The Bravo Billionaire. Christine Rimmer

over the tops of his glasses, Ambrose gestured at Jonas’s folder, which Jonas had not yet allowed himself to touch. “If you’ll just read the sections I’ve highlighted, I’m sure Blythe’s wishes will be made clear to you. And of course, I’ll be right here to answer any questions you might have.”

      “I see,” said Jonas.

      The kennel keeper said nothing. She was a splash of hot orange in his side vision.

      “Please,” Ambrose urged. “Have a look.”

      What damn choice did he have? Jonas opened the folder and began to read.

      A quick scan of the highlighted passages and he had the picture.

      Once he understood his mother’s insane intention, he closed the folder and said, very quietly, “All right. I’ve read it.”

      “Good.” Ambrose glanced at the dog groomer. “Ms. Hewitt? Have you looked through your copy?”

      She nodded.

      “Well,” said Ambrose. “As I said, please feel free to ask any—”

      “Wait a minute,” said Jonas. Ambrose waited. “I think we need to make certain we’re all in agreement as to exactly what it says here.”

      Ambrose announced, “An excellent idea.” Then he fell silent—as if he expected Jonas to explain the will that he had prepared.

      Not a chance. Jonas said nothing. And the dog groomer from Texas kept her mouth shut, as well.

      Ambrose realized the task had fallen to him. “Well,” he said. “Ahem. As you can both see, the issue here is custody—the custody of the child, Amanda Eloise Bravo.”

      Ambrose laid it all out for them.

      “The will now requires that you, Jonas, must marry Ms. Hewitt here—and cohabit with her at a location of her choosing—for one year. During that year, you and Ms. Hewitt are to have joint physical and legal custody of your adopted sister. At the end of that year, should either you or Ms. Hewitt choose to divorce, then full custody of Amanda will be yours, Jonas. However, if you fail to marry Ms. Hewitt within three weeks of your mother’s death—and to remain married to her for one full year—then custody goes to Ms. Hewitt.”

      Ambrose paused to remove his reading glasses. He took a snowy white handkerchief from his breast pocket and began wiping the lenses of the glasses. He did all this while looking at Jonas, a look that managed to be both regretful and unwavering. “And should you try to contest the will, all legal expenses incurred by Ms. Hewitt in fighting your suit will be paid by your mother’s estate.”

      Ambrose put his handkerchief back in his pocket. He folded his glasses and set them on top of his folder. “That’s about it,” he said with a grim smile.

      Jonas stared at the lawyer. He kept his face composed, but he was thinking that he would really enjoy breaking something. Yes. He’d very much like to rip something in two.

      Blythe’s death had caused him far more pain than he would ever admit. And the pain—which he knew to be grief—had taken him completely by surprise. He was thirty-six years old, after all, and had believed himself immune to grief since well before his tenth birthday. Apparently, he had believed wrong. Because deep in his most secret heart, he missed his harebrained mother terribly.

      And somehow, the fact that he’d ended up missing her so damn much made this ridiculous alteration to her will all the more infuriating. She’d set this whole thing up and then managed to die without dropping him so much as a hint as to what he was in for.

      “I do have a question,” said Jonas.

      Ambrose lifted those silver eyebrows.

      Jonas hit him with it. “Did my mother honestly imagine that paying Ms. Hewitt’s legal expenses would keep me from taking this issue to court?”

      Ambrose put on his most solemn expression. “I can’t say what your mother imagined. But I hope you realize that the will before you is perfectly legal and binding. If you fail to marry Ms. Hewitt within the next two weeks, you could very well lose custody of your sister.”

      “I could. But I won’t.”

      Ambrose looked suddenly weary. “Jonas. Who can ever be truly certain of any outcome when it comes to the vagaries of our legal system? I’m only saying that if you fail to abide by the terms your mother has set out here, the possibility is quite good that when the matter comes before a judge, Mandy will go to Ms. Hewitt.”

      Jonas waved an impatient hand. “Look, Ambrose. We both know that my mother spent a number of years in one of L.A.’s finest psychiatric hospitals. I could put up a valid argument for mental incompetence.”

      Ambrose’s expression had become downright reproachful. “You could, but I think you know that that kind of an argument would be unlikely to hold up under scrutiny. Your mother’s clinical depression occurred three decades ago. Two of the doctors who attended her then are still living. At your mother’s request, I contacted both of them and each assured me he would be willing to testify that she completely recovered from her condition. And she never relapsed. She was…eccentric, perhaps. But she was also in full command of her faculties when she set out these changes to her will.”

      Jonas gave the lawyer his coldest stare. “I suppose you’ll attest to that.”

      Ambrose did not waver. “I certainly will. Jonas, I promise you, I did discuss this at length with Blythe.”

      “Did you make any effort to talk her out of it?”

      “As a matter of fact, I did. But she wouldn’t be swayed. She insisted that she wanted these changes in the will. She said she honestly felt they were for the best—for Mandy. And for you.”

      Jonas said nothing for a full count of ten. When he did speak, he was pleased to find that none of the rage shimmering through him could be heard in his voice. “All right. So you’re saying you believe these changes are going to stand up in court.”

      “Yes.”

      “And my mother’s estate provides the funds so that Ms. Hewitt here can make certain they do.”

      “Exactly,” said the lawyer, still regretful—and still firm. “Jonas, I’m sorry, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it once more. If you fail to marry Ms. Hewitt, your sister could very well end up in her custody.”

      Jonas allowed the corners of his mouth to lift in a humorless smile. “That is, assuming Ms. Hewitt is willing to become Mandy’s guardian.”

      “Well, yes,” the lawyer allowed, looking slightly uncomfortable at that suggestion. “And I did point that out to Blythe. If Ms. Hewitt is unwilling, then these changes become meaningless.”

      If Ms. Hewitt is unwilling…

      The words seemed to ricochet tauntingly in Jonas’s brain.

      Of course, Ms. Hewitt was willing. His mother wouldn’t have done this without Ms. Hewitt’s consent and active participation—would she?

      She did it without mine, he thought, and then shoved the idea into the back of his consciousness.

      Miss Hewitt was willing. She had to be. She’d seen her chance to catch herself a rich husband and she’d jumped at it.

      Jonas turned his head just enough to give the woman in orange a withering stare. She stared right back, defiant, but a little too pale—as if she were every bit as surprised by this news as he.

      Fat chance. The bitch probably dreamed up the whole insane scheme and kept after his mother on her damn deathbed until she agreed to it.

      Blythe had always wanted the one son she had left to marry and give her a few grandchildren to spoil. But Jonas had made it poignantly clear to her that he never would. A man’s family, he had learned at a very young age, provided big opportunities for incalculable loss.

      No,