Текст книги "Remind Me "
Автор книги: Ann Marie Walker
Соавторы: Amy K. Rogers
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
Chapter Forty
Hudson leaned against the wall of the shower, the hot water cascading down his chest and abs. As the soap ran down between his legs and dripped off the end of his still-erect cock, he tried not to think about the woman in the other room who he was dying to make love to. He’d managed to convince his brain not to go back into the bedroom, but his hard-on was still behind the curve.
God, did he really have it in him to go through with this, knowing the personal cost to her? The alternative was to tell her he was the one taking her father’s company piece by piece in an intricate deal designed to force Richard Sinclair out of the trade.
Fuck. As if he had a choice.
“Allie,” Hudson yelled as he turned off the water. Stepping out of the shower and into the hell of his own making, he snapped a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his hips. “Allie?”
He strode out of the bathroom and, seeing an empty bed, started toward the living room. He halted midstride outside his office door. “There you are. What are you doing out of bed?”
“I needed to use the phone. I wanted to accept the job at the Harris Group, have a fresh start.” The blood seemed to drain from her face as she finished the sentence.
Dozens of thoughts fired in Hudson’s head. “You okay?”
Allie’s eyes dropped to the document on the desk in front of her. “I was looking for a pen . . .”
Hudson moved farther into the room and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his company’s letterhead. “I was going to tell you. I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Her eyes shot up to his. “When, Hudson? When were you planning to tell me?”
“I was waiting for the right time.”
“And how much longer were you going to fuck me before the time felt right?”
Hudson’s jaw tightened and his shoulders straightened. “You were never just a fuck.”
“Funny, since right now that’s exactly how I feel.” Allie’s bitter exterior slipped and tears pooled in her eyes as she pushed up from the desk and stormed back into the bedroom.
Hudson followed after her, tightening the grip on his towel. “Damn it, Allie. Let me explain.”
“I think it’s pretty clear. What I don’t understand is why?”
“It’s simple. The company fits nicely into my portfolio. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”
“And all the better since it’s my family, right?” Allie’s eyes darted toward the bathroom where her bloodstained dress hung over the side of the tub. She grabbed the sweatpants he’d offered her the night before and yanked them up her legs. “Was this all some plan to get back at me for hurting you ten years ago? Or was it just part of the thrill, taking the company while taking me to bed?”
“You were never a part of the plan, Alessandra. The wheels were in motion long before I saw you at the museum.” Hudson blew out a harsh breath. “Christ, I didn’t even know it was your family’s company.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Allie rolled her eyes at him while shoving her feet into her pumps.
“I knew you as Allie Sinclair. How the hell was I supposed to know you were a fucking Ingram?”
“I’m sure you came across the names of the board members during your research. The name Richard Sinclair didn’t ring any bells?”
“I didn’t know your father’s name was Richard. If you recall, you weren’t exactly bringing me home to meet your parents.”
Allie pushed sideways past him and into the Great Room.
“Damn it. Goddamnit to fucking hell.” Hudson was tight on her heels. “By the time I realized the connection, we were . . .”
Stopping short, Allie whirled around. Her stare was absolutely furious. “I get it. By the time you realized the connection you were already fucking me across the living room floor. No reason to mess up a good thing when you could keep stringing me along till the deal was done.”
“I should have told you, but I wanted time to get to know you again. I was afraid you wouldn’t give us a chance if you knew.” The silence in the room became tangible and he waited for some sign, any sign, that she might forgive him.
“You could have stopped the deal.” Her voice wavered to the point of cracking.
When he didn’t answer, Allie grabbed her purse off the chair and headed toward the elevator.
Hudson followed. “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he offered as some sort of consolation. “Your father’s company is a sinking ship and he knows it. If it wasn’t me moving in to salvage Ingram, it would have been someone else.”
“But it wasn’t someone else, Hudson. It was you. You were the one responsible for all of this.”
The hell if he was taking the bullet for Julian and her father. “I wasn’t the one bartering your affections.” He knew damn well it was a cheap shot and he regretted the words the minute they left his mouth.
Fuck.
Allie flinched and tears sprang to her eyes as she turned to punch the call button. He wanted her to punch him instead. Use him to bear her pain. Let him feel her anger and disappointment in his skin. And when she was finished, let him hold her as she cried.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have . . .”
