Breaking Josephine (33 page)

I smiled. “No, I
completely understand, and I don’t mind.”

“I called our
family’s lawyer and he is free next Wednesday, July 3rd, to come out here and
meet you, if in fact the tests confirm you are a Blackstone,” William said. “Would
that work for you?”

I looked at
William, and then at Dex, a bit shocked at the timing. “Um, okay,” I responded.
“If that works for you. I can go to a lab this week if that’s soon enough.”

“Yes, that should
work,” William said standing up as Macy stood with him.

“Look Jo,” Macy
said, smiling and reaching out her hand to me, “I know you need some time to
process all of this and figure everything out, but I’m still your friend, and
I’m here the rest of the summer. I hope we can still be close. Call me when you’re
ready, okay?”

“Definitely,” I
answered, taking her hand in mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. “And thanks
for understanding, Macy. I really appreciate it.” We said our goodbyes and Dex
and I walked to the door, ready to return to Hartley Manor and the rich
solitude of the two of us, alone and together.

Dex drove me to
Portland and had a cheek swab done the following day. And I spent the next week
with Dex, getting to know him better than I already did, discovering his likes
and dislikes, his mannerisms and his habits. If anything I grew to like and
love him even more.

Dex and I arrived
at Macy’s house the following Wednesday afternoon, hoping to resolve all of my
lingering questions and doubts. I stood on the doorstep, in the same place as
my mother all those years ago, barely able to contain my nervous energy. Dex
stood next to me, his hand on the small of my back, and I leaned into him,
relying on his strength to keep standing. He seemed so comfortable, so at ease
standing next to me in his black wool pants and gray herringbone dress shirt.
I’d never seen him professionally dressed, and although it was alien to me, the
clothes fit his body and his personality perfectly. I took a deep breath as I
rang the doorbell, and rolled the pearls around my neck between my fingers.

A moment later, Macy
opened the door and led us to the Daugherty’s formal dining room. William was
there, in his usual uniform of ripped jeans, t-shirt, and flip-flops, along
with a middle aged man I could only guess was the Blackstone lawyer. The man
was the opposite of William: his brown hair was short and groomed, his charcoal
suit plain, but perfectly pressed, and his white shirt was crisp and
professional. I stood at the edge of the dining room, smoothing the fabric of
my simple black sheath dress with my nervous fingers, unsure what to do.

“Ms. Sinclair? Hello,
I’m John Crenshaw, the Blackstone family’s lawyer. Pleased to meet you.” He
held out his hand and I took it, shaking it briefly before sitting down. Once
everyone was seated, the lawyer continued, “as you all know, we are here today
regarding the late Mr. Henry Blackstone’s will and the paternity of Ms.
Josephine Sinclair. According to the lab report, a copy of which I have in front
of me, it has been confirmed with 99.9% accuracy, that Ms. Sinclair is, in
fact, Mr. Henry Blackstone’s daughter.” I leaned back in my chair and closed my
eyes. I knew the truth, definitively, once and for all, that everything I’d
discovered in the past few weeks was true—I was indeed Henry Blackstone’s
daughter. As I thought about the implications of this new reality, the lawyer
continued, “as a result, per the instructions in Mr. Blackstone’s will, I have
formally petitioned the court to divide Mr. Blackstone’s estate evenly between
his three children. The court has endorsed my request and I am prepared at this
time to divide the estate, if the parties here so agree.”

I glanced over at
William, my eyes wide with shock at the sudden turn of events. I had expected
any issues regarding the will and the estate to take weeks, if not months, not
be settled in one meeting. “I agree,” William said, “and as Colin’s temporary
legal guardian, due to his current issues, I agree on his behalf as well.” He
turned to me and raised his eyebrows, asking me to weigh in.

“I—I agree
as well,” I said, finding it difficult to say anything at all, much less absorb
what was happening.

