Returning Home: A Second Chance Homecoming (Return To Me Book 4) Read online

  “Ah, Clarissa and Amber, you made it.” Clarissa turned around and found her father’s attorney, Arthur Donaldson, standing behind her. “If you would like to follow me into the study, we can get things started. There is a great deal to go through. Mrs. Beckett, can I help you?” He walked across the room to where Brandi sat, and helped her to her feet.

  Clarissa snickered. So many people had bought into the helpless grieving widow act. Brandi was about as helpless as she was grieving, and Clarissa didn’t believe there was much of either going on. She followed Amber into a dark wood paneled room. It was almost an exact replica of the study he had when they all lived together as a family. It was the one room Clarissa had never been allowed into, and therefore, the only room in the house that didn’t hold bad memories for her. But that had been the old house. This was a different house. There was no place here that had any memories, which, in an odd way, made her feel safe.

  A young man was sitting at the table fussing with his tie. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with black hair that matched his black eyes. He looked up at her when she passed and gave her a disgusted look. She was sure she didn’t know him, but had no idea why he would dislike her at first glance. She walked around the small conference table and sat opposite him.

  “Huh, it didn’t take long for the illegitimate spawn to come out of the woodwork looking for a piece of the pie,” Clarissa said, dropping into the leather chair. She looked at him more closely. He was wringing his calloused hands. His face flamed as he stared at her. “I saw you at the funeral, sitting towards the back. You should’ve come up and sat with the rest of the dysfunctional family misfits.”

  “Hey, sugarpuss, not illegitimate and not family.” The pulse in his neck throbbed. “Business partner.”

  Clarissa sat back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “Is that code for gay male prostitute? Or were you and Daddy lovers?” She let the last word roll off her tongue. “Tell me, were you the receiver? Is that the correct terminology? What do they call the one on the bottom getting banged?”

  “The woman.” He mimicked her, sitting back and wrapping his impressive muscular arms across his equally strong chest, shit-eating grin across his face. “I’m not at all surprised you didn’t know that, though. How long has it been since you got laid?”

  “You offering your services, stud?”

  “You wish.” He cocked one eyebrow at her, challenging her. Clarissa took him in, and snorted her disgust. She glanced around, catching sight of Donaldson placing papers in neat little stacks, completely oblivious to the conversation.

  “Are we close to getting this show on the road? I’d like to get out of this house, this town, and away from every fucking person in it,” Clarissa said. Donaldson glanced up at her, apparently recognizing the question was directed at him.

  “Wow, in such a hurry to get your millions and go. The grief you’re displaying over the loss of your father is overwhelming.” Griff stroked his chin in some sort of contemplation and then narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you mess with your father’s plane?”

  Her lips curled into a smile. “Sorry to disappoint, loverboy, but I was in England when dear old dad dumped his latest mid-life crisis into the ocean.”

  Clarissa hadn’t noticed Brandi take the seat next to Griff. The not-so-distraught widow placed her hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Don’t listen to her, hon. She’s just a bitter little bitch with daddy issues.”

  It took every ounce of restraint in Clarissa to keep from launching herself across the table and strangling the slut in her low-cut, skin-tight black top that showed way too much cleavage. She wanted to pull every dyed blonde hair out of the woman’s head, and toss her out of the house on her ass.

  She looked back and forth between Brandi and Griff. “Ah, I see,” she said, settling her gaze on Griff. “My apologies. I’m used to my father being the philanderer, but now I understand. You weren’t Daddy’s bitch. You’re her bitch.” She pointed her finger at Brandi, never taking her eyes off Griff. “Maybe we should be taking a closer look at the two of you as suspects?”

  “Damn, and here I thought you were a smart girl, and could understand the English language.” He leaned across the table, and smiled wickedly at her. “Business partner, and nothing more.”

  Clarissa leaned in closer to him and whispered, “I don’t give a rat’s ass. I just want to get the hell out of here. You two can do - or not do-whatever the hell you want. It doesn’t affect me and I couldn’t give a shit either way.”

  “That’s not surprising, either.” He lowered his voice to match hers.

  “And why’s that?”

  “You only give a shit about yourself.”

  They stared at each other for a moment. A surge of heat flooded Clarissa, causing her heart to pound in her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him, pissed that he had gotten her riled up. But that wasn’t all. Her body was zinging, and all that energy had hit her right between her legs, causing her thighs to quiver. He had done something no man had done in a while. Pissed her off and aroused the hell out of her.

  Bastard.

