Three minutes.
“The trick to a good poker face,” Jameson murmured, “isn’t keeping your face blank. It’s thinking about something other than your cards—the same something the whole time.” Jameson Winchester Hawthorne offered me a hand, and for the second time that night, I took it. He pulled me in for a slow dance, the kind that required no music. “You’ve got your poker face on now, Heiress.”
I thought about flying around a racetrack, standing on the edge of the roof, riding on the back of his motorcycle, dancing barefoot on the beach.
“Gen H verity,” I said.
Jameson arched a brow. “As in generational truth for people far older than us?”
“It’s your anagram,” I told him, “for everything.”
My phone rang before he could reply, a video call from Max. I answered.
“Am I in time for the countdown?” she asked, yelling over what appeared to be very loud music.
“Do you have your champagne?” I asked.
She brandished a flute. Right on cue, Alisa appeared beside me, holding a tray of the same. I took a glass and met her eyes. It’s almost time.
“Piotr,” Max said darkly, “absolutely refuses to have a glass on duty. He did, however, pick a bodyguard theme song. I threatened him with show tunes.”
“That’s my girl!” Xander bellowed.
“Woman,” Max corrected.
“That’s my woman! In a completely not possessive and absolutely unpatriarchal kind of way!”
Max lifted her glass to toast him. “Elf yeah.”
“It’s time.” Jameson said. I leaned into him as the others crowded around. “Ten… nine… eight…”
Jameson, Grayson, Xander, and Nash.
Libby, Thea, and Rebecca.
Me.
Alisa held a glass of champagne but stood back from the group. She was the only one who knew what was about to happen.
“Three…”
“… two…”
“… one.”
“Happy New Year!” Xander yelled. The next thing I knew, confetti was flying everywhere. I had no idea where Xander had gotten confetti, but he continued to produce it, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Happy new life,” Jameson corrected. He kissed me like it was New Year’s Eve, and I savored it.
I’d survived a year in Hawthorne House. I had fulfilled the conditions of Tobias Hawthorne’s will. I was a billionaire. One of the richest, most powerful people on the planet.
And I had A Plan.
“Shall I?” Alisa asked me. Nash’s eyes narrowed. He knew her—and that meant he knew quite well when she was up to something.
“Do it,” I told Alisa.
She turned the flat-screen television on and to a twenty-four-hour financial channel. It took a minute or two, but then the BREAKING NEWS
beacon flashed across the screen.
“Precisely what kind of breaking news?” Grayson asked me.
I let the reporter answer for me. “We’ve just received word that Hawthorne heiress Avery Grambs has officially inherited the billions left to her by the late Tobias Hawthorne. After estate taxes and taking into account appreciation over the past year, the current value of the inheritance is estimated to be upward of thirty billion dollars. Ms. Grambs has announced —”
The reporter cut off, the words dying in his throat.