Mr. Crenshaw
continued, speaking in terminology and language I hardly understood. After what
seemed like an hour, he finally stood up and brought me some papers. “Ms.
Sinclair, these are the formal papers awarding you a third of Mr. Blackstone’s
estate, which as I have just explained, is almost entirely in the form of investments
and savings. As you are aware, the Blackstone Group, which is currently in the
business of producing films in Southern California, is not part of the estate,
being formally transferred to William Blackstone prior to Henry Blackstone’s
death. In addition, no real estate previously owned by Henry Blackstone is
included in the estate, all of it having also been transferred either to his
widow Michelle, or to his sons William and Colin. That leaves Mr. Blackstone’s
considerable investments and cash reserves. You will find line ten here to be a
current accounting,” he said pointing to the paper, “as of this morning, of
your share of the estate. Once you contact the family broker, accounts in your
name will be created and this amount will be transferred to you. You will have
full access to the investments and funds contained in your accounts, and can do
with said items as you choose. Do you have any questions?”

I looked up at Mr.
Crenshaw, and down at the paper, my eyes resting on line ten. My hand went up
to my mouth as I read the figure. I’d never even seen a number that high, with
that many commas, and here this man was standing over my shoulder telling me
this money was mine. I looked over at Dex sitting next to me and saw the
faintest smile of amusement on his face. I frowned slightly, and looked up at
Mr. Crenshaw. “These numbers are accurate?” I asked.

“Yes miss,
entirely accurate, as of market close yesterday,” he replied, standing there,
looking at me as if he expected me to do something. I looked at him, confused
and unsure what to do. He cleared his throat. “Well, if you have no other
questions, miss, then as I explained, I’d appreciate it if you could sign at
the bottom there, where your name is listed.”

I blushed and took
the pen. I signed my name, Josephine Anne Sinclair, and handed the pen back.

“Thank you.
William, have you finished?” the lawyer, asked, looking over at William.

“Yes,” he replied,
“thank you John.”

“Well,” Mr.
Crenshaw said, taking all the papers and placing them in a file, “I will be
contacting each of you with more details in the coming weeks, I’m sure. But in
the meantime, Ms. Sinclair, here is the contact information for the
Blackstone’s broker. I suggest you call him straightaway. William, always a
pleasure.” Mr. Crenshaw put the file into his briefcase and stood up, shaking
William’s hand. I stood up and he offered me his hand again, and I shook it,
hoping he didn’t notice my slight tremor.

I felt lightheaded
and dizzy and wanted nothing more than to escape the Daugherty beach house
before I passed out from shock. Dex sensed my anxiety and deftly maneuvered me
to the door where we quickly thanked William and Macy for their hospitality and
left. As soon as we were in the safety of his Range Rover, I exhaled and leaned
back on the headrest, closing my eyes.

“
Are
you okay?” Dex said, looking over to me as he turned the key in the ignition.

“I think so,” I
said. “No, who am I kidding? I’m definitely not okay. I’m completely freaking
out…. Can I ask you a personal question?” I said, pulling my head off the seat
and looking at Dex.

“Of course, ask me
anything,” he said, shifting into drive and heading back to Hartley Manor.

“You saw how much
money was listed as my share, right?” I asked, blushing.

“Yes,” Dex
replied, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“You have more
than that, right?”

Dex started
laughing and answered, “Yes. Yes, Josephine, I have considerably more than
that.” I leaned back in my seat, relieved. “Why do you look happy to hear
that?” Dex asked me, confused by my reaction.

“Because,” I
answered, anxiously rubbing the hem of my dress between my fingers, “I need you
to help me figure out how to enjoy it, and be smart with it, and generally
learn how to live without constantly worrying about how to pay rent, or afford
groceries. I’ve never had enough money to really be comfortable, certainly
never enough to buy whatever I’ve wanted and the thought of it scares the hell
out of me. I don’t want to end up a selfish, vacuous person who’s consumed by
material things. And if you have more money than me, then I know it’s possible
to be normal and not let this kind of money affect you, change you.… I love how
grounded you are, how normal you are, despite your wealth, and I want … no … I need,
to be that way too. I just don’t know how.” I looked over at him and saw him
smiling at me.