“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? Last night, right before he attacked me, Julian told me I was no better than the whores he paid.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I hated him for that, but he was right. My engagement was nothing more than my parents selling me to the highest bidder.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “The worst part is, I didn’t even care. All I kept thinking was how none of it mattered because after all these years we could finally be together.”
Allie stepped into the waiting elevator and pressed the button. “You were the one person I thought I could count on.”
Hudson raised his arm to stop the door from closing. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” His throat was raw and a blazing pain burned the center of his chest. As he looked at her, he could see the resolve in her eyes, along with the heart-wrenching betrayal that was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. He relinquished his hold on the elevator doors, letting them slide closed.
And just like that, she was gone.
Four Days Later . . .
Allie slipped her sunglasses on and started the engine of her silver BMW. She’d spent the past four days holed up in her brownstone, letting her bruises heal while she tried to sort out the mess that had become her life. It had taken countless hours of soul searching and an obscene amount of Häagen-Dazs Chocolate Chocolate Chip, but she was finally ready to confront her parents.
Ready to start living life on her own terms.
And she had to do it all on her own. No Astor Place brownstone. No Barneys credit card. No trust fund disbursements. Nothing. She would live within the means her new job allowed, just like any other twenty-seven-year-old.
Nerves churned in Allie’s stomach as she merged onto the highway. She tried to distract herself by running through the rest of the items on her list. The next step was finding a roommate. Rent in Chicago was sky-high, and even though her job at the Harris Group would pay more than her previous position, it was hardly enough.
Allie hit the speed dial for Harper’s cell and waited while the phone rang over the car’s Bluetooth system.
“Jeez, I thought he’d never let you up for air,” Harper said without so much as a “hello.”
“What?”
“Hudson.”
Allie’s heart lurched at the sound of his name. Of all the times for the queen of nicknames to change her ways. She could have handled any of the annoying terms of endearment Harper was so fond of using, but hearing Hudson’s name echo through her car made a lump form in the back of Allie’s throat.
“I mean I can only assume he’s the one responsible for your terrible case of the flu,” Harper said, stressing the last word sarcastically. “Seeing as how you haven’t taken so much as one sick day in the past three years.” Allie steered her car onto the exit ramp as her friend prattled on. “I also assume he’s had you tied to his headboard this whole time, which would account for all the unanswered texts.”
“Are you done?” Allie asked, trying to keep her voice steady. She could make all the lists in the world, but it wouldn’t erase his image from her memory . . . or his touch.
“For now. What’s up?”
“Any chance you’re free for dinner?”
“Blue Agave do-over?”
Allie could almost hear Harper salivating over the phone. “Sure.”
“Excellent. Let’s make it early so I have an excuse to skip the gym.”
In spite of everything, Allie smiled.
“Oh, and do you have a costume? A few bars are waving cover charge if you dress up.”
Allie had completely forgotten it was Halloween. “Let me text you when I know what train I’m taking.” She stopped at a red light and pulled the schedule out of her purse. Trains out of Lake Forest weren’t as frequent in the afternoon, but there were a few options that would get her back into the city in time to meet Harper for dinner. And with any luck, she’d have a new roommate by the end of the night.
“Train?”
“Yeah, I’m headed to my parents’ house now, but I’m taking the Metra back.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
Because I can’t very well tell them to let me live my own life and then drive away in the car they bought me, now can I?
“I’ll explain everything tonight.” Revisiting the events of the last week wasn’t something Allie wanted to do over the phone. In fact, she’d probably wait until she had at least one margarita in her system before laying it all out.
“You better. And I want the director’s cut, not some PG-13 version.”
“I promise I’ll tell you the whole story,” Allie said as she drove through the gates of Mayflower Place. She knew Harper would be disappointed when she realized there were no juicy details to share. But she also knew her friend would be livid when she heard what had happened. Julian and Hudson both better hope they didn’t cross paths with Harper Hayes anytime soon.
Then again, maybe that’s exactly what they deserved. And then some.
***
Four days.
