Page 27 of For Better or Hearse
Ugh. Having the same emotions as Nathaniel Whitford is nauseating.
“So what happens to the company?” Tater lowers his phone and tugs an earbud out. “Who gets it when you kick it?”
“Tater,” Claire hisses, clutching her designer bag to her chest.
Nathaniel glares. He looks like he wants to bowl his little brother’s head under a bridge.
Augustus chuckles. Death doesn’t faze the man, nor do rudequestions. “Not to worry. I have made the necessary arrangements for the takeover of my empire.”
Nathaniel laughs, and Ash jumps at the sound. “So humble, Grandpops.”
Augustus’s eyes dance with mischief. “I’ve been told it’s my second-best trait.”
Ash regards Claire. “Don’t you want it?” A brave question, considering the woman can’t stand her, but the curious blurt of her mouth knows no bounds.
Before Claire can respond, Don’s blustery guffaw cuts in. “Not my wife. She knows more about her afternoon iced coffee than running a business.”
Ash narrows her gaze. She’s never wished for telekinetic powers more than she has since she met him. Fire. Just his face. All fire.
Augustus nudges her shoulder. “What do you think, my dear?”
“I think…” Ash says, looping her arm through Augustus’s, “it’s a pretty fantastic legacy.”
He smiles, his blue eyes crystalline in the sun. “Thank you, Ash. I think so myself.”
The crow of a rooster and the scent of plumeria flowers fill the air.
Augustus checks the time on his Breitling. Turns to his family. “We have a few hours until our scuba session. Why don’t we explore the farm? I’ve arranged for lunch and a coconut carving.”
A bored sigh from Don. He puts a hand on his round stomach. “Crafts, Augustus?”
“I happen to love arts and crafts,” Ash lies to spite the man.
Ghost tours, graveyards, give it to her. Hikes and water activities with the Whitfords? Hard pass. But she’s here for Augustus. No complaints.
Amid the thrum of low murmurs, the group splits off. Tatertakes a phone call while Don does a virtual interview about how dimpleplasty is the hottest trend in Hollywood.
Ash meanders, examining the trees, studying the coconuts. The sky spills out golden light. Hawaii’s beauty stuns. She drinks in the fresh air. It’s not downtown LA. No drunk children. No naked men covered in feces.
Cute, happy, quaint Hawaii. Nice. Safe.
Hot.
Really hot.
“Fuck,” she grumbles, wiping her damp brow.
It’s an overcast, balmy day, and yet she’s sweating. Her feet, in her boots, burn.
“—a shame you’re on this trip by yourself, Nathaniel.” From the grove of trees, Claire’s voice floats.
Ash freezes. Her heart thumps against her sternum.
“Mom, where am I supposed to meet someone?” Nathaniel. Exasperated.
“You met Camellia in France.”
“I met Camellia because of Dad.”