“Josephine,” Dex
said, “you are perhaps the strangest woman I’ve ever met. You just inherit hundreds
of millions of dollars and you’re sitting here worrying about how to stay
normal. Most people would be plotting how to spend their fortune.”

I smiled, relaxing
a bit for the first time that day. “Well, I never claimed I was normal. Remember
how we met? No one who breaks into Hartley Manor can possibly be normal.”

“That’s true,” Dex
responded, laughing again. As we pulled up to Hartley Manor, Dex turned to look
at me. “How would you feel about going on a date with me, Josephine? A real
date, out in public?”

I smiled. “I’d
love it.”

“Great,” Dex replied,
his blue eyes glowing with excitement. “Give me an hour or so and I’ll be
ready.”

As we walked into
Hartley Manor, Dex’s fingers reached for mine. He pulled me to him, wrapping
his arms protectively around me, and kissed me gently on the lips. I inhaled
and smelled his woodsy, spicy scent, wrapping my arms around his neck and
kissing him back. He backed away from me, pulling our lips apart and kissed me
lightly on the nose.

“Let me go make a
few arrangements and I’ll be back before you know it,” Dex whispered in my ear,
kissing my earlobe, my jaw, my lips. I whined softly in protest, but let him
go, watching him walk up the stairs and disappear. I sighed, closing my eyes
and savoring the memory of his lips on my skin. After a few minutes, I opened
my eyes, slipped off the classic black pumps I’d worn to meet William and Macy,
and made my way to the living room, sitting down in the deep swivel chair. I
tucked my feet underneath me and pulled the cashmere throw around my legs. The
setting sun cast a warm glow through the window and right onto my lap. I rifled
through the books and magazines in the wire crate next to the chair and I
pulled out a business magazine, Bloomberg Businessweek, something I’d never
even seen, let alone read. As I flipped it over to look at the cover, I almost
dropped it on the floor. A picture of Dex, leaning against a board room table,
hands casually stuffed inside the pockets of a handsome black suit, smiled back
at me. “Meet Hartley Industries’ 27-year-old owner and entrepreneur
extraordinaire” it said on the cover. I flipped to the article and skimmed the
pages. I knew Dex was successful, and I knew he was rich, but I’d never been
interested in exactly what Hartley Industries did or how exactly he was
involved in the business. From what little I knew, I thought Dex just sat back
and watched the company’s success from his office upstairs, earning income on
his family’s long-established timber business.

As the magazine
made clear, Dex was not only considerably more famous than I’d ever imagined,
but apparently Hartley Industries ran quite a few more business endeavors than
I’d comprehended, everything from restaurants in New York and Los Angeles to a
luxury boutique hotel brand with locations all over the world. I couldn’t
believe the Dex I knew and was madly in love with was the same Dex Hartley the
magazine described. He seemed so private, so intimate, so normal here in
Hartley Manor with me, but he seemed so unreachable and powerful in the pages
of the magazine.
I was thankful for my ignorance these past weeks. Had I been fully aware of
Dex’s status a formidable businessman, and his active involvement in well known
projects all over the world, I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to be in
this position at all.

“Interesting
reading?” Dex said, standing a few feet in front of me, the pages of the
magazine brought to life. He was wearing a beautiful khaki linen blazer, pale
blue oxford shirt, and jeans, his toes curling around brown leather flip lops.
His hair was slicked back and still wet, and his freshly shaven face glowed with
anticipation. I flipped the pages of the magazine shut and stuffed it back into
the crate, the color on my cheeks rising.

“No, not really,
just flipping pages,” I managed to say. Then I stood up, hoping to change the
subject and hide my shock at finding out more about the gloriously handsome man
standing in front of me. “So where are we going? Do I need to change?” I said,
looking down at my black dress and bare feet.

“No, I’ve taken
care of everything. You’re perfect as usual. Come, let’s go,” Dex said, holding
out his hand. I took it, picking up my shoes and letting him guide me outside
to his waiting car. We climbed in and drove in silence for a few minutes until
the curiosity got the better of me.