Four days since Hudson last saw his brother. Four days since he’d resigned himself to the fact that Nick was so far down the pharmaceutical rabbit hole he wouldn’t hit bottom until he was six feet under. With no words adequate to describe the terror of the what-if’s, Hudson had found himself slammed facefirst at a crossroads that left him with only one choice: admit Nick to rehab.
Strict policies had prevented Hudson from seeing Nick during the detox phase, but now that he was moving into the treatment wing he was allowed visitors. As Hudson approached the reception desk, he found himself not wanting to be alone in this. The impulse to reach out to the one person he knew would reassure him was overwhelming. Except when his fingers curled, all he got was a handful of air.
“May I help you?” a nurse asked.
“I’m here to see Nicholas Chase. He’s being moved from the medical unit over to the rehab facility today.”
“And you are?”
“His brother.”
She arched a brow as she pulled a thick blue file from a slotted stand.
He exhaled an exhausted breath. “Hudson Chase.”
The nurse scanned the file with efficiency before closing it and returning it to its place. “You’ll have to wear this.” She set a visitor’s badge on the Formica counter. “It must be visible at all times.”
Hudson picked up the badge, and clipped it to the V of his cashmere sweater.
“And I’ll need your phone,” she said, holding out her hand, all business as usual. “You’ll get it back when you leave.”
He hesitated a moment.
“Protocol.” She wiggled her fingers, coaxing him to get the lead out. Reaching behind him, Hudson yanked his cell out of the ass pocket of his jeans and glanced briefly at the screen. He’d left numerous voice mails for Allie and all of them had gone unreturned. Her message was loud and clear, and waiting for the when-hell-freezes-over phone call was futile.
Feeling like he’d been popped in the chest, he shut the phone off and handed it to the nurse. A moment later a lock slid with a click. Hudson moved through the detox center not wanting to disturb the stillness. The atmosphere was just too calm and serene. And that wasn’t the reality of his life.
He pushed open the door to the lounge. Like the rest of the joint, the room was stripped down to the basic, most functional components—hospital-grade couch, chair and table.
He shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch, uncertain of what to expect when Nick finally showed. He thought back to the day he’d checked him in. There’d been no promises of joy or sustainable satisfaction on Hudson’s face. Just a longing, a hope for happiness for his little brother. And the only information the doctors had given him was a fuck-ton of “he could be’s” or “he might be’s.” Bottom line, they didn’t have a clue how Nick would be once he emerged from his binge session.
The knob hitched, the heavy door opened, and Nick entered. “Hey.”
Hudson turned around and assessed Nick from head to toe. His dark hair was loose and clean; his eyes exhausted after what had undoubtedly been a rough week of DTs.
Nick shuffled into the sparse room and parked his ass on the chair. Hudson followed his lead, sitting on the tweed couch opposite him.
“How are you feeling?”
Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his eyes before refocusing on Hudson. “Like I’ve woken up from the world’s biggest fucking hangover.”
“I bet.”
The silence between them was hairsplitting. They’d always had something to bullshit about, tease each other with. Now? Not a damn thing was coming to his mind.
“Hudson.” When Nick finally spoke, his voice was low. “I don’t remember anything but some random shit. It’s all a blur. Tell me I didn’t do it.”
There was a long pause before Hudson replied. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Oh God . . . Fuck.” Nick cleared his throat as if he intended to continue, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth.
“You’re not to worry about it, clear? I’ve handled it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I said don’t worry about it. Focus on getting yourself clean.”
Nick dropped his head in his hands and his shoulders began to shake. Hudson shifted over and pulled Nick against him. The feel rather than the sound of his brother weeping busted through the first layer of the walls Hudson had built up. They both had endured a lot in their lives, and this was just one more tragedy stacked up against the others.
“Everything will be fine, Nicky. You just focus on getting yourself clean. I’ll take care of the rest.” The conviction in Hudson’s words was absolute, but he felt as if his feet were planted on quicksand and he was slowly sinking.
No matter what the cost, he’d never lose his brother again.
***
Julian pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his suit, not giving a rat’s ass about the no smoking policy at the Peninsula Hotel. The Marlboros were still wrapped in cellophane and Julian slapped them on the heel of his hand. “Fils de pute!” He cursed when the last tap came in contact with the bandage on his palm. That whore had cost him twelve fucking stitches.
