Last chance to make a run for it.” I tilt my head toward the front door with a smile, already knowing his answer.

He smiles in return, the full charm version. “Let’s check on Claire.” I raise my brows in surprise, and he clarifies, “To see if Elena is done raking her over the coals yet. Is it bad that I want to see that?”

I whisper back, “I hope not because I kinda want to see too.”

In the front room, we find Elena reigning in a chair, with Claire and Stanley sitting on the couch, each of them hugging the ends to put as much space between them as possible. Claire’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes are hard, glinting with barely restrained anger.

Stanley is frozen, other than his eyes pinging back and forth between the two women. He looks, sadly enough, like a beat-down dog that just pissed the rug and is wondering where the whooping’s coming from first.

“Carter?” Elena pauses whatever rant she was on to check in. Carter dips his chin affirmatively. “Good. Now, where were we?”

Silently, Carter guides me to the loveseat and then sits beside me, keeping my hand in his. I’m thankful for the distraction as they begin their conversation again, Stanley raising a finger. “You were talking about Thomas’s will.”

“Right. Thanks.” She points at Stanley. “Thomas’s will left everything to me, obviously. Mr. Oleana has managed our family estate for decades and only recently decided that he would like to retire. I’ve got a financial brain, but managing your own estate when it’s this large isn’t optimal. I’m too close to it. It needs someone with some objectivity, like Carter.”

Claire huffs. “Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” Elena replies, her brows climbing to her forehead with the threat. Claire glares back angrily through narrowed eyes. “As I was saying, Carter is going to coordinate with Pat so that the transition is seamless. And if you’re thinking you only have to wait until I kick the bucket, know that my will does not leave everything to you.” Elena points at Claire this time. “Under no circumstances will you receive any more than what Thomas wanted you to have—a reasonable monthly stipend.”

“What?” Claire snaps.

Elena focuses on Stanley. “Exactly like the rest of you.”

“Me?” Stanley questions, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Of course. You, Nelda, Bernard. Y’all are family.” Elena’s eyes have gone soft as she tells Stanley what he means to her, what he meant to Thomas. “Just as much—if not more—than other people.”

“You can’t be serious!” Claire shouts as she stands, her hands on her hips. “That’s my money! I’m family . . . blood! Not the hired help! I deserve it! It’s mine! Uncle Thomas wanted me to have it!”

Every word she says has an exclamation mark after it, and her voice gets louder and higher as she ramps up. I cringe away from the noise, shrinking deeper into the loveseat, and feel voyeuristic. This is a family matter, and I’m not sure Carter and I should be here for this.

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