  ***

  One glance across the table and Griff knew he had her. The little heiress was spitting fire mad. It was sort of sexy as hell on her, too, and made him have to shift in his seat and do a groin readjustment. She was good-looking, no doubt, with her long dark red hair, and dark green eyes. Of course, the eyes were now throwing daggers at him, but she was still pretty hot.

  But there was nothing past a fleeting attraction. She was a bitch. A rich bitch, which is the worst kind. Well, except for the rich slutty bitch that was sitting next to him. He nearly grabbed her hand and pushed her away from him. He didn’t want the heiress thinking he was hooking up with Brandi in any way, shape or form. He wouldn’t touch that skank with a ten foot pole.

  The attorney cleared his throat, and Griff glanced over at Clarissa. She was still pissed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her younger sister, a cute girl named Amber, was sitting next to her. She gave him a small smile and looked away. Sweet girl. Hair a little more red than her sister’s, and her eyes a brighter shade of green.

  Griff listened as the will was read, not really paying attention until he heard his name. He didn’t want, or need, to know the specifics of who was getting how many millions, how the many houses and cars would be divided up among the three women in the room. He wasn’t getting anything from the man, and he hadn’t expected to, either. Griff just wanted to know what the hell was going to happen to his business.

  “Mr. Beckett’s assets were held almost entirely in trust, so except for a few things - personal objects that had no title attached to them, that he wished to bequeath to certain people - not much will be dealt with in the will. I will go over the few items listed, and then we can proceed to the trust provisions.”

  That must have been news to Brandi, because her head whipped up in a hurry. “But I still get half of everything, don’t I?”

  “Mrs. Beckett, trusts operate a little differently than wills. If you will give me just a moment, I’ll go over how property is to be distributed according to the trust.”

  Brandi sat back in her chair in a huff. Now there was another woman sitting in the room, pissed, with her arms folded across her chest defiantly. Although, when Clarissa had done it, it had sent sparks through Griff. When Brandi did it, it made him want to start laughing, which was probably inappropriate at the moment.

  “Well, why don’t we start with the business holdings, and then Mr. Griffith will be able to leave. There is really no reason for you to have to stick around for the rest of the discussion,” Donaldson said, lifting his eyes slightly and peering at Griff over the tops of his reading glasses. Griff just nodded.

  “Mr. Beckett and Mr. Griffith were part owners in Mr. Griffin’s custom motorcycle shop. Mr. Beckett’s shares in the business total fifty percent, which will be split equally between his daughters, Clarissa and Amber.”

  “What?” Clarissa
raised her eyebrows.

  “What!” Brandi was out of her chair. “No, that can’t be right. Those shares are mine, I’m part owner of the business. I’m Brad’s wife. I know my rights. I get half of everything, plus Brad’s half. That’s the way it works.”

  Donaldson raised his hands slightly, trying to get her to calm down. Amber was wide-eyed, deer in headlights, and not at all sure of what was going on. Clarissa narrowed her eyes at Brandi, watching her. All the while, Griff wanted to smile at his good fortune. Not great fortune, but dealing with the heiress was certainly going to be a hell of a lot easier than dealing with the skanky widow.

  “Mrs. Beckett, if you’ll allow me to explain,” Donaldson said. “Mr. Beckett has provided for you and your children. You needn’t worry about anything. Your financial and personal needs will be maintained within the manner you are now accustomed to living. You will receive the family residence here in Newport, as well as the residence in Boca Raton, Florida. You will receive five million dollars, with a five hundred thousand dollar stipend annually. Each of the children you shared with Mr. Beckett, Benny and Dustin, will have a trust fund containing five million each, that will be managed by a trustee.”

  “That’s it? Five measly million dollars each? What the hell did he give them?” Brandi spat across the table at Clarissa and Amber. Griff was mesmerized by Clarissa. She turned towards Brandi, looking more like a panther stealthily stalking its prey before it lunged at her throat and ripped it to shreds. Sparks of tension-filled electricity filled the air. It looked as if the heiress and the widow would fight to the death. He had his money on the heiress.

  “Five measly million? You ungrateful whore. You were a low life, husband-stealing slut when our father married you. You brought nothing into the marriage, except possibly a few STD’s, and a new little baby bump. If I were you, I would take your measly five million and be thankful you made it out of this marriage with that. I have a feeling that if daddy dearest had returned from his trip, he was going to replace you with a younger, potentially classier model, and you would’ve been out on your ass with nothing. My dad was a bastard, but he was a smart bastard, and I’m guessing there was one hell of a prenup agreement in the case of divorce.”

  Damn. That was the smack down of the century. Griff stared at Clarissa for a moment while she glared at Brandi. It was eerily quiet in the room. Griff slid his eyes to Brandi who was about seven shades of red and about to turn purple from rage. It was enough to make Griff start laughing hysterically. Wrong time, wrong place. That was twice he had to bite his tongue today.