His mouth drew back in a sneer as he stared down at the nondescript manila envelope; a little gift from the private detective he’d hired. The guy charged a small fortune but had proved invaluable when it came to a few of his less savory business transactions, not to mention the more personal matters. Sources and silence were worth any price.
He slipped the cigarette between his lips, cupped his hand over the end, and lit it with a quick rasp of his lighter. He tossed the gold-plated torch onto the coffee table and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a complete dossier on Hudson Chase. He’d asked his guy to look into the mysterious Mr. Chase the night the SOB pledged a million dollars to dance with his fucking fiancée, but till now he hadn’t had a reason to open the file.
He had one now.
Julian thumbed through the first set of documents. Lists of property, corporate holdings, a few charitable foundations. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then he reached the surveillance photos. A few of Chase leaving his penthouse, one of him ducking into a limo outside his office, and one of him with a man who bore a striking family resemblance. Julian flipped the last photo over and read the back. Subject: Nicholas Chase. Age: 22.
A detailed report followed. It showed a few odd jobs, but nothing that lasted longer than a month or two; and if his source was correct, which he always was, the younger Mr. Chase had more than his share of run-ins with the law when he was a teenager.
Three more pictures were included, all showing Hudson’s brother exiting a dive called Anchors. A billionaire brother and that shithole is where he spends his time? Julian’s eyes narrowed as he spread the documents out on the coffee table and took a long drag from his cigarette, the end glowing orange, the soft paper crackling as it burned. There was a kink in the perfectly polished armor and he knew exactly how to exploit it.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Our first group hug is for our agent, Pamela Harty. You read our “super sexy romance” the day it arrived, loved it before you even finished it, and have championed it ever since. Your patience, professionalism, and unwavering support have meant the world to us. Without you, Pinocchio would still be a puppet and for that we will be eternally grateful.
A huge thank-you to our editor, Leis Pederson. Despite the odds, and what is surely one of the most crowded mailboxes in the industry, our little love story made the cut. You saw something on the page that made you give us the chance of a lifetime, and we strive every day to write words that will make you proud. Thank you for believing in us.
To our publicist Nina Bocci, we loved you from hello. Granted, the conversation was about David Gandy, but it ended with knowing we wanted to work with you someday. Thank you for helping us spread the word. And to Craig Burke, Erin Galloway, and the team at Berkley, thank you for making us feel like gladiators. Oh and Craig, we hope you’re having red wine and popcorn while you read this!
A box of cupcakes for our pre-readers, the giant kind you need a fork to eat. Bethany Myers, Melissa Marino, Sarah Gutchall, Graham Jaenicke, Ally Hayes, Karen Carroll and Margaret Fahey: your comments and enthusiasm made us believe our words might actually be read by people who didn’t know us. And of course, Kiley Roache. No chapter was complete until we’d been “off to see the wizard.”
To the authors who have offered their support and encouragement: Joelle Charbonneau, who literally changed the course of our careers and is always ready with advice or a sanity check. Cecy Robson, who is not only quick with an RT or a phone call, but is the best sprint write partner on the planet. To Christina Hobbs & Lauren Billings, clearly you gals never met a stranger and swapping stories over cocktails was what we needed to keep the faith. We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again, we might be older than you but we totally want to be you when we grow up. And to Tara Sue Me, the kind of woman who will offer you chocolate in her blanket fort when deadlines are looming and agree to a cover quote without so much as a second thought.
Finally, to the fandoms that not only brought us together, but inspire us on a daily basis. From Fifty Shades to Crossfire to Gandy Girls, we have loved taking this journey with each of you and hope you’ll welcome Hudson Chase into the ranks of your book boyfriends.
Lemon drop martinis for everyone!
Keep reading for a preview of Book 2 in the Chasing Fire trilogy
RELEASE ME
Coming soon from InterMix
Allie tried her best to ignore the blue flashing lights in her parents’ driveway. But from her seat in the living room she had a clear view of the brick-paved courtyard just beyond the front door. And she knew that just beyond the courtyard’s limestone fountain stood a row of uniformed officers forming a human barrier along yellow tape. And beyond that tape stood a crowd of reporters with cameras and microphones, all jockeying for a better position among the curious who had gathered at the gates.
Instead she focused her attention on the detective standing in front of her. The middle-aged woman wore clothes more suited for a man and her hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Yet despite her hard-as-nails appearance, there was an undeniable kindness in her eyes when she told Allie it was time to take her statement.
Allie nodded but didn’t speak. She hadn’t said more than a handful of words since placing the call to 911.
The detective stood and reached inside her jacket for a small notebook. Her movements revealed the badge she wore clipped to her waist and the gun she kept holstered at her side.
Allie’s eyes drifted shut and her mind filled with images of gunshot wounds and blood.
So much blood . . .
“Alessandra.”
She opened her eyes to find Benjamin Weiss, general counsel for Ingram Media, making his way through the foyer. As always, he was impeccably groomed in a dark suit and tie with a perfectly folded handkerchief peeking out of the breast pocket. Only this time his tie was askew and a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
“My apologies,” he said, out of breath. “I came as soon as I heard, but the roads are clogged with news vans.”
As soon as he heard? Allie had no idea who had called Mr. Weiss, but she was glad to have him at her side. Benjamin Weiss was more than just the family’s attorney; he had also been her father’s best friend.
A few quiet words were spoken between Mr. Weiss and Detective Green, and then she was ready to begin. She sat on the coffee table across from Allie and uncapped her pen. “Walk me through what happened after you pulled into the driveway,” she instructed. Her tone was all business; just another day at the office for a homicide detective.
Allie tried to speak but her words came out on a strangled sob.
Mr. Weiss placed his hand on her shoulder. “Would you like some water?” he asked, glancing toward the kitchen and paling as his gaze fell on the scene unfolding in the dining room.
Don’t look.
Allie kept her stare trained on the detective’s pen as she answered Mr. Weiss. “I’m fine.” There wasn’t a person in Chicago who would’ve believed that statement, but a bottle of water wasn’t going to make things any better. And with the way her stomach felt, she doubted she’d be able to keep it down anyway.
“Just take it slow,” Detective Green said.
Allie drew a shaky breath and began to retell the events of the past few hours. “I knew something wasn’t right as soon as I opened the front door.”
“How so?” the detective asked.
“The alarm didn’t make any noise.”
“You mean it was unarmed?”
Allie shook her head. “No, I mean it wasn’t working. Even if it’s unarmed, the system still chimes to announce when a door or window has been opened.”
Detective Green scribbled a few notes on the small pad of paper in her hand. “What happened after you came in the house?”
“I could see the light was on in my dad’s study, so I headed that way first.”
Tears clouded Allie’s eyes as she looked across the expanse of the paneled living room to the hallway just to the right of the front door. Her throat tightened as she thought back to how confident she’d felt striding down that hall. For as long as Allie could remember, every aspect of her life had been dictated by what was best for the family legacy. But this time her parents had taken it too far. Going behind her back to arrange a marriage that was nothing more than a business transaction was the last straw. She was done playing the role of the dutiful daughter, and she’d planned to tell them so in no uncertain terms.
But when she’d reached the door . . .
“And that’s when you discovered the body?”
“Yes,” she whispered, recalling the image of her father’s lifeless body slumped over his desk. Her gaze shifted to the Kleenex she held clutched in her hand. It had been twisted into something more closely resembling twine than tissue.
“Is your father normally home during the day?”
A few months ago she could have answered without a doubt. Her father would have never been home in the middle of the day. But lately he’d been scaling back, letting Julian lead some of the day-to-day meetings as he prepared to take the helm after their wedding.
Julian.
Just thinking about her former fiancé sent a chill down her spine. Her finger touched the remnants of the black eye he’d given her the week before. She’d done her best to cover the shadow of a bruise with concealer, but the makeup had surely been washed away with tears by now.
“Miss Sinclair?” Detective Green prodded.
“Oh, um, no. Usually it’s just my mother and the housekeeper.” Allie gasped.
“She’s fine,” Detective Green assured her. “She was out running errands until just a short while ago.”
“I assume you’re taking her statement as well?” Mr. Weiss asked.
The detective nodded. “We’ll need confirmation from the medical examiner, but it looks like this all took place shortly after she left. If that’s the case, the perpetrators may have waited for her to leave, assuming no one else was in the house.”