  Griff turned in his seat toward the attorney, who was shuffling through papers again, hands shaking, breathing a little heavier. “So, about the business arrangement with the bike shop. Does everything remain the way Brad and I set it up originally?”

  “Yes,” Donaldson answered. “The original agreement remains intact. The only thing that changes is that you now have two partners - well, one actually, until Amber is twenty-one, and able to have a say. Until that time, Amber’s share will be managed by Clarissa. Although, any profits will be divided equally between the two.”

  “So, I can go, then?” Griff stood up from the table, and grabbed his blazer off the back of the chair.

  “Yes, I’ll need to meet with you to get new signatures on the agreements, but I will contact you in a day or two for that.”

  “Great.” Griff glanced around the table, his best shit-eating grin across his face. “It’s been a pleasure, ladies,” and walked out the door, closing it behind him. Out in the driveway, he shoved his blazer into one of the saddlebags, and swung his leg over the bike. What a fucked up family. And now, he was going to have to deal with the fallout of Beckett’s little bombshell. Two hot-headed bitches fighting for control and him in the middle trying to run a business. That wasn’t something he had intended on dealing with when Brad invested in the shop. And was not at all what he wanted.

  Damn, this was going to suck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Thanks, Shelly,” Clarissa said, pulling her suitcase from the backseat.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay at my grandmother’s place? You would have it all to yourself.” Shelly was heading back up to Boston for school. The original plan had been for her to drop Clarissa at the airport for her flight back to England. But her father had thrown a wrench into those plans, and now Clarissa was going to have to stick around for at least another two or three weeks to get things in order.

  “No, I’m sure. Besides, I’m a multi-millionaire. I might as well live in luxury, right? And what better place than this?”

  “Right. Time to start living like the other rich snobs do. Well, I better get going so I can make it back to Beantown before rush hour traffic gets crazy. Call me if you need anything, and have fun living it up in style.”

  Clarissa leaned across the front seat and gave her best friend a peck on the cheek. “Love ya like a sister, Shell.”

  “Back at ya, Clar.”

  Clarissa watched her friend drive away and then turned towards the entrance of the Clifton Inn. It was a huge manor that had been converted into hotel rooms and villas. Clarissa reserved an ocean villa, hoping the seclusion would help rid her of the overwhelming dread of being in Newport. She needed someplace new - a place she had never been before. Somewhere with no memories attached. And this was the perfect haven. It was a private studio, complete with queen sized bed, sitting area, kitchenette, and a veranda that looked out over the beach towards Block Island. It was new, private, and free of all things Brad Beckett.

  Checking in was relatively pain-free and by the time Clarissa had given the bellman his tip for bringing in her bags, all she wanted to do was relax. Unpacking could be accomplished later, she had most of the day to herself. Tomorrow she would have meetings with lawyers and other people she had never wanted to see again. People who had humiliated her mother and shunned Clarissa and her sister for years after the divorce. At least her mother was in a better place now. One of the happiest moments in Clarissa’s life had been when Eve and Jake Skyped with her and showed off the brand new engagement ring. They had made her promise that she would come back in December for the wedding. As if she would miss it. Finally, after all the tragedy, there would be some happiness and true celebration.

  Her cell phone rang on the little table next to the chaise she was lounging in on the veranda. The caller ID displayed a picture of Colin. She smiled, and pressed the answer button, happy to hear a friendly voice. She and Colin may not be together any longer, but they were still friendly. Friends.

  “Hey, Colin. I was just thinking I needed to call you later.”

  “Hello, luv. How are things going?” Colin had used that nickname with her since the very first time they had met. She was at a birthday party for a friend, and the two had been introduced. A pang of regret hit her square in the chest. Colin was a good man. He deserved so much more than she was able to give him. And as much as she missed him, she couldn’t seem to find it in her to be mad at him for leaving. She was too broken to give herself to any man.

  “Worse than I had expected, actually. Looks like I’m sticking around here for a while longer.”

  There was a long pause on the other end, and Clarissa wasn’t sure if it was the long distance delay, or Colin.

  “So, how does that affect removing our things from the flat here? We have to be out by the end of next week? Will you be back by then?” The questions were coming rapidly, but his tone was soft, sympathetic.

  “No, I’ll need to find someone to come in and pack my things and move them into storage until I can get back there.”

  “And, when do you think that will be?”

  “Three weeks,” she answered, but knew that was being optimistic. “Maybe longer. It’s sort of a mess here. Father Dearest left me the bulk of his businesses and a wickedly pissed off widow to deal with.”