A flash came from the dining room, and without thinking Allie turned toward it. Flash. A photographer stood with his back to her, his camera pointed at the mirrored wall. Allie watched his reflection as he focused his lens on the blood splattered across the wall right behind the spot where her mother had last stood. Flash. He stepped closer, his lens telescoping, and she knew he was capturing details of the images she’d seen when she’d first stumbled into the room; blood and gray matter mixed with shards of mirror and bone. Flash. A moment later he squatted beside the blood that had pooled on the Aubusson rug, photographing her mother’s face, her eyes open and frozen in fear.
Allie tasted bile in the back of her throat and for a moment she thought she might throw up. This was not her life. This was some horrible dream, the result of watching one too many police procedural shows. It had to be.
“Why are they doing that?” she whispered, not really meaning to say the words out loud.
Detective Green looked up from her notebook. “Doing what?”
“Why are they bagging her hands?”
The detective’s eyes darted to Mr. Weiss, then back to Allie. She hesitated for a moment, but when she answered her voice was level. “To preserve any physical evidence that may have resulted from a struggle.”
A commotion by the front door drew Allie’s attention. Two men in black jackets wheeled a gurney across the marble floor. “Coroner” was printed in white lettering across their backs, and when they turned toward the library, she could see a long black bag stretched the length of the bed.
Oh God . . .
An involuntary sob escaped her lips at the thought of her father being zipped into a vinyl bag.
Mr. Weiss offered her his handkerchief and she took it.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get Miss Sinclair home,” he said, his voice tight. “She’s been through quite an ordeal.”
Detective Green regarded Allie for a moment, then stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her wool pants. “I’ll need to take a more detailed statement in the morning.” She held out her business card. “But in the meantime, if you think of anything else.”
Mr. Weiss took the card. “Thank you, Detective.” Before she walked away he assured her his office would call to set up an appointment.
“I’ve arranged for a car to drive you home,” he told Allie once they were alone. “And for private security to be stationed at your brownstone tonight.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“Just as a precaution,” he quickly added. “Right now the police think this was nothing more than a home invasion gone wrong, but I’m not taking any chances with your safety.”
Allie nodded.
“Is there someone I can call for you?”
Hudson.
His was the first name that came to mind, just as it had repeatedly for the past few hours. She needed him now more than ever. Needed the strength of his arms around her, holding her up when she felt too weak to stand.
But she wouldn’t let herself call him. She couldn’t. Not after the way he’d deceived her. She had to keep moving forward. No looking back.
Hudson Chase was out of her life. For good this time.
“I’ll call my friend Harper,” Allie said.
“She’s not a redhead by any chance, is she?”
“Yes, why?”
“She saved you the trouble of a call.” He smiled weakly. “She’s been raising hell at the barricades for the past hour.”
Yep, that would be Harper. “Would you mind bringing her around back to the garage and having the car meet us there? I really don’t want to deal with the crowds out front.”
“Of course. And I’ll see that both your cars are returned to the city in the morning.”
Allie stood. “Thank you for . . .” Her voice trailed off. She knew she’d never get through the rest of that sentence.
His eyes crinkled and he gave a quick nod. “There is one more item we need to discuss before you go.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid not. Although I imagine some of the press corps will leave once they realize you’re no longer in the house, a few will remain until a statement is released. I can have the PR department draft something from the company as a whole, or you can certainly write your own if you’d prefer. There’s also the matter of an internal memo to your employees, but we can address that tomorrow.”
“My employees?” What in the world is he talking about?
He met her confused expression with one of his own. After a moment the crease in his brow relaxed. “Forgive me, I thought you realized.” His voice was soothing yet firm. “As you know, both your mother and father were both heavily invested in Ingram.”
This wasn’t news. In fact, for decades the company her maternal grandfather built from the ground up had been privately owned. It wasn’t until a rough patch in the late seventies that her father had been forced to take the company public; but even then the family had retained controlling interest.
“As the sole heir to their estate, those shares are now yours. Alessandra, you are the new majority shareholder of Ingram Media.”
Allie rubbed her forehead. She hadn’t even considered the effect her parents’ deaths would have on the family business, let alone what role she’d play. Hundreds of questions raced through her mind, but the pounding in her head was making it hard